Welcome back! Thank you for the support of this story, and a shout out to all guest and registered reviewers. Very much enjoy your opinions and the enthusiasm, and I'm enjoying writing it. There are times in this story it even feels cathartic, like Chapter 15.
Chapter 17
Mr. Bennet was much to be pitied in January. Once the wedding of Mr. Collins and Charlotte was celebrated at Lucas Lodge, Mrs. Bennet was in sore straits for some time. It was unbearable to think of Charlotte Lucas, as mistress, her replacement at Longbourn; even greater misery that she would be forced to live and watch an outsider take her place. Lydia and Kitty pined for many days, the announcement that took Mr. Wickham from them forever. It quite irritated Lydia that Lizzy, who had the most reason to be upset, took the news like a rational creature. It was galling to watch at gatherings and card parties of the season, Miss King enter upon the arm of her fiancé.
Multiple disproportionate features: he was tall, she was short. His features were dark, her features ruddy. Mr. Wickham's happy manners assisted him in every drawing room, recommended him to a wide range of tempers in Meryton society. Mary King contributed little to conversation, not due to ill-temper but diffident disposition. Sir William struggled to hear her, such a soft-spoken girl; at cards, it took three repetitions before he finally heard that she had never been to Bath. She did dance tolerably well, a mark in her favour; however, she only ever danced with Mr. Wickham and kept close to his side the whole evening. He had to bend to hear anything she said. If she were addressed by another person, she automatically looked towards him to either answer the question or bring his opinion into it. All such proofs of attachment sickened the younger sisters. It did not sink him, but they did pity him. Mary King, once the butt of jokes amongst her own set, was an object of abuse. Though she wasn't ever known as a great beauty, jealousy brought out the most outrageous and merciless adjectives from the local gossips.
Mrs. Bennet was perhaps her greatest critic. Her ten thousand pounds was an insult to the beauty and merits of her own daughters. Lizzy could not curb it, for all her attempts at reprimand. Despite the slight, both she and Mr. Wickham remained on the friendliest terms. Mr. Bennet predicted correctly: "There are officers enough here to disappoint all the young ladies in the country. Let Wickham be your man. He's a pleasant fellow and would jilt you creditably. And you have an affectionate mother, who will always make the most of it."
All such events had little effect on Mary, except giving plenty food for reflection. Human nature and the understanding of it seemed more and more elusive. Why such turmoil in the house? Why did Mr. Bingley pay Jane such particular regard, make promises to return in a few days, then never return, never a word? It puzzled and angered Lizzy to no end, as far as Mary could see. Jane's letters produced no charitable opinions of any member of the Bingley family. Why should their mother grieve the loss, when he was obviously a poor caliber of gentleman? Why should Lydia and Kitty grieve the loss of 'poor Wickham,' though proven a fortune hunter? By the time Mary received yet another rejection of publication from London, Captain Carter found her in low spirits, haunting Longbourn's whitened copses. If any other lady were sitting outside in the snow, it would've riled any kind stranger to bid her return to the house and near the fire.
Mary startled at his approach, then blushed, and stammered a good morning.
"I see you manage to hold onto your book now, at least," he remarked. "That's improvement."
"Nonsense!" He made a slight bow, smiling again, a little more each time she saw him. "How do you do, Captain Carter?"
"I'm well. I hope that you're well, Mary. I hope that you are taking the air for refreshment, and not for relief."
"If I'm honest, perhaps a little of both." Thankfully, in this part of the gardens, where Mary sat, they were shielded from direct view of any windows of the house. His discretion was certainly a credit to character. Otherwise, he'd be swallowed alive by a doting mother and overzealous, lovesick sisters. In general, they both escaped many questions by keeping any meetings brief and away from the drawing room. There were very scarce, brief moments between songs at card parties. To keep confidences safe, they purposefully kept to greetings and remarks of the weather, or a request for a song. No depths of conversation had been enjoyed since that morning a month ago, standing in the office of Mr. Jones.
"How does your family do?" asked Mary.
"Everyone is doing well, or as well as can be. Letters from home speak of some minor illnesses, common colds at home and in the neighbourhood."
"Oh dear."
"Nothing serious."
"For all your sake, I hope so. You've had enough sad news this year."
