Chapter Thirty-Two
I t had been Papa's fault, really. Mr. Bennet had taken exception to the inevitable discussion of finery yet again after dinner and, having had his already limited patience exhausted with a comparison of muslins, had spoken mercilessly to his daughters of the horrors that awaited them in Miss Hatterchet's seminary .
The picture he had painted to Lydia in particular had been one of regulation and interminable dullness. Education, moderation, and subordination were to be the order of the day. There would be no dances in Bath to attend — Miss Hatterchet would almost certainly not allow it. If they were even to see a young man, the mistresses in charge would likely make them cross the street. The only time that young ladies were to go outside of the seminary grounds would be for daily exercise, which meant, according to Papa, “...that there can be no need for these unnecessary orders at the dressmakers. What point, Lydia, in being gowned better than your fellow pupils? I daresay you will impress no one of importance there. ”
Mary's face had been the usual blank mask of indifference — she had no love of pretty things or balls. Surely no suitor had ever looked her way so what did it matter to her if they were to be cloistered up like nuns in a convent until they were of age? Kitty looked to be near tears but she always looked so when Mr. Bennet spoke sternly. To Lydia, the prestige of attending a select seminary seemed suddenly to fade into insignificance in the face of the trial of isolation that stretched forth before her .
Mama patted Kitty’s hand. “There now, Kitty, your father is only funning — it will be because he will miss you all, no doubt about it.”
“Is that indeed so, Mrs. Bennet?” her husband responded drily. “I had not realised it.”
“Do not cry, Kitty. Papa likes to tease; you know this.” Jane's tone was gentle and no hint of rebuke could be detected .
“It would disappoint our staid Mary if I were teasing, would it not, Mary? ”
“I do not know, Father. It is of little concern to me if our life at school will be a quiet one, but I should not say that I relish the idea of being imprisoned as you seem to suggest.”
“My suggestion ,” Papa was no less impatient with Mary this evening than with his other daughters, “is that this fantastical school life that Lydia has dreamed up with parties or balls every night and a dashing husband within a fortnight is the stuff of silly dreams. A seminary is a place of education, child, not a venue for young men to fall in love. I should think that the principal would be disgraced very rapidly if foolish girls were permitted to be courted under her roof.”
“I am sure that Lydia did not mean to suggest that she goes to Bath to find a husband, Papa — it will be a great opportunity for her to learn all manner of useful things for when she is fully grown.”
It had been a mistake on Jane's part too, to speak of her as though she were a child, for all she meant it kindly. Lydia could not leave this unanswered. “I am fully grown. I am nearly the tallest of all of us. Do you mean that Papa is right, Jane, when he says that there will be no fun things at all in Bath? Are we to be cut off from everything enjoyable?”
“No, no,” Jane's gentle voice was soothing. “I am sure that the lessons will be designed to engage your mind and there will be the company of other young ladies there also — you will like to make friends, for you are so lively I am sure they will adore you, Lydia.”
“Never mind it, my love,” said Mrs. Bennet, from her chair near the fire. “It will be worth it. By the time you make your comeout in London, all it will take is the very mention that you have attended Miss Hatterchet's seminary and all the young men will know that you are a very fine prospect indeed. Why, there are titled ladies attending, from what I hear. Daughters of earls and dukes! When you are of age you will have your own income also, which you will like very much. But ah,” she added, dabbing at her dry eyes with her lace-edged handkerchief, “you may be sure that your mama will miss you terribly. I do not know what I am to do with myself once you are in school and Jane is married.”
“At least there will be Jane's wedding to enjoy,” Kitty supposed. She tended towards blind optimism on occasion, which Lydia currently thought irritating. “We are to have new gowns for that and they will be quite lovely. You know you look pretty in your new frock, Lydia.” It was true, of course. She did look well in the gown she would wear for Jane's wedding — no one would think she was younger than eighteen, and the cut suited her.
“You all do,” Jane said loyally, looking round at her sisters. “At my wedding I shall have the prettiest bridesmaids any bride has ever had. I am glad that you will all be standing with me.”
“Even Mary,” crowed Lydia, not entirely kindly.
“Lizzy does not mind that she has not chosen anything in the ordering of her dress?” Kitty seemed to find this bewildering .
“I have had a letter from her this morning, Kitty, and she said nothing of it — I do not think she will be unhappy. She knows that we will choose what will suit her, and that if Lydia has any say, it will be a very fine dress.”
