Title- Catherine
Author- 4give4get
Rated- T
Disclaimer- I own nothing. I am just a slave to this story.
Serena- Yeah.
Thanks for the review, Lucille Brown.
Chapter Two…
Kitty,
How is Lizzy? She likely doesn't want to hear from me, so don't mention me to her if you don't wish to do so. I am so horribly confused I don't suppose I have got anyone else to turn to but you. A letter would take far too long to reach Mary. (I cannot believe she is in America!)
I do believe marrying Wickham was a mistake. And Mary advised me against it in her letter so many months ago, didn't she? Kitty, I know my case is lost now, my life is set and I cannot change it. But just be careful the same does not happen to you.
But I am so upset with myself. I want to be home more than ever. Dear Kitty, please say I'll be able to see you soon. Wickham is horrible. He always gambles any money we do have away, and I fear our situation could become dire. But I don't want to plague your mind with such things.
Write me of Pemberly and if you hear anything from Mary.
-Your sister, Lydia
Kitty crumbled the note in her hand and punched the wall with all of the force she could muster. Pain began in her knuckles and then shot down her whole entire arm, causing her to shake out her hand and grimace in utter pain. But the wall did not fall before her, nor did all of Pemberly feel her wrath and collapse into dust as she might have hoped from that single blow. The wall stood straight and hard with not even a mark, while her throbbing fist grew redder and more irritated by the second. Bruises began to form.
The gentle reader probably recognizes that our heroine has a temper when she's alone in a room where nobody but herself will see it. Just one more addition to the disposition she hides beneath her quiet, reserved one. As a child, she never hid herself. At Longbourn she'd smash plates and kick furniture and scream as much as she wanted. But it didn't seem quite appropriate to do so in her sister's new house she curbed her tantrums (with good reason) to none at all. Well, except for when she was alone in her chamber where no one else would see it.
Kitty did not remember ever being sad in any of her memories, merely angry. When she got upset, she wouldn't cry, or mope around, she'd just scream and carry on in a way that was hardly considered ladylike, but when she was truly that upset she did not specifically care.
But as she let herself fall onto her bed, ignoring her painful hand, she truly felt a horrible, broken-hearted feeling in her chest that she could not seem to punch out of her system. How could she have been upset over Strat? Her own sister was so miserable! Kitty was the elder of the two and should be able to make it all better, but she couldn't.
How do you fix an unhappy marriage? A marriage that was more than affectionless, but made worse by bloody Wickham's gambling habits? She sat back up on her bed, anger pulsing through her body, as she imagined the face of her little sister's husband.
How dare he hurt her so much? Her own sister! If she ever saw him again, Kitty vowed to give him a piece of her mind, not caring if Lizzy and Jane both saw it and disowned her. Her fingers curled and her fingernails dug indents into her palms.
She imagined using her nails to peel all of his flesh off of his face. Her jaw was clenched, but she let it open. And Kitty did not know very many swear words. How would she, considering where she had spent her childhood years? But she did like to pretend she did.
"Crumbs," she said loudly.
"Miss Catherine?" a knock pounded on the door, "Are you quite alright in there? I do believe I heard a bang."
Kitty jumped off of her bed and hurried to the other side of the room, sliding on her socks half of the way there to slam her windows shut, the clanking sound rather loud. She cringed.
"Capital!" she proclaimed, "I'm capital, Mrs. Reynolds!"
As she said it, she backed up into a table rather hardly and sent a white vase, with oriental trees painted around the outside clattering to the floor. The shattering sound froze Kitty right where she was as she stared at the broken glass on the floor.
"What on earth was that?" Mrs. Reynolds demanded, the door flying open, to reveal the older gray-haired, primly dressed housekeeper.
Kitty blushed and showed her the broken vase remains, "Oh no! I broke Lizzy's vase! What am I supposed to tell her?"
Mrs, Reynolds sighed and shook her head, and began to pick up the delicate shards and place them in her apron pocket, "You aren't going to tell her anything. She won't care, Miss Catherine. Pemberly has many vases, this one was of no importance I assure you."
Kitty could not help but feel rather bad about breaking such a thing as she helped the woman gather the pieces. She ran her thumb over the smooth edge of half a painted tree. Such a beautiful thing to be broken… They disposed of the shards and Mrs. Reynolds left without another word.
