Chapter 5
Jane did not die of fever, just as Mrs. Bennet assured her husband. She had the chance to see for herself her daughter's progress, good enough to be in no danger but poorly enough to merit further confinement at Netherfield. At no point were her daughters in any nervous suspense over it. Lydia merely expressed curiosity to see the inside of the house. Upon their return to Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet directed the carriage drop them at Lucas Lodge. Ample opportunity for the mistress of Longbourn to boast of her successful maneuvers. While the matrons amused themselves in such a way near the hearth, all the youth gathered round Maria Lucas. For Harriet and Pen were also calling upon the girl, and discussion of Netherfield followed.
"How many servants?" "How many acres?" "Does Mr. Bingley have a great art and wine collection?" "How many hounds does he keep?"
"Lord! One at a time," laughed Lydia. "Could scarcely tell you as to all that. Mrs. Long would be a better authority on the subject of his land and staff. I don't know if I should really care to ask. But I daresay, it is a handsome house. Our sister has made quite the conquest."
Speculation supplied some of their answers. When it came as to the inside of the house, the Bennet girls had more narrative to offer. For as to a great art collection, unfortunately, the walls were rather threadbare. The cellars boasted no famous names or vintage dates. Mr. Bingley brought little to the country manor, except his own good judgment. Light blue tapestries in the morning room gave the setting a very bright, sunny appeal. The carpeting was all new and none too ornate, but tasteful. From Jane's window, they had a glimpse of the hedgerows, which quite awed and delighted their mother. Lady Lucas could not hear enough, nor could Mrs. Bennet talk enough about the hedgerows. No other house in the neighborhood could boast such immaculate trimmings in their acreage.
As little girls, Kitty and Lydia had been enraptured by the ideals of palaces. Some of the fascination remained in these current years. From early childhood had they been impressed by stories or real reports from the county involving knights, barons, and the gentry that owned these castles. Their mother supplied them with plenty of fancy. White walls, tall turrets, and enormous rooms comprised the main details of interest. There was plenty to be said for rose beds, hedgerows, and pretty woods. Lydia's mind grabbed onto those depictions of carpeted staircases, multiple, all red carpet. Windows stretched from floor to ceiling, stain-glassed. Every evening, a myriad of candles light a ballroom. Music rang, and punch flowed and was served in nothing but sterling.
Perhaps, if they had the option to see it, Pemberley might've measured up to their childhood fantasies. It was everything they had dreamed of, tinged with reality. For the tenant of Netherfield, it fell short. Mr. Bingley was merely beginning in his new journey as landowner. One reason for him to have Mr. Darcy as his guest. When they were asked about the tenant and guests themselves, the Bennet girls had less to say but greater certainty in their opinion.
"I am of the general opinion," began Lydia, "that Mr. Darcy is very bad-tempered and disagreeable. How he and Mr. Bingley could be friends is beyond my comprehension."
"He is rather frightening," repeated Maria.
"He was awfully rude to Mama," Kitty related. "For when asked how they liked the neighborhood, he spoke of Meryton being rather confined and unvarying. Mama argued strongly against his insinuations. Surprising to me that Lizzy tried to defend him."
"How rude!" "What bad manners!" "What a vexing accusation against us all!"
Charlotte, who had been sitting not far from the young group, overheard their small outrages.
"Well, he is not wrong. We are a small village in the county of Hertfordshire," said she. "If that is the sort of society wishes for in the settling of a country manor, he is well-suited for our society."
"Fine by me, but his friends can go find their pleasure in society elsewhere," huffed Lydia.
"Even Mr. Bingley's sisters," said Kitty, "were rather aloof and not so friendly. If our sister Jane were not their house guest, no doubt Miss Bingley would've been glad to turn us away at the door."
Melancholy lasted only so long, however. Charlotte took the lead in happier subjects. Sir William joined in on their group, and soon enough, Lydia remembered her brief moment with Mr. Bingley as they were about to leave Netherfield.
"How fortunate I got a moment to speak to him. I said: 'Mr. Bingley, is it true that you've promised to give a ball while you're here? For it would be a great scandal if you do not keep your word.' But I'd nothing to fear. He's too much the gentleman. He heartily assured us that he is quite eager to keep his engagement. 'And when your sister is recovered,' said he, 'you shall name the day of the ball if you please.' "
"Oh my, what an honour!" cried Pen. "From Mr. Bingley himself."
"Yes, I do like Mr. Bingley a good deal."
