Thank you so much for reviews last chapter. Before I start, let me respond first. I had no idea the last update was going to spark the comments it did. Some are outright hating on Lizzy and Jane, others defending them, someone saying yes Lizzy should've married Mr. Collins!
To Knitting Princess: Your take on Jane was interesting. Though honestly, and most respectfully, I disagree that she plays the martyr. Now, Mrs. Bennet, totally a different story. Actually, I'd say Mrs. Bennet has some narcissistic tendencies. Playing the victim is one of the classic hallmarks, and she does it all too well. They live in an altered reality. In their own minds, they are completely innocent, and if you try to hold them accountable for their actions, they deny it, they lie, they cry, they rant, and they will flip the tables and blame you. You are the one being cruel, it's all your fault... So at first, I read that passage thinking why are Mary and Kitty not helping Jane shoulder the burden? But there could be a reason. I think it more likely Jane was probably shielding them both from their mother, not trying to build up herself.
To Cindy: I think they do have a lot in common. Mary, as we've been told, was always into the study of human nature through her studies. To Colleen and other guests: If you're thinking that Lizzy should have defended herself, you're right, but that's really a hard thing to do: to tell someone you did wrong, when you're guilty of it yourself. Don't worry though...
To Sunflower: I really try not to, falling into the Mary-Sue trap. Hopefully this chapter will be satisfying, without being over the top.
Chapter 31
Kitty returned that evening in sore straits. For she had walked into Meryton, her first opportunity of doing so since the news of Lydia's elopement. The Harrington sisters were in her thoughts, and to spend an hour or two in their parlour might relieve the fretfulness and lowly spirits. She knocked at the door of the house, ready to be admitted readily by the maid. As soon as either herself or Lydia was heard, Harriet and Pen raced from the parlour to greet them and pull them inside, practically trampling the poor maid. Today, she was met by a cool and somber face. The maid declared that the family were occupied at present, and request not to be disturbed. It would've been nothing, except Kitty caught sight of their faces in the parlour window. Both girls looked apologetic and sorrowful, peaking through the curtains. Mrs. Harrington caught them, which caused the girls to step away. Her hand pulled the chord and drew the drapes closed.
It was a memorable scene in Kitty's young life. Gossip had spread already. Discerning between the cold looks, the low whispers, and polite refusals, Kitty suddenly learned the difference between friends and associates. No kind greetings in the street were to be found. The only one to acknowledge her presence in public had been the rector of Longbourn church, though chilly enough. Mrs. Phillips alone opened her door to her. One look into her niece's eyes told a whole story without words.
"Aunt Phillips has perhaps been the first to offer a kind word since Lydia went away. Not that I'm forgetting you, Jane. But all our neighbours... I stopped at Lucas Lodge on my way home. Lady Lucas did come downstairs to receive me, but she informed me that Maria was out and would not be back for some time."
"I'm sure she wouldn't be so unkind," replied Jane. "When news first was heard in Meryton, she visited quietly to offer herself or her daughters their services."
"She was not unkind, but she made it clear I was not to see Maria today."
"This is a most unfortunate affair. It will probably be much talked of," said Mary. "But we must stem the tide of malice, and pour into each other's wounded bosoms, the balm of sisterly consolation." She spoke to Kitty, but indirectly to Lizzy, who was in her peripheral. Countenance was calm, and she was mistress enough of herself not to be thoughtless. Perceiving no inclination for replying, Mary added: "Unhappy as the event must be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful lesson: that loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable; that one false step involves her in endless ruin; that her reputation is no less brittle than it is beautiful. Therefore, one cannot be too guarded in her behaviour towards the undeserving of the other sex."
Elizabeth lifted her eyes in amazement, but was too much oppressed to make any reply. Nervously exchanged glances passed between Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner.
"Mary, I think that may go without saying," sighed Jane, rather tiredly. "Will you please pass the rolls?"
"I do not wonder at it. It's a sorry thing to be treated so, Kitty, but these are the consequences. We all must suffer, just as Lydia."
