Chapter 33
Over the next two days, the weather grew more tolerable, and the summer heat less oppressive. It was easy to forget, in all the havoc and anxious suspense, that this was a beautiful summer season. That touch of rain set the farms and landscape lush green. All the orchards bearing fruit perfumed the late afternoon wind, to be followed by the sweet stench of the farms themselves. Robins and sparrow tended to their young in the high trees of the copses. Though with the early hours, while still as dark as midnight but only an or so from dawn, Mary listened to the conversation of a pair of owls. At first, she only heard the one, then the next night, two distinct hooting tones. Either siblings or a mated pair.
Despite the restlessness and inability to sleep, the long hours were not so unpleasantly wasted. She experienced the tranquility of the house unlike any other time of the day. The night before, she even rose, donned her light robe, and strolled out to the large oak. No book in hand, nor lamp either. It felt so foreign to simply stroll outside, to sit anywhere without occupation for the hand or mind. So much time seemed shamefully forfeited by sitting; though admittedly, it was untrue to tell herself that this was nothing. She had her thoughts for company. But even then, Mary dismissed them for the wonders of a bejeweled heavens.
Her father's fragrant gardenias were in full bloom wafting in the breeze. Mingling with them, there also came the smell of a chimney, tending and cultivating flour and butter. It was four o'clock, after all; the cook was already up and baking for breakfast. If ever, should the need arise later in her life, Mary found herself unafraid of the idea of performing similar duties. That would be a desperate, drastic change of circumstances. Their mother would revolt and take her protest up to Parliament before allowing one of her daughters, born ladies, to be reduced to servants. All it would take would be a few lessons from their own cook and scullery maid to prepare her for such tasks. It wasn't a terrible life. Their lives began early in the morning, before the family woke; they had the peace and quiet company of one another, and baking bread, simmering eggs, and brewing hot chocolate.
"I don't know how you can rise so early, and still go about a normal day without the need for bed so early," remarked Kitty.
"I've found it very refreshing," replied Mary.
"Of course, we're talking about early morning in summer. It's probably not going to be so fair and cheerful in winter."
"Probably not."
"Oh, is she waking?" Both girls went silent as Mrs. Bennet turned over on her side. A little grumbling and heaved sighs, no more than that. Since breakfast, she wasn't sound asleep, but fitful and drowsy, awake for a few minutes, then dozing another half an hour. By sitting with her for the time, Jane and Lizzy could spend some time tending their neglected herbs and flower beds.
"At least, she's no longer crying for her," whispered Mary. "I don't like to see her this way, but I'd prefer this state now to her working herself into hysteria."
Kitty had not even acknowledged her sister in agreement when a racket was heard downstairs. It came and went quickly. For as it would turn out, Jane and Lizzy had rushed to the library. Failing to find their father, the butler briefly informed them he'd stepped out into the copses. Out the front door, both raced frantically to catch up with Mr. Bennet. Something must've been heard, some news from London. Their curiosities would not be satisfied until fifteen minutes later, when Jane and Lizzy came back into the house. It was so important that Lizzy gently roused their mother and rearranged her pillows. Mrs Bennet did not rise, until Jane began to read the express letter just arrived from Mr. Gardiner himself. Her spirits were rising with each sentence.
Lydia and Wickham had been discovered. They were soon to be married. His debts were to be cleared, and some little money would remain to settle on her. As part of the settlement, the couple would receive a hundred pounds per annum. After the death of father and mother, one thousand pounds would be bequeathed to her, her equal portion among her sisters of five thousand pounds.
"My dear, dear Lydia!" cried her mother. "This is delightful indeed! She will be married! I shall see her again! She will be married at sixteen! My good, kind brother! I knew how it would be. I knew he would manage everything! How I long to see her! And to see dear Wickham too! But the clothes, the wedding clothes!" The bed covers were thrown off with a renewal of vitality in the limbs that, only minutes ago, had barely the strength to raise herself upright. "I will write to my sister Gardiner about them directly. Lizzy, my dear, run down to your father, and ask him how much he will give her. Stay, stay, I will go myself. Ring the bell for Hill, Kitty. I will put on my things in a moment. My dear, dear Lydia! How merry we shall be together when we meet!"
"Mama, you've just had a dose of your sleeping draught not six hours ago," Jane reminded. "And you've been in bed for weeks. Try not to overexert yourself too soon. For we must attribute this happy conclusion, in a great measure, to Mr. Gardiner's kindness. We are persuaded that he has pledged himself to assist Mr. Wickham with money."
