Chapter One Hundred and Eight
Lydia was surprised at how much she was enjoying her lessons with her father. She had, she thought, scarce known him before! Now she understood that he had a dry, sarcastic wit; sometimes he used it to harm others, but a good deal of the time he was simply enjoying his own cleverness.
She had no hesitation in telling him when he had said something that hurtful.
She thought it was likely that Lizzy had not done so, as she had quite worshipped their father until their Great Misunderstanding.
Lydia informed him that she had always been ready to learn from him, but it had always been obvious that he held her in disdain, so why would she have approached him?
Mr. Bennet had to admit that she was not wrong.
Moreover, Mr. Bennet found his youngest daughter to be quite sharp, both mentally and verbally.
Now that he knew her better, he had no difficulty in understanding how it was that she had been able to drop a rock on George Wickham’s head.
There was some part of her that had instantly understood the situation, arrived at the solution, and then taken action before the rest of her mind had even understood what was happening.
He admired her, that was the plain truth of it.
She proved to be every bit as adept at mathematics as his beloved Lizzy, now lost to the wilds of Derbyshire, though not quite as quick as languages.
It was best to learn languages when one is young, of course, so Lydia had to work that much harder, as she was already sixteen.
He did not wish to exhaust her, so he let her set the pace.
Now that he had his pupil, the absence of the three older girls was not nearly so painful. Indeed, Jane and Mary came to visit at least three times a week, and dinner invitations were exchanged with regularity.
But now things were about to change again, for Mary and Mr. Rochester had announced their intention of moving to London!
Mrs. Bennet had been quite brave about it during the dinner, saying, “That sounds like an excellent idea all the way ‘round, Mary, for you will have the Gardiners nearby.”
“Yes; I have already written to them to tell them of our plans!”
No one ever considered the parents, Mr. Bennet thought later that night, as his wife wept on his shoulder.
***
But in this he was wrong, for Lydia had observed her parents’ faces during the discussion. “Papa,” she said, when she came to his study the next day. “It seems to me you and Mama are upset about both Lizzy and Mary moving away.”
“Ah, that is what little birds do, Lydia,” Mr. Bennet said, looking down at his desk. “They fly the nest.”
“And what do the parent birds do?” Lydia wondered.
“Hmmm,” Mr. Bennet said, thoughtfully. “They raise a new batch of birds.”