His smile dimmed for a few seconds, but it returned with a suspicious dimple. "Mary, I didn't come here to talk about my family. I came here to inquire after your health."
"I'm not stopping you from anything."
"Yes, you are; you're trying to change the subject."
"I am not!"
"Forgive me for having some small concern. It's very normal and harmless for people to sit outside in the snow. I've heard of outdoor exercise, and as a humble student of medicine, I heartily endorse it… Really, what madness are you about out here?"
"You can talk to me about madness when you've opened your own practice, and have case studies in Bedlam. I have had my fill of my family for the present time, and I'm trying to retain my sanity outdoors, not sacrifice it."
"Is there any chance Lydia or Kitty will come and find you?"
"If you're trying to avoid them, then it's your own fault if you are seen. You're very hard to miss in your regimentals. Red blends very easily into white landscape."
His brow rose. "Sarcastic and cheeky today, are we? Why should you be so cross with me? I brought you a treat from the bakers."
It wasn't often Mary saw the charming box from their local baker. Although the servants did fetch some confections every so often for the family table, it was never had in this way. Captain Carter broke the pastry with his fingers, and popped the bite into his mouth. No other choice but to do the same.
"A shame it has to be eaten out here, instead of next to a good fire with a cup of tea," he shrugged. "But I've no complaints. What do you think?"
"I like it. I prefer a more buttery taste than overly sweet."
"Describing your palate or your disposition?"
"You know, Captain, sometimes you can be so boorish."
"Thank you!" He wiped his hand against the trousers, brushing off any crumbs. He slid over the remainders of the delicacy to her charge. "You may have the rest. I already bribed Colonel Forster with plenty of muffin yesterday. I don't need anymore. Now… Tell me how things stand with yourself. Have you been well lately?"
"Five days ago, I was… indisposed. Please, don't think me a hypocrite. I already think that myself when I tell you, that I still resorted to the mystery tonic. I tried so hard to do without it."
"Mary, I never said it was poison, and I certainly did not forbid you from using it. As long as you take it and dose it the way I described, you should be fine."
"I'm a hypocrite for having denounced Mr. Jones and his methods. For all my feelings, I do believe he meant to help me, and my mother. And I'm still benefiting from his prescription. I'm sure that if I ever needed any further assistance, he'll have nothing to do with me."
"On that subject, may I offer an alternative? Of sorts. Mary, I have a colleague in London that I've been wishing to write, and discuss your case with him."
"Write him? About me?"
"Of course, no names shall pass. Your identity will remain anonymous. I'll not even name the county you reside. But if I may have your permission, I'd like to write and consult with him about your condition, your symptoms. He graduated with higher marks than myself, went onto an apprenticeship with a respected physician, Dr. Herbert Reis. He's been the specialist in mind. For women who have difficult pregnancies and childbirth, and treating certain disorders, that's his field. I wish I had taken Amelia to see him."
"…Would you do that, really?"
"If I have your consent."
"Yes, please do!" Perhaps a little too eagerly. "Captain, I would be much obliged if you did so. Even if he cannot do anything for me, having some answers would put my mind at ease. Ever since the incident with Mr. Jones, I've been rather anxious and perplexed as to what I should do. Sad to say, I cannot rely on my mother or father for understanding."
"Then I shall commence. However, if I might ask one favour of you. We, doctors, surgeons, students, have a better idea how to help you, but you have to tell us what exactly is wrong. We can't do that for you. Since this is rather of sensitive nature, perhaps it might be more comfortable to write down and catalogue these details? Mainly, your symptoms, how long you've been having them, things you've tried for improvement, what actually helped and what did not. I also offer, if you prefer, you might even dictate your own letter to my colleague, fully sealed. In that way, you'll maintain a sense of privacy."
"I… I am very grateful to you. But Captain?"
"Yes?"
"Is this the normal protocol, or do you simply wish not to know?"
"I'm saying, perhaps, it might be easier to write to a stranger about your ailments than it would be revealing them to me, someone you know and see in your town. I'm an army surgeon. I have completed my full medical training, but my training is for broad and general practice." She nodded. "Think of it this way, as well. He will write to you, with his own advice, a seasoned professional's opinion. You will get advice tailored to your situation, not the opinions of a young doctor fresh out of school or a pharmacologist. He will probably have his own words for me, as well as yourself. I can't say I don't wish to know. It would be lying."