A little mollified, as Jane perhaps intended, Lydia nodded. “That is true — I do have the best taste in clothing.”
It might have passed from her mind, her offence at the future her father envisaged for her, but unfortunately he spoke again. “I will have no more talk of dresses or gowns or lace after dinner. At this rate, I shall forbid any more weddings from this house and you must either elope to Gretna Green or remain unmarried for the remainder of your days.”
With that, he stood up and quit the room .
The ladies looked at each other .
“I think Papa is missing Lizzy,” Jane said. “He is not usually so…so impatient. I beg your pardon, however, if I have been speaking too often of the wedding plans — I suppose I have been a little excited by the prospect.”
“You have hardly mentioned them, Jane, and even if you had babbled on about Mr. Bingley from noon til night it is not something you need be sorry for.”
Jane's relief was visible. “Thank you, Kitty — I am glad I have not overtaxed your patience.”
“He will, as you say, be happier once Lizzy returns home,” said Mary quietly, and she turned her face, seeking her book .
“As though we should any of us disgrace the family by eloping to Gretna Green!”
“Lydia might,” muttered Mary, evidently feeling out of sorts herself. Lydia thought that there was no one so snide as Mary when she was in an ill humour. It was a pity Mary did not turn to see her youngest sister pull a face in her direction but instead tidied the stack of books on the table beside her so that the spines aligned. Dull Mary.
“He was speaking in jest, Kitty — he knows full well that we would not entertain the thought. Do not think of it any more, dear. Why do we not have a little music. Mary; have you a mind to play for us tonight?”
Lydia thought very little of the music. She did not care for Mary's skill at the pianoforte unless it was for her benefit. Occasionally her older sister could be persuaded to play a lively tune suitable for a dance, but not always. Mama usually sided against Mary, and sometimes Lydia almost felt sorry for her. Poor, obedient Mary would quietly put away her sonata and do as her mama bade her. Lydia, of course, did not pity her sister so much that she refrained from seeking her mother's intervention if that was how her want could be attained. She enjoyed being the petted child of her mother too much to give up her advantage, and dancing, when it was to be had, must always take priority over the plaintive melodies that Mary liked to play.
Yet it seemed that in this instance, Mama was set upon Jane and Lizzy's plan that they should go to school. At first, Lydia had not minded the scheme so much — it sounded fashionable and it would be something to boast of when she came home after all. She had in her mind designed her future education into an adventurous jaunt in which she would certainly be the most sought-after young lady in all of Bath after she had appeared at one or two dances. She so longed to set modes and be the object of envy.
Papa's cool statement of fact rather spoiled the picture, and if he was accurate in his projection, the seminary sounded an odious place. Lydia concluded that she had much better not go .
She was a little distracted from her rebellious thoughts before she went to bed that evening by encountering Jane in the hallway outside her room. Her eldest sister's slight frown of concentration was directed at the letter she had received from Elizabeth that day. Lydia might have passed her without comment except she heard Jane murmur, “Four and twenty times, sister!” and there was almost an air of exasperation about her .
“Did you mean to speak to me, Jane? ”
Jane looked up quickly and smiled, amusement apparent. It was better now, certainly, that Mr. Bingley was going to marry her — Jane did not look so glum as she had before they went to London .
“No, Lydia — I beg your pardon, I was speaking rather foolishly to this letter. ”
“How droll it would be if a letter could reply. ”
Gently Jane put an arm around Lydia. It was her way. Of all the sisters she was the most openly affectionate when there were no strangers about. Lydia liked it when Jane came near and pressed her close .
“You make me smile, Lydia.”
“Not so much as Mr. Bingley does, I'll wager,” replied Lydia cheekily .
The expected blush came and Jane shook her head in reply .
“You tease me as shamelessly as Lizzy does. I wonder if you might step into my room for a moment. I would like a brief word with you about something I feel is important. I will not keep you long — I am sure you are tired.”
“I am never tired,” Lydia boasted. “You know as well as anyone that if there is a dance or a ball I can stay up much later than this and not feel the least bit weary. I will come in, of course. I do hope it is nothing too serious. I have had quite enough of that from Papa this evening. Such a bear he is sometimes.”
