Welcome back! Just a heads-up. Some details of this chapter describing the tonic, when you see -mL, it doesn't mean that number is not given. That's just some details are curtailed purposefully. Very often P&P used that describing the -shire regiment. Whether she did that, or the editor, I don't know. I'm not a med student, or a historian. Some other medical terms I've researched and it's possible but not for certain when they were 'discovered' by the experts of the time. So if my research conflicts, forgive the stretch of fiction.

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 22

Steam billowed all around Mary, half reclined in a bath so hot and barely tolerable. Just tolerable enough to submerge herself, and once in, how wonderful and soothing to the muscles, her skin, her hair. Undoing the bed-disheveled braid, she scrubbed it first, then let it drape like a hot rag down both shoulders. The only sound to be heard anywhere came from the stables, the happy trills of her father's horses in the distance. The ginger mare had foaled but a few days ago. Had she grown up without a natural fear of them, and if in better health, Mary would've liked to have learned to ride every so often.

Fond memories came back, watching Jane from the parlour window. Their father had acquired the services of a riding-master to teach basic skills to any of the girls. Lydia took an instant dislike to the smell of stables. She fretted so about her riding habit, and didn't want any of the horses' stink on her after riding. Needless to say, her riding habit was never put to use. It made its way to the charity bin. Kitty proved more eager, though she too expressed fear. It took a few rough tumbles from the saddle to scare her away completely. At least she had attempted it. Whereas, in reflection upon her own experience, she didn't bother to attempt getting over her fear. Horses stood tall, were so large and bulky, and any fall was going to be a long distance for a girl of ten.

Jane and Lizzy both took it up eagerly. Of the two, Jane excelled in horsemanship. Both the master and Mr. Bennet agreed on her natural aptitude. Mrs. Bennet fancied it was her ladylike grace. Not only did she look the part, in a fetching purple habit, but she handled her horse with precision. All the girls watched her take the little jumps, learn the basics of the reins and saddle, how to 'make him go and make him stop.' Lizzy went through a few lessons, and learned that the saddle did not accommodate her very comfortably. Jane's tolerance, admirable. Lizzy accepted all the master's instruction, then decided she was a much better walker than rider.

So many missed opportunities for Mary. All simply due to a delicate condition.

Thinking of Jane, she sighed and let her body slip deeper in the water. Her eldest sister had been gone since early January. Lizzy's stay in Kent was coming to a close. Without their presence, these low moments of despair during her time indisposed were only lower. Conversations at dinner were dominated by officers, parties, the latest dances, who played the best and the worst at their card games, and more recently, the broken engagement. The two of them and her mother were so full of pity. They could afford to pity her now. Instead of next Monday, Mr. King had decided to return home sooner, and Mary King was going with him, broken heart or not. Just yesterday and not yet recovered enough to be out walking, yet she insisted on going in the carriage to say a proper goodbye. Mary hugged the poor girl before she stepped into the carriage. All three of the Bennet girls were there to bid her farewell, among a few others, but only Mary embraced her and promised to correspond. It was Mr. King's firm belief that exposure to a better education and his higher connections in society would work the best cure. She will be schooled into a lady and now be fully prepared for a proper match.

A sad comfort to Miss King. She never got to say a proper farewell to Mr. Wickham. To prevent any nonsense or trouble of the nature Miss Watson suggested, Mr. King insisted that the Barnes' family refuse entry to the officer, and his niece was not to go out into public without a chaperone. In the end, the only relief to come of this, in Mary's mind, was that her shy and persecuted friend was rescued from an imprudent marriage. In time, Miss King would see that for herself. While in Liverpool, she would also have deliverance from the comfort of false friends.

It would now be a great comfort to have her sisters home again. Thankfully, Mary and the gardener had done well preserving the herbs, blooms, and hedges that Jane and Lizzy had tended so faithfully. Except one concern, she desired their return. What will become of Lizzy's assertions and indifference now that Mr. Wickham is a free man again? She almost wished to write to Lizzy, reveal the news about Meryton in a more dignified manner. But if she gives her sister time to think about it, reflections may turn to regrets, and second thoughts…

No. It was better to wait. Leave the main correspondence with Lizzy to their father. Though he had little time and patience for the creation of post, he selfishly enjoyed the receipt of letters more so. Lizzy knew that as much. It didn't take the absence of a fortnight before Mr. Bennet could write to his dear Lizzy. There was plenty information contained regarding the Hunsford parsonage, humourous feelings that he simply could not contain while waiting for her return. Except for letters coming from them, Mary did not expect any post to come for her. It had been some time now since her last submission to London. Regardless of all the encouragement to the contrary, enough rejections had formed a callous and a resistance to perseverance.

