One night, Lydia and I were lying in my bed, looking up at the ceiling.
“If I were in a marriage like our parents, I would die,” Lydia said with a sigh.
“So would I,” I echoed. “Father is so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humor, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years have been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. Her mind is less difficult to develop.”
“I like her for the better for it,” Lydia responded.
“Of course, you do,” I put in, “she adores you. Elizabeth says that Mama is a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. When she is discontented, she fancies herself nervous. With the business of her being to get us all married off, and not being successful, her only consolation is visiting and news.”
“Oh, what does Lizzy know?”
“Yes, I suppose you are correct.” I knew that Elizabeth may have had a valid point, but I was too tired to argue. “Lydia?”
“What?”
“Have you ever actually been in love before? I don’t refer to a passing bit of enchantment that you might have felt when we were thirteen. But now, in the cold light of day, can you say that you have actually been in love before?”
“I don’t know. Why would you ask something like that?”
“I was just curious.”
“I think it would be fun to fall in love. What a good joke it would be if Mr. Bingley were to fall in love with me, wouldn’t it?”
“He might fall in love with me instead,” I countered.
“Ha! Why would he not like me best?”
“You are the youngest sister, and I am two years older. Usually, gentlemen prefer rank. Whether we like it or not.”
“Well, if that is the case, then he would fall in love with Jane. But I don’t believe that. I believe men don’t really care about rank half as much as society says that they do. Especially if the younger sister is pretty.”
“But Jane is pretty. So is Elizabeth.”
“I won’t allow that. We are as pretty as Lizzy. Her rank won’t protect her.”
“But say that Mr. Bingley did come, and he did fall in love with one of us. How would that make you feel?”
“You are being strange this evening.”
“I knew it!” I exclaimed, rolling on my stomach. “You can’t answer the question, can you? You wouldn’t know what you were doing or how to feel. We always talk about getting married, but it just occurred to me, that I have no idea what love is. And the idea of it, now that I really think about it, is quite daunting, isn’t it? Does the idea of being in love ever scare you?”
“I think it would make me laugh,” Lydia cried, jumping out of the bed, and sitting in the windowsill. “I would think it would be the funniest thing in the world. And you would too.”
“Would I though?” I raised myself up on my elbow. “I am not ready to fall in love when I think about it. And I can’t think of marrying without falling in love, no matter what we are told.”
“Now, that is a good thought,” Lydia agreed, propping her feet up on the sill, and playing with the curtains. “I think the idea of getting married would be a very good joke, but like I said, I would only marry a man if he was handsome enough to be a legend, charming enough to be always doting on me, speak well, dance well, walk well, and smile well. There? Is that so much to ask?”
“You’ll be waiting forever,” I responded, grinning.
“No, I won’t,” she said, looking out of the window. “Mark my words, I will get married, it will be a good joke, and I will be the happiest woman amongst us five.”
I laid back down on the bed and saw the blankness of the ceiling above me.
“I wish that I would be,” I whispered, in a voice so low, that I didn’t think Lydia would hear me. And thank goodness for that. As I felt before, there was a path that was clear for say many, but my path was lost to me. I had no place in the world, and deep within, this fact haunted me. It was settled between so many that Jane would be the one to save the family, Elizabeth would be the one to always look after father, until she married some man of lesser fortune than Jane’s future husband, but he would be clever. Mary was meant for a reverend or vicar of some kind. Lydia would get her knight. But with me, however, there was a cavern of mystery that surrounded me.
If only I had something to define me—some sort of purpose, some sort of defining trait that made everyone see Kitty Bennet for who she was.
I would find it before the end, hopefully. Yet, until then, I knew that I was incapable of falling in love or finding anyone to love me. I was internally very lost—who could possibly find me?
Suddenly, I coughed and had to retrieve my handkerchief.
“Getting a cough again?” Lydia asked.
“Yes,” I coughed. “Again.”
* * *
Day in and day out, our lives continued in the same fashion that it had always done so. The only addition that could spark any interest was Mama’s increasing arguments to Father, trying to persuade him to visit Mr. Bingley, and Father constantly disobliging her.
Every couple of days, our Aunt Philips or our neighbor, Lady Lucas, would visit, giving more news about Mr. Bingley’s arrival. This led to Mama becoming more agitated. For by hearing such news—news that she could not use—led to Mr. Bingley’s reputation being annoying to her. After all, what could she have to do with this new arrival, since we would never make his acquaintance?
This led to Father becoming even more intentionally aloof, and Mama more vexed. It reached such a pitch that I began to speak even less than usual, because everything I said seemed to aggravate her even more.