"Must?" retorted Kitty. "Why is that fair? I was not the one to have run away. Mrs. Harrington had such a black look in her eye as she closed the curtain. Must suffer? Are you saying you are happy to suffer ostracism?"
"Certainly not, Kitty. I mean—"
"After all, a son is not to have the sins of his father held against him; nor shall a father bear the sins of the son," remarked Lizzy. "But society falls short in that regard. Yes Kitty, it is most unfair. What I believe Mary means to say is that we all must, in that we are all forced, to suffer."
Mary might console herself with such kind of moral extractions from the evil before them. Clearly, though, they were not welcome at the dinner table. Feeling rather offended, she responded in self-defense: "I only meant to impart a moral lesson to Kitty."
"Mary," bid Mrs. Gardiner, with warning in her voice, "you need not worry about the moral. Everyone at this table is suffering here, not just yourself. The minced pies are getting cold."
Mrs. Gardiner effectively silenced any pending turbulence. Mary was thwarted, but the hint was taken this time. The family passed their meal in peace.
Mr. Gardiner left for London the following morning, staying only long enough for the arrival of the morning post. A letter from Mr. Bennet was expected daily, and not surprising when another day passed of his failing to write. He'd always been known as a negligent correspondent. With that day, and the next to pass, the girls hoped that his lack of correspondence was due to a lack of news and not something worse. Since he had failed to trace their coach from Epsom, he was now searching every major hotel and inn that might have been their temporary shelter until lodgings were secured. Lizzy dreaded the thought of the slums, the dark doorsteps, and the poorly lit street corners her father would be going to make his inquiries.
It had been the original plan for all the Gardiners to return home, but the state of Mrs. Bennet's health concerned Mrs. Gardiner enough to keep her and the children at Longbourn a few days more. The hot weather only exacerbated symptoms: the spasms in her side, pains in her head, and fluttering heart. If she did not hear good news soon, she declared these attacks would bring her to her deathbed. Jane's own health also weighed on her mind of their aunt, and so desired to give relief. Now that Lizzy had also returned, Jane had better support in her mother's care. The best that Mr. Jones could offer were in the way of sedatives. Despite testimony from the 'patient' that she got no rest either night or day, Mr. Jones' sleeping tonic told a different story.
As for the rest of the house, body and mind turned sluggish. There was fog outside during the morning hours, before the sun rose. It seemed to linger, however, in their bedchamber, in the drawing room, and the dining room. All of the house was quiet, but not tranquil. Letters came and went from their Uncle Gardiner, inquiring for more information about Mr. Wickham. Lizzy responded as quickly as she might to each bit of news, no matter how bleak. Enough time had passed to suffice that, should Wickham and Lydia really have eloped to Gretna Green, they'd have heard from them by now. Staring in the face of logic crushed Jane's and Kitty's optimism. Kitty so depended on a piece of good news, anything that might absolve her.
Mary did not allow her studies and hands to rest. Her quarrels and falling-out with people around her did not keep her from her routine, except for her practice on the piano. Hours and hours of reading served to keep the mind occupied, away from the arrival of the post, away from the tribulation before them. By so doing, she adeptly kept herself out of the mire of gloom that Kitty had fallen into; as nobody could give comfort, it must be sought within herself. Perhaps the only thing Mary was incapable of feeling was the disappointment of the post. Each day, everyone longed to hear from their Uncle Gardiner or their father. For some reason, impossible to fathom, she curiously thumbed through the mail looking for a letter from Captain L. Carter. After five days of unfulfilled expectation, Mary promised herself to look for no more letters from him. It was all foolishness. It would have come to this in all eventuality. He would become another Mr. Bingley.
"Lizzy!" cried Kitty one morning. "This is extraordinary. A letter from Mr. Collins."