A light tapping knock was heard, bringing her back to the steamy bath room. Sarah tiptoed in, and parted the privacy screen.

"Are you doing well, Miss Mary?"

"Thank you, yes."

"The water is hot enough?"

"The water is perfect."

"How much longer, do you think, before you need a refresh?"

"I'd say… maybe thirty minutes. It's not too much trouble, is it?"

"No! Not at all," she gasped. "It'll only take ten minutes to warm up more water. Since I'm here, I thought I'd also tell you that the post has just come. The family has had another letter from Miss Elizabeth."

"Really?"

"Mr. Bennet has read it already. He mentioned there were some lines notated for you specifically, and asked that I pass it along. That's the first one."

"The first?"

"The other letter, or a packet, was actually delivered by hand. It might be two letters."

Her heart leapt. Captain Carter's colleague! A response!

"Thank you, Sarah! Will you pass me the hand towel please?"

Mary dried off her hands as best she could, ready to receive both. Once alone again, she debated which one to begin with, and not an easy decision. Hopefully, the packet would contain good news. Before that though, Lizzy's letter might give her an easy mind. She put the packet aside and took up her sister's first. Lizzy knew, and based on the language of the letter, there was little more to say after her first letter from Kent. No need to revisit the grandeur of Rosings Park, her ladyship's hospitality, and Charlotte's comfortable house. Of course, now that snow and wintry temperatures had gone, the grounds of the estate were lush and quite enticing for daily walks. That's about as much as she had to say on the subject. A letter had come to her from Jane, which she fancied, showed a depression of spirits. It gave her some discontent and an eagerness to retrieve Jane and come home, but that was a few weeks ahead of herself.

It was also mentioned that Lady Catherine's nephews had been to visit them, one a Colonel Fitzwilliam and the other, whom they were already acquainted with, Mr. Darcy. It rather puzzled and amused Lizzy to see Mr. Darcy in a family setting, to compare and contrast the family likeness, and speculating on the interests of Miss Anne de Bourgh. Lizzy seemed to laugh through her words: As for the daughter, a pale and sickly creature, a woman of little conversation and no talent, falls far short of Miss Bingley's notions of an accomplished woman. No doubt, she has been taught the best but in practice, there is nothing to show for it. While of course making due allowance for poor health, she contributes nothing to an evening's social enjoyment, nor makes her presence known, except whenever her mother speaks of her in conversation. Had Miss Bingley ever entertained such hopes, Mr. Darcy would be just as likely to marry her than his own relation. And a comfort to all of us in Meryton, he shows the same contemptuous indifference to his betrothed cousin that he shows to those beneath his station.

Mary read through the communal section. Her notated section at the end of the letter, read this way: Dear Mary, pray, may this letter find you well as much as the rest of the family. As to a conversation we had shortly before leaving, I'd like to elaborate on. While we stopped off in London to break our journey to Kent, I had an opportunity to speak privately with Aunt Gardiner. She and uncle have plans to travel to the Lakes in the course of the summer. They've included me in their plans, and I'm very much looking forward to it. When we've concluded this little holiday, my aunt wishes to escort me back to Longbourn, and wishes to extend the invitation to you, to return with them to London.

As they've had Jane for an extended stay, and do me a great favour with the invitation to the Lakes, they likewise wish to extend hospitality to all their nieces. It's more to their advantage, however, that we should not all leave Longbourn at once. I agreed that you would find much pleasure in their invitation. They will offer you much diversion through their own circle of acquaintances. It may be different than what you're accustomed to, mixing in larger and more diverse company. But it's her assurance you have much to benefit from this trip. When I return, I'll be able to give more detail.