“We ought not to speak of our father in that way, Lydia.” So mild a reproof sailed gaily over Lydia's head and went sadly unheeded. “I do not say that the seminary will be so…so enclosed as Papa makes it sound, but he may have been correct about not being at parties so often as you had hoped.” Noting Lydia's crestfallen expression, she softly closed the door behind them, then spoke a little more cheerfully. “Now do not be cast down, little sister. I am sure once I am married and you return for a holiday we may have a party at Netherfield. Will not that be pleasant, to celebrate my sisters returning amongst friends and family?”
Lydia shook her head. “I daresay it sounds very nice, Jane, but you must own it is not so fine as Bath society might have been. There will be nothing nice there now and I am sure I will come and go from Bath with not a single new acquaintance worth having.”
“There will be other young ladies there, Lydia.”
“Oh, but girls, Jane, girls !”
Jane considered this and seemed unsure how to reply, so instead she broached the reason for having sought a private moment with her sister .
“I wanted to speak with you regarding Mr. Wickham.” A gleam came into Lydia's eye and Jane continued, “I have heard from reliable sources that he is not to be trusted with money nor…nor with a young lady's reputation. I wanted to urge you to be wary of him and perhaps not to encourage him into our company so often. I do not say,” said Jane, “that he is incapable of changing for the better — everyone may repent after all, and make amends — but that does not follow that it is wise to be too trusting.”
“What can you mean, Jane? We may not be friends with him because he kisses a few silly girls who think he will marry them afterwards?”
“Lydia! ”
“Well, I am not so foolish as to learn nothing in Meryton. I have heard a few things but it is all servant girls, you know, and tradesmen's daughters, and if he has not settled a few accounts at Broads or with the baker, what is that to anything? Sir William says it is far more shocking in London where the very wealthy scarce bother to settle up with shopkeepers.”
Jane sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. “Do you not think it wrong to owe money in such a way? And trifling with young women — any young woman — ought to be condemned.”
“He will pay his debts at some point,” answered Lydia airily, “and I am sure the girls encourage him terribly.”
“He is responsible for his own actions, however, is he not?” Jane's reply was firm. “No matter what a girl may do, regardless of her station in life, he has the responsibility to behave honourably.”
“I am sure you know that it takes two people to kiss, Jane.”
Jane turned scarlet, and when Lydia had ceased laughing, managed to say, “This is an improper conversation. We will speak more in the morning. Perhaps you are tired after all and that makes you talk a little wildly, but do think on what I have said about Mr. Wickham. He has not been fair to several people that you know of and I believe he has been equally unfair to some that I know of. You have a sense of justice, Lydia — I know it.”
“Very well,” said Lydia shortly, stooping to give Jane a buss on the cheek in good night. “I promise I will think about Mr. Wickham, but really, my thoughts are more likely to dwell on the gross injustice that I must go to a dull school for an age before I can have a nice time. I so much wanted to be a sought-after partner, and with a little money, you know, I can only suppose I would have been all the rage.”
“Your worth, Lydia,” said Jane, tired but sincere, rising from the bed to pour water from her jug into its pretty matching basin, “is far more dependent on your liveliness and cheerful disposition than mere money. Many unpleasant ladies are rich.”
Lydia went off to bed at that and left Jane to her nighttime ablutions. Lydia readied herself for bed quickly, as she was wont to do. Kitty was already sound asleep on her side of the room and Lydia knew that she would not wake easily once she was breathing so deeply. She could pull out a portmanteau with half a dozen candles lit and pack it as haphazardly as she pleased and Miss Catherine Bennet would not stir. She supposed she might even throw open the window nearest Kitty's bed and climb out of it, hat boxes and all, without her sister even turning over in her slumber .
Lydia slid beneath the covers of her bed. It was ridiculous that Uncle Gardiner had dealt so badly with the income she was owed. Why ought she not have at least some of it now? She was grown up enough to use it well — it was all meanness on the Gardiners' part — Jane meant her to have an independence and had clearly been talked into those silly rules by others. The Gardiners barely knew her — she was still a child in their eyes. Lydia blew out her candle and stared into the darkness .
What was needed was proof of her intelligence, sensible nature, and ability to be decisive.
Perhaps, Lydia mused as she turned to a more comfortable position, perhaps if she demonstrated to the Gardiners how clever she was, they might change their mind and let her attend parties in London from their house as Jane and Lizzy had done. If they could be persuaded, she need not attend Miss Haggard's boring Seminary of Locking Away Lively Young Ladies. Let Mary and Kitty go — they would not feel so hemmed in as she would.