Mr. Bingley did duly come to Netherfield, setting himself up in the neighborhood, and within each day, there was more news of gentlemen in the neighborhood paying him a visit. Rumors of his wealth became definite fact, and he was known for being charming and very agreeable. Since Lydia and I always wished to have news before anyone, we would rush to get the mail before it even reached the house.
“Yes,” Mr. Dixon replied, handing us the mail, “his wealth is certain. I’ve made his acquaintance, and the rumors of his good humor are accurate—then again, how people are behind closed doors is another matter. But there is one thing that I have heard. He was mentioning this to his valet when I delivered the post.”
“You are invaluable, Dixon,” I said, “now tell us.”
“Yes,” Lydia responded, “or we shall burst.”
“He will not set up here alone. There is talk that some of his family are always arriving, to take house for him, and some are his friends.”
“Friends?” Lydia exclaimed. “Are his friends male or female?”
“That’s where my information ends. If these friends are single and male, will that make you both happy?”
“It all depends, Mr. Dixon,” Lydia said, “they have to dance as well as you.”
Mr. Dixon traveled onward, pleased by the compliment. Lydia always charmed people before I thought of how to do it. When we went home to tell Mama this, she wanted to hear nothing about it, and Lydia and I were left to tell Jane and Elizabeth about it in secret.
But secrets in Longbourn don’t usually live for very long. That included our father.
* * *
Not too long after Mr. Bingley’s presence at Netherfield Park was known to the entire neighborhood, Father was reading his newspaper in the sitting room, while the rest of us were there, each performing a different task to make ourselves busy.
Jane was sewing something—I never discovered what it was. Elizabeth was trimming a hat, Mary was practicing on the pianoforte, I was trying to draw a still-life of fruit on the table, and Lydia was looking through some lace. Mama was sitting by the fire, listless.
The silence in the room was comfortable, and not tense. Any inconsistent sound was bound to draw attention, and it did so. There was a rustling of paper that drew our focus. Father had lowered his newspaper and looked at Elizabeth as she was halfway done working on her hat.
“I hope Mr. Bingley will like it, Lizzy.”
This had a shocking and, I daresay, desired effect. We all turned to him—even Mary stopped playing. Seeing our stricken expressions, Father’s eyes twinkled, amused.
“We are not in a way to know what Mr. Bingley likes,” Mama snapped, bitter, “since we are not to visit.”
“But you forget, Mamma,” Elizabeth replied calmly, “that we shall meet him at the assemblies, and that Mrs. Long promised to introduce him.”
“I do not believe Mrs. Long will do any such thing. She has two nieces of her own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have no opinion of her.”
And, thus, Mama displayed her contempt of Mrs. Long again, while also secretly thinking Mrs. Long was vital to her happiness.
“No more have I,” Father responded, “and I am glad to find that you do not depend on her serving you.”
Mama looked away, ignoring him. Then she turned back and faced him again. Then she looked away again. Then she looked back, to say something. Next, she resisted the impulse and her head snapped away.
I had picked the wrong time to look up and not check my coughing. Over the last few days, my throat had been a little sore and my cough had found me again. I had improved, and the sore throat disappeared. But the cough remained. And it had taken that particular moment to strike! Between my accidentally making eye contact with Mama, and for my coughing to begin at that time, she had found her creature to attack…me!
“Don’t keep coughing so, Kitty, for Heaven’s sake! Have a little compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces.”
I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know what to say. Following Mama’s eyes, Father also turned to me.
“Kitty has no discretion in her coughs. She times them ill.”
Now I had found the right words. What did I do? Nothing at all! How could they treat anything like a cough as an intentional inconvenience? Did I ask for this cough? Did I say to the heavens, ‘Now I shall cough!’? No, I had been cursed with a bit of sickness and now I was being blamed for it.
“I do not cough for my own amusement,” I replied, upset. I spoke the words loud and clear. No, I was not going to go down without a fight. After I spoke it, I looked at them both, square in the face. Father quickly looked away, a chuckle almost about to escape him, and Mama merely began to fiddle about with her shawl, trying to straighten it on her shoulders. This was the closest thing to a victory that I would get. In that moment, I learned that sometimes it was the victim who got blamed!
All of this transpired in the matter of seconds, as Father looked around, still amused. His eyes were smiling, and when seeing that, I should have known. I should have always known all along; he had a joke that he was keeping within.
“When is your next ball to be, Lizzy?” He asked Elizabeth again.
Elizabeth looked up at him, lowering her hat, and she also had an amused expression. She seemed to also sense that Father’s questions had more to them than common curiosity. In that moment, I saw their eyes link, and once more, they both understood each other.