I need to stop being so destructive, Kitty realized as she let herself fall back onto the chair to the writing desk. But as she sat there, glancing around the chamber her eyes only went back to the crumbled letter sitting on the desk which had caused her whole temper tantrum in the first place.
Kitty's chamber was uncommonly large. Well, to her anyway. She felt like a tiny pea rattling around in it. The walls were all white, the drapes lace, and the furniture a dark, ebony wood. But she could not deny it was beautiful. A thousand times more so than her bedroom at Longbourn. The portrait of a beautiful lady with wavy black hair sat smiling down over her. Upon asking, Kitty had learned that it was Mr. Darcy's mother at age nineteen.
There were other decorations as well. There were two tables in the center of the room (one of which carrying the now broken vase) and other sorts of glass art. An ebony book case was up against the far wall containing a few novels, of which Kitty had looked through on her first week at Pemberly and decided only to read them if utterly, desperately bored, which she had been fortunate enough to never be so.
The bed was as uncommonly large as the room was. The puffy pillows and blanket felt like clouds. The canopy and curtains were a soft see-through gauzy fabric that Kitty had accidentally torn in one of her fits, but she sewed it up fairly well herself. The wooden floor was as dark an ebony as any of the furniture and waxed to excellent slipperiness, so Kitty could slide about it in her sock feet.
There were several chairs places about (really just to take up space) and the desk against one of the side walls where two quills and several bottles of ink sat, accompanied by several sheets of paper in the drawer. And, of course, Kitty kept her book of fairy tales on the ebony end table by the bed for easy access.
She flicked the crumbled ball of paper off of the desk with her finger and watched it settle on the floor below. She was motivated to not go into such a fit as she did before, by rereading it. Lydia needed her help, that much was certain. But whom could she possibly turn to?
Lizzy would be no help at all, but only lecture about how her actions were inappropriate and she deserved what she got. Indeed, as Lizzy came back from her journey with their aunt and uncle after news of Lydia's elopement reached them and Kitty couldn't help but notice how her elder sister clearly seemed more distressed about their family name and the embarrassment it would bring, than her sister's actual safety.
Kitty could care less about embarrassment if it happened to be about Lydia. Lydia was her best friend, couldn't they all see that? She would not disown her for such an action! She would pick Lydia before Lizzy or Jane or their parents, or even Mary, because she was, and always would be, her best friend. Nothing could change that. So why was Lizzy so convinced that she could turn her against her?
No, she could not ask Lizzy for advice. Mary could not be reached until her three-week journey to America was finished, and even then Kitty didn't know how to address such a letter anyway. And then it would take three weeks to get to Baltimore, and then three weeks again. Lydia could not wait that long.
Kitty's shoulders slumped and her head sank into her hands in despair. She was surrounded by maids and other people here at Pemberly, including her sister and her husband. But she was completely, utterly, absolutely alone.
.x.X.x.
"What is it, Kitty?" Lizzy inquired, "Why aren't you eating?"
Kitty looked into her sister's face and wanted more than anything to tell her the truth. But she couldn't do that to Lydia. She sat at the supper table with Mr. Darcy at the head as always and Lizzy directly to his left. Mr. Sutter, a friend of both Mr. Darcy's and Mr. Hurst's sat at his right, while Kitty sat a while down. Mr. Sutter barely glanced at her before returning to his plate of food.
"I am just not hungry, I suppose," she answered shyly.
In truth, she was revolted. Her stomach was completely tied in knots and the thought of swallowing a single crumb made her gag reflects engage. No, Kitty thought she might puke just from watching other people eat. How could she eat when her own sister was in such a horrid situation? So our heroine had no appetite that evening.
"Well, now, Mr. Sutter how has your father been fairing?" Mr. Darcy asked, conversationally, "I hear he has been quite ill."
"Indeed, I have received intelligence that my father is late as we speak," Mr. Sutter replied, "He traveled to Scotland—we have an estate in Aberdeenshire, convinced that perhaps the country air would cure him healthy again. It seemed the traveling was too much for his weak state."
"That is truly horrible," Lizzy sympathized, "Please accept our condolences."
"Indeed, I thank you, madam," Mr. Sutter bowed his head.
Mr. Sutter was beautiful. Well, as much so as a man can be. The instant Kitty set eyes on him at a ball some month ago she was infatuated. Now he would make a fine husband, where Strat would not. Mary boldly had introduced her, and she found him rather agreeable when they spoke. But of course he had not spoke a word to her after that same ball, since she had been standing next to Mary when she threw cake in Miss Bingley's face after she'd called Lydia a whore.
