Oh dear, I don't want to make a debate about Colonel Fitzwilliam. Not to worry. I like his character, but I have other ideas going. But I do appreciate the feedback. Yes, I do agree that Kitty and Lydia are very annoying, but I'm of the opinion, there is more to them than meets the eye.

My updates are not always going to be this quick. I'm a little ahead in the story, but not by much.

Chapter 4

Another short note had been delivered to Longbourn that evening, from the hand of Miss Bingley, informing the family that Miss Bennet had been taken ill and worsened over the course of the day. Therefore, it was deemed necessary, for Jane's comfort, that Miss Elizabeth stay until her recovery. Such attention so gratified Mrs. Bennet. Some more clothes were packed, both for Lizzy and Jane, to be sent by way of the servant. She enlisted Mary's help with the task. While any of the house maids might have served the purpose, she wanted more than the usual care. If Lizzy was to stay, likely, she'd be going downstairs and dining with the Netherfield party. Ordinary frocks from home wouldn't do, or so Mrs. Bennet stipulated.

"Mama, if Lizzy were selecting clothes for her trunk, she'd hardly be packing the green frock she wears only for dances."

"Nonsense!"

"Knowing Lizzy, she'll mostly be upstairs with Jane. I think she'd prefer these two," argued Mary, pointing to a dark brown and tan frock. "After all, this would do much better for nursing an invalid."

"True. But she must take tea at some point. And I'd prefer when she's in the company of Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley that she be attired like the ladies they are, Mary. What on earth possessed her to walk all that way, and not plan for this likelihood. Why, is anything the matter, Mary?"

She'd turned around to find her daughter leaning to a sitting position on the bed. Her complexion had gone pale, with the lips curling inwardly and her knuckles clenching the bedcover. The world stopped for about fifteen seconds before Mary could take a breath again, getting her bearings. As she began to arch forward, the bell was being run for the maid. This painful episode certainly wasn't the first occurrence. Mrs. Bennet had observed it often enough to react more with irritation than with worry.

"Why did you not tell me you were feeling unwell, my dear?"

"I… was fine. Just fine today. It only began about an hour ago." Her mother circled round to her side, grasping a hand.

"Sarah is on her way up. She can help you back to bed. Do you have a headache? I can lend you my smelling salts." The thought of which was enough to start a revolution in both Mary's head and stomach. Aromatic vinegar better served to waken unconscious spirits. Anytime faintness occurred, they were the first agents their mother resorted to, whether for her own constitution or her daughter's. A headache? Smelling salts. The common cold? Of course. She assumed Mr. Jones, the apothecary, was prescribing the same ones for Jane. Sore throat? Perhaps the burning experienced in the nostrils expelled the throbbing in the throat. Hay fever? It was more wishful thinking than medical science.

Both women assisted Mary to her bed. Fortunately, neither Kitty or Lydia had returned from town yet, leaving her in a measure of peace.

"No, no, Mary. No reading," declined her mother, removing the attempt from her hands.

"It helps me, Mama."

"What you need is bed rest. That's what Mr. Jones has told you, time and again."

"Yes, he has indeed, but this is not improving, Mama." At this mention, the maid was politely thanked and dismissed. Mrs. Bennet sat down beside her on the bed.

"All women experience this sort of pain, my dear. I'm sorry to say it. There's really nothing that can be done about it. Our only relief will come with age. We'd be foolish, however, to wish for it faster than it shall come already."

"Would it be too much trouble to seek another medical opinion?"

"Any doctor will tell you the same thing, my dear. All we can do about it is ease the pain."

Mary had turned her back on her mother, face to the wall. If only she might have her own bedroom, or if only she was allowed to read, if only the nausea would pass, any amount of ache or stabbing pain might be endured. Even the thought passed her mind, as much as it shamed her, if only her mother were not her mother. Jane or Lizzy would understand, but they were not in the authority of a mother. They were not capable of summoning a physician from town, or sending her there.

"I know you mean well, Mama, but I cannot," Mary choked tears, "cannot imagine that this kind of pain is at all normal. None of my sisters have it this bad."

"Perhaps not. Every woman is different. Let me speak with Mr. Jones, Mary dear. When he's returned from Netherfield, I'll go into Meryton. I'll consult with him what remedies can be offered. As I said, don't expect too much. Shall I ask Hill to prepare tea for you?"

"That would be nice."

"Anything else I can do for you?"

Mary sat back up, trying not to feel the nervous sensations threatening peace in her stomach. "I think I'd like the window open as well."

"What? Mary, it's quite cold out! What are you thinking?"

"I like the cold," she begged. "It does me very good when I'm unwell."

"We just had rain. If anything, it will only give you a cold. That's what made Jane ill. What you need is a fire." She was already ringing the bell near the door. "And keep yourself covered. Lay down-"

"Mama, if I lay down, I'm going to be sick," pleaded Mary. "Let me be, please! And I promise, the open window will do be no harm. Kitty and Lydia do not mind-"

"I beg your pardon! You mean to say you sleep with an open window?"

