Chapter 7

"How is Mrs. Darcy? Is she well?"

Given the state of her sister's condition, Georgiana's concern passed for several days as something completely natural to Mary's hearing. Upon their return from an afternoon's outing or evening engagement, it was the first inquiry upon her lips when she entered the house. Of course, only Lizzy's maid would be the authority, but it struck Mary that Georgiana readily inquired of the first person to admit them in the house, which was normally the butler or one of the footmen. Why would they know, unless they had been sent to fetch a doctor during their absence?

Mr. Darcy had to wait a few days upon their arrival before Dr. Reis was available to pay a call on Lizzy. The girls had returned from paying a call on one of Georgiana's old friends. The young but middle-aged, and too mature for his forty years, doctor passed them in the foyer, giving Mary his warmest greetings with a professional remark of 'looking forward to seeing you soon.' Indeed, she had already fixed the day in a week and a half. Nothing in the doctor's face portrayed distress, which must be taken for a sign of good things to come. Mr. Darcy found them in the drawing room, at the piano, and delivered a good report.

"Dr. Reis is very confident, especially in Elizabeth's state of health," he commented.

"Really? So her state of health is nothing of concern?" asked Mary. "When Lizzy last wrote to me, she said your local physician expressed some concerns."

"That is true—just a precaution. Dr. Reis… is very confident, but he promises to be vigilant to any changes." That pause! Less than a second in duration, no alteration of expression or colour, still he paused. It was too long for Mary. Even more curious, Georgiana, for once, was taciturn.

Mary slipped in to visit her sister late in the afternoon, just shortly before her maid would arrive with a dinner tray. Aside from the obvious signs of pregnancy, nothing seemed at all amiss. Lizzy sat in a large, comfortable by the window, glowing in the fading light of day. She'd already undressed and indulged herself with a book, which was put aside in an instant. Since moving another chair might be cumbersome, Mary perched herself on the alcove seat.

"I hope you're well."

"Of course," replied Lizzy. "I'm sorry I have not been downstairs much. I had hoped to spend more time with you and Georgiana—"

"I know, but we do not expect so much, Lizzy. After all, we're quite capable of entertaining ourselves for hours. You have more important matters on your mind."

"Tell me, how is Mother and Father?"

"Quite the same."

"Oh yes? And Mama? Were our worst fears correct?"

"Frightfully correct."

Lizzy laughed, but no mistake, her eyes showed a sluggishness. "I wonder what mischief she'll do while you and Kitty are away."

"I shudder to think. You should've heard her and Aunt Phillips in the parlour before I left."

"Oh dear!"

"Our mother has run out of daughters to be distracted about, and now she turns her attention to the neighbourhood. Her and Aunt Phillips."

"Oh no!"

"Maria Lucas, Jemima and her sister Sally, and probably more. And Aunt Phillips, of course, talks of Richard for one of them."

"Oh Mama, no!" Both sisters blushed and commiserated over the shame of maternal follies. "I'm sure, that she credits herself for the idea of sending Jane out to Netherfield on horseback, or for having allowed me to go to Kent. It was all her ingenuity and devising."

"Did you really expect any different, sister?"

"Certainly not. If she were any different, I'd not recognize our own mother. May I ask, Mary? How are relations between you now? Does Mama… does she still harass you about her anxieties and her nerves?"

"You expected no change," shrugged Mary, with a dimmed smile. "I expected no different myself. If anything has changed, I do see, more and more, a growing dependence. She is easily lonely, easily provoked, but also easy to placate… It used to be, whenever she made comment about her daughters becoming old maids or fretting for her one plain girl, that nothing I might say could bring her solace. I'm happy to say that has changed. When she does get into a state about her nerves, I remind her that she is inciting her own agitation. I'll tell her that she must desist, lest she make her headache or fluttering heart worse."

"Fluttering?"

"There's no fluttering. She swears it's palpitations. Mr. Jones has seen no conclusive evidence of a heart condition. Although, I can't say I blame Mama for not always taking his word for a certainty... But I've learned not to let her always be scolding. I must do a little scolding myself, and she's not so stubborn about it anymore."