"Just think if your sister does marry him. You'll all be together in the same neighborhood. That doesn't happen all the time, and you'll be first in attendance at all their balls, card parties. Oh, there's the pianoforte. Netherfield has an instrument, didn't you say? Jane could throw a musical soiree, like the ones in London. How stylish an event for Meryton!"
"There's also the possibility," added Harriet. "Of more fashionable friends of Mr. Bingley's circle coming to visit, and some gentlemen."
"I should be most glad of it," agreed Maria. "More chances to be meet eligible men, better chance of finding husbands."
"Before you get a husband, you've got to flirt, Maria," rejoined Pen. "When you do get the chance, you're too bashful for your own good." This remark proved disconcerting to Miss Lucas, who could deny it only in vain. But deny it, she couldn't. "Be a little saucy. You're eighteen, after all."
"But…" In a low whisper, as discreet as could be for a sitting for tea: "My sister is not married yet. How can I? It's not done with an older sister unmarried."
"Lord, that shall not and will not stop me," declared Lydia.
"Maria, you shouldn't be an old maid simply because Char-" Kitty stopped herself almost too late. To say too much would be giving offense, and draw the hearing of every person in the room. Instead, her tea lifted to the lips. By the pursed lips, Kitty realized Charlotte's discernment. She had much to be thankful for with Lydia's oblivion to the exchange. For she rattled on:
"I don't know if musical soirees are my cup of tea. I'm sure Mary would be very pleased. Of course, dancing is another thing entirely. But to be forced to sit and listen to such dull and dreary stuff as Mary plays at parties, I'd rather be in bed, or at the card table with the mothers and old maids. My Aunt Phillips knows how to have a good time."
"Lydia, whatever happened about the pretty bonnet you found?" asked Harriet. "Did your mama lend you the money?"
"Well, as you've asked, though I'm rather sore about it, it turns out I've not been able to get the funds from Mama. I tried and tried. Mama would have obliged me, of course, but Papa was not so kind. He thinks Kitty and I are silly girls. He wouldn't be persuaded, for all Mama's threats and complaints. I wish sometimes he would give in a little more. If I am a silly creature, how is a new bonnet to make one ounce of difference?"
"You don't seem to care, Lydia," murmured Kitty, "or be the least bit bothered for being called the silliest girl in the country?"
"That is just Papa's way with all of us." With a profound, light-hearted arrogance, dressed to imitate wisdom, Lydia denied any feeling of shame and any feeling for such sentiments. "Why should I be? When it comes to yourself and yourself alone, no one's opinion should matter but your own. If I feel silly or impertinent, I probably am. If you feel lively and happy, very likely you are. Wouldn't you say, Kitty?"
Just before Jane and Lizzy returned home, with a couple more days, Mary was also beginning to come back to life. She was able to walk again without being doubled over, look about and read her book again without nausea. While it wasn't painless or a carefree recovery, her mother's latest visit to Mr. Jones had been productive. This new medicine had proven to be effective but different from other previous concoctions from the apothecary.
Mrs. Bennet brought her some tea later that same evening. Its liquid transparent. Unlike other prescriptions, this one did not bear any label. Only a couple of drops were applied to her next cup of tea. Were it not for her swirling vision and nausea, Mary might've persisted in asking more questions. Her mother ensured she'd be feeling quite right in short time. And for once in her life, her mother's advice and opinion received much gratitude. In twenty or thirty minutes, Mary began to have an unusual sensation within her head, yet no pain. With the onset of this sensation, the dull ache and knife-like spasms gradually eased. Muscles relaxed. Even her stomach, sensitive as it normally is, found relief. When her mother checked in later, the results were satisfying.
"How do you feel, my dear?"
"Oh Mama," Mary fought back yawning. "The pain is all but gone."
"Excellent! I knew it would help."
"Well, I still feel… I still feel something, but it's not painful. It's dulled so much I don't feel any cramping at all."
"You see, Mr. Jones knows what he's about," proclaimed Mrs. Bennet happily.
"Oh no, but please, don't raise your voice. I think it's made me rather sensitive to noise… Even the sound of my own voice seems to ring inside-"
"Well, all for the best you don't speak. Kitty and Lydia shall be downstairs for dinner. By the time they come up for bed, you shall be fast asleep. I'll ask them to keep their voices low."
Mary recalled nothing else about that evening. Even when her sisters did enter the bedroom, she had no recollection of it. Either they'd heeded her need for quiet or else, she'd been entirely unconscious to any of their usual noise. This little process was repeated at least twice more during her week indisposed. By this morning, when she was able to stand, her body quivered a little unsteady. Whatever the new medicine, it worked quite the wonder.
