Chapter VI
A sullen Lydia Bennet was much more easily endured than an angry Lydia Bennet. No one in the Bennet family misunderstood this. While nothing more than the reprimand of a poorly behaved sister had been on Elizabeth’s mind when she called her to order, the benefits were welcome to them all.
Their lives continued apace, warming to summer, filling them all with all the contentment the season could bring.
Except for Mrs. Bennet, of course, who detested the heat almost as much as she detested winter’s cold.
The advancing season brought the time of Elizabeth’s departure for the north closer, increasing her anticipation apace.
Lydia’s foot and head also healed enough that she was walking without difficulty, though still a little gingerly, her headaches no longer plaguing her and making her waspish.
Of little surprise to any of them, once Lydia was mobile again, she and Kitty resumed their almost daily walks to Meryton. Even that became a source of vexation, for there appeared to be little in Meryton to hold their attention.
“If only the regiment had not gone away!” exclaimed Lydia for perhaps the fifth day in succession. “Meryton is very dull; if there was anything else exciting in the vicinity, I dare say I would not care to see it again.”
“Perhaps you would care to take up walking with your sister,” said Mr. Bennet from behind his newspaper. “Surely the exercise would do you good, and you may even find something to amuse you.”
“A tedious business, I should say,” denounced Lydia with not even a hint of tact. “How Lizzy can walk the same paths over and over and not become bored is beyond my understanding.”
“Is it any different from how you walk to Meryton daily?” asked Elizabeth calmly.
Lydia scowled at her but did not respond. If that had been all, Elizabeth might have been well pleased that Lydia confined her ill humor to complaining about Meryton while anticipating her coming journey to the north.
In time, however, Elizabeth noticed an odd change in her sister’s demeanor.
It was not something Elizabeth could put her finger on, for Lydia continued to grumble about her circumstances whenever she supposed others might listen to her.
The comments about the regiment, however, became a thing of the past, surprising considering Lydia’s single-minded focus on the officers.
What this might portend Elizabeth could not say, though she watched her sister, wondering what had provoked this change in her.
On a day perhaps three weeks before Elizabeth was to depart for Derbyshire, the sisters’ general boredom chased them from Longbourn to the ever-detested Meryton, in part because of a commission for spices from Longbourn’s cook, but also because Kitty and Lydia insisted on visiting the milliners.
Elizabeth thought cynically that they had visited that shop every day for a fortnight, but as she was to go herself she did not care to challenge them.
“It is always the same thing,” said Lydia as they walked, gazing about her with nothing less than scorn. “How I long for a change in scene and society. The visit to Brighton would have suited me in every particular.”
It had been several days since Lydia had mentioned Brighton, but Elizabeth had no interest in provoking further discussion on that subject, so she kept her own counsel.
“Surely you wish to travel to faraway lands, Jane,” said Lydia, peering at her eldest sister. “I know Lizzy does.”
“At present,” said Jane, “I am content to remain at home. And you know Aunt and Uncle’s children will visit us for a time.”
Lydia made a face—her complaints about the coming of several lively children had not been frequent, yet she had spoken them all the same. Even Mrs. Bennet, who spoke of her nerves far more than anyone wished to hear, had no real objection to hosting her brother’s children for a time.
“Perhaps I shall leave Longbourn before they come.”
So suddenly had Lydia commented that Elizabeth almost thought she misheard. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing!” said Lydia, shaking her head in discontent. “I suppose it was a vestige of my intention to be in Brighton for the summer. Or perhaps I shall ask aunt and uncle to include me in the tour to the north.”
Elizabeth frowned at her sister. “Does the concept of touring the northern counties now appeal to you? That is a surprise, for you have referred to it as a tedious business more than once.”
Again, Lydia shook her head, distracted. “Anything must be better than this monotony.”
“I believe I should like the journey to the north very well,” said Kitty.
That, of course, set the girls to arguing about who their relations would welcome more, who would gain more amusement from the experience, among a host of other nonsensical disagreements.
Elizabeth ignored their dispute and fixed her attention on her youngest sister, wondering what she was about.
Lydia had not a subtle bone in her body, leading Elizabeth to suspect the girl had been thinking of something in particular when she mentioned leaving Meryton.