"I am glad. It sounds like you're learning to handle her. Hopefully, she's not been overtaxing you. Jane wrote to me a little about the last scare we had from Lydia."

"I was not overly burdened at all. Jane came almost every day to help me soothe Mama. And Kitty was helpful too."

"Knowing you, Mary, constantly accompanying her on social engagements or sitting with her in the parlour must be mentally exhausting. I hope you're still playing and composing."

"Almost as much as ever. Please Lizzy, let's not talk and worry ourselves about Mama. I'm content with the way things are between us. The only thing wanting, if I had the power to change it, would be to have her in agreement about my seeing Dr. Reis. I do dread anytime I come to town or receive a letter through the Gardiners, trying to make sure that either I or Sarah receive the post before Mama. I'd like not living with that anxiety. Aside from which, we get along better now; we may live together all the rest of our lives and Mama will never understand me… Of course, even Lydia, her favourite child, she cannot really understand her."

"No indeed."

"Really Lizzy, the reason I came up here was to ask about Dr. Reis. I know you're trying to divert attention... How was your visit? And please, I beg you, don't insult me by assuming I'll believe that everything is just fine and a matter of precaution. Dr. Reis specializes in complications with childbirth."

"Now Mary—"

"If you all were still in Derbyshire under the care of the local physician, I'd be more inclined to accept it."

"Our local doctor is an experienced, capable man, but also modest when it comes to the point. We've had some difficulties in the past. He assumes all will be well this time, but it's all…" Both sisters suddenly stilled and went coldly silent. "Oh dear, forgive me. I didn't mean to say that," sighed Lizzy, blinking slowly.

"This time?" repeated Mary.

Healthy glow and colour vanished, and a hand rubbed her tired eyes. Normally, Lizzy's mind was so sharp that such detail would never have slipped her lips. "I'm sorry. I did not wish you to hear that."

"Well, now I must know," Mary pleaded. "This time—I do not mistake your meaning, do I?"

"No. I was already with child once before. It was, I believe nearly two years ago now, but it met with some misfortune that to this day we do not understand."

"Oh no! I'm so sorry, Lizzy."

"It was… dreadful," she replied, with a hard swallow. "I wish I might've known better the cause of it, in order to prevent any future repetition."

"Why did you not tell us before?"

"Mary… It's not so simple as that. If it had happened to you, would you broadcast the bad news to your nervous mother, to your sisters?" Fair question. "One good reason I kept my silence was to spare Jane, who was already much farther along in her pregnancy. If word somehow reached her, I feared to distress her needlessly, to the point that it might bring on premature labour… I know what you're thinking. Why not tell you? Of course, you would've kept my confidence, but still, why would I desire to share and grieve you? Truly…" Her voice began to sound strangled. "There are so many I wished to spare pain, especially Mr. Darcy and Georgiana."

"I doubt you could have, as you all live in the same house."

"Perhaps I should explain, now that I've begun… Mary, I know you'll keep this to yourself. Not even Jane is aware of this." This stunned, honoured, and horrified her all at once. What was so terrible about it that Jane could not know? "Unfortunately, when it happened, Georgiana was with me. We were on our way to visit a tenant of ours, just paying calls. It was just the both of us in the open carriage. Neither a warm or very cool day. About five minutes into our drive, I started to feel sudden and rather intense back pain. I just assumed I was uncomfortable and perhaps stiff. I ordered the driver might stop and let me out. We had some distance to go, and I was considering turning back for the house. Georgiana got out and stayed with me. I thought if I might just walk back, I'll feel better. The house wasn't very far. It's always an easy walk. Georgiana stayed with me, and the driver turned and followed us slowly… And that's when it all happened."

Unbidden and impossible as it was, not to hear without feeling, Mary began to weep, and grasped her sister's hand for strength. Though weak herself, somehow, Lizzy advanced through the harrowing memory.