She opened the window for the autumn air. The sun stood in a clear sky, but under any shadows from the trees, brush, or house, the morning dew still remained. All the world within sight and hearing was gentle on the invalid soul. As it was nearly ten o'clock, she was alone in the room to wake, dress, and venture at her leisure. The maid left enough water behind, still holding some steam. Mary poured half out of the pitcher, pinned back her hair, and thoroughly doused her face. With cold air coming in, the hot water against the skin was invigorating. It reminded her of early occasions, in her readings, of cold climates and natural hot springs. Local peoples of Scandinavia and Swiss among others took advantage of the waters, both for health and recreation. Of course, it wasn't them to invent it; for these benefits and methods had been known thousands of years. Imagining it, snow on the ground, and a temple of vapors and hot baths felt like bliss. That in itself couldn't be called a fantasy. The real fantasy would be to take her favourite volume or texts in with her. To read the Psalms in a sauna, without the pages being weathered and damaged by moisture, that unrealistic situation was the real fantasy. As she would never experience such delights, going about her morning toilette in solitude was the closest she'd have to it.
It was pleasure enough to simply be alone in her room for so long. It did strike Mary, that none of her sisters were barging in and roaming about the house. Or were they? With another glance back out the window, she spied Lydia heading toward the gate, braving the semi-soggy road at a medium gait. Reticle furiously swung by the string attached to the wrist, meaning only one thing. She and Kitty had quarreled again. By the mode of dress, she was set on going into town, with either Aunt Phillips or the Harrington residence as her destination. Head held high, with a smart-looking red bonnet. Oddly enough, one Mary did not recognize.
"Frivolous girl."
Of course, a brand new headdress. She'd acquired three within this last year, including this one. Between them, all five girls, they had thirty or forty pounds. After factoring in their housing and upkeep and other minor expense, twenty pounds a year was a decent yearly allowance. Certainly not a lot, but enough to furnish modest expenses outside of necessities. At times, their mother pitched some money forward to assist in buying new clothes. Such would've been enough, but not for her two youngest sisters. They might be satisfied, like the rest of them, with one new gown, pair of shoes, and bonnet or pair of gloves, for one year. The best to be afforded were new ribbons or other dressings, but no good without a new bonnet to decorate.
Time and money might've been spent differently. Three or four times a month, Jane and Lizzy bought food stuffs and visited the poor families of the village and nearby farms. Had Lydia been off on such an errand, Mary should've been proud of her sister. Any old frocks outgrown might've been taken for the charity bin. Or, from time to time, Lizzy's most frivolous purchases involved trips coming home with plants and shrubs. Then, she and Jane made themselves usefully occupied in the garden. The younger Bennet girls might've spared themselves many hours, days of boredom in their short lives. Their allowances might've lasted them the whole year.
A part of Mary, of course, could understand the frustrations that drove the sisters from the house. However, if Lydia had gone out with a book under arm or with a drawing pad instead of purse, she'd be assured of better activity. They had too little to do. At a time of life, when they had more freedom than as children and time enough for new experiences, it was hardly any wonder that this preoccupation with officers had lodged foremost in their priorities.
Downstairs, Mary found mother and sister in a state of trivial repose after breakfast. Their father had already dispersed to see to the matters of the farm. Needles and fabric were out. Peaceful enough had the faces matched their pursuits. Nerves already plagued Mrs. Bennet, with the bottom lip protruding in thought. Her eyes turned from time to time toward Kitty, who sat on the divan with her needlework progressing sluggishly. Kitty's lip had framed into a pout, desperately stifling sniffles. All forecasts of the day confirmed, Mary thought the better of talking, even greeting them. She sat down with her tea and book, easing into her morning.
"Kitty," at last Mrs. Bennet broke silence, "I've had just about enough of your sniffling and whimpering. I expect you to act like a lady, and stop your sulking."
"Why, Mama? Why do you always take Lydia's part against me?" moaned Kitty. "You let her have everything that is mine. When she can't get her way, you give her presents-"
"Enough! For the last time, I did not give it to her. She bought it with her own money."
"She had only seven shillings the day before. I know that bonnet cost twenty-five. Where did she get it?"
"It's a shame you spend your allowance so haphazard, my dear. Have no money yourself to buy these little things you like? And it's rather shocking to accuse your own mother of deceit. I do not deceive my own children. It's monstrous that you should doubt my word. What's more, I believe you owe your sister an apology."
"But Mama-"
"When Lydia returns, I expect it!"