"That all sounds sensible."
"Have you had any success with the mint?"
As sensible it was to discuss the importance of good health, he wisely limited his time upon the heavy, worrisome topics. Mary lit up a bit, happily telling about Jane and Lizzy's tending of the mint plant. Right now, it was being kept safely indoors until it could be transplanted in spring. She made use of some sprigs to make a rousing brew. Lizzy prepared it for her sister, alternating between the mint and a brew of lavender with a touch of honey. Another delectable choice. The mint, though, worked quickly and gently on the stomach, so that the nausea was manageable, even at times preventable.
Mr. Bennet left earlier in the day, having to travel out of Meryton in order to purchase wheat seed for next spring. Normally a task done with the local mercantile, only wheat seed was in higher demand recently. His library was vacant. Good opportunity for some cleaning to be accomplished by the servants. Mrs. Hill directed one of the young boys in the house to take advantage of the morning with the master out. So he was let in, and to both their surprise, his library was not vacant. Lydia stood on the book ladder, and startled by their entrance, gasped and fumbled a mahogany box from an upper shelf. Down it tumbled, clattering to the ground and breaking the lock.
Coin and notes were scattered in all directions.
"Hill, Roland! Lord, you gave me a fright!" cried Lydia, heaving a sigh. "I've misplaced my book and have been looking for it all over the place."
"Begging your pardon, Miss Lydia," replied Mrs. Hill. With a humouring manner, pleasant and unperturbed, she offered: "Do you need help searching for it?"
"I-I suppose I could use some help. I've no idea where it's got to!"
"Roland, will you search the drawing room? I'll search here with Miss Lydia."
"Oh, I've not checked upstairs yet. Will you go and check my room, Hill?"
"I'll check it next. First, I'll help you clean this up."
"How sweet of you. Don't bother about-"
"Nonsense, my dear!" With a clicking tongue: "We will straighten this up for Mr. Bennet. He won't be the wiser for it."
Roland had already disappeared. Lydia blushed and stooped to assist in the reclamation of all the shillings and bank notes. Unfortunately, the lock and the mahogany had a falling out in its tumble. Like Mary's green tin box, it was an aged mechanism. It might give for anybody, without much effort. A few had rolled below his desk, to which Lydia strained to retrieve. In no time, they'd gathered it all back. She climbed and placed it back on the top shelf.
"How clumsy I am!"
"It can happen to the best of us," she replied. "We all make blunders from time to time."
Hill started to graze the spines of the master's bookcase, just barely, when Roland returned bearing Lydia's misplaced novel. By report, it had been discovered under the cushion of the window seat, tucked in the usual place for the circulating novels, like a bookmark for the book itself.
"How silly of me! I'm always loosing my books. Miss Clarke was quite upset last time when I left one of the volumes of her Radcliffe collection outside in the garden. It rained overnight, and was completely ruined. Well, thank you Roland! I shall take better care. After all, I borrowed this one from Pen, and she'll never forgive me if this book meets a similar fate."
"Very well, Miss Lydia. Glad we could be of help," said Mrs. Hill. "And now, if you'll excuse us, miss. Roland needs to clean the master's study."
"Of course! Yes, be at it Roland!" giggled Lydia. "Our father is too much a creature of habit. Be sure not to clean it too thoroughly. He likes things tidy, but not immaculate. You know how he is, I'm afraid. Well, I'll stay out of your way."
And so she did, staying far out of the way. Lydia clung to her novel, kept to the drawing room near her mother, and behaved more than civil to any of the servants who brought tea later. None of the menservants were ever acknowledged in the drawing room by her, when the dinner trays were brought out. Therefore, the smiles and thanks to Sarah for the tea tray was received with surprise. As the afternoon wore on and Mary returned to her daily practices at the piano, it was simply peculiar and intolerable.
"Lydia dear, will you draw the curtain?" asked Mrs. Bennet. "I really wish Mr. Bennet had allowed me leave to renovate this room, when I first suggested it ten years ago. It's so tiresome to be sitting here in the hours before dusk, with full sun blazing in here. I declare my nerves are frayed by the bright light. I'm surprised the rest of my children don't suffer headaches."