It had not concerned the northern tour—of this Elizabeth was certain.
Lydia had stated repeatedly how disinclined she was to travel north.
When the sisters arrived in Meryton, they separated according to their own interests.
Lydia and Kitty, unsurprisingly, went straight to the milliners, though Elizabeth was certain they would find their way to the dressmakers in time.
Mary, as was her wont, visited the booksellers, for the proprietor, Mr. Lodge, also kept a selection of sheet music Mary often perused.
Jane stayed with Elizabeth. They entered the general store to fulfill cook’s charge and then joined Mary at the bookseller.
Jane, though not the reader that Elizabeth was and having no skill on the pianoforte, was still well-read enough to find several selections that she enjoyed.
It was no surprise at all that Mary had found a piece of music she wished to purchase—Elizabeth estimated Mary dispensed with as much as half of her allowance in such purchases.
What remained she usually used on books, though not the sort Elizabeth enjoyed.
For a time, the sisters took pleasure in each other’s company, debating a book or poring over a piece of music.
As they searched, Elizabeth found a duet by Mozart that she and Jane might do a creditable job in performing, and Mary, eager as she was to play the pianoforte, agreed she would enjoy playing for them.
In time, they gathered their purchases at Mr. Lodge’s counter and soon exited the shop.
They had no sooner gained the street outside when Kitty approached them, her manner more than a little disgruntled. “Have you seen Lydia?” asked she.
“Do you suppose Lydia will ever willingly enter such an establishment boasting nothing more than the dusty tomes she always decries?” asked Mary, more than a little primly in Elizabeth’s opinion.
“She is not with you?” asked Elizabeth.
Kitty shook her head. “We were in the dressmakers looking at the latest designs when she disappeared.”
Jane shook her head while Mary pursed her lips. “I suppose she cannot get into any mischief in Meryton, of all places,” said Jane. “Shall we leave her to find her own way home?”
“I am uncertain that is wise, Jane,” replied Elizabeth, considering the past months of the girl’s folly. “We should at least look for her before we return to Longbourn.”
The sisters all agreed, and they spread out searching for their wayward sister.
As it turned out, their investigation was unnecessary, for it was not thirty seconds later when Lydia came sauntering down the middle of Meryton’s primary street.
As the sisters were as yet all nearby, they converged on her at once.
“Lydia,” whined Kitty. “Why did you leave me alone?”
The girl’s shrug in response preceded her excuse. “I saw something interesting in the haberdasher’s window and went to investigate. But it was not so curious as I thought.”
The response seemed a little too glib for Elizabeth’s taste, but there was no reason to question her sister further. Had Lydia remained silent, that would have been the end of the matter, but Lydia, being who she was, could not help but make a nasty comment at her sister’s expense.
“Besides, you are so dull, that associating with you is nothing less than a punishment.”
Kitty turned red, and a retort seemed poised on the tip of her tongue, but Elizabeth interjected to forestall an argument.
“That is unkind, Lydia. If you cannot refrain from making such comments, perhaps you should remain silent.”
The hateful glare that Lydia directed at her was entirely predictable. “You lord your position is my elder over me, but it shall not always be that way, Lizzy. In time, I shall take your position. Then you shall be sorry!”
It was more of Lydia’s drivel and Elizabeth was not about to listen to it. “Perhaps you will. Until that day, you will mind your manners and abstain from such comments.”
With a haughty glare, Lydia turned and marched away toward Longbourn, and once they had exchanged glances, the sisters turned to follow her.
“That girl is beyond impossible,” muttered Mary as they walked.
“She is yet young and immature,” said Jane, ever the peacemaker.
“She is old enough to know how to behave,” retorted Mary. “If our mother would not coddle her so, perhaps we might influence a change in her manners.”
“Only if our father took a hand,” said Elizabeth.
Mary grimaced, but she did not dispute Elizabeth’s assertion.
“I would hurry to catch her,” said Kitty, uncertainty written in her hesitant words. “But I doubt she would welcome my presence.”
“I dare say she would not,” agreed Elizabeth. “It is best to leave her to her own devices, Kitty. Hopefully, she will regain her equanimity by the time we return to Longbourn.”