"Not every night. But whenever I'm feeling ill, or whenever it's especially warm, we have the window open at night. Otherwise, we would all be miserably hot in bed. And we would all prefer that I can sleep than be sick."

Mrs. Bennet rose to her feet, righteously indignant. "Mary, how could you? It's really no wonder why Kitty always gets these little coughs and sore throats and complaints! Had I known this was going on, I would've put a stop to it. Foolish girl, destroy your own health and your sisters'!"

By that point, Mrs. Hill entered and Sarah returned for further instruction. The fire was to be lit immediately. A tray of tea and bread would be brought up for Mary. Fetch Mrs. Bennet's things for walking into town. What else? And boil some water for compresses. The situation was immediately understood.

"And Sarah," demanded Mrs. Bennet, "keep checking on Miss Mary in regular intervals. She's not well, and under no circumstances is she to fall asleep with the window open."

While acquiescence was granted readily, the maid looked over at the invalid in question. A simple nod, a sad smile. Had it been Mrs. Hill, Mary might have worried. Sarah, on the other hand, was charged with care, and she knew better than her own mother. Open windows did not bother her in the least. No alarm would be raised by it. That being as it was, Mary ceased to argue. The less said the better as well, when the nausea gripped her.

Fortunate thing for Kitty and Lydia that Lizzy did not return that evening. She'd have surely found out that they failed to complete their assigned errands. It was completely forgotten until their mother was seen in the vestibule, donning cap and cloak. As she needed to make a trip to the apothecary anyway, it also slipped their conscience. She wouldn't be long. It would give her a chance to consult Mr. Jones about both Mary and hear report of Jane's condition.

First and foremost on Lydia's mind was thwarted by her going out. "Oh Mama, when you return, I've something urgent to beg you. There's this new bonnet at the milliner's. I wanted it so much, and I'd have bought it outright if I'd had the money-"

"Lydia love, I'd love to hear all about it, but I cannot be delayed right now. Speak to your father about it."

"Oh Mama!"

"Later! Later! I'm torn in five different directions as it is, girls." In a huff, the gloves were slid on. "Oh heavens, I forgot about the servant from Netherfield! He's waiting for the trunk. Kitty, tell Sarah- no, she's busy. Ask Matilda to finish packing the trunk that will be sent with the servant. Lizzy and Jane should need enough clothes for a fortnight, at least. That was quite a downpour; your sister ought to be very ill from it. And tell your father I shall be home in time for dinner."

"Yes Mama," replied Kitty, the only sister capable of speech. Lydia was too much a mix of anxious agony and a pout.

"Also, try to keep your voices down when you go upstairs. Mary is indisposed, and needs some quiet. Which reminds me- No, never mind, we'll talk about that later." Fluttery and mentally distracted, their mother set off out the front door. Kitty took to task, dispatched the maid to finish packing before joining Lydia in the drawing room. Hardly to be called a task in any household, to give servants an order.

"Did you order the tea?" asked Lydia.

"No. But why bother? It's nearly four o'clock. We'll be sitting down to dinner in a couple of hours," reminded Kitty.

"Well, I'd like some tea. Hill is making a tray for Mary anyway."

First the bonnet, now a tea tray, thought Kitty smiling. Sometimes, it was a pleasure to see Lydia put out. The tides had completely shifted between them from earlier, where Kitty's pleasures in the day were against her. And while Lydia fussed about not being fussed over, Kitty made no effort to soothe the little sister out of temper.

"Mama would give me the twenty-five shillings, if she wasn't so busy about Mary. Why are we so poor? Never have we enough money for clothes for the year. It's not becoming of our family. Papa makes two thousand a year, and what have we to show for it? You and I wearing Jane, Lizzy, and Mary's old frocks when we've outgrown ours. And I'm the tallest now. Jane's old gowns won't do anymore. What does Papa expect us all to do?"

"Taller by a hair's breadth. Two thousand a year is all well and good, but not much," shrugged Kitty. "Oh, if only we had double that. I could be easily fashionable. I'm sure I could spend my money both wisely and with ease. Enough for any little things I like and some left for charity."

"If you want to give charity, I'd be much obliged for your seven guineas." Kitty, sitting across the room on the opposing divan, fancied her sister could not have been sweeter in looks or tones than if she herself were Captain Carter.

"Why should I give you my seven shillings? You call me spendthrift, when you only have four."

"I was teasing you, Kitty!" she laughed. "Don't I always?"

"Spare me your simpers. Save it for Mama and Papa."

"If you lend me your seven, then I'll only need to borrow less from them."

"For one, you never borrow. Are you going to give the money back?" scoffed Kitty. Perhaps a hypocrite herself, but nevertheless. "And second, do you even know how much money to ask for?"

"I'll just ask for twenty anyway," shrugged Lydia. "What's the difference?"