"There!" declared Lydia. "All better, Mama. True, it would be nice to have better light, but then, we would not have such a lovely view of the gardens. When I am married, I shall not be satisfied without beds of roses and gardenias."
"You can't tell a rose from a gardenia," mumbled Kitty from the divan.
"I shall have plenty of time to learn and care about such things then," answered her sister.
"And you do not have such time now?" laughed Mary. Her hands were still engaged in the music.
"Of course. I have no such time now."
"Pray, what occupations have you now that so engross your time, Lydia?"
It earned Mary a smirk. "Really, Mary, you're in rather a wry mood. You're never so saucy, almost in good humour."
"I'm simply perplexed how you suffer a lack of time. You don't study French. You don't read books of any serious stamp. You don't take up botany. You don't draw or paint. You don't practice scales."
"I have painted some china on several occasions, including a few in my Aunt Phillips' parlour."
"And how fine they look too, my dear," added Mrs. Bennet. "Mary, you mustn't be so hard upon your sister. She has not the fine talent and interests you possess. For she compensates in many other ways in her education. Perhaps of all your sisters, you Lydia, are the best dancer."
"Indeed! Now that! is a talent that demands much practice. I've little time and energy after that. And I do plenty of reading."
"Novels," retorted Mary.
"And I'm constantly repairing my clothes and bonnets. I also keep a diary, which means I must keep meticulous record of everything. If I were so accomplished like some ladies of our acquaintance, I'd have no friends. Nobody likes to be constantly compared to their companions who outshine them in everything."
"Well be fair, Lydia," reminded Kitty. "You'd have no way to practice and be no good at dancing if it were not for Mary. You must have music in order to practice."
"Since our spinster sister is the most accomplished of us all, it gives her something to do. Doesn't it, Mary?"
It had been some time since Lydia made the same jibe. Of course, the annoyance was always the same, but on each occasion, Mary could almost forgive and forget the last offense. Things would seem sort of pleasant. The younger girls nearly achieved an amount of camaraderie. Then, inevitably, one of them would ruin it: by either a stupid remark or curt reprimand from Mary. Everyone reverted back to their place. Kitty and Lydia, the two silliest girls in the country. Mary, the spinster sister.
"Bite your tongue, Lydia! None of my girls shall be spinsters, if I have anything to say about it," grumbled Mrs. Bennet. "I have a hard enough time of it. But I'd hardly despair of any of you not finding a husband before four and twenty."
"I hope I shall not have to wait as long as that," replied Kitty.
The front door opened to the sound of clattering baggage and anxious horse hooves. Mr. Bennet had returned from his day-long business, a bit rosy and snow-capped shoulders, with Mr. and Mrs. Hill's assistance. All this activity occupied them for some minutes until Lizzy came down the stairs to meet him, greet him with a peck on the cheek. His coat was shed, the bell rung for tea, all ready to be settled in for the day. Dinner had been promised in the next half hour. Cook was running behind today, which did not bother Mrs. Bennet without a guest to keep happy.
"Any letters from Jane today, my dear?" he inquired of his daughter.
"Afraid not, Papa."
"Very well. I wish her a good time, and a more reliable beau, next time around." Mrs. Bennet was about to reply to that. Instead, she fidgeted herself out of her chair and abruptly took up the poker, taking her frustrations out on the wood and flames.
"How are the Nichols and the Mitchells?"
"Midling. Mr. Nichols is slow coming back from pneumonia, but his wife has nursed him well. Mrs. Mitchell came downstairs, and asked I pass on her compliments to you all. And to you especially, my dear," turning to his wife. "I've stopped by all the tenants. They were the only two families to invite me inside. By the time, I got round to the others, everyone is preparing dinner, and didn't wish to keep them waiting. I don't mind keeping my cook waiting, of course. Hill and her slaves must forgive me."
"Did Mrs. Hodge have the baby yet?" asked Mary.
"I didn't ask, but I'm sure Mr. Hodge would've told me."
"Heavens, that makes eight, doesn't it?" sighed Mrs. Bennet. "Eight children. Six boys, one girl, and another on the way. There's something wrong with those proportions. How did they get an overabundance of sons, and we have none?"