"I don't really remember how we got back to the house," confessed Lizzy. "All I remember was feeling pain, cramping, so intense I think I might have fainted. Georgiana screamed for help from the driver, who I'm sure lifted and carried me back to the carriage. We were both escorted home quickly. I don't know who took me upstairs, or who called for the doctor. All I remember was Georgiana being close, the whole time. She saw everything. For a time, the bleeding didn't seem to stop…"

"She saw?"

"Even before the doctor came, I knew it was too late. His ministrations did relieve pain, and the bleeding subsided."

"I'm so sorry. Poor Georgiana, and Mr. Darcy."

"I'll never forget when he came in." At last, tears loosened from Lizzy's eyes. "I could hear Mrs. Reynolds struggling to deliver the news, and Georgiana nearby her, broken in tears. When he came in, the doctor stepped out… I couldn't speak, and before I could say anything, all he said was: 'I'm just grateful you're still alive.' He couldn't speak beyond that, neither of us…" It took a few minutes of silence to settle countenance and tears. But once peaceful again, she further explained. "I did not know until later, from Mrs. Reynolds—you remember the housekeeper? She's been with the family several decades, and she knew the late Mrs. Darcy. I learned, from her, that their mother died under very similar circumstances when Georgiana was born. Mr. Darcy, according to Mrs. Reynolds, had recently turned eleven years old, when his sister came and his mother passed. When he first came in, his thoughts were not for the baby but for me. And the memory of his mother, no doubt."

"I can just imagine…"

"Now that I am with child again, he has been most anxious about my health, our health, to the point it's almost excessive. Up until our trip to London, I've stopped all visiting our tenants and social calls back home; no more rides in the carriage, no walking beyond the gardens. Of course, this is not from a spirit of cruelty. All I suffer is restlessness, but he's living in fear that a simple, leisurely walk will bring on another miscarriage."

"I cannot blame him, Lizzy. I'd probably be the same way myself."

"It sounds like a complaint. Really, for such care and attention I receive, I've no right to complain that I cannot take some fresh air in the morning. What I cannot endure is observing what this is doing to him, and to Georgiana. The both of them have lost sleep, lost appetite at times… This should be a happy time for everyone, and it's the farthest thing from joy to us all."

"… What were the irregularities that you mentioned, that had the doctor concerned?"

"The baby does seem a bit small, to his prospective, but it's not so uncommon. It's more the fact that I've already suffered one mysterious miscarriage, there is more concern for the safe arrival of this child. Dr. Reis believes he will be able to better judge the situation within the next few weeks. And he still holds firm that there is more reason to be optimistic. I'm about seven months along, far beyond two or three months. That is something."

"And he told Mr. Darcy, who told us, that you are in good health otherwise," Mary recalled. "I'd say that is reason for confidence."

Their bound hands squeezed a bit. "I am very glad to have you here, Mary. You will do Georgiana a world of good, getting her out of the house and out into society. I'd like her to forget about me, forget about her anxieties as much as she possibly can. Both brother and sister will have plenty enough when the day comes. And Mr. Darcy will gladly escort you both when he has no engagements, and whenever you have need of chaperoning."

When the dinner tray arrived, Mary hastily wiped her eyes and put on for the maid. Now made more aware, the last thing her sister needed was unnecessary distress and time spent on unhappy thoughts. Lizzy's maid inquired whether miss would come to dinner, or if she would take a tray herself, to which, Mary opted for the latter, taking her meal along with Lizzy. Such a prospect promised a measure of peace and comfort, sorely needed after that gloomy spell. There was much to be talked of between Meryton, Hunsford, Lampton, and the Bingleys' new house to give them pleasure for a whole evening. Then, the maid returned with Mary's dinner tray and a brief interruption.

"Beg your pardon, Miss Bennet, but this was just delivered."

It would be, as it turned out, a formal invitation from Lady Herncastle to a musical soiree, hosted by some other grand lady, a friends of hers. Entertainment would be provided by courtesy of the Starlight Circle, among which, Miss Bennet's musical talents were also requested upon her attendance. To her great shock, Mary also found enclosed with the invitation, a document detailing the terms of service and stipulation of payment.