He likely thought her some savage, which was not far from the truth. (Indeed, we know that Catherine Bennet can be exceedingly savage-like if she is upset to a certain point.) It didn't bother her too much at first, but at that dinner table the more she looked at him, the more she could imagine being his wife. He was not horribly old—not yet thirty. His perfect features, blonde hair and blue eyes made him look alike to a Greek god in statue form. The very picture of Apollo!
And rich too! Especially now that his father was dead. Kitty had heard around enough to overhear that he was the only son and his only heir. The Sutter fortune, their grand house in London, and their country estate in Aberdeenshire was comfortably belonged to him. Kitty saw something like a czar in him. Well, he would be the closest she could possibly get, considering the current czar was miles and miles away in Russia, and not to mention already married.
So it really was a pity her sister threw cake in someone's face in his immediate presence. Well, she reasoned with herself, smiling, was it not worth it to see Miss Bingley covered in cake? And in all complete honesty, she resolved that indeed it was.
But how could she be thinking such things while Lydia was in such peril? Poor, poor Lydia. People had no right to blame her! She was only sixteen. Sixteen-year-old girls make mistakes, do they not? Lydia was simply a young, thoughtless girl, who surely could not be held responsible for such a deed!
She excused herself directly after dinner and hid in her chambers and reread Repunzel, although somehow the story did not hold it's usual charm.
.x.X.x.
The very next day, Kitty could not stand to stay in her chamber, staring at herself in the mirror another minute. She had not yet replied to Lydia's letter, for a horrible unsure feeling in her stomach of what to say in such a reply. How could she promise to visit her soon when she knew well she could not? And how could she say something that would make her detrimental situation better when she knew well she could not? Kitty did not claim to know very much in the way of life itself, was still trying to decipher her own circumstances. She quite simply was as helpless as Lydia on the subject.
And that is quite what set her to haunting about Pemberly, watching a slow drizzling rain tap against the windows. Pemberly was large and grand. She never seemed to quite get used to such finery. Such grandeur. She almost smiled as she remembered Mary's distaste for the place. Well, they had stuck her in the attic for a night, had they not? She felt the edges of her mouth curve upwards as she remembered the reunion of the family the previous month and how Mary seemed to drag her feet along the whole visit.
She stopped by a certain window and looked out into the courtyard, and as the water blurred the image into a green and gray smear of color. What would she do about Lydia? The question plagued her mind and would not seem to let her alone.
"Ah, I thought I might find you around here somewhere," a tired, old voice mused from behind her, causing a chill to run down her spine and for the hair on the back of her neck to stand straight as she whirled around to see just who was in her company.
To her immediate displeasure she saw that Lady Susan hobbled along in her old-fashioned gown and Kitty acknowledged her with a scowl. The old woman grinned at the reaction and stopped to take a quick glance out the window herself, before turning on Kitty.
"Unhappy to see me, are you?" she cackled, "Well, you ought to get more used to not having your way all the time. That's not how life usually works, brat."
"I am not used to having my way!" Kitty huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, "And I haven't the slightest clue where you might have gotten such an assumption as that!"
"It is not an assumption, my dear, it is a known observation that I have made of you," Lady Susan countered.
"And why don't you just leave me alone?" Kitty demanded, not caring to appear shy and cultured in front of someone who had a likely idea of her inner, more savage-like disposition anyhow.
"So you do not deny that you are troubled," Lady Susan began to circle about her. Kitty could not help but think of Little Red Hiding Hood and how the wolf circled her in the forest.
"Everyone has their problems," Kitty quickly reminded her.
"Perhaps," the old woman agreed, "But would you like to know something else?"
"What?" Kitty remained skeptical that it would be anything good. What could the woman possibly say about her that would be good?
"I see a younger version of myself in you," Lady Susan admitted, stunning Kitty, "Oh yes, don't look to incredulous. I was selfish and horrid. I hurt a lot of people too. Good people… That is mostly why I find you so fascinating."
"I am not selfish!" Kitty desponded, audibly aware she was losing the argument, "Perhaps, self-seeking, but I do believe you honestly must be if you intend to go anywhere with your life!"
"Perhaps," Lady Susan agreed again, "But no one likes a person who only thinks of their own welfare and lives a life of conceit. You may be "successful" by material terms, but not necessarily happy."
