The King Residence
Meryton
The Next Day
Mary Bennet followed Anna Long into the small, cheerful sitting room of the King residence and took a seat across from Mary King and her grandmother, Mrs. Abigail King
Neither lady was strikingly beautiful. Miss Mary King was rather shorter than was fashionable, with her plain dark hair in an unflattering bun, and even in the midst of winter, freckles spattered her nose. Old Mrs. King was a squat, homely woman with gray hair, an unappealing but warm woolen dress, a kind face and an open affection for her granddaughter.
She and her husband had taken Miss Mary in when both her parents fell to a severe influenza epidemic. Old Mr. King had passed on to his reward a few months ago, leaving his ten thousand pound fortune to his adored granddaughter, and his widow and Mary King dwelt together, alone now save for the servants.
The sitting room where they all now sat was comfortable, if cluttered. A lifetime's worth of knickknacks sat around on tables and shelves and on the mantle over the lit but drafty fireplace. Mary Bennet moved aside an over-stuffed cushion as she sat.
"My dear Miss Long, Miss Mary," Mrs. King said cheerfully, "it is so very wonderful to see you on such a gray and chilly day."
Anna Long glanced hastily at her companion and sat up straighter in her chair. "I am afraid that our visit here has to do with an unpleasant piece of news, Mrs. King."
The two King ladies exchanged bewildered looks, and the elder woman asked, "Unpleasant? In what way?"
Anna nodded at Mary, who swallowed and said softly, "I do apologize for what I am about to say, and I hope you will take it is in the spirit in which it is intended. I understand that Mr. George Wickham has been ... erm ... courting you, Miss King?"
Mary King flushed bright red and looked down at the floor, her lips quirking up slightly. Mrs. King, however, narrowed her eyes and demanded, "Mr. Wickham has called on us often, and he has indeed paid a great deal of attention to my granddaughter. What of it?"
Mary glanced at Anna, who nodded in encouragement, and then looked back at Mrs. King. "I daresay you have heard that my sister Elizabeth recently inherited a substantial sum of money from a distant female relation?"
"Yes, I did hear that," Mrs. King said. "I heard a truly absurd quantity mentioned – seventy thousand pounds! I assume that must be an inflation of the true inheritance."
Mary did not quite know what to say, and apparently her expression gave her away.
"My, my, my!" the gray haired woman said with an expression of awe. "Miss Elizabeth is now very wealthy indeed."
"Yes, she is," Mary began, only to be interrupted by the other Mary, who demanded, "What of the rest of you? Surely you all inherited at least a little?"
Mary felt herself blush, but she managed to reply with admirable composure. "My two younger sisters and I received nothing, and our eldest sister Jane received a small bequest. Elizabeth is the only wealthy Bennet daughter."
Both the Kings looked outraged at this news, and she continued hastily, "But that is neither here nor there. The truth is that, well, Mr. Wickham paid a great deal of attention to Elizabeth last autumn before he turned his attentions on you. After the news spread of her sudden wealth, he – there is no good way to say this, Miss King, except to speak the truth. He asked Elizabeth to marry him a few days ago, and she refused, but he did ask her, and I thought you ought to know."
Mary King stared wide eyed for a long moment, and she then burst into tears just as Mrs. King, her wrinkled face twisted with anger, snapped, "I knew it! I knew there was something wrong, Mary! He has not called for days…"
"Oh, Grandmother! Oh!" Miss King sobbed, hunting around frantically for a handkerchief, "Oh, oh!"
Mary and Anna Long exchanged glances and then rose to their feet. "We are so sorry," Mary began, and Mrs. King said, in a harassed voice, "It is quite all right. We very much appreciate your coming to tell us."
"Good morning," Miss Long and Mary chorused, and the two girls retreated in haste.
They walked in silence for two minutes before Mary said miserably, "That was dreadful."
"It was, rather," Anna agreed with a sigh, "but far better Miss King knows of the Wickham's true character now rather than after she marries him."
"True," Mary agreed, as they turned onto the main road which led to her Aunt and Uncle Phillips' house, where Mary would walk home with a maid, and Anna would wait until her aunt came to fetch her.
A cluster of red-coated militia officers lounged outside the Pig in the Poke, some leaning against the pub's wall. Pratt straightened as the two girls approached, doffing his hat with a small bow.