Thankfully, Mrs. Bennet was too indisposed to hear the reading of it. All four daughters were quietly attending to their mother, who was insensible in her medicated sleep. Jane read it aloud, rather sorry to do so. Mr. Collins wrote to offer his condolences on the suffering of all Mr. Bennet's family. His shepherding of wounded sheep, as was his calling and obligation, was a sheering. This was too great an evil, a disgrace which no time could remove. How it stung them all to hear that the death of their sister should've been deemed a blessing in comparison. Jane's voice shook upon reading that sentence. Rubbing deeper and deeper the salt into the wound, his lofty neighbour had been fully apprised of the family scandal. Lady Catherine offered no better words of wisdom.
"And this consideration leads me moreover to reflect, with augmented satisfaction," Jane continued on, horrified, "on a certain event of last November. For had it been otherwise, I must have been involved in all your sorrow and disgrace. Let me then advise you, dear sir, to console yourself as much as possible, to throw off your unworthy child from your affection forever, and leave her to reap the fruits of her own heinous offense."
"Insufferable man!" hissed Lizzy.
Mary heard the whole letter with the most unhappy amazement. Everyone had a share in these feelings, but for herself, having once professed a preference and respect for him, felt words incapable of expressing the shame of it. How humble and kindly he had treated them when he first came. The man rejoices that Lizzy had refused his proposal, as could practically be described as 'rejoicing in unrighteousness.'
"Shall you leave it for Father when he comes home?" asked Kitty.
"I have to," sighed Jane. "I was ordered to open all post in his name."
This directive need not be heeded long; days later, word came from Mr. Gardiner that Mr. Bennet was returning, on the very day. Summer rains appeared the day before turning the roads back to mire. Some parts of Meryton were impassable for carts and carriages. By the time Mr. Bennet returned, about two o'clock in the afternoon, his breeches and boots were muddied. His coach got stuck in a deep rut in the road five miles away; five miles, give or take, that he gladly walked. Quite the sight he was for the servants who had watched his slow, wounded stride down the drive. His hat ruined. His exposed hair thoroughly wet.
"Not now, Jane. Not now, Lizzy." His greeting upon returning home. Their pitying faces full of questions and worries, ready to demand the whereabouts of the carriage. For his arrival would proceed the vehicle by over an hour, which delivered his sparse luggage.
"Let me at least take your coat," said Lizzy, grabbing the lapels from behind. His arms sunk out of the sleeves. "I'll have tea ordered."
"No, no. Brandy, please."
"Of course."
Mr. Bennet mindlessly walked straight for the library, forgetting to even remove his soiled soles. Upon Mr. Hill's declaration, he had never observed the master in so shocking a state, as he took him a tray with a decanter of brandy and single glass. All the household left him alone for a few hours. Some time in the library with a good blaze in the hearth would restore him sufficiently. Mrs. Bennet heard the news with little satisfaction; for though she was spared the frightful suspense of being made a widow by a duel with Mr. Wickham, it was a blow to have him return without Lydia or any success in getting her married. No small task when she was not to be found.
Mary and Kitty kept to the drawing room, unable to do much more than Lizzy or Jane. Their mother was sleeping better, which allowed them to leave her alone for a few hours at a time. Mr. Jones had not forsaken his best 'patient' entirely. Such a thought brought recollections to mind of a most painful nature. Most girls would've discarded all letters, notes, tokens, anything that reminded them of dead affections. She had not once taken them back out from her green tin box to peruse them, not since he last left Longbourn.
Blessed are the merciful; for they shall obtain mercy…
Therefore if thou bring thy gift to the alter, and there rememberest that thy brother hath ought against thee;leave there thy gift before the altar, and go thy way. First be reconciled to they brother, and then come and offer thy gift..
Mary's reading of the Sermon on the Mount offered no solace, not so this time. Instead of being a balm to the soul, such passages glared back. Sun glare in a looking-glass.
Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again...
Mary closed up her personal volume of scripture, with anxious longing for the piano. It had been nearly two weeks now since she last played anything. Rain had begun to patter on the window once more. All the world outside looked so dark blue and stark. Kitty was at the window seat with her needlework, while Lizzy and Jane tended to their own at the table. Lizzy even kept a book open before her, alternating her eyes between the needle point and the page. Afternoon and evening merged so closely together. Dinner had been forgotten almost entirely. Their appetites were all deprived.