"Why are you even talking to me?" Kitty seethed, shaking her fist at the old woman, "I don't need this—I don't!" She proceeded to kick the wall with all of her force (ignoring the immediate pain in her toe) and stomp her foot.
"You are no lady at all," Lady Susan stated, clearly amused, "What a temper you have got. I do evoke being exactly your double many years ago."
She began to grow truly outraged, although only at herself, for letting herself get so out of hand. Getting angry in arguments only happened to make you lose all the worse. She tried to tell that to herself, over and over in hopes that it would sink in and perhaps take effect.
"What do you know?" Kitty asked, breathing to calm herself, "You know nothing about me, or my sister—"
"Your sister?" Lady Susan asked, "What has she got to do with anything?"
Kitty was about to open her mouth to rant on how it was none of her business, but then thought better of it and bit her lip so it may remain closed. She felt her cheeks heat up from accidentally mentioning such a vital thing.
"Are you and she close?" the old woman inquired, fingering the delicate lace around the frame of the window.
Kitty looked down at her feet and even felt tears prickle at her eyes, as much as she tried to hide them and wipe them away. Just the mentioning of how she and Lydia used to be affected her so. The gentle reader must recognize the fact that Kitty rarely cried. If she were upset she would go on a raving rampage, not silently sit down and cry to get it all out. But this time, true tears slipped down her face.
Lady Susan saw this too, and greatly gentled her tone of voice, "Tell me about her, child," she said softly, "Perhaps it can be helped."
"It can't be," Kitty cried bitterly, "I know it cannot, but I somehow keep trying to think of a way that it can! No, poor Lydia is stuck in the most horrid marriage. They no longer love each other any more and he is a nasty gambler so she is quite miserable. And she's so young, too! Only sixteen! Far too young to be condemned to such a life! I am her big sister, I should be able to protect her and make it all better but I can't!" More hot tears rolled down her face as she confessed the whole story to the woman before her.
And then the old woman began cackling. She held on to the window frame as she laughed, Kitty was absolutely floored. She was beyond a tantrum and already sobbing, so she just stared at her in shock. How could she find such a miserable story the least bit humorous?
"Such a trivial matter?" she asked when she had let her giggles die down, "And here I was thinking it serious! She is not happy in her marriage? Then let her divorce him. Quite simple it is!"
"A divorce?" Kitty repeated blankly through her tears, "But surely she could not! Decent women never get a divorce! And it is certainly not smiled upon."
"So says those religious blockheads!" Lady Susan sniffed, "Would not a divorce be preferable to spending the rest of your life married to some idiot? So it is not smiled upon, who really cares of that? Your reputation may be gone, you may even be disowned, but at least you're a free woman."
"Not if you have nowhere else to go," Kitty pointed out.
"It would depend on the situation then," Lady Susan agreed, "If your sister's husband does nothing but gamble all of their money away anyhow, can she really be much worse off?"
And then things began to connect and make sense in Kitty's head. Yes! A divorce! Lydia would never have to set eyes on Wickham again, and they could be together as they always had! Lizzy would likely not have her back at Pemberly, but would not their parents accept her back at Longbourn? Kitty knew her mother would, but was still rather unsure about her father. He never particularly liked the three youngest of his daughters.
Kitty felt a genuine smile begin to cover her face as she wiped the tears away. Lady Susan was smiling too, "I got a divorce myself. Back in 1788. No one was getting divorces in those days, it was even more of a taboo than it is now. People have mostly forgotten it now, but I was quite considered unrespectable for the following few years. It really is simply the best alternative many times."
"I shall repeat what you've said," Kitty promised, "And… thank you."
"Not at all. Like I said, you remind me of myself. Every part of you," Lady Susan smiled sheepishly, "Ah, now I was supposed to be defecating myself and then returning to Mrs. Darcy in the north drawing room for tea. I suppose I had better leave you now, Miss Bennet."
"It's Kitty," she corrected.
"Of course, Kitty," Lady Susan smiled and walked on down the hall, Kitty staring after her for five blank seconds before blinking and running off to her chamber to compose a letter to Lydia containing all of Lady Susan's advice.
And somehow, with all of that weight lifted off of her chest, the world seemed a much simpler place.
End Chapter
Serena- I co-wrote this with one of my alter egos, Emily Bronte.
Please review.