And here, the notation left off, and her letter concluded with love and longing for her family and home. How very covert! In the case that Mrs. Bennet read Mary's portion of the letter, Lizzy wisely included no pertinent, real references. Lizzy knew full well how Mary felt about balls and parties, which would excite her younger sisters, but test the limits of forbearance. This had nothing to do with expanding her social circle and tasting the delights of the season. That her aunt assured her nieces that this trip would be of benefit to her indicated the real intention. Mrs. Bennet would've surely been outraged had she known that her dear brother's wife intended to arrange Mary a visit to a doctor. Peaceful relations between the Bennets and the Gardiners would've been rend asunder by such a betrayal.

This was a major relief. So good, she was now capable of opening the hand-delivered packet that contained two letters. A short note came from Captain Carter, while the other contained the message of his colleague, addressed exclusively to herself.

Dear Mary,

I'm happy to say at last, my colleague in town has responded. I've included his words to you, bound up in mine so as not to raise any alarm amongst observers. Lydia will perhaps draw other conclusions. Better that possibility than raising eyebrows with your mother and father. Given the sensitive nature of this inquiry, he has asked one thing of me, with serious emphasis. While I should be all too happy to be of use and offer my services, it's his professional opinion that you do not consult me on this health concern. That's a directive more to me than to yourself. I wholeheartedly agree. After all, I'm not an expert in this field. Though I have great interest to see this case through, I do not possess the credentials. I will not be making the same mistake as Mr. Jones.

His reasons for this directive are to serve as a protection, for you and for myself. Any treatment and diagnosis must be conducted in a clinical setting, especially due to your age and being under your parents' roof. There's nothing to stop you from consulting him directly. You do not need a parent or guardian for that, but for anything regarding treatment, as is the case with a surgery, they need signed and documented authorization.

If you wish to seek a consultation with himself, I will see what I can do about arranging it. I'll warn you, though, he is in high demand; getting a consultation may mean scheduling months in advance. That is one reason my mother was discouraged from seeking his help for poor Amelia. If any other qualified physicians could be recommended, I can ask that of him too. Let me know hear your wishes next time we meet. Without further delay, I present Dr. Reis and his pre-assessment.

Putting Captain Carter's note aside, Mary hastily tore into the enclosed letter.

Dear Madam,

This letter is in receipt of an inquiry from my good friend and former student, L. Carter. Be assured that I wish to honour your wishes and hold to the highest standards of professional confidence. It was brought to my attention that you've been suffering from a chronic, painful complaint for many years. It's also my understanding you have never received the opinion nor undergone examination by a physician. It is my first and primary concern that this situation should be remedied and receive urgent attention.

Your primary symptom, the painful cramps of the monthly cycles, are not uncommon. Women suffering from this fatigue and pain are often advised to use hot compresses, hot baths, and sometimes add salts to the bathwater. One good reason that many sufferers will make a trip to Bath, if possible, and take the waters. There are a number of public bathhouses in town to serve the same purpose. Proper hydration also plays a part. A lack of water is bound to cause cramping and distress for the muscles and internal organs. These measures are also assisted by common tonics prescribed by the local apothecary.

When the usual measures prove ineffective, you are right to be concerned. Something is not quite right. Some internal disorders can cause such symptoms as heavier bleeding, abnormal and high levels of pain, fatigue and lethargy, headaches, nausea and vomiting, fainting, as well as other symptoms. Sometimes, these disorders to resolve on their own. Some women do see improvement following childbirth, and with age. But that's merely one possibility. I'm not inclined to think your solution is as simple as watching and waiting. For if that were the case, you would not be at the point of using laudanum to treat the pain. For which, I am very sorry the pain is so unbearable. There are some other possible causes of more serious nature. Since you're not a patient at this time, and without an examination, it's no good to speculate and cause needless alarm.

Until a decision is made, take what measures you can now to alleviate pain and fatigue. Take a little exercise when you possibly can. During the onset and throughout your monthly cycle, I advise beef tea. I've also seen for myself, as well as heard from midwives in the country, that cranberry or elderberry with nettle has helped to ease some pain as well as reduce bleeding. If you're hearing from others around you, that you look very pale, and if you're feeling faint as well, it's possible this condition may be causing anemia. That, in itself, is also still undergoing research. These particular measures can help fortify a weak constitution.