Finally, Mr. Bennet emerged from the library to join them. A chair had been left vacant by the fire, which welcomed his less haggard frame. Brandy had restored him better than tea. At some point, his muddy garments had been dispensed with, and he looked a bit more like his old self.
"Well Jane, Elizabeth… Mary, Kitty… How does all go here?"
"We're well enough," replied Jane.
"I wish I could say it's nice to be home… I suppose you're all apprised of your uncle Gardiner's letters?" All his girls nodded. "Colonel Forster said it would probably take more than a thousand pounds to clear all his debts, if he can be traced. I almost fear to learn another creditor will grab him first. No marriage will take place if he's in a debtor's prison. But at this point…"
"I'm so sorry, Papa," said Lizzy. "You look so tired. Can hardly imagine what you've suffered."
"Say nothing of that. Who should suffer but myself? It has been my own doing, and I ought to feel it."
"You must not be so severe upon yourself."
"You may well warm me against such an evil. Human nature is so prone to fall into it!" Mary blushed. For all her extracts on human nature, she no longer felt herself an authority. "No, Lizzy, let me for once in my life feel how much I have been to blame. I am not afraid of being overpowered by the impression. It will pass away soon enough."
"Do you suppose them to be in London?"
"Yes; where else can they be so well concealed?"
"And Lydia used to want to go to London," added Kitty.
"She is happy then," shrugged her father, "and her residence there will probably be of some duration."
What happened next, pierced the injured sister through the heart, not the victim but the offender. Mary saw Mr. Bennet rise from his seat, approach Elizabeth, take her hand, and drop a kiss to the top of her head.
"Lizzy, I bear you no ill-will for being justified in your advice to me last May, which, considering the event, shows some greatness of mind."
Mary's reading had come to the passage in chapter twelve: But if ye had known what this meaneth, I will have mercy, and not sacrifice, ye would not have condemned the guiltless. And it was felt, very hard, very deeply.
"How is your mother?"
"I must take her tea," replied Jane. "She's been very poorly. Mr. Jones has prescribed a sleeping draught. She's been able to sleep through the night now, and some during the day."
"This is a parade," he declared drolly, "which does one good; it gives such an elegance to misfortune! Another day I will do the same; I will sit in my library, in my nightcap and powdering gown, and give as much trouble as I can; or, perhaps, I I may defer it till Kitty runs away."
"I am not going to run away, Papa," she protested. "If I should ever go to Brighton, I would behave much better than Lydia."
Poor girl. Very ill-timed, mistaken choice of words. Up until then, their father had been rather sedate and exhausted. The effect was oil on an ember, and the flame ignited.
"You, go to Brighton? I wouldn't trust you so near it as Eastbourne for fifty pounds!" he avowed. "No, Kitty, I have at last learned to be cautious, and you will feel the effects of it. No officer is ever to enter into my house again, nor even to pass through the village! Balls will be absolutely prohibited, unless you stand up with one of your sisters. And you are never to stir out of doors till you can prove that you have spent ten minutes of every day in a rational manner."
Kitty, who took all these threats in a serious light, began to cry. Mary merely swallowed with difficulty. To such display, Mr. Bennet next approached Kitty at the window, with a gentle grasp on her shoulder. It did little to stop up the floodgates. For her whole world and all her views of happiness in it had been obliterated.
"Well, well, do not make yourself unhappy, my dear. If you are a good girl for the next ten years, I will take you to a review at the end of them."
Once opportunity afforded it, Mary ventured upstairs to undress and ready for bed. Kitty happily had not fled from her father's chastising words nor wore herself out crying into her pillow. Her hair she brushed rigorously, then set in a braid. Her face then washed in the hot water Sarah had brought up. Every ministration, sluggish. A headache was beginning to creep into her temples. All her studies, all her meditations upon them, whispered that the headache came from no physical cause.