"Lizzy! She's invited me to join them, join the Starlight Circle!"

"Oh Mary, congratulations!" cried her sister. "And shall you accept?"

"It's such an honour, and at the same time, I can hardly believe it! It's everything I ever dreamed of, well almost everything. She informed me, also, that this event may result in publication of my music!"

"Lady Herncastle seems to the patroness you needed all along. I knew you would come to this one day!"

"Oh… And…"

"And?"

"Just a short scribbled note at the bottom here, where she adds: Sir Douglas Cummings will also be in attendance. The shareholder with Grandison Printing… His father, I presume. She already hinted at her last dinner that she wished me to meet him."

"Whose father?"

"Mr. Felix Cummings. He was seated by me at the dinner, when Lady Herncastle introduced us."

"What did you make of his son? Mr. Cummings?"

"… I thought him pleasing company, better than I expected." If Mary assumed Mr. Darcy's pause meant a good deal, her own hesitation was as discreet and inconspicuous as a seed in the ground.

"And what do you call this?" Kitty held up the tiny figurine for Davy, who babbled syllables and pondered the object in hand. "What do you call this? It's an elephant!"

He was so much more enjoyable at this age than when younger. Kitty couldn't resist giggling, especially when her little nephew attempted to balance the toy figure on her side-turned cheek. He couldn't make out why her angle would not support the elephant. Down it tumbled into the animal kingdom below, amidst cooing and squeals. So rare a chance this was, to have him alone without the nurse or mother about him to be a distraction. While present, Kitty was second or third choice. Yet, when they had time enough with just each other for company, little Davy found much joy in the company of his aunt. His nurse was still out, taking an hour's leave for some chore or errand at home.

And being from home, as his aunt, it was her duty to entertain and wish to command. Kitty tickled the boy until he was on his feet, then suggested a walk toward the garden. Some few hours remained before dusky darkness; a little tottering around about the terrace or the old garden path, still untouched by the workers, didn't seem a great offense. However, she was sadly mistaken when she'd finished helping Davy, holding his hand, as he made his way to the final stairs. Caroline happened to be passing and on her way up the staircase.

"What is the child doing downstairs?"

Kitty stopped and stood full upright, still holding his hand. "I thought Davy might like a little playtime in the garden lane," she explained.

"At this hour?" gasped Miss Bingley. "It's late afternoon. He should be down for his nap. Where's the nurse?"

"She shall be back shortly—" The nurse had returned presently, tripping from the servants' entrance of the house. Kitty wished her presence might have been delayed; in an instant, she was pounced upon with charges of neglect.

"Miss Pheobe, it's after three o'clock. This is not a time to be taking your ease! The child should be put down for a nap. Now, he's going to be poorly behaved. I'm shocked the mistress should tolerate such neglect—"

"Beg your pardon, ma'am, but the mistress knew of my absence. And she was agreeable to Miss Bennet taking charge while I tended to my sick mother. She was just settled in the Steppe cottage yesterday, and a long dream it was too..."

"It's true," defended Kitty.

A pitiable sight, how Miss Bingley wished to assert her authority, to feel ill-usage and take it upon herself to correct it.

"Next time, it would be more considerate to better plan the timing of your relief, before making an inconvenience of it with your mistress."

"Yes, ma'am."

And with that, little Davy was picked up and carried back upstairs. He suspected his hour had arrived, and to have playtime thwarted on a whim, sent him into wails all the way up the stairs. Miss Bingley walked from the scene, placidly made her way to the drawing room, and rang for tea.

Kitty followed swiftly behind. "Was it necessary to berate a servant, who did no wrong and had my sister's permission to take an afternoon off?"

"Jane and Charles both can be very lenient. Besides, the child should be in the nursery, not wandering about downstairs. That was rather foolish letting him walk on the stairs!"

"I held his hand the whole way!"

"You're encouraging him to do so on his own, when he's far too young to be traversing a staircase such as ours."

"Oh, for pity's sake! I did not place him on the handrail and let him slide on it! Well, if he must be locked up in the nursery, why don't you go and play with him?"