"Mrs. Bennet, you must not envy the Hodges. Sons, and having too many of them, can be a curse in many families. We may have no heir, but we could have the worse problem of trying to provide for younger sons. College education. Connections. Their careers, and where to put them? What happens when they disobey and become profligates? No, no, it's a much more expensive endeavour than raising daughters. Speaking of which, Lydia, Kitty, come to the library. I'd like a word with both of you."
First time for everything in life. This was their first summons to the library. Both girls regarded it rather differently, bearing the common suspicion that it was ill-boding. Throughout her life, Lizzy and Jane received summons by their father to come to his study. Lizzy more often Jane. Mary also, had been invited on a couple of occasions. As she watched her younger sisters leave the drawing room, rather subdued and lowered heads, she squared her shoulders and thundered away, playing her own composition. Whatever was to occur behind the closed door must be deserving.
Kitty made the long trek, left to guess what she had done or what had Lydia done. Both were furiously whispering and debating whose fault until they came to the library, and Mr. Bennet bid Kitty to close the door.
"I suppose you know why you both are here."
"Whatever it was, I did not do it," declared Lydia. "Upon my honour!"
"Same here. Papa, I do not understand. I'm sure I haven't done anything wrong."
With a nod but without replying, he reached up to fetch the mahogany box. It dropped with a thud on his desk. Brusque movements and stone-faced expression were common for him, when angered. He observed both girls jump at the racket. In silent suspense, he kept them. Their own expressions told a great deal of the situation.
"I want to know who did this."
In unison, both claimed: "It wasn't I!"
"Kitty, did you break my money box?"
"No! I did not!"
"Lydia, did you break it?"
"No! Upon my honour, I did not!"
"And you did not lose your novel either, did you?"
Her mouth popped, ready to defend then paused. Kitty looked at her confused.
"Yes. I've had it from Hill already. I know you were in here earlier this morning. She witnessed you drop the box and break it."
"Then why did you have to ask?"
"I was giving you one last chance to be honest. Since you've chosen to deny it, I have to wonder why."
"It was merely an accident, Papa!"
"Then why didn't you say so? It's so simple. Innocent enough when you're looking for a book."
"I thought I'd lost it in here."
"Lydia, when do I ever read any of my daughters' silly novels?" he growled. "You weren't in here looking for a book. You came looking for the money box. What were you doing with it?"
"Nothing!"
"Did you steal any money out of it?"
"Papa!"
"Lydia, I'm in no mood. I have to deal with enough cheats at the market. I'm giving you a last chance. Did you steal anything?"
"No!"
"Is that also upon your honour?"
"...Yes."
A sigh. The head shook. Pushing the box aside, he read the sums of his ledger. The amounts of the rents from his tenants were read off one by one, and the final tally was given. Then, resting his hand on the broken lock, he revealed the coin and bank notes, announcing the actual total that had been counted from it.
"A couple shillings, a few, maybe… a clerical error. This… What we have here is a difference. Too large to be a simple mistake," he explained slowly. "We have a difference of seven pounds. You were spotted with the money box, and you dropped it, broke it. It's since been unsecured."
"I haven't been here all day since I broke it!" snapped Lydia. "How do you know Hill or Roland didn't take anything? How do you know that they're not lying?"
"Indeed." With an idle stroll, he went and rang the bell.
"Papa," began Kitty. "If you are sure that Lydia did such a thing, I really don't understand why I'm here. I did nothing wrong."
"You'll understand your role soon enough, my dear."
"I was in the drawing room for all the rest of the day, Papa. It's not fair to accuse me! I think you ought to ask the staff. Really, anyone in the house could've stolen your seven pounds."
"First of all, let me be clear. This missing seven pounds is not my seven pounds, Lydia. This money is rent paid by our tenants. When I take it to our bank, then it becomes my money. Then, that money goes to pay staff, taxes, repairs on the estate, and our living expenses. If there's money missing, a tenant is behind on his rent. Without the testimony of my servants, and if I were not a scrupulous bookkeeper, I'd blame one of my tenants for delinquency of his rents. Our tenant farmers cannot afford to pay twice. By your actions and unwillingness to confess, you'd have allowed poorer men and families to be punished for it."
By then, Mrs. Hill appeared at the door.