“Tomorrow fortnight.”
I was about to open my mouth, to ask Father if he really didn’t call on Mr. Bingley, but Mother spoke first.
“Aye, so it is!” she cried. “And Mrs. Long does not come back till the day before, so, it will be impossible for her to introduce him, for she will not know him herself.”
“Then, my dear,” Father said, folding his paper, “you may have the advantage of your friend, and introduce Mr. Bingley to her.”
This was my moment. I knew the truth! I saw it in Father’s eyes. Elizabeth had seen it as well. But this was my chance to show Father that I was clever too. This was my moment to also get a little bit of revenge for when he added to mama’s criticism of me. They had no right to make fun of me. No right. But I now saw it all, and I could confess it. Father had lied to mother. He lied to her all this time. I began to open my mouth again, but once more, Mama interrupted me.
“Impossible, Mr. Bennet, impossible, when I am not acquainted with him myself. How can you be so teasing?”
“I honor your circumspection,” Father furthered. “A fortnight’s acquaintance is certainly very little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a fortnight. But if we do not venture somebody else will—and after all, Mrs. Long and her nieces must stand their chance. And, therefore, as she will think it an act of kindness, if you decline the office, I will take it on myself.”
I looked around as all my sisters stared at Father. Only Elizabeth was in on the joke. This was my chance again, however. I opened my mouth to speak again, but once more, Mama had to talk instead.
“Nonsense, nonsense!”
“What can be the meaning of that emphatic exclamation? Do you consider the forms of introduction, and the stress that is laid on them, as nonsense? I cannot quite agree with you there. What say you, Mary? For you are a young lady of deep reflection, I know, and read great books and make extracts.”
This sudden direct reference to Mary overcame her. We turned to Mary, wondering how she was going to react to this obvious remark that caught her unawares.
“Well,” Mary said, stuttering, “I presume—that is to say—well, I find that… I have read…”
She was not given the time to form her thoughts, and now she was utterly lost in what to say in return. Of course, this amused Father.
“While Mary is adjusting her ideas, let us return to Mr. Bingley.”
At her wit’s end, Mother threw up her arms, as if to signal that she was tired of being teased.
“I am sick of Mr. Bingley!”
And this was the crowning achievement. This was what Father was aiming towards the entire time. He wanted to drive Mama to a feverish pitch, and then he would have her disposition precisely where he wanted it to be, so that the confession would come down like a wave crashing onto dry malnourished land.
“I am sorry to hear that,” he replied, his face displaying his satisfaction, “but why did not you tell me that before? If I had known as much this morning, I certainly would not have called on him. It is very unlucky, but as I have actually paid the visit, we cannot escape the acquaintance now.”
There was only a second of astonished silence before Mama squealed out in merriment, Elizabeth laughed, Jane sighed, Mary was even roused, and Lydia jumped up and began to dance around the room.
“I knew it,” I whispered to myself, “I knew he had called on him. But no one listened to me. No one let me speak.”
I was not allowed to sulk because Lydia took that time to pull me from my seat and began to dance the Quadrille. She had often done this to me, and I was happy to oblige. After all, I had spent the last few minutes being ignored and ridiculed, so I needed to have a burst of acceptance somewhere. Quickly, I fell into step and began to dance with her.
“Is this not wonderful?!” Lydia cried.
“Oh, I knew it!” Mama cried, jumping up. “Oh, Mr. Bennet, I knew it. How good it was in you, my dear Mr. Bennet! But I knew I should persuade you at last. I was sure you loved your girls too well to neglect such an acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am! And it is such a good joke, too, that you should have gone this morning and never said a word about it till now.”
She rushed to him and kissed him on the cheek, leaving Father to smile. For a brief moment, their past love fell across their faces, but I knew that it was fleeting, like a puff of smoke. To disappear when another conflict between them presented itself.
“Now, Kitty,” Father said, standing up, “you may cough as much as you choose.”
And with a snapping of the fingers, my resentment to my parents dissolved. Mother was just angry, and she took her fretfulness out on me. Father was merely teasing me for the sake of rectifying his words after the whole delightful and astonishing truth. He didn’t mean to hurt me at all. I wanted to tell him that he had been very funny indeed, but he left the room before I could speak. I think he was running away from Mother, but who knows?
Whoever knows what anyone is thinking these days?
When Father was gone, Mama grabbed Lydia’s and my hand, overjoyed. Then she moved over to Jane, tidying the curls in her hair, adoringly.
