Chapter 47
The youngest Bennet sisters arrived at Pemberley four hours before they were expected. This was evidence of a restless night and an early departure, both of which were very in-character for the three girls. Kitty and Lydia were, naturally, beside themselves.
Mary was less excited, but she lived her life in a state of perpetual impatience.
If she had a task to complete, or a destination to reach, then she could think of little else until it was accomplished.
Anyone who dared interrupt her on this path lost her respect for good.
They would witness rapid acceleration; she rushed to complete her task, instead of setting it aside for later.
They would also hear loud tooth-grinding and a decisive snap as the book was finally shut, or the instrument closed.
Only then would Mary give them her full attention.
So it was with the visit to Pemberley; Mary thought only of the journey itself, and would not consider her arrival until the moment when it occurred.
Jane had warned her sister that the girls had been much altered in the time between Elizabeth’s departure and Jane’s rescue.
In a few short months the Bennets had been transformed from a family of five loving children to something incomprehensibly different.
None of them felt loved; they were no longer children, and two of them barely felt as if they were welcome in the family at all.
One had been married to a stranger without warning, and the other was being readied for marriage like a prize sow being fattened for market.
Fear had tempered much of the wild behaviour which had made Lydia and Kitty infamous.
Mary was fuelled by something far more specific: righteous indignation.
She had been raised to see the world one way, and to behave accordingly.
Now, without apology, her mother had changed all of the rules.
How can one ‘behave accordingly’ when one does not understand?
How was one to find their feet on ground that had turned into sand?
Mary was incensed. Jane had acted perfectly yet was being treated like a disobedient chit.
And Jane was the favourite! If her treatment could change so completely, then what lay ahead for her sisters?
So it was that Mary became more animated and self-aware, and her sisters became more solemn and thoughtful. Kitty and Lydia did not want to draw untoward attention. They also knew better than to laugh at ridiculous things. Even the silliest notions, they discovered, could destroy lives.
The sounds of raised voices hushed when the carriage stopped in front of the house.
The fact that they had been audible over the horses was, frankly, impressive.
Elizabeth smiled ruefully at the coachman when he jumped down to open the door.
He looked rather rattled - and distinctly glad to have arrived.
Even the horses looked relieved. Generally, at this point they were looking forward to a nice warm oat mash, but Elizabeth wondered if this time they were just hoping for a bit of peace and quiet.
Lydia descended first, bounding out with her elbows raised to stop her sisters from rising from their seats.
She grinned widely at both Elizabeth and Jane and then began to speak.
She exclaimed loudly over the beautiful house, christened Lizzie a ‘lucky old thing’ and lamented the awful journey with her awful sisters and the awful, awful book she had tried to read on the way.
Mary descended next with rather more decorum.
She explained that the book had never even been opened and was doubtless too challenging for her sister to make the attempt.
This had the happy effect of making Lydia mute with indignation.
While the prattler was rattled, Mary kissed her sisters’ cheeks and greeted them warmly.
Scolded by this reminder of her own shortcomings, Lydia copied her.
What of Kitty? She stepped carefully down from the carriage but did not move forward as she ought.
She stood silently beside Mary, waiting for her turn to speak.
Her kisses were light, her embrace heavy and trembling.
Elizabeth was reminded at once of Jane’s arrival.
She did not let Kitty go until her little sister stopped sniffling.
“It was mama.” Mary explained, fighting to be stoic against such overt emotion. “After Jane left…”
“I know.” Elizabeth said. Lydia’s eyes flashed.
“No, Lizzie, you do not know. How can you know? Were you there? You disobeyed; Jane disobeyed. Now mama is making sure that we will not follow in your footsteps. We are not even allowed to walk into town without her.”
“She made no such attempt with me.” Mary interjected, “She does not care where I go, as long as I do not go too far. I am to be her companion. I am the one she calls upon to bring her salts, even when the servants are right beside her. I must fetch her compresses and her slippers. And it is I who she sends to tend to father when he…”
Mary fell abruptly silent. The sisters all shared an uneasy look. Their father’s ailment was something they had never dared to name, although they were all deeply afraid of it. If they had not known what his symptoms meant, their mother’s staggering transformation spelled it out clearly.
