Very soon, news of the militia spread over the town almost as quickly as fire spread over London in its great tragedy back in 1666. The town was as restless for more news about them as I was. Unfortunately for the rest of the village, their aunt and uncle were not Philips. But mine was, and since they were always in supply of the quickest information, Lydia and I gleaned more knowledge from them than anyone else.
“Their main authority is Colonel Henry Forster,” Uncle Philips said to us as we sat down for a luncheon, “who, from all accounts, is said to be a charming and agreeable man of about five-and forty.”
“Is he married?” Lydia asked.
“Miss Lydia,” Mr. Atkins said, “is that really the first thing you think about?” Uncle Philips always had Mr. Atkins join him for a midday meal, and sometimes even invited him for dinner.
“Can’t a girl be curious about the most obvious question to everyone?” Lydia said, laughing. “I want to know everything. Every secret. I want to know every romantic secret about anyone in the world.”
Aunt Philips chuckled. “Believe me, the last thing that you want is to know every romantic truth about the human heart. You’ll find that some hearts are more savage than others and what you see inside of it will frighten you.”
“I am not afraid.”
“And what of you, Miss Bennet?” Mr. Atkins asked. “Do you wish to know the secrets of every human heart?”
“It is strange,” I noted, my brow becoming furrowed as I thought on this. “Mr. Atkins, you have asked me about a deep thought. No one ever asks me about a deep thought.”
“At your age, many people assume that you won’t have any.”
“Yes, and it’s not fair.”
“Indeed, it is not. So, do you?”
“Like I said before, it is strange. I think of love, and I dream about it, but the actual event itself—scares me. I like knowing about the love that is in myself, because in there, I can control it. But as for the love that others feel—that overwhelms me. Oh dear, I fear that I am not making sense.”
“On the contrary,” Aunt Philips assured me, “you and Lydia touch on two contrasting impulses that are very common in all of us.”
“Very much so,” Mr. Atkins said. “Miss Lydia, when I was your age, I wanted to know what everyone was feeling, so that I could rule over their sensibilities, and work it to my own ends. It sounds vicious, I know, but I suppose that everyone goes through that time of life where they wish to control the world around them.”
“It’s a natural phase,” Aunt Philips empathized, “that becomes more subdued by age and experience.”
“Precisely. Now I am like Miss Bennet here,” he referred to me, “and the last thing that I wish is to learn what is inside of anyone. The emotions of others overwhelm me, and I fear the truth of their passions. I’m worried about what they will be.”
I smiled at him, happy that someone understood me.
“Oh, this talk is distracting us from Uncle’s report about the militia,” Lydia whined. “Pray, Uncle, continue and tell us all straight.”
“His lieutenant is a man named Finlay,” Uncle Philips continued, “and he is said to be a very serious young man.”
“Beg your pardon, sir,” Mr. Atkins interrupted, squinting, “Is he a Lieutenant Shaun Finlay?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Do you know this man, Mr. Atkins?” I asked.
“I had better do so. He is my cousin.”
We all looked at him, in wonder.
“Well, it truly is a small world, is it not?” Aunt Philips asked, rhetorically.
“Small, but not always congenial,” Mr. Atkins augmented. “He perhaps will not even remember me or feel any familiar attachments. We haven’t met for these many years. I’m sorry, I’ve interrupted again, and Miss Lydia must be getting very annoyed by me.”
“I will always forgive you, dear Atkins,” she assured him.
“Well, there is a Captain Carter,” Uncle Philips said, “a Sergeant Denny, and that is the extent of my knowledge for now.”
“Do you know what sort of man Captain Carter or Sergeant Denny are?” I asked.
“I’ve heard no ill will of them, and with Denny, I’ve heard that he is the most charming of the two. He is said to be a great favorite among ladies.”
Lydia and I looked at each other, pursed our lips, and said ‘hmmm!’.
Our aunt, uncle, and Mr. Atkins laughed at this.
* * *
Lydia and I visited Aunt and Uncle Philips almost every other day, and each day, we were given more knowledge of the officers’ names and connections.
What was best was when Uncle Philips burst into the drawing room when we were there and gave the best news.
“This Saturday! The militia are going to enter Meryton this Saturday, and march into the town. Tell Longbourn, because it is only proper for us all to be there to honor our protectors.”