"Well, it is all very right; who should do it but her own uncle? If he had not had a family of his own, I and my children must have had all his money, you know; and it is the first time we have ever had anything from, except a few presents."
"Mama! Our uncle is under no such obligation!" Lizzy scolded.
"Well! I am so happy! In a short time I shall have a daughter married. Mrs. Wickham! How well it sounds! And she was only sixteen last June. My dear Jane, I am in such a flutter, that I am sure I can't write; so I will dictate, and you write for me. We will settle with your father about the money afterwards; but the things should be ordered immediately. Oh dear, the calico, the muslin, and cambric!"
"It might be more advisable, to wait at least one day."
"Yes! I'm sure our father should be consulted. Can you not wait, Mama, until that can be discussed at his leisure?" added Jane.
"Well… All well, I'm sure one day's delay is of little importance. But your father has already been enough at his leisure!" In a fluttering hurry, she flung open the doors of her wardrobe. "I will go to Meryton as soon as I am dressed, and tell the good, good news to my sister Phillips. And as I come back, I can call on Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long. Kitty, run down and order the carriage. An airing would do me a great deal of good, I am sure. Girls, can I do anything for you in Meryton? Oh! Here comes Hill! My dear Hill, have you heard the good news? Miss Lydia is going to be married, and you shall all have a bowl of punch to make merry at her wedding."
For Mrs. Bennet's orders and activity, in addition to this sudden exuberance of energy, caused as much uproar in the house as her initial distress upon Lydia's elopement. Her maids were running in and out; even her daughters, ordered and sent here and there, without a second thought. Mary couldn't help note the stinging poignancy between her mother's mentioning Lydia's age, and then addressing Jane, all in the same breath. For it would've been too unkind to her fairest child, the beauty of the family, to say the words. Indeed, Lydia was to be married at sixteen years old, to the satisfaction of the dearest desire of her heart; for it had been her sweetest wish since Jane was sixteen. The eldest daughter had been, in rather unorthodox, unseemly fashion, displaced.
What an insult, to be forced to dictate her mother's letter to Mrs. Gardiner, ordering wedding clothes and trousseau for Lydia! Mary felt for her, and asked whether she might take over such task herself. Jane thanked her for kindness, but paid no mind to the injury. Would Lizzy, really, ask such a thing of her father? Mary saw the answer in her sister's slight head-shake and roll of the eyes. Let their mother do the asking for her favourite child. Mary did, however, win the task of riding with her mother in the carriage into Meryton. Originally, Mrs. Bennet asked that Kitty go with her to pay these calls. The prospect of facing Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long, as well as the possibility of encountering Mrs. Harrington, made her unwilling and shy.
"Mama, if she doesn't want to, don't make her go. I'll go with you," offered Mary.
"I don't wish to be critical of my own daughter, Mary dear, but you're not always good company. And I'm sure you're anxious to play the piano again. I've not heard you play a whole fortnight. We need to make this house happy again!"
"That is a kind thought, Mama," sighed Mary. "But I can forego that pleasure until later this afternoon. We must look after you until you're more recovered."
"Oh, I'm perfectly fine, girl! Right as rain now that Lydia will be married!"
"Can we not spare Meryton the news until they have married?"
"Why should I wait until then? I want all of Meryton to know! It will put everything right again. I don't want my family to be shunned anymore. I want Kitty to be able to call on the Harringtons again. I want my sister and brother Phillips to be able to hold their heads up again!" Reasoning with her was in vain attempted, by any of them. A compromise was managed that made allowance for Mrs. Bennet's wishes and Kitty's feelings; for both the youngest daughters would persevere together, in the carriage, in Meryton, in every parlour and drawing room they visited, the violence of their mother's joy.
In the following days, all the girls heard numerous arguments between their mother and father. A second letter came from Uncle Gardiner detailing the list of Mr. Wickham's creditors, along with more news. For Mr. Wickham could not possibly hope to be recognized by Colonel Forster again, and it was expedient that he should give up his claim as a soldier in his corp. It was made to understand that he would take a commission in a northern regiment, an ensignacy in the –shire regiment, that was currently quartered at Newcastle. Their character might better be recovered and preserved amongst strangers, or at least, it was hoped so.