“What an excellent Father you have, girls! I do not know how you will ever make him amends for his kindness, or me, either, for that matter. At our time of life, it is not so pleasant, I can tell you, to be making new acquaintances every day. But for your sakes, we would do anything. Lydia, my love, though you are the youngest, I dare say Mr. Bingley will dance with you at the next ball.”
Lydia laughed.
“Oh! I am not afraid, for though I am the youngest, I’m the tallest.”
“Are you really the tallest, though?” I asked teasingly, resting my chin on her shoulder, “I think I am similar to your height now.”
“And I have grown as well,” Mary inferred.
“I no longer measure myself,” Elizabeth added, “but I am up for the challenge of measuring you all, to settle this despite.”
“No, you shall not,” Lydia cried. “I am the tallest.”
“Are not,” I voiced.
“Are too!”
“Possibly not,” Mary put in.
“Are too!”
“I would count the minutes of how long you three will argue this matter,” Elizabeth interjected, “but I know that I shall not need to. Lydia will never let an argument last for more than two minutes, because she won’t care past that point.”
“Quiet, Lizzy, we are arguing,” Lydia chastised.
“Forgive me. Argue away.”
Elizabeth was correct. The argument did not last and soon, we all returned to talk about Mr. Bingley, and his ‘mysterious’ party.
* * *
As we did so, I caught a glimpse of a familiar face that was walking down the road. Recognizing him, I left the sitting room, went to the drawing room, and raised up the window.
“Good day, Mr. Atkins!” I cried.
Mr. Atkins was very familiar to us, in the way that he was indispensable to our Uncle Philips. Our Uncle Philips was an attorney and had a practice in the village. He was married to our Aunt Philips, who was our mother’s sister. Being an attorney, naturally he was always in need of an assistant, and so he employed a young Mr. Atkins. A man in his early twenties, with a thin body frame, a unique face, long thick straight brown hair, and charming eyes, Mr. Atkins was our lifelong friend. After all, if he would always remain pleasant, then he would inherit our uncle’s practice when our uncle retired. This knowledge of being given a happy situation added to his natural grace, and Mr. Atkins was the sort of plain man that everyone liked, despite never being in love with. Yet, he was very attractive, in his own right. He was an oddity, in the sense that he was beautiful, while also not being beautiful.
“Miss Bennet,” he called, jumping over the fence, and getting closer to me. “A good day to you. You look lovely, as always.”
“And you look like a man of study who is bent on a mission. I interrupt that mission.”
“Kitty!” Elizabeth cried, coming up behind me and pulling at my dress. “What have I told you about calling at people from out the window?”
“Oh, never mind that,” I said over my shoulder, “I’m talking to Mr. Atkins.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes.
“Oh, very well. As long as he’s the only one that you do that to.”
She lowered her head behind mine so that Mr. Atkins could see her as well.
“Good day, Mr. Atkins,” Elizabeth greeted.
“Good day, Miss Elizabeth. You are looking remarkably well.”
“Thank you, but you always say that even when we wear plain dresses,” I responded.
“Then it can be said that the dress does not always make the woman,” he replied, removing his hat completely, “but the woman makes the dress.”
“I give you credit, sir,” Elizabeth said. “I never met a man who can maintain ease of charm in so consistent a way. I offer you good luck in keeping it for the rest of your life.”
“May I always have it. Forgive this short conversation, but your uncle has sent me along on business, and I have to continue my journey.”
“I only interrupt it to ask you one thing,” I furthered. “Will you come to the assembly this week?”
“Now what sort of question is that?”
“A question that has eight words in it,” Elizabeth answered, wittily.
“I like questions with eight words in it, then. Ladies, of course I shall attend the assembly, and I pray that you both will honor me with a dance.”
“We shall, Mr. Atkins.”
“Then I am a happy man,” he said, beginning to walk away. “Now, I have to leave this moment of pleasure and continue to business. Give my regard to the rest of your family.”
He offered his farewells, and then we turned to see Mary in the doorway.
“What do you both do there?” Mary asked.
“We were speaking to Mr. Atkins,” I answered.
“Why did you not tell me that he was here? I would have liked to have spoken to him.”
“I don’t see why either of you want to talk to him,” Lydia called, as she raced up the steps. “He is only our uncle’s clerk. He is no one.”
“There is nothing wrong with a man being a clerk,” Mary called up to her. “Serious study ought to be respected.”
“I am so excited,” I said, barely able to control my joy. “Nothing shall rival an assembly.”
“Mama would argue that marriage is more,” Elizabeth said. “A simple assembly would not be enough to satisfy her appetite.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I responded, “I just don’t know anything.”
I left the room, with Elizabeth looking up at me, confused, and Mama being heard to say, ‘When should we ask Mr. Bingley to dinner?’ in the background.