With a knock at the door, Sarah was expected to request anything further of the girls before leaving them for the night. Very surprisingly, Mary bid come in and admitted Lizzy. She slipped in the door in her nightgown and shawl, hair braided, holding a book close. Mary gasped at beholding Lydia's diary in her hand.
"Where did you get that?"
"I asked Kitty if I might read it," replied Lizzy. Her voice devoid of offense. "I've been reading through it these last couple of nights actually."
"She and I read it through in one night. Well, what do you make of it?"
Lizzy nodded. "It's been a real shock. I'm still confounded by all of it."
"Dear sister, I—"
"Mary, before you speak, I ask you let me speak first." Instead of watching through the vanity mirror, Mary turned in her chair for the full expression in her face. She was so changed in these last few months, even before the trip to Derbyshire. That common smile and lightness of countenance had gone out. "You were right. I paid particular attention to the last entry, and it has, indeed, opened my eyes. I can see now why you were so upset. I can understand your anger, and blaming me."
The diary was passed from Lizzy's hand to her sister's.
"I'm ashamed to think that my actions led my sister to feel justified in hers," she further confessed. "For I ought to have seen Wickham's behaviour for what it was, and curtailed the acquaintance forthwith."
Mary acknowledged the apology with a muted triumph. Her brows rose, a mild smile crossed her face, and she nodded.
"Thank you. I accept your apology, Lizzy…"
"However, I do have one thing to ask." The wind changed. "I admit, your opinions and your intuition was certainly more accurate than mine. You were right. But are you happy, in the fact you are right?"
"W-What?"
"Be truthful. In this situation, are you so happy being found in the right?"
"No. Of course not!"
"Would you not rather have been happier proven wrong? I would've been so glad to be proven wrong about Wickham, about Lydia, and their union. If he did the honourable thing and married her, I would've been glad to think, though an imprudent match, that he's not so worthless as I took him for, truly."
"That is more like Jane to believe that," sighed Mary.
"Your instinct was correct. You were right, but is that really reason to rejoice? Like you told Kitty at dinner one night, we all suffer under the same disgrace. You, the wisest of us all, endure the same as the least wise. So where is your satisfaction?"
"I don't know... if I would call it satisfaction."
"I could say otherwise. When we did quarrel on my first coming home, you were rather pleased with yourself. You seemed even triumphant for such a miserable situation… You had a good deal to say without full knowledge of all the facts. But without trying to ascertain more, you were ready to preach and reprove. Now, you've recently had an exhibition of Mr. Collins' character in his last letter to our father. Does your opinion still hold the same? Do you still wish I had married him? or wish that you had married him yourself?"
"No."
"Do you still hold the opinion my refusal was selfish?"
"No… I am sorry for that."
"It's ironic, Mary," Lizzy laughed humourlessly. "Lydia has proven herself a selfish creature, a thankless daughter and sister. She was before this elopement. I've observed, between yourself and Kitty, years of ill-treatment from her. She would insult you, call you names, steal your allowance money if she could, and looks down on you. And it's very clear, by what she wrote in her diary, she is very proud of herself. Leaving this behind was no accident. I'm very sure she left her diary behind because she wanted it returned to us. She wants us all to know her adventures and exploits, and to envy her. And yet, the great irony is you are more upset with me than you are her!"
Tears welled up, but she felt frozen, frozen but full of fire all at once.
"I'm sorry, Lizzy. I did not mean to injure you so, and I wish… I wish I could take back what I had said to you."
Lengthy pause got the heart racing. Lizzy's lip curled inward, debating the subject. When the tongue released, the gentle tone broke bones. "What about Captain Carter?" Lizzy inquired.
"I-I beg your pardon?"
"Mary, I know all about you and Captain Carter."
"How could you possibly know?"
"Both Jane and I knew he was writing to you, ever since the –shire decamped from Hertfordshire. Even before that, we observed his presence, his frequent visits here at Longbourn, and we all know he wasn't here for Lydia or Kitty… What happened, Mary?"
"… He was the one to deliver Colonel Forster's express from Brighton. He knows all about Lydia's scandal."