"Twenty! You'd have more than enough. You don't need that much-"

"What difference does it make? Then I'll have a little extra for-"

"Lydia, that's dishonest! And moreover, that's hardly fair!"

That simper soured. "Life isn't fair! I didn't say the bonnet cost twenty. I'm just saying I need twenty guineas. That's not dishonest. Mama shall not mind at all. She's always generous."

"Generous with you, yes."

After a moment, with silence and huffs to fill the air, a new tactic was tried. "In case I cannot succeed with twenty, I could do with less… I'll make you an offer, Kitty. I'll return that pretty bonnet with the rose and cherries, for your seven shillings."

"Why should I pay for what is already mine?"

"Oh, very well, be bad-tempered about it. I'll get the money myself. And once it's mine, I won't lend it to you."

"I'll lend seven guineas to anybody else to buy that bonnet first before you get your hands on it," with a heavy dose of spite, snapped Kitty. "And I won't be seen in Meryton in my younger sister's throw-aways."

Come dinnertime, this whole spat was quite forgotten on both sides. These sort of outbursts happened with regular occurrence in Longbourn. Mr. Bennet was not sitting deaf and content in his library, though at times like this, he could only wish it. Both sisters parted in mutual anger; Kitty outdoors, and Lydia upstairs. They'd not been taught the art of cordially disagreeing, or reconciling. Any good and godly examples in the household came from their older sisters, who often acted as mediators in arguments. But both were absent. Without them, there were no restraints from bitter exclamations.

Lydia marched upstairs in pursuit of her diary, which was bound to bear heavy ink marks in the heat of her rage. The bedroom door opened and slammed with violence.

"Oh, sorry about that Mary," gasped Lydia. "I'd quite forgot you were not well."

Mary had been startled as much as her sister, and was jolted in her half-repose. As much as she wished to rally against this impoliteness, it wasn't in her ability at the moment. The tea tray sat beside the bed waiting. She was waiting for some settling in her stomach to try sipping on the steam and liquid of chamomile.

"Kitty is absolutely impossible," she groaned, in softer voice. "She can be quite cruel and cutting when she's in such a bad mood."

No response was required. She proceeded to remove her little book from the locked drawer of their corner writing desk. It was too small to be called a desk. Mr. Bennet merely installed some wood panel with a couple drawers below it, and a lock on the second drawer for any valuables. All that could be kept here was big enough for a booklet and maybe a stashed purse. How Lydia came to be the sole possessor of the bottom drawer was insignificant and forgotten by Mary, and a matter of course.

Lydia prepared her pen and took to scribbling immediately. The fire crackled healthily, but with the window left open, Mary tolerated any unwelcome warmth. The compress on the abdomen contributed to the warmth, prompting the removal of her shawl. Unless Mrs. Bennet returned to check the state of the room, she was safe to have her own way without dispute.

"Where is Mama right now, Lydia?"

Without lifting eyes from her page: "She's gone out. Why? Do you need her?"

"No. She's gone to see Mr. Jones. Will you warn me when she returns?"

"Warn you? Why?"

"She's in a state about the open window."

"I thought she already knew about that."

Mary moaned as a minor spasm hit. "Apparently not. Will you do me a favour, and hand me my linen box under the bed?"

"Certainly." Lydia reached under Mary's bed, opening the ugly green-coloured, brass box. Better fit for a garbage receptacle. Linens, a purse, and spare spectacles in case her current ones broke. "Kitty and I met with several officers today. Quite charming gentlemen. I'm sure we shall have them to visit Longbourn in the course of a few days. Shame you won't be downstairs to play for the company."

"I don't wish to be rude, Lydia, but I really cannot converse in this state," replied Mary.

"I know, I know. I'm just telling you. You don't have to say anything." Lydia handed her sister a set of clean cotton strips. "But 'tis a shame you'll miss the company."

"Why? Won't bother you much."

"All just the same," shrugged Lydia. She closed the box and returned it under the bed. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"No, thank you."

"Very well. I'll just be writing my entry, and I'll keep a watch for Mama. Lord, there goes Kitty into the garden. Doesn't even bother to take her shawl outside. I don't understand why she goes outside when she complains of the cold. No call for her to be in a miff, especially after the nice gentlemen we met today. One in particular was paying her great attention. He was rather good-natured, though not at all handsome. They all had drills this morning, so none of us had long to converse with them."

On and on, Lydia chattered about her adventures as the poor, little heroine of the village of Meryton. The officers flocked to her, and Kitty was secondary in all their attentions, as well as the Harrington sisters. Some details about Mrs. Phillips was relayed. Funny thing, though, unlike the rest of her family, Mary heard no complaints or pinings about the scarlet bonnet.

If there are readers out there who can relate to Mary, I'm very sorry. It's not easy. I'm sure back then, these problems were even worse. Anyway, thank you for reading, following, and commenting. Until next time, have a great day!