Mrs. Bennet had set her heart on the Wickhams residing in the neighbourhood. This was nonsense about her being banished to the north, to Newcastle, away from all her friends. It was only fitting that they take Haye Park or the great house at Stoke, or another similar property that was far beyond their little income. It did not occur to Mrs. Bennet that her daughter's husband was still an officer of the British army, demanding he must make his abode where his regiment was stationed. Lydia would not have a house of her own for some time to come. A part of her also wished to go to London to be present at the ceremony, which was not deemed advisable. The greatest dispute, though, involved what money would be given for her wedding clothes, as well as receiving them as guests at Longbourn. It was unthinkable that he should begrudge money from his own daughter upon marriage.
"I've not the smallest intention of furthering impudence, my dear. They've been sufficiently and too kindly provided for by your brother."
"Mr. Bennet! It's quite disgraceful. She should have some money for new clothes and housekeeping. Denying her that is refusing to recognize her marriage. Society will talk of it. It will make her look disinherited from the family."
"She's done that herself. I saw what agonies you went through, and how quickly you forget your sufferings. Her uncle and myself have been scouring all parts of London for her. She took Colonel Forster away from his own duties. All her sisters lost sleep over her. She and Wickham deserve their lot, and no right to recognition."
"I've forgiven her, my dear. Why shouldn't we all?"
"So be it then. Forgive her. But to forgive them or not is a privilege of choice I reserve for myself and my other daughters."
It took a great deal of convincing on the part of Jane and Elizabeth to reason with their father, while showing deference for his own anger. Lydia's ill-treatment was not to be forgiven readily or forgotten at all. For the sake of her own feelings and the status of her marriage, it seemed appropriate that she should be noticed by her parents on the occasion. The Wickhams could then have no right to complain of ill-treatment, of banishment, disinheritance, and go inventing another wild story about it.
Lizzy suggested it possible that Mr. Wickham might do so, without scruple or sympathy for them, if he had anything to gain. Jane thought of their mother as well, what she might say and do if denied at least the pleasure of seeing her daughter again. It would relieve her, as well as all of them, to see their sister after such terrors.
Mr. Bennet conceded. For it did not demand anything extraordinary of him. The Wickhams were invited to Longbourn, but it could hardly be said they were welcome, by him at least. Whether the eldest sisters came to regret their reasoning, was never to be known. The day of the wedding arrived. All took place according to Mr. Gardiner's letter, and Mr. Bennet gave his permission for them to come. Shortly after breakfast, before the family had even dissembled, the carriage came rolling to the door. Lydia's voice was heard in the vestibule; the door thrown open, and she ran into the room.
It was nothing to give them any surprise. Lydia was Lydia still; untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless. For not even the stone-cold countenance of her father dampened her display. Mrs. Bennet embraced her with teary-eyed glee and squealing joy in her voice. "How much I've missed you all!" Again and again it was repeated around the room. "Jane, Lizzy! You must congratulate me! Oh, how I've missed you! And Mary! Dear Mary! Congratulations from you too! Oh Kitty, my dearest sister, how much I've missed you!"
Mrs. Bennet had been the only one to reciprocate and fawn over the new bride. Such fine clothes, so pretty in her new blue habit, and what a smart cap and blue feather. Adding to that, Mrs. Bennet fancied she had grown. She did not note the lack of such affection from her other daughters or her husband. They had to file out of the breakfast room, grown overcrowded in the commotion. Mr. Wickham was met in the vestibule, not the least bit changed or distressed. Mary saw perfect manners and the warmest salutations bestowed on his new mother-in-law. He did no more than greet and nod to Mr. Bennet; for he, unlike his young bride, was not blind to Mr. Bennet's reserve. He knew better than to force his pleasantries.
"Only think of its being three months, since I went away; it seems but a fortnight I declare! Yet there have been things enough happened in the time. Good gracious! When I went away, I am sure I had no more idea of being married till I came back again! Though I thought it would be very good fun if I was…"
They were all removed and settled in the drawing room. Neither mother or daughter could speak fast enough. There was barely room in conversation for anyone else. It proved both a wonder and most disgusting to be witness to such a scene. Mr. Bennet did not linger long. Lizzy tried to reproach Lydia with an expressive look, which failed. Jane, too mortified for the feelings of everyone else, sat in silent distress.
"Oh Mama, do people the people hereabouts know I am married today? I was afraid they might not; and we overtook William Goulding in his curricle, so I was determined he should know it, and so I let down the side-glass next to him, and took off my glove, and let my hand just rest upon the window frame, so that he might see the ring, and then I bowed and smile like anything."
Lizzy took her leave from the room for a time. Mary wished to follow, but perhaps, it was better judged to let her be alone. Besides, such a large departure might throw a shadow on the home-coming, and for as much as they did not wish to welcome the Wickhams, they did not wish it to be seen in such poor manners. Lydia asked after all the neighbours, asked after all their occupations and activity. Paying calls was talked of, between them; for Mrs. Bennet earnestly wished to gratify, and gratify herself by showing off her married daughter in Meryton.