"What did he have to say?"
"Nothing at all. Nothing." No response was forthcoming. Lizzy saw quickly how incapable she was of response. Mary stood up, went for her bed, and for the green tin box below the bed skirt. She pulled out the letters, with the instant intention, now decided, on discarding them to the hearth.
"Did he stop writing to you?" Mary nodded. "Did he break it off?" Her head shook, to which Lizzy only blinked astonished. "You broke it off?"
"Oh Lizzy, please! I don't wish to talk about it," demanded Mary. She gathered all the letters to her arms, but "It was all just foolishness anyway. Just as well it's over now!"
"Captain Carter was no fool."
"It doesn't matter as well, since Papa will never admit another officer in this house again!"
"I can't say I disagree with him, but he's not just another redcoat."
"He used to be a gamester! Just like Wickham! He even told me so! I credit him for honesty, but he had to be a gamester to win back money Lydia and Kitty lost. Who knows what else he's done and does not reveal! If I… If I… really did cherish anything more, more than common friendship, I'm just as blind and more foolish than my younger sisters. I must choose either not to think about past sins, or I must accept them. How can I turn my back on everything I believe in?"
"Mr. Wickham is not every officer, Mary… If you care to know what I think, of all the men in the regiment, I rather liked him. I thought he was very kind."
Sinking to the edge of her bed, Mary finally lost all hold on herself. She wept, and cried like she never had in her life before. The face crumpled, and despite a hand on the mouth, it did not muffle the painful sobs that spasmed out.
"Oh Lizzy! Oh Lizzy, I was perfectly horrid!" she howled. "All the things I said to him! He was so good to me… He knew about my ill-health too! He urged me to seek a doctor in London, even found a doctor to correspond with me. He brought the mint plant for me… He was a good man, for all that… He offered to be of service to us… I sent him away. I basically told him I'd rather never see him again! Why keep it up the illusion of 'one day' about our attachment, with our family and the situation we're now in? And I abused him so… so unkind, ungrateful. He was so hurt… so angry. I know I'll never see him again. I can't even tell him that I'm sorry!"
Before she'd even finished, Lizzy had untangled all the letters from her sister's arms, and replaced them with her own self. Trembling through tears, throbbing through sobs, Mary collapsed into the solid embrace. There were no attempts to hush or calm down. Aside from the dampness of her own face, Mary felt a wet trickle against her left temple. Her sister's own tears. For some minutes, both of them held each other tightly. Unbeknownst to them, a third, Kitty, had also been reduced to tears, whose reflection they did not see in the mirror, just poking through the door. She discreetly backed away and closed the door.
Sorry, I'm about to go into book club mode and talk about the book itself. I can't help but feel sorry for a lot of the characters during this whole episode in P&P. Everybody is in the process of grieving. If Lydia was not discovered and married to Wickham, it's likely the family would never have seen her again. Disgrace was no different than like Mr. Collins said, the death of your daughter. In the novel, you see grieving reactions in all of them. In Mr. Bennet, Jane, and Lizzy, there's varying degrees of guilt for what they themselves could've done differently. Mrs. Bennet, obviously, is very depressed and absorbed in her grief, but she's also in that bartering and blaming stage of grief. Kitty, as the book says, has anger. I take that as one of two meanings. 1. She took a lot of heat from her parents, and/or 2. She has a lot of anger with herself, for having concealed their attachment. Very natural.
Mary has probably the most interesting reaction because she appears the most calm and composed in the book, almost unconcerned. That whole scene of moralizing with the family (which I never could understand in the book), I perceive it as shock and struggling to process the event, maybe attempting to self-soothe and comfort others but just lacking a bedside manner. Of course, I don't see her as unconcerned, and not to say that she's not angry or sad and blaming. In my last update, it may seem like Mary swung in the completely opposite direction, but this is how people act in grief.
Anyway, enough rambling, I hope that this and these next couple chapters will be satisfying. Thanks always for reading, your feedback, and following. Have a great day!