This news did indeed excite everyone in our family, excepting Father of course.
“It is not that I do not care for the matter,” he said, and then his thought changed, “oh, yes, I do not care for the matter.”
“But you will come into town with us when they arrive!” Mama cried, excited. “Mr. Bennet, you must.”
“Why would the soldiers want to see an old scholar in their midst?” he asked, standing up. “I am the opposite that they wish to see. Girls don’t fall in love with the soldiers too quickly. Rather, I have a better idea. Don’t fall in love with them at all.”
He left the room.
“Oh, he vexes me so,” Mama cried. “Why must he always contradict me?”
“Never fear, Mama,” Elizabeth coaxed, “come Saturday, he will not fail us. He just likes to make it appear as if he is.”
“Lizzy, I am right, and you know it.”
Elizabeth turned to Jane and rolled her eyes. Jane smiled and suppressed a chuckle.
* * *
When Elizabeth was outside the next day, returning from her walk, I was in the garden, picking flowers. When she saw me, she waved and came toward me.
“Picking flowers?” she asked. “You only do that when you are intending to dry them and put them in your bonnet.”
“I am,” I replied.
“Admit it, you are doing it for the sake of the officers. They will be marching tomorrow, not stopping to talk to us.”
“And I should not look my best?” I asked.
She laid her shawl down and sat on it, giving me an earnest look.
“Kitty, I need you to promise me something.”
“And what would that be? I get the feeling that you are about to make me promise something heavy.”
“There’s nothing wrong with having heavy morals from time to time. If you tried it, you might like it.”
“Eliza, don’t—be—mean.”
She bit her lip.
“Very well, you are right. I am being a little hard on you right now.”
“Yes, you are. And it is not fair. Have I done anything naughty?”
“Not as of yet. But I worry about you and Lydia.”
“How so?”
“You both have a habit of romanticizing soldiers, and I worry that you will compromise your image, in a desire to find pleasure in the militia’s company.”
“What impropriety is there in enjoying life?”
“You must consider what too much flirtation makes you appear as.”
I was at my wit’s end. What a hypocrite Elizabeth was!
“You forget,” I spat, “I am no different than you were at my age. When I was eleven, whatever affections I had, I kept to myself, while I saw you flirt every now and again with Mr. Atkins, and a few other gentlemen. How you moralize when you were the same as me.”
Elizabeth smirked, not affected by my criticism in the slightest.
“You think that I forget the girl that I used to be,” she informed me, “in the wake of the woman that I am now. But someone took me aside one day, pointed out my flaws, and I corrected them immediately. I am grateful for that advice. For it has shaped me entirely, and I prefer the woman I am now, as opposed to the child that I was back then.”
“And who was this person who forced you into the ways of the world?”
“Jane.”
I bit my lip and continued to look at the flowers.
“And now she has captivated Mr. Bingley,” Elizabeth said. “So clearly, she knows something that we don’t.”
I was finished choosing flowers and I stood up.
“Is that all that you have to say?” I asked.
“For the moment,” she responded.
“Very well.”
I stomped away from her, then I had another idea. Turning back to her, I faced her boldly.
“I just noticed something.”
“What?” She asked.
“That the only way that our society says a person can live properly is if we are not actually living. Do you ever get tired of that? Of the only way of being acceptable is if we spend most of our lives walking around, being almost dead.”
“Our conversation has taken a morbid turn, hasn’t it?” she asked, with an arched eyebrow.
“Is that all that you have to say?”
“Because I’ll save my breath to cool my porridge, and for when I need to correct you more later on. I get the sense that I might have to raise my voice a little bit more when the regiment do actually get here.”
“And I won’t listen.”
“That won’t stop me from speaking.”
“It never does. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a bonnet to redecorate.”
I went back into the house and couldn’t find my bonnet.
“I can’t find my straw bonnet,” I said, looking around the house. “Has anyone seen my bonnet?”
“I do believe that I saw Lydia wearing it as she went in town with Mary,” Jane said, walking past me with some lace in her hand.
“And she didn’t ask, again!” I groaned, rushing upstairs. Slamming the door behind me, I laid down on my bed, annoyed.
What was everyone’s problem, all of a sudden?