According to yourself and Captain Carter, you are seeing some improvement with nausea. Stick with that regiment, whatever that helps give relief. Take the laudanum only as strictly needed, which seems like you do already. I'm sure you've been made aware, and I'll emphasize myself, to not rely on it implicitly. In the wrong hands, used in heavy doses, over a period of time will do irreparable harm to your health. An accidental dose, in high enough quantity, may prove deadly.When you are in need of it, keep to the proper dosage, and keep to bed. Move as little as you can, rest as much as you can, and wait at least eight hours before the next dose. Do not exceed –mL in a day. The sooner you can be helped, the sooner you can dispense with this method, the better!

I hope this little bit of information will be helpful to you. I will await Captain Carter's response. If you wish to come to London and undergo examination, I'll be glad to be of service if I possibly can. While I'm completely confident in my former student and trust his intuition, let me also recommend this. Though a fully accredited physician, and respected surgeon to the –shire regiment, he does not have the experience and expertise, at this time, in this field of medicine. This kind of conversation and any physical examinations must happen in a clinical setting. It's best to have your signed consent to any practices and methods involved. I also like to have another woman present, a nurse and assistant, for the sake of transparency on my part. Of course, any country doctor could do the same in the comfort of your own home, but you're not going to get the answers you need.

If you would rather seek out your own physician, or if I cannot due to time and full schedule assist you more immediately, I may also recommend another physician or clinic here in town if that is your wish. Please, do not wait too long to act. In the meantime, I wish you the best of health.

Your humble servant, madam,

~F. Reis

"Good morning, Mr. Wickham!"

Since Mr. Denny was to be found outside the baker's, it was correct to assume his handsome friend would not be far away. Lydia could not have been caught at a better time. For such a misty, gray morning, her peach-coloured frock rendered her glowing. With the additions of Kitty's old floral and cherry straw bonnet, and a bushel of flowers in hand, she fancied her appearance most charming. Mr. Wickham had turned from the counter with common neighbourly good humour.

"Good morning, Miss Lydia."

"What a nice surprise to start the morning. What do you do here?"

"I'm waiting on an order for Mrs. Forster. I'm her page boy today," he commented, which of course, was laughable. "Just some loaves of bread, and for herself, a little box of gooseberry tarts."

"Of course. Dear Mrs. Forster! I told her last time we were here: don't try the tarts! What did she do? She sampled and now she's spoiled for life. I tell her she'll never find such good pastries anywhere else in the country."

"Well, that would seem to be the case," he shrugged. "And what brings you here? And what lovely roses."

"Aren't they darling! Papa and my sisters take such pride in them. Mama asked that I take some along this morning. We're on our way to visit Mrs. Doyle. She's been ill these last few weeks. Mama thought some blooms and pastry would cheer her right up."

The baker approached and requested her order. At first, she wanted strawberries, but it was still early in the year. They had no strawberries yet. A compromise was made upon plum puffs, a dozen of them.

"Have you ever had the plum puffs? Exquisite!" promised Lydia.

"Really? Well… Mr. Finley, Mr. Finley?" The baker had disappeared from view, but Miss Finley, his blond and green-eyed daughter, came in her father's place.

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Wickham. My father will be back shortly. He's got his hands full back there with six other orders. May I be of service?" she asked sweetly. For this was obviously not the first acquaintance. Lydia noted the flicker of her long lashes, and the mild dimple and blush in her milk-white complexion.

"Sorry to trouble you, Miss Finley. I hate to bother and add to my order, but Miss Bennet has persuaded me to try out a plum puff. Perhaps, two. Will you take one?"

"Oh, dear Wickham, yes I'd love one!"

"… Shall I add it to your bill, or will you be paying?" Miss Finley seemed to fidget in the task of asking so uncomfortable a question.

"Oh, I'm afraid you must charge it to my bill today. I hate to importune you or your father for such kind extensions. But I shall be able to completely settle it by the end of the week."

She chuckled. Having cleared that matter, she about gathering the puffs from under the display window. "I do not like to press people. It's the one part of my work I detest, Mr. Wickham."

"Business is business, Miss Finley," he assured her. "Don't treat me any differently from your other clients… You did charge the bread and dozen tarts to the Forsters' account, am I correct?"