"And by that you imply what exactly?" challenged Caroline. Before the fire could be stoked further, the maid arrived and was summoned to bring tea to the drawing room. As according to her usual routine, she would confine herself with tea in solitude, then play and practice. Yet, since there was time to wait, she did not wait to begin. Caroline sat down to her music directly, hopeful that the pert girl would take a hint and take herself off.

"Same thing, everyday," huffed Kitty. "Don't you ever grow bored of it?"

"Bored?"

"Practicing scales, especially when no one cares to hear."

"You've obviously never learned the skill and self-discipline required of managing your time. There is nothing so enjoyable, so leisurely, or refined as perfecting one's talents."

"Well, I'm no judge of what gives you pleasure."

The fire crackled in the hearth, while both women mentally grasped for the next best insult. There was something liberating in this newfound frankness. Had Kitty been any other girl, unattached to the Bennet family, perhaps Miss Bingley would have put up better with immature impertinence. Only too late had she realized what foolishness it was to underestimate the sister of Miss Eliza Bennet. At least, Elizabeth had never once deliberately antagonized her with open insult.

"Best you also learn to mind your manners, especially for when our cousin Luis comes for a visit."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Our cousin, Mr. Luis Murray," Caroline reiterated.

"Why should I care for his opinion?"

That earned a haughty round of laughter. "Oh dear, Kitty! Don't be coy," she teased. "You're a terrible fake; don't try. I know perfectly well why you're here. Charles is very fond of him. And being a single, young man of tolerable fortune will suit you splendidly, as well as please your mamma very much, will it not? I wish you the best. He's a rather bookish boy, agreeable appearance and manners, and he hasn't seen much of society since going to Oxford. I'll wager he will fall madly in love with the first girl he sets eyes on. And, of course, since he will be spending his time off here, you'll have prime opportunity. Though he's no officer, I'm sorry to say."

In her diary that night, Kitty would relate the primal sentiments pulsing her veins at this daring speech. "She wished for some revenge against me, and I daresay, she glutted herself with it. She smiled like a friend and flattered, in a friendly, teasing tone too. I did not expect her to be warm and welcoming at the thought of her cousin courting me. Perhaps, she wasn't, but took this up as a way to try and provoke. I was already provoked, though. She was horrible and nasty with Davy's nurse. I wish Charles had walked in on that episode on the stairs. I'd give fifty pounds to any man that would take her to task, and give her her just desserts."

"What's also more, to your material advantage," added Miss Bingley, "you have no rivals here. No sister to steal him from you."

The tea tray arrived, placed on a table beside Kitty; hot, pleasant, harmless tea, for a moment in her own fancy, would be fit punishment for such a capital offense—flung in her face or better on her gown. Her best silk, a vivid teal with snow white lace embroidery. Oh, the temptation!

"Don't be too sure of yourself," Kitty exhaled.

"There's no harm admitting so. In fact, I think it should be made clear outright. You are welcome to our cousin, Mr. Murray, with my blessing. He's a very decent, steady young man. But as for any other guests that shall come to stay, don't go getting ahead of yourself." While the tea was left nearer to Kitty, and under her sole supervision, wicked thoughts began to have fruition. Miss Bingley+, facing an opposite direction, towards her music, did not observe the foul being committed after Kitty had finished pouring her own tea. "Since Charles is still young in the ways, as a landlord, Mr. Darcy's cousin shall be paying us a visit in due course."

"I suppose you refer to Colonel Fitzwilliam?"

"That's right. He may not be rich, but he's the second son of the Earl of Matlock. Such a highly desirable connection, and he cannot expect too much being a second son. So, the offer of twenty thousand might be a worthwhile connection for himself and the family."

"I couldn't say. You know, the way I was raised, it's rather vulgar and ill-bred to be making grandiose boasts about one's large fortune. Or did your governess never teach you that?"

Her death inhale was audible. "Are there no limits to your insolence?"

"No."

"I warn you, Kitty Bennet. If your behaviour, at all, jeopardizes our reputation or bettering our family connections, I'll make you very sorry for it."