* * *
As has been presented already, I am not one to dwell in low spirits when there is jolliness to be met on the horizon. The Lucases were going to host a dinner party, and it was for the good of all. Also, Mr. Bingley obviously felt a genuine comfort around Sir William, and I decided that this would be my last chance.
Every single time I tried to get Mr. Bingley to notice me, it only ended with him knowing very little of my existence, his sisters wishing that they never met me, and Mr. Darcy despising me. I did not care for the opinions of the last three, because I had not actually done anything to warrant their resentment. Very quickly, I was beginning to realize that it was a waste of time to care about people who stood around, waiting to be offended, just so that they could have something to give their lives meaning. If we all walked around, caring about the opinion of such individuals, tell me—would any of us get anything done? No! Because if we do a harmless deed, half of them would criticize us for having a unique thought, while the other half would die of fright just because we moved quicker than a snail’s pace while we did it. Nothing is lonelier than being the only one to notice that a great deal of the world, in its desire for order and structure, is quicker to make everything into a greater mess.
But when we went to the party at Lucas Lodge, I felt my good spirits rise, as if it could conquer anything. After all, Sir William Lucas and his sons thought I was pleasant. When people accept you as you are, then you feel as if you can do anything right.
Entering the party, I felt confident in my appearance, for I was wearing my pink gown that had a low square collar, a floral sash under my bust, and sleeves that stopped at my elbow, rather than being short-sleeved.
When we entered, the Bingley party had not yet arrived, but Mr. Atkins was there with our aunt and uncle. Mr. Liam Lucas was also there to be diverting, and soon, the Longs, Johnsons, and Coxes arrived. There was even more of a surprise with another arrival.
“Mr. Dixon!” I cried. Lydia turned her head, and she was equally as surprised when we saw our postman, Mr. Dixon, join the company. It was evident that he was wearing the best clothing that he had, which was a clean set of brown, and a clean white shirt. His boots were obviously not new, but he had them cleaned to look presentable.
“Ladies,” Mr. Dixon responded, coming up to us, nervous. “Oh, I am so happy that you are here to give me company. I have been frightened since I arrived, to be in the presence of people so much above myself, I wondered if I would fit.”
“You have never been to one of these parties?” I remarked.
“Aye,” Lydia wailed, “what did you do to get yourself an invitation to Lucas Lodge?”
“Lydia, that is not our business,” Elizabeth chided her.
“Very true,” Jane stressed. “Mr. Dixon, it is a pleasure to see you.”
“And with you being such a diligent worker,” Mary added, “that it is nice to see your good and steady work bring you notice.”
“Thank you, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, Miss Kitty, and Miss Lydia,” Mr. Dixon replied. “But, Miss Mary, you butter me up. I have merely been noticed out of the mundane sort of my profession, due to my connections, rather than my work. It turns out that my uncle, a Mr. Walter Gaskell, has had the recent good fortune to become very distinguished in his trade, and has been knighted at St. James Court.”
“And his good fortune coincides with Sir William’s best and favorite story about himself,” Elizabeth remarked. “And you, being the nephew of a knighted man, have felt the effects of being noticed.”
“In a world where I am not used to being noticed,” Mr. Dixon concluded. “When Sir William discovered that I, a humble postman, am respectable by association, an invitation was extended to include me. Am I mad for being frightened to be introduced to a class that I am not accustomed to?”
“Everyone fears being thrust into the unknown,” Mr. Atkins assured him. “We all dream of being rich and famous, but when we get the least bit of wealth or fame, we feel as if we shall fall under the weight of our dreams being realized.”
“That is the cost of living in our dreams,” Elizabeth added, “it makes reality too heavy a thing to face.”
“Never fear, Mr. Dixon,” I assured him, “we like you as a postman, and we shall like you as a member of the party. We are all friends here.”
“And, if we can convince Mary to play for us,” Lydia voiced, “then we may even get to dance with you.”
“You desire me to play?” Mary asked.
“Yes, but you must play something fun.”
“Quiet, girls,” Mama cried, “what will people think of us?” Then she turned to Lady Lucas. “Mr. Bennet would not come to this party either. Sometimes, I feel like I married the most taciturn man in England!”
“Mama,” Elizabeth whispered, to chide her. Naturally, Mama did not listen, but only continued to speak freely about our private lives.