"Oh yes! Father should be finishing up with it in a moment or two. How do you do this morning, Miss Lydia?"

With neither hostility or cordiality: "Very well, thank you Miss Finley. My sister and I are off early to visit Mrs. Doyle." As if a tradesman's daughter cared about her errand, but Mr. Wickham kept his amusement to himself.

"Speaking of her, where is your sister? I thought you two were bound together," he teased.

"She's outside now. There! She's talking with Denny. Silly thing! She's violently in love with him, but pray, don't tell him that. She will never forgive me for telling her secrets."

"No fear."

Mr. Finley returned from the back of the store with all of Mrs. Forster's order, packed into a used up but clean flour sack. He warned the tarts were on bottom. When the puff pastries were spotted in a separate box, skeptical eyes shot on Mr. Wickham. His good morning turned out curt, and his daughter felt the tension of it.

"End of the week, Mr. Finley, I'll settle my account."

"Mr. Wickham, it would be-"

"Father please, it's quite alright! Just a couple little plum puffs."

Before the man could argue much, his daughter interrupted any criticism and soothed her father's ruffled feathers. To which service, Mr. Wickham was much obliged, and expressed his gratitude with a wink when her father had been turned the other way. Miss Finley's soft lilting laugh almost undid the shaky transaction; for neither the baker or Lydia took the exchange as merely neighbourly. As soon as they were outside, Mr. Wickham passed Lydia their treats.

"Shall you have yours now or later?"

"What was that about? Flirting with Miss Finley?"

"Oh, she's just being nice. I'm thankful she helped us. Her father does not look kindly on my use of credit. I'm not the only one either."

"Imagine if Mary King had seen that," retorted Lydia. "Can just imagine what she would say."

Too late did she speak and not think that her teasing would actually hurt. Mr. Wickham went quiet and pale, grasping for how to respond to such a lighthearted reprimand. The best he could manage for the moment was to move toward the alcove, with his load and the box of pastries, suggesting they sit to eat them.

"Oh no, that was thoughtless of me, dear Wickham," sighed Lydia, dropping to the bench beside him. "I'm so very, very sorry. I know how much it must hurt you. Even if… even though she was not the woman of your dreams, that was a cruel ordeal to undergo."

"I'm trying not to dwell on it." Their box was opened, and they began on the puffs. "You mustn't mind me. It's a blow, but it'll pass. I am sorry to know she'd gone away with a broken heart."

"Indeed… Do you suppose you two will ever see each other again?"

"I don't think so. The way things stand now. Any reunion or renewals are out of the question. Mr. King does not want me for a nephew. That's been made perfectly clear."

"How monstrous of him! Everybody has been talking what a cold-hearted business it was, how he sallied in, broke off the engagement, ordered around the Barnes' and Miss King, then snatches her away to put her in a school in Liverpool."

"I don't say he was entirely to blame."

"Oh?"

"Many people don't know this, and if you'll keep this to yourself—I'll admit, that it was not all Mr. King's doing. The one who really dissolved the engagement was Miss King herself."

"What!"

"Yes. I credit him for persuading her to dissolve it, but regardless of his will, she gave into it. Had she still wished to marry, I'd have gladly followed her to Liverpool. But in the end… I don't know how sensible a marriage it would've been. If she was so easily persuaded… It's a far cry from that ideal woman I've told you about before, isn't it?"

"Just so! I wish not to speak ill of her, poor girl, but that is simply unforgivable, not keeping her promise especially. I would not be persuaded so easily when it comes to the man I love. No woman in her senses would be talked out of it. Really, I don't mean to be unkind. I'm sure you wouldn't wish me to abuse her so."

"It is nice to have someone to talk to about it," he shrugged. "My fellow officers are great men, but they lack that tenderness and sympathy that gives a disappointed man real comfort."

"Dear Wickham, I am just pleased beyond anything, to think I can be of comfort."

"Mostly, I feel sorry for her, for the heartache she's suffered, but there are moments, I confess, to feel my own ill-usage more than her own."

"Why naturally!"

"I don't say I blame her, but perhaps, it's all for the best. How happy should we have been? There were times, even during our engagement, when it became clear that our temperaments and values were not so compatible. She'd not have been happy with camp life. Mrs. Forster is quite the exception in that regard. It takes a very particular kind of woman to be capable of making her home anywhere, and be content all the while."