"Good day, ladies," he said courteously, and Denny turned to glance at them and follow his fellow officer's example.
"Good day, gentlemen," Anna returned politely, both girls inclining their heads. But Mary's gaze drifted past the two lieutenants into the knot of remaining officers. Wickham stood in the midst of them, smiling broadly to show off his white straight teeth. Even as she watched he tipped his head back, laughing merrily at some joke from one of his companions. It was abominably rude of him to ignore her and Anna both in such a manner; he had been introduced and was therefore required by the rules of polite society to acknowledge them.
But George Wickham had no use for plain women, she knew quite well. No, he saved his smiles and his charm for women who were handsome or wealthy or preferably both, and took callous advantage of the lighter country etiquette to entirely ignore the ladies he deemed beneath his notice. Handsome and charming he may be, but George Wickham was not, in Mary's opinion, at all a good man.
/
Half Moon Street
London
Evening
Elizabeth's fingers moved skillfully across the pianoforte. She had been slightly relieved, upon sitting down, not to find the complicated Mozart ready and waiting, but instead a piece from Thomas Augustine Arne. She had taken a moment to familiarize herself with the music, and now it flowed easily as she played. The instrument itself was delightful to play on, well-crafted and carefully tuned.
Her father, Jane, and Lady Appleby, seated nearby, listened in appreciation. The furniture was as antique here as in the rest of the house, and as in good condition – there had not been the slightest creak from the chair when Mr. Bennet sat down in it, despite his trepidation. Jane was seated gracefully on a blue love seat, one arm draped over the rest, and Lady Appleby sat alertly upright, watching Elizabeth with bright eyes.
Elizabeth reached the end of the piece with a flourish and turned on the bench to smile at her audience. Lady Appleby smiled back with great enthusiasm, clapping her hands – Jane and Mr. Bennet joining her a second later. "Very well done, Miss Elizabeth, absolutely lovely," the old woman declared.
"Thank you, Madam," Elizabeth said respectfully, and then she stood up and continued, "I hope you do not mind if I retire now? I am still not entirely used to the London noises and did not sleep particularly well last night."
"I am weary as well," Jane remarked, standing up.
Mr. Bennet rose as well and said, "I plan to leave in the very early hours, my dears, and thus will likely not see you in the morning. I am very satisfied with the arrangements here, and I look forward to cheerful letters of all your amusements and conquests."
His two daughters stepped forward and embraced him, and he planted loving kisses on both foreheads and then, with a last smile, watched them walk out of the room and shut the door behind him.
Mr. Bennet waited until the sound of their footsteps faded away, then took his seat again and regarded Lady Appleby with interest.
She was thin and spare and not particularly tall, with a delicately wrinkled face and silvery-gray hair. But her eyes sparkled with a zest for life and laughter, above a rather determined chin. She was clad in a practical teal wool dress with warm gray shawl draped artfully across her thin shoulders.
"Well, Mr. Bennet, what do you want?" the lady inquired, lifting one eyebrow.
The gentleman could not help but lift his own brow in surprise. "Am I so very obvious, Madame?"
"To me you are, certainly, but then I am many years older and experienced in the ways of gentlemen. What is it you want?"
Bennet hesitated and then said, "I do not know if my brother Gardiner has mentioned my younger girls?"
"I gather, from the speech of your daughters and relations, that your middle daughter is pedantically devoted to study, and your younger two daughters are heedless, foolish, and vulgar," Lady Appleby replied calmly.
Bennet winced at this blunt, but undeniably apt, remark, and said, "Did they also tell you that I have been a lazy and indifferent father, with the sad result that Kitty and Lydia are reckless hoydens?"
"That much was not said, but I gathered it. It is both understandable, given the entail on the estate to this distant cousin, Mr. Collins, and dishonorable, given that your wife is incapable of providing appropriate guidance to your daughters, and thus it falls on you to guide and direct them."
Bennet felt a brief surge of ire, which faded away quickly. It was all true enough; he knew he was lazy and selfish, and indeed had often teased his wife that Mr. Collins would throw her out of Longbourn as soon as his body was cold.
It was, he admitted to himself, a way to subtly punish his wife for being … herself. He should have never married the young Frances Gardiner, who was incredibly beautiful but empty headed. She had pursued him, he had taken the bait, and now he was trapped in a marriage with a woman who had very little in common with himself. And then, his wife had not even managed to produce a son to break the entail!
