Chapter 12 A Fornicator Inspires Me to Take Up My Research Once More
A Fornicator Inspires Me to Take Up My Research Once More
It was summer. Rather an empty, lazy summer, for my littlest sister Lydia had gone off to Brighton chasing some officer beaux, and Lizzy was traveling with our aunt and uncle Gardiner.
Only my eldest sister Jane and my younger sister Kitty remained at home with me, and they were both out of spirits. It suited me well enough.
One August day I went to meet the mail coach and found a letter for Papa from Colonel Forster, Lydia’s host in Brighton. He went white when he opened it, then called Mamma in to his library. Her shriek could be heard all the way up in my laboratory.
My sister Lydia—aged sixteen, by the way—had run off with a penniless officer.
So much for rescuing our family through good marriages. After this, I thought, we would be lucky to wed at all.
I was furious with Lydia. Such selfishness !
And for what? Some man? He was counted handsome, but he looked much like all the others to me.
In truth, I almost never understand why the other girls sigh over this man and spurn that one.
Unlike women, with their greater variety of gowns, ornaments, and coiffures, men all look more or less the same.
One can stare at a pretty girl for hours and never run out of things to study; a man will bore one immediately.
And now, for the sake of one such nonentity, Lydia had ruined us.
Marriageable men were, for us Bennets, life rafts; stupid little Lydia had instead taken hold of an anchor.
When Lizzy arrived home in the midst of this cataclysm, she looked white as a sheet beneath her summer tan.
Perhaps, I thought, she shared my feelings.
She had always been the most sensible of my sisters.
I sat by her at dinner and drew my chair close.
“This is a most unfortunate affair, and will probably be much talked of,” I whispered to her.
“But we must stem the tide of malice, and pour into the wounded bosoms of each other the balm of sisterly consolation.”
Lizzy stared at me, round-eyed. She did not look consoled, but Quindley seemed to have taken over my tongue, and I found myself continuing.
“Unhappy as the event must be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful lesson: that loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable; that one false step involves her in endless ruin; that her reputation is no less brittle than it is beautiful; and that she cannot be too much guarded in her behavior towards the undeserving of the other sex.”
Lizzy still said nothing, but she drew her chair a little away from mine and stared silently at me. I managed, at last, to dam the flow of Quindley’s expelling itself from my tongue. Oh do shut up, Mary , she did not say aloud, but I heard it clearly anyway. I felt my face grow hot.
That night I lay awake, my words seemed to ring in my ears and I almost winced. This useful lesson? The balm of sisterly consolation? I had thought I was bettering myself all these months. Abstaining from dangerous research, working to improve myself.
Was I improved?
I pulled Quindley’s from my bedside and opened it to a random page. In the starlight I could barely make out the words, but I had no need—I practically knew them by heart anyway.
A young lady must remember that her constitution, however healthy, is more delicate than a young man’s.
The most enticing flowers only bloom if treated delicately.
Take the time to refresh yourself, and you will in turn refresh those around you.
Excessive exertion is both dangerous and unattractive.
Quindley was right as usual. I had tried for months for excellence in all areas of womanhood, and had only succeeded in making myself into a sort of irritating parrot.
It was not Quindley’s fault. He’d tried to tell me. He’d given me all the tools I thought I needed—but even he could not mold the perfect woman if the raw materials were not there.
But what if the raw materials were added?
I sat up. Sleep had vanished. I slipped out of bed, into the closet, and, using my feet to feel my way in the dark, crept up to the lab.
Cariad chirped a sleepy question when I emerged. “Shh,” I whispered. “It’s all right.”
By morning, I had assembled my full electrostatic rig.