Such a sentence proved too much punishment for Kitty to bear with any dignity. Her needlework was thrown aside, and she stormed from the room. With a sigh, Mary's hope of practicing later that day evaporated. Their mother must be in a good mood before she could venture to their piano forte. It would do no good to anybody else to push for practicing.
"The sooner those girls are married the better," sighed Mrs. Bennet.
"They really won't be of much use or comfort to any man until they learn to control their tempers, not have these passionate outbursts."
"I really haven't the slightest idea what's gotten into Kitty these days. When Lydia came down in that sweet little red bonnet, the girl was livid." She shook her head as though her offending daughter still sat on the sofa. "She was vehement and sure that I bought it for Lydia. Then, the next moment, she accused her of stealing it somehow. For understandably, Lydia was quite put out."
The spectacles slid half an inch. Mary shook her head, which appeared to acknowledge agreement.
"What would really be just ideal," she went on, "is if both girls, could get husbands out of the militia. It is their fancy after all, now that the militia are quarted here in Meryton. I should be too pleased if Colonel Forster would offer to one of them, even if he's a bit older than preferrable. While this Captain Carter sounds very promising, it's difficult to perceive whether his commission should earn enough to support a wife."
Captain Carter had not been mentioned in some days, as Mary recalled at the moment. Of course, she was indisposed and too sluggish of mind to pay much heed to anything in her surroundings.
"I'm determined that I shall see your Aunt Phillips in a day or two. See about making arrangements for tea or a little supper and card party here. That may help the girls give proper hints to any eligible gentlemen, that all their attentions paid here are welcome."
"Mama," began Mary. Puzzling it was to begin a sermon when too many shortcomings required addressing. If any parson were to counsel their mother directly, where would he begin? Her laxity toward her daughters' education in ethical and moral rectitude? Her prioritizing their vain pursuit of pleasures? Stroking the vanity of her already foolish children? "I do not wish to be disagreeable, but I must reiterate. Jane and Lizzy would also agree with me, if they were here. Those girls need proper instruction more than anything else. What if this scheme of husbands in officers should fail?"
"Nonsense, my dear! They'll succeed with someone, if not the officers, then another gentleman like Mr. Bingley will come to the neighborhood. Or I shall send one of them to London to stay with your Uncle and Aunt Gardiner. Perhaps I shall send Lizzy before long. Things seem to be going very well with Mr. Bingley that Jane is taken care of; many good options."
"What if we do not succeed in that endeavor at all? Kitty and Lydia, like the rest of us, might need to learn to live off something more than our sums."
Her eyes rounded with horror. "Spare me the thought of such a day to come, Mary," fumed her mother. "Don't speak to me about it. Until such an event does occur, I'd rather not consider it as a reality."
"If they learned some kind of occupation, they might be valuable in a trade."
"Absolutely not! If you mean become a governess, I forbid it."
"What do you intend to live off without sons-in-law?"
"My brother has a home and good trade. He shall be kind to us, but the less daughters I have under foot, the better our lot. The less burden on your uncles. No, don't talk to me about it. My time is more worthwhile preparing my girls for advantageous matches than a lifetime of intellect and toiling in spinsterhood." For a moment, the same impulse came to Mary, to flee the house like her younger sisters. The impulse but no desire to be degrading herself. As she knew before engaging in the argument, trying to reason with her mother about their future and practicality was all in vain. Mary had tried, Jane, Lizzy had tried many times before. The woman was more than especially stubborn when it came to the reality of the entail. On that subject, everyone fared better leaving all that alone.
Before her tea cooled too much, she resumed her morning of peace and recovery.
Mrs. Phillips gladly entertained any of her nieces when they came to call. By rule, whoever were her nieces' friends, were also hers and belonged in her parlour. In this manner did the lady of the country attorney gain popularity amongst the young ladies. She welcomed them when sisters quarreled amongst themselves, when family members were disinherited, when engagements were made or broken off, when babies were being born in the house, when grieving widows and children needed escape from their house. Humble fare and entertainment was all that could be offered, but she boasted what other families like the Bennets or Lucases could not, and that was good company for either the miserable or the merriest of souls.
On that very morning, her dearest Lydia took refuge. Amongst herself, Harriet and Pen, as well as Miss Watson, were paying calls that morning and found themselves gathered at Mrs. Phillips's house. Lydia loudly declared her ill-usage from her family, her sister Kitty in particular. It gave her plenty of opening to present the pretty conquest on her head. Each girl offered hearty praise for such a purchase of distinction.