Of course that was not truly her fault, but it had been a cruel blow to both of them when they had produced only daughters.
"I confess to being rather tired myself, Mr. Bennet," Lady Appleby remarked, intruding on his thoughts. "So if you have something to say to me, pray say it. If you are concerned about my oversight of Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth…"
"Not at all, not at all!" Bennet cut in hastily, and then repeated, more calmly, "Not at all. You will do a far better job of overseeing their launch into society than any of us could. No, I, well, you are correct, Madame, that I have been an aloof father. I cannot deny it, nor will I bother excusing it. But now that Elizabeth is wealthy, I realize that my younger girls are probably in more danger from greedy and immoral men. My other four girls may be poor, but their sister is wealthy. Or do you think I am being overly pessimistic?"
"I believe pessimism is entirely warranted," the lady responded drily. "There are many honorable men out there, but a few that are not. Given that both Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia chase recklessly after officers, I would not be at surprised to find them caught in a compromising position. Given that they are poor, Miss Elizabeth might well find herself forced to pay, and pay well, in order for such a relationship to end in a marriage. No, I think you are entirely correct to be concerned."
"I am concerned," Bennet said, "but I also know myself well. I find my youngest two daughters tedious in the extreme, and I enjoy my library and books. Whether I am too old to change I know not; I feel that I am, and therefore, I am. Nonetheless, something must be done, and I wondered whether you had a recommendation. A governess, perhaps?"
Lady Appleby chuckled and said, "Well, you are honest, anyway, and that is something. Yes, a governess would be helpful, and two would be even more helpful."
Bennet wrinkled his nose and said, "I am not certain I can afford two."
"What has happened with your money, Mr. Bennet?" his companion demanded. "Two thousand pounds a year is a goodly sum. I would have expected you to set aside some money every year for the care of your wife and daughters after your death."
"I should have done so, of course. The truth is that when my wife and I were first married, we had no interest in economy, because we assumed we would have a son, who would break the entail once he was of age and thus provide for any daughters. Even after our youngest daughter of five was born, Mrs. Bennet believed a son would eventually arrive. By the time that was despaired of, it was too late. My wife is, frankly, an extravagant woman. I have a deep loathing of debt and thus have managed to stay solvent, but amidst this tension, nothing has been saved."
"If you can stay out of debt, you can save, Mr. Bennet," Diana Appleby said sternly. "It is merely a matter of determination."
"Which, I confess, I have very little of. When the ladies whine and wail, I escape into my library and let them do what they will so long as they do not plunge us into debt."
"If I do find a governess or two, they can only do their jobs if you support them properly."
"Again, you say two," Mr. Bennet remarked. "Do you really think two are necessary?"
"Given how headstrong Miss Lydia is, and how much Miss Kitty follows her, and given how neglected Miss Mary is, two governesses would be better. Moreover, I know a set of twins in need of positions, the daughters of Mr. Franklin Ayles of Sussex, who lost all of his money at the gambling tables. The ladies are some five and twenty years of age and very accomplished. If you can support them appropriately, I am confident they can rein in your girls. But you cannot hide in your library all day and allow Mrs. Bennet and your younger daughters to bully these ladies. You can always reduce your daughters' allowances, after all; that ought to penetrate!"
Bennet smiled wryly and said, "You seem to have a remarkable understanding of my children in spite of never having met them."
"They are no doubt much like many young ladies, and gentlemen for that matter. We all are selfish beings at heart, and without appropriate discipline and guidance, it is not a surprise that your younger daughters behave in an outrageous manner. It is, in fact, startling that Jane and Elizabeth are as charming and well-mannered as they are."
Bennet sat back and sighed, "You do not mince words, my lady."
"I have no time for such things, Mr. Bennet. Now, what do you think? Shall I send the Ayleses to Longbourn? Think of it this way; if you do not act, and Miss Lydia or Miss Kitty causes a great scandal, it will require an enormous amount of effort on your part to counteract it."
Bennet sighed and said, "I am convinced. By all means, send the young women to Longbourn."
/
/
Author Note: Thank you to those who pointed out my mistake in the previous chapter, referring to Anna Long as "Phoebe" in some places.