"Ah Hill, will you go upstairs and fetch me Miss Lydia's writing desk, as well as her reticle?"
"Yes, sir."
"No Papa! Not my writing desk!"
"Calm yourself. I don't want to read your precious diary. I want that seven pounds restored."
"You're being monstrous unfair, Papa!"
"That is my right," he retorted drolly. Quite overcome, Lydia sunk into a chair with a pout. "Do not be so nervous, Kitty. After all, you've done nothing wrong, have you?"
Her hands gripped the back of the other chair. "N-No Papa."
"You don't sound very convincing."
They all remained in silence for the two minutes it required for Hill to fetch the demanded possessions. She fulfilled her duty and departed. It was expected that he would search the purse first. Instead, he went straight for the writing-desk. If Lydia felt any security in its tiny lock, all such security was destroyed by Mr. Bennet, lifting it over his head, and hurling it to the floor. Kitty and Lydia alike screamed at the display.
"Papa, how could you!" whined Lydia. "My writing-desk!"
"Eye for an eye, my dear."
The pitiful lock gave to the undue pressure. Wasn't so difficult for any man or woman with a motive to get it open. Instead of prying it or demanding a key, there was something satisfying in having forcing entry and destruction. Lydia's diary had been jostled about inside, but remained unscathed from it. The only contents aside from it were a pair of chamois gloves, a necklace, and three one pound bank notes.
"That makes three." He started combing the interior of her purse, which revealed scarcer personal effects. A bit of rattling did turn up some coins. "Where's the rest of it? What did you spend it on?"
Still pouting and showing her injury, Lydia proudly asserted: "I will not tell you."
"Never have I seen you with this pair of gloves before. Appears to be a recent purchase, and you had some leftover. And some of my supposed seven pounds, still unaccounted for. Have you nothing to say for this, Lydia?"
"Those gloves were a present."
"From yourself to yourself, yes. You and all your sisters get twenty pounds a year for an allowance. Is that not good enough for you? That's quite a decent little allowance, for five daughters at home. That's also especially generous being that you do not toil and labour for it."
"So I like fine things, Papa. Mama also likes fine things."
"I'd like an explanation as to where the rest of the money has gone. You couldn't have possibly spent it all on this silk."
"I refuse to tell you! You've been very hardhearted, smashing my writing-desk. My breaking your money box was entirely an accident. And if that were not enough, I must submit to having my privacy invaded too! Do we not have a right to that in this house? Or must we surrender that too? All our personal possessions. You have everything else, do you not? It's your money, your house, your land-"
Now, flushed and furious: "You forget none of it is mine, you little fool. I am as much a tenant of this estate as my own tenant farmers. If you want to steal from me, take what you like and have joy of it! But you will not steal from others. Until you learn better, you will have no allowance this year."
"Papa!"
"Now, I've had quite enough of you, child." Mr. Bennet gathered all Lydia's things together, with the exception of the money and gloves.
"No! Not my gloves!"
"If you refuse to cooperate and confess, then we have nothing to talk about," he sentenced. "Now, you take what is yours. Take your writing-desk, your purse, and your dear diary and go write down all your nasty thoughts about me before you forget them. Go on!"
Even though it was not meant for her, Kitty shuddered to think what was coming. Her sister, so often, withstood criticism much better than herself. No allowance, no new clothes, or ribbons, trinkets, or frivolous little things: for a whole year. Kitty felt the harshness of it as much as Lydia, who looked crippled by it: hot and red in complexion, tears streaking from her eyes. A sound, like something between a childlike moan and a petulant huff, she left and slammed the door.
Since Mr. Bennet hesitated to speak for a moment, Kitty was left supposing escape was possible. Unfortunately, his calling caught her before the door.
"No, no, Kitty. We're not done here."
"Oh Papa, please, I did not do anything." His gaze, incredulous. "I'm telling the truth."
"I hope you will continue to tell the truth. I gave Lydia fair chance to come clean. If you're wise, you'll take the chance when given it. What has Lydia been spending the money on?"
"I… I… don't know if you'd approve. Papa, I had promised Lydia I wouldn't tell, but I had no clue how she got the money."