"It was the most fortunate chance, you know. For you see, I almost lost it to Miss King. She was there in the shop at the same time as I!"
"No!" "Miss King?" "Oh no, it wouldn't do on Miss King."
"Oh yes, she was just admiring it when I walked into the milliner's. She was there with her aunt and Mrs. Long. She wanted it as badly as myself, made quite a fuss too. But her aunt declared it too costly. Mrs. Long went so far as to say as well, poor thing, that it wouldn't suit her complexion. Well, as they went on, I was ready to pounce on it. But alas I was short by three shillings."
"No!" "Well, how?" "Did you bargain with Mr. Greenwich?"
"Well girls, I'll tell you how," answered Lydia, with dramatic archness. "A small group of officers entered, sought the counter directly, asking Mr. Greenwich for some repair to a uniform. One of the men turned round to see me standing and waiting. He assumed they'd all been remiss not to have observed me and behaved exceedingly rude. 'On the contrary! I shall not stand in your way, gentlemen. You have more important affairs.' We made polite pleasantries to each other, all of them, but the one in particular, Mr. Denny, observed me holding the bonnet. 'I see you have a selection,' he said. 'Yes,' I said. 'But I'm afraid I must put it back. For I'm all but three shillings short of ownership.' "
A minor cry amongst her listeners rose to squeals.
"Oh Lydia, did he really?" begged Miss Watson.
"Indeed! Yes. Perhaps he saw my despair and felt sorry. He was so handsome and sweet. Why he even said: 'Well gentlemen, I don't know about you, but I cannot possibly walk away leaving this poor young lady to languish. Would be indecent and dishonourable.' To which, they all concurred. He pulled out not three, but five shillings!"
"Five?" echoed Mrs. Phillips, over-awed by the tale.
"I was quite overcome, Aunt Phillips. I begged him not to take such trouble, he was paying too much, but he brushed it off for nothing. He insisted I keep it, save it for another little something pretty."
"What manners!" "How handsome of him." "He must have a liking for you, Lydia."
Not long had he, Mr. Denny, been introduced into conversation, before the man himself and several fellow officers joined the conversation in Mrs. Phillips' parlour. Expectations excited in the young ladies were not disappointed in his tall, rugged appearance. Inquires were demanded: from where did he come, how long had they been with the regiment, what news came from the battle fronts (of more or less interest), and what card games they excelled at and what dances were their favourite (of the greatest interest). Poor Kitty, could not have known earlier that had she held her tongue, she might have met the dashing Denny, as well as met with Mr. Chamberlayne and Pratt. Instead, poor Kitty had to choose between her own pride and further pursuit of her red-coated acquaintances, by begging pardons from her younger sister, in order to be a companion in the Harrington's drawing room the following day. The interview was continued, and now included Mrs. Harrington, who saw the male company in her parlour in the same manner as Mrs. Bennet. There were young birds of great plumage in the presence of her daughters, a possibility foolish of her to overlook.
Mr. Denny seemed, by character, to be an active man and acting quick on his feet. By reports from Colonel Forster, who also took his tea with them, he made bold strides in the battle field, and advanced to the rank of lieutenant within a six-month of coming into his commission. He was known to gain ground quickly. Adding to his favour were fine looks and an appetite for gossip. The ladies were engaging in flattery as though it were an archery contest. It was enjoyable for the targets. Though had society looked in on this exhibition, it would've been judged to be in great distaste… perhaps. Even the trivial things that happened within camp were amusing. A private had been flogged the night before. It also came out, from the colonel himself, that he was engaged to be married.
By the time they returned to Longbourn, there was plenty to relate with all the family. Mary, as usual, was deep in study of thorough-bass and human nature; and had some extracts to admire, and attempted to offer some new observations of threadbare morality. She attempted it, and failed to gain any ground with her audience. Jane and Elizabeth had returned from Netherfield, much to Mrs. Bennet's displeasure; and she repeatedly berated her eldest girls for having returned home without warning or consent, to have given Mr. Bingley's servants any trouble, and risked Jane catching cold again.
Okay, one video that grabbed my attention months ago is getting a shout out today. "The Psychology of Lydia Bennet" by abookolive on YouTube. Watching this video made me look at Lydia and Kitty with a different perspective. It certainly doesn't change who Lydia is, but borrowing Lizzy's words: "From knowing her better, her disposition is better understood."
To all who are following, hang tight! In a couple more chapters, you'll be meeting one of Austen's canon characters, one of her "on-set extras." No more! Soon to become one of the main characters. Anybody have any guesses...