“The attacks are more frequent, now.” Mary whispered, “He cannot move one of his hands at all. He slurs when he speaks and his smile looks… well, he rarely smiles, but I have never thought that a blessing until recently. It takes him longer each time to recover. We rarely see him outside of his study.”
“I miss him.” Kitty piped up sadly.
“He is the only one who can keep mama in check!” Lydia cried.
“Yes, but…” Kitty looked down at her feet, her voice almost inaudible, “I miss him.”
There was an awkward, foot-shuffling silence. The sound of male voices broke through it. Five ladies looked up to see the gentlemen climbing down the steps towards them.
Elizabeth was grateful for the distraction. While her younger sisters curtseyed and were introduced to the master of the house, she idly studied their reactions. Was it pride to want to see what her sisters thought of her husband?
Lydia stepped forward first, as always. She looked boldly up at the large, rather imposing Mr. Darcy and then faltered. She could not summon her usual mischievous grin, only mumbled something polite and stepped back.
Kitty was just as cowed but greeted her brother-in-law more fluently than Lydia.
She had adopted a gentle manner which suited her very well.
She must have copied it from Jane. When she used it, she seemed much less girlish than she used to be, and the sweetness in her nature shone through.
Darcy spoke more softly to her than he had with Lydia, although he did glance curiously at his wife.
She had described Catherine as an energetic mirror to the younger girl, but this wide-eyed child reminded him much more of Georgiana.
Darcy’s gentleness amazed Kitty. Like all of Meryton, she knew Mr. Darcy as a serious, forbidding man. His penchant for drink might have made a lesser man ridiculous, but it only served to make Darcy more intimidating.
The letters that Elizabeth had sent to Jane had nothing to add. Knowing that Mrs. Bennet would intercept them, Lizzie only communicated the bare minimum. Jane reduced it even further: Elizabeth was in good health.
That could mean any number of things!
The example of Mr. Collins had taught Kitty that men could hide cruelty under any number of false virtues.
Likewise, her mother demonstrated how the bonds of family did not protect the innocent from abuse.
Love was no defence. One’s protectors were just as likely to hurt you as the bullies themselves.
Elizabeth had not loved the man she married, and Kitty doubted that he cared for her.
She knew not the intricacies of their engagement, only that it was somehow arranged instead of desired.
Jane had not explained any more than that.
Kitty was deeply afraid that Elizabeth had left the frying pan and leapt straight into the fire.
So, what was this? Kitty remembered Mr. Darcy as a drunkard, with sallow skin, deep-set eyes and a surly manner.
He never sounded amiable, even when he recited his wedding vows.
Now, he was different. So different, in fact, that Kitty’s concern for her sister turned into envy.
Mr. Darcy was polite, courteous and handsome.
Staggeringly handsome, in fact! Kitty blushed when he said her name and did not dare look up.
That left Mary.
Mary did look up. She spoke clearly, confidently and in the businesslike manner of a man’s equal.
It was she who thanked Mr. Darcy for his hospitality and made the expected compliments about the roads and the horses.
He replied in turn, with impeccable politeness, and then he began to introduce the ladies to his good friend, Mr. Bingley.
There was a light in Mary’s eye that told Elizabeth that, despite her apparent serenity, she was just as relieved to be here as the others - including Jane!
But was that really surprising? Jane was afraid of being tired to an abhorrent man.
Mary’s fate was just as bleak: to be condemned to a life where she would always have to rely on another woman’s whims and charity.
Spinsters were not celebrated for their sacrifice, only pitied for their withering youth.
All of that awaited Mary, to serve a mother who barely even spoke to her.
Mrs. Bennet had never enjoyed Mary’s company, but now she demanded it.
What a family they had become!