"She was here all day, I know that. She didn't have time to commit so many thefts in one day. I've been noticing money start going missing over this last fortnight. Only just today was it brought to my knowledge by the servants that she was in here snooping around my money box. In that time, many things have happened to that money. Obviously, she used some of it to purchase this pair of gloves. As to the rest of it, I have a suspicion you may know where it's been spent."
"That's perhaps… what would disapprove of, Papa."
"Are you involved in this somehow?" he sighed. "Please don't lie to me."
"Somewhat." With a couple fingers, he beckoned the details. "Not long ago, Lydia and I were playing a new game with Mrs. Forster and some of the officers. You make bets, and the stakes are a bit higher than the others we've played before. Lydia and I are still learning it… Well, we did not fare well. She lost… thirty guineas to one of the officers."
"What's his name?"
"Captain Carter."
"Thirty guineas… How much did you lose?"
"Twelve."
"To who?"
"The same officer, Captain Carter. I almost lost it to Chamberlayne."
"Perhaps I can bargain him down to returning fifteen pounds, and let the rest be forgotten. Kitty, I am disappointed in the both of you. You're both in the bad habit of wanting too much, begging your mother for what is not yours, and discontent with what you do have. If you feel sorry for what just happened to Lydia, you shouldn't be."
"Yes Papa," Kitty mumbled contritely.
"If I hear of you playing any more of these high stakes betting games with the officers, Mrs. Forster, even your own Aunt Phillips, I promise I'll not hesitate to terminate your allowance either."
"Oh Papa, no…"
"I do have to cover the debt incurred by yours and Lydia's little round of gambling. So as punishment, instead of twenty pounds, I'm reducing your allowance to fifteen. And if you want to whine about it, remember I can dispense with it in much better ways."
"Yes Papa."
"When you can prove you've learned a little economy this coming year, I'll restore your allowance back to twenty. That's fair, wouldn't you say?"
"Yes Papa."
"Of course. You will have to put up with your sister, who will begrudge you for having money to burn and try to beg anything she can from you. And if I were you, I'd find myself a good money box with a solid lock."
"Really? I'm sure Lydia will not attempt anything else after this."
"Don't be so sure, my dear. Jane, Lizzy, Mary, all of them have had the same problem with her. The best solution against theft is to safeguard what belongs to you. It is time that she be made to feel a little deprivation, a little unfairness in her life. That is why I advise you not to think lending her any money as a kindness."
"Yes Papa."
"… Have you nothing else to say?"
"I don't know what else there is to say."
"… Couldn't you at least say, I'm sorry?"
"I am, Papa. But—but I did not know that Lydia did this. Truly, I did not."
"I know, my dear."
"Do you forgive me then?"
"If you learned a lesson today, from any of this, then I forgive you, my dear. Now, get along and let me have a few minutes of peace before dinner," he sighed, with a yawn.
Thanks for your personal comment, sullhach. Thank you and I'm sorry. Yes, not all doctors are equal, in their skill, knowledge, or bedside manner. I was once told that, in similar words as Mr. Jones': "I'm not going to waste good medicine on something that may not even work." And that was not even the worst doctor I'd ever seen...
To liysyl: Thank you for cheering on each chapter!
To EmlynMara: If you've read up to this point, I appreciate your comments. Yes, I think Jane Austen wrote their family dynamics very realistically. Although the story focused more on Lizzy and Jane, I think all of them have potentially rich and deep character. I look forward to your future opinions of Mary as the plot thickens.
To one guest reviewer that remarked about the Bennet sisters preference for officers. I totally agree! Funny that Mrs. Bennet makes comment on that in the book, that "my daughters were brought up very differently Mr. Bingley", as a snide reference about the Lucas family. Charlotte was taught to be useful, and she sneered at the fact that Charlotte was needed in the kitchen about the mince pies. They'd be in over their heads if they married 'beneath their rank'.
Mr. Bennet is not a bad character, but not a shining one. He has some capability as a father, however. After all, his older daughters turned out to be well-rounded. He's not a good father but not a horrible one either. (Hey, he's not Sir Walter Elliot.) What do you think? Is there no redeeming quality to him? Does he deserve benefit of the doubt? I feel like it's also possible to conjecture (in the novel) that he give his daughters some discipline, but did not go about it in a balanced way and was inconsistent. This scene is me neither speaking in his favor or disfavor.