"Lord, we were all rather surprised when the engagement was announced. I think everyone saw the same things you noticed. Two people ill-suited, even with ten thousand pounds, will not get along well in marriage."

He stiffened. "Of course, that was not my primary object, Lydia."

"… I wouldn't be so sure of that," she giggled. "I think many girls would not resist the temptation or opportunity, to be made rich by marriage." This relaxed the tension, but it was unusual, admittedly. "That perhaps sounds coarse of me, but that is the ultimate goal on both sides, is it not? For richer, not poorer."

"Honest, indeed."

"But what does it matter now? You've had a happy escape."

"Yes." He nodded, not the least offended. Affirmation was all the evidence required to settle Lydia's mind of worries. There was no heartbreak, no grief, and therefore, no need to be fussy about friendship and flirtation anymore. His engagement dictated that any admiration and affection for him must be tempered, for as not to incite jealousy in the woman. "Well, let's talk no more about it. We have only a few weeks left."

"I heartily agree. We shall be merry and keep your in merry spirits while the regiment still remain in Meryton."

Mr. Denny and Kitty had been entirely forgotten in that brief time. It was a happy thing for Kitty to be so distracted by Mr. Wickham to have uninterrupted, uncontested time to make conversation with anyone, especially for so handsome an officer. Of course, maybe some small thanks was owed to Mr. Chamberlayne for being the first to pay his compliments. He gave her distinction over her younger sister. Yet, the lad was not so handsome and charming to hold interest long. Mr. Denny balanced such qualities, to the satisfaction of a sister's pride.

When the pair of them realized they were standing too long, Mr. Denny called out to his friend, and the four of them formed the idea of going to Mrs. Doyle's house together. The girls' errand would be brief, then they'll politely dismiss themselves to call on Aunt Phillips. Such scheme suited both sisters perfectly, delighted to receive their own preferences, to each their own, in their aunt's parlour. There was Mrs. Forster's little party to be talked over and planned. What shall they do for charades? How many and who would be invited? Were the Forsters going to need the assembly rooms, or shall they use the inn?

"The assembly rooms will suit plenty well for dancing, naturally," assumed Mrs. Phillips. "The inn is smaller, you'll find. Parties cannot grow quite as large as the assemblies. You cannot have all the musicians and dancing in that gallery. But it is more cozy. They can convert the mess hall into a card-room just as easily as the other."

"But you're forgetting, Aunt," reminded Kitty, "the little stage and curtain."

"Very good reason why it's a perfect place for everyone's charade! I so look forward to seeing what all our friends come up with," bubbled Lydia. "Won't you both join the fun?"

"Absolutely not!" insisted Mr. Denny. "For this party is in our honour, forced to depart from Hertfordshire. I say, Wickham, we leave it to the locals to provide the amusement."

"I'm tempted both ways."

"For shame!" Both the Bennet girls protested.

"It's just as much fun to be part of the actors than one of the audience," argued Lydia. "Too bad that not all my sisters are returned to Longbourn yet. We could all do a jolly, little skit."

"You'll not find everyone is as sorry sports as we are," teased Wickham. "Actually, there are a number of officers that would be glad to take part in the charades. I heard Chamberlayne has a talent for many voices and impressions."

"Oh, really!"

"Will there be any costumes involved?" asked Mrs. Phillips.

"Oh, there must be," replied Kitty. "There are some skits and charades that couldn't be acted properly without it, and without costumes, it makes it very difficult for spectators to guess the scene and characters."

"Have you any characters in mind?"

Of all the figures entertained, most of them were royal: the Tudor dynasty, Marie Antoinette and the French court, even Napoleon—though it would be in poor taste. Mr. Wickham suggested profiles from the works of Shakespeare. Perhaps, a little too far-fetched and above the heads of girls who had never read a single one of his plays. In the midst of discussions about the costumes, a wild and fantastic idea popped into Lydia's face, showing in her gasp and sudden outburst of laughter. When asked about it, she whispered into Kitty's ear, but refused to give away any hints to the rest.