"Ring the bell for the carriage, will you, Kitty dear," asked Mrs. Bennet. "First, we must visit my sister, then we'll see Mrs. Doyle, and the Harringtons. Harriet and Pen have missed you so! They've asked after you and Mr. Wickham a good deal these last few days. They'll be so glad!"
"Oh, and Miss Watson too, Mama!"
"Yes! Yes! And Mrs. Long and Jemima. The Barneses. On the way home, we can stop at Lucas Lodge. Oh what a lovely week we shall have! How I've missed you so, my dear!"
"I should go and see the servants too! They'll wish to see my ring."
"Mary dear, should you like to come with us to Meryton?"
"Thank you, no Mama," she declined. Jane and Kitty were asked too, and Lizzy, as she returned from upstairs. Lizzy had gone for her own bonnet and spencer, ready to take off on a walk. Now that the initial reception of their visitors had been completed, and as they were all largely forgotten in their sister's head, there was no duty felt to attend such a tawdry parade into town. Lydia wanted to hear herself called Mrs. Wickham by all her old friends and acquaintance; she was to have her way, both while in their presence and long after she left them. Nobody else, especially not her unmarried, elder sisters, could expect to be present and not look the greater fool.
But perhaps the height of impudence came as the family responded to the summons to dinner. Lizzy had been coming from the hallway, meeting up with Mary. They both watched in a blaze of outrage as Lydia hooked herself into Wickham's arm, going to dinner behind their mother, stepping right in the path of her sister.
"Ah Jane! I take your place now," declared she. "For you must go lower, because I am a married woman."
Kitty, who had been following, went suddenly agape. Lizzy and Mary were instantly hot, and Mary muttering under her breath. As soon as they were alone in the foyer, all three bombarded their eldest sister.
"Jane, how could you let her get away with such a thing?" demanded Lizzy.
"This insolence must not be permitted!" added Mary.
"She has no right giving herself such airs!" growled Kitty.
All complaints overlapped each other, amongst other whispered protests against Lydia's arrogance. They crowded round Jane, but she drew back a step.
"Lizzy that is enough!" Jane reacted warmly. Then with a softened tone, she bid: "Hold your tongues, all of you. It's my right to be offended, is it not? But it's also my choice, not to take offense… That's exactly what Lydia expects."
It stunned the ears to have received such a speech, borne of genuine anger. Kitty had heard chiding, gentle reproof on numerous occasions from Jane. Lizzy, at the most, had been called out for being too unguarded in her temper or maybe overly critical about the faults of her fellowman; yet, with the softest tones, such a simple speech of indignity was expressed. Both the choice of words and force to them, however, commanded attention. Like a lady being presented before his supreme Majesty, she held her head erect with squared shoulders, proceeding on through the foyer and into the dining room. The example was to be followed. For none of them must betray the least bit of weakness, not while Lydia eagerly watched. Jane's sisters could argue nothing in so short a statement, and feel nothing but a surge of admiration.
I can understand if some of you find this chapter a little disappointing. I get the feeling many of you were expecting Mary or Lizzy to confront Lydia and just let her have it. If a scene like that had taken place, I think Jane Austen would've written it in the novel, and it would've been 10x better than anything I'd think of.
To Knitting Princess: I have heard about the post-plot canon that involved the marriage of the remaining two Bennet girls. Never have read about it, only heresay. I have read a FF where the writer wove that plot into Kitty's ending; Mary's ending is yet to be published on this site. I thought it was done very well. But for my post-plot story, honestly, I just cannot accept that. TRUE, Kitty should be paired with someone that gives her life purpose, and heals her with real affection. And the same goes for Mary. I do have big plans for them. No spoilers, but good news, which I'm sure will be a relief, Lydia will no longer be a key player. She'll still be in the story, but as a more minor character, not really present all that much. So Mary and Kitty will get a break from her.
To an unnamed Guest: Thank you for your comment. For your sympathy for Mary and Kitty, and yes, I can say this chapter will be a turning point. Once Lydia is out of the way, it'll get better. I think in the novel, it took Kitty time to adapt and separate from her sister emotionally, as well as her sister's identity. So that's a depth I'd like to explore more with Kitty's story.
Thank you everyone for joining me thus far, for your reviews and followings, and for sharing your coffee and tea with Mary and Kitty.