"Whether you like it or not, Miss Bingley, we are family connections. Our interests are mutual. I have no desire to interfere, and the sooner either of our circumstances change, the happier for us both. For it cannot come soon enough." Rising from her chair, Kitty gathered up her tea to take her leave. She almost reminded her, but dared not raise suspicion. All that was required was a minute of patience, for Caroline to impatiently rise from the instrument and serve herself tea.

The tea things clinked, the spoon rattled against the dish of sugar. One lump of sugar only. With unhappy surprise did Miss Bingley take her first sip and recoil, as the texture and taste resembled more than of a syrup. She failed to observe the bare remnants of the sugar; a good quantity had been used up. Same was seen with the serving jar of honey. Each ingredient had been copiously fed into the teapot, determined by a sampling taste with her spoon.

"Stupid girl!" she growled.

"For your sour face," cried Kitty from behind the door. "I thought you could use a little sweetener!"

"I cannot convey in enough words, Lydia," she later wrote in a letter, "how difficult it was not to laugh aloud, especially upon hearing her cry of revolt against the teapot. Of course, under normal circumstances, it would be horrid of me to torment and provoke a person in this way. I feel no such guilt when it comes to Caroline Bingley. On any occasion that I try to be agreeable, to converse with her like anyone else in the family, it seems to disgust her even more than insults. While I will not go out of my way to inflict misery, as I'm sure she would do, it does entertain me.

I must confess, I expected to pass this time in more tedious, stale fashion. For though parts of the estate are in disrepair and currently undergoing renovation, and sometimes left to my own devices, I find the disorder rather stimulating. I'm learning so many new things about gardens and such, from both Jane and her books. She has a particular style in mind for the landscaping, and I have no doubt, once it's complete, it will be a masterpiece! I've even drawn a little mock sketch of my own garden, just something of my fancy. It's probably rather ridiculous. And you'll never guess! Just recently, I was bestowed an orchid by one of the contractors for the grounds. It is the most darling little thing, even though not at all what I expected an orchid to be like. For I never understood why we never had orchids growing, or why the merchants in Meryton were never able to supply them. For they are rather difficult to grow and to keep. I've been doing my best to keep it in good health. They're not at all like roses or lilies, where they just burst open and spread as widely. Orchids have a shape to them that resembles a human face, with a forehead and two cheeks, no eyes, and the pistil and stigma stand in place of a nose. It has this awkward vine that grows a bit crooked and not very pretty, but its leaves grow in a flourish, like a twirling skirt. And that's a poor description of it. It's probably the most elegant flower I've ever beheld!

I cannot write more. Mrs. Montgomery has just been in to summon me to dinner. Next time I write, I must tell you about the waterfall and what the workmen have done with it! It is spectacular, and you'll probably not believe what I'll write about it.

Love your sister,

Kitty."

If you're reading this last part wondering why Kitty and Lydia are still corresponding, I'd say fair question. At the end of P&P, there's a hint that they do still write to each other. "Though Mrs. Wickham frequently invited her to come and stay with her, with the promise of balls and young men, her father would never consent to her going." I don't think Kitty would've been able to cut ties entirely with the sister who had been her closest companion all her life, even though clearly she'd be better off without it. And in the canon, it ended by saying that with time and better guidance she became "less irritable, less ignorant, and less insipid." So I'm sure, though she improves, a few grains of Lydia and her childishness still exist in her character post-novel. Fair critique, but I hope you will enjoy the journey I take her on. I so appreciate the feedback and insights of several guest reviewers about her character profile. It does help me in my writing.

A couple of reviewers had remarked on Signore Andreozzi's haircut. Except for the one reviewer, where it invoked a bad past experience (and I'm sorry about that), I couldn't help laughing. I'm not trying to make this man grotesque. But being that he works outside and works up a sweat, with a hat smashed on top, his hair is bound to look a little crazy when the hat comes off. Don't worry, though, bad hair day won't last forever.

As for Mary, she seems to be hitting the target, dreams come true, getting everything she deserves and has always wanted in her life. Or is she?