Since the inn, if such were settled on, would be too crowded for dining as well as dancing, Mrs. Phillips made the offer to host Mrs. Forster's guests in her parlour for dining. Then, once everyone had their fill of good dinner and wine, they were free to tramp on over to the inn across the street for the charades and the dancing. This would be a delightful send-off for the regiment.

In latter days, when Lizzy and Jane did return, they would come to hear of that evening. It would haunt them in their sleep, though having never been present. Mrs. Forster's little party came to pass a few nights following, and the wife of the colonel found Mrs. Phillips' additional plan most agreeable. It was not in the power of the Forsters to feed and entertain the whole regiment over at the inn, only a select number. This was agreeable to the size of Mrs. Phillips' parlour. Those dining were kept to a smaller number, and those who wished to dance over at the inn and enjoy the skits and charades were heartily welcomed.

Lydia shared her secret with Mrs. Forster, and the young women were united in a little scheme to introduce the charades, a sort of teaser. Kitty and Lydia spent the day with Mrs. Forster. The Harrington sisters were asked, but Harriet was ill, and so Pen was forced to come by herself. Except for the Bennet girls, Mrs. Forster, and Mrs. Phillips, everyone else present was ignorant of the scheme. They waited for some of the men and other friends to be admitted; among them, Denny, Wickham, and Pratt, as well as two or three others... They'd just taken a light supper. By then, Chamberlayne was issued by a separate door into the parlour, dressed in a gown borrowed from Mrs. Phillips'. He'd been declared to look very well and convincing; not only that, but his talent for voices also had uncanny resemblance to a lady. With a cap and some false curls, he came off as a dowdy matron of middle age.

The monologue of his own invention, complaining of gout and talking of his presentation at court in the same breath, did not last very long before Lydia and Mrs. Forster began to die for want of breath. All fellow officers realized something was amiss, but his real undoing was the fault of Wickham, who inquired as to the identity of the lady. Chamberlayne turned and faced him, sneering proudly: "You of all people ought to know me, scoundrel! I am the right honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh!" Mr. Wickham roared and nearly broke into tears laughing himself. And his brother officers, alike, were enjoying it a good deal.

The reactions of the room varied widely, from laughter, to howls and cat-calls, to raised eyebrows and some grimaces. Mrs. Phillips seemed to feel a pang of conscience, when Lady Catherine was mockingly presented to this audience. Yet, she too found herself laughing, anxiously. Mr. Collins was not far from her mind; what an odd, silly man, to have once sat in this same parlour, filling face and soul with chocolate muffin. The reaction to this scene would've produced a charade of his own, a reenactment of Moses smashing the ten commandments. Full of betrayal and righteous indignation against this revelry, against herself, she could well imagine. How ironic he once stood in this room, praising it as resembling a small, summer breakfast room at Rosings. The memory made her ears tingle, just as much as the hysterical laughs echoing around her.

Having now delivered his part, Chamberlayne removed the cap and wig, then bowed to a zealous round of applause.

"Without further introductions, ladies and gentleman, you've had a small taste of the promises this evening. Promises of great fun, mystery and puzzling things to come! Follow me if you dare! Charades, scenes, costume, and dancing! To the Rose & Crown!"

He sallied out, sashaying, with one hand holding up enough skirt to run, with all the ladies and gentlemen alike trailing close behind, crowding the stairwell as so many bodies sailed down. For Lydia and Kitty could only wish it would never end for the rest of their lives.

I've always wondered, during this episode, why Mrs. Phillips never came under fire?

In one of Dr. Octavia Cox's videos, she talked about the common practice of "lines under the words." I never knew about that until I watched it. You had common, communal sections for the whole family, then you had parts that were strictly for one person, which was often specified and underlined. It's often used later with Lydia. Honestly, I feel like this might be a risky business. Do you trust the whole family not to read the personal part of the letter? But maybe if you were limited for time and funds for the post, it was probably more practical to do this. (Just my guess).

Sorry for the long chapter. I feel like I should've snipped somewhere in the middle to make another one, but anyway, it's done. To sullhach and nanciellen, thank you for your reviews of last chapter, and sharing your personal brewing preferences. May you always have a good 20 minute break for your shot of espresso, because 10 is just never enough! My poison is an americano, a little half-n-half foam on top.