Lydia and I remained by Mr. Dixon, content to make him comfortable. Jane and Mary spoke with Mr. Atkins, and Elizabeth spoke with Charlotte and Mr. Lucas. All of us were occupied in conversation when the Netherfield company arrived.
Mr. Bingley looked handsomer than ever. I was astonished to find that my heart still fluttered whenever my eyes turned to him.
When he glimpsed us, I stood up and made my presence into the first one that he saw. His eyes fell on me. And right behind him, Mr. Darcy’s gaze shifted, and fell on me as well. Oh no! Internally I felt a strange foreboding when I saw his scowl return to his face. I curtsied to Mr. Bingley, and he bowed to me, smiling, and clearly admired my gown.
“Mr. Bingley,” I said, teasingly, “we worried that you and your company had been waylaid through some grave misfortune.”
“Ah,” Mr. Darcy replied, “the mind that turns to the dramatics over a slight alarm. That is a contemporary tendency.”
My smile drooped and I felt my blood boil under the skin. My embarrassment was overwhelming.
“My sister was merely offering a joke,” Elizabeth explained, coming to my defense. This surprised me, for I thought that our argument before had left her having no congenial feelings toward me. I smiled at her sadly, and she saw how hurt Mr. Darcy’s comment left me.
“Indeed,” Jane replied, softly, “Kitty was just using humor to express our concern over your absence. We are just happy that you have arrived.”
“And that flatters me,” Mr. Bingley said, coming up to us warmly, eagerly desirous of erasing any offense that his friend had given to me. “Miss Kitty, it is nothing short of agreeable to know that your family enjoys our company.”
Breathing out, I felt the burden of shame lessen and I became myself again.
“When there are such friends to be met,” I continued, “why not be happy to meet them?”
“My sentiments exactly,” Mr. Bingley agreed, then he looked at Jane, “and I wish to believe that it is a sentiment that all your sisters share.”
“It is,” Jane said, smiling sweetly, “and as Kitty suggested, we are happy that between the steps of Netherfield and the drawing room of Lucas Lodge, that no calamity has befallen you or your company.”
He beamed at us. “And to come and see the sisters of Longbourn all lovelier than ever it is all that I could hope for.”
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst came forward, politely greeted us, and directed most of their attention to Jane as well.
“Come, Kitty,” Lydia said, pulling my hand away, “let’s go where we are more wanted!”
Her words were spoken loudly enough for the Netherfield company to hear her, but I didn’t really care what their reaction was. I respected Mr. Bingley, greatly esteemed him, but the rest could go and hang for all that I cared. They were such a self-important lot, stuffed full of their own pride and prejudice, that I could no longer care for propriety. I felt so thoroughly useless in their presence—in fact, I felt like I was less than nothing.
“Yes, let us,” I said to Lydia, happily moving away from the rest, and returning to Mr. Dixon, Mr. Atkins, and Maria Lucas. There, I found safety and security.
Soon, Mary and Elizabeth departed from the Netherfield ladies and gentlemen and set themselves up in another part of the room where they felt that their presence would be more valuable. Mary mingled with the older women and began to pay attention to their conversation. Elizabeth went to Charlotte, they grabbed each other’s hands, and they sat down together, in each other’s confidence.
“Never fear, Miss Kitty,” Mr. Dixon said to me, in a whispered tone, “some people in this world are born thinking so highly of themselves, that they appoint themselves as lord executioner, and must criticize everyone for not being dull and lifeless.”
I chuckled at this.
“Mr. Dixon,” I replied, happily, “please save me from the critics of the world.”
“Gladly, I will do such.” His expression was warm and genuine, and I blushed. First, I was flattered, and secondly, I was a bit bashful about it. Afterwards, I laughed, and our conversation continued in a natural manner that was comfortable, but not too direct.
As I sat there, I noted Mr. Bingley and Jane as they spoke with each other. It was evident. He admired her. And despite that Jane’s serene countenance did not expose much, I knew her nature. She admired him as well—in fact, I do believe that she adored him. And who wouldn’t? He was the perfect sort of man for her.
Throwing myself headlong into our conversation with Mr. Dixon and Mr. Atkins, I would find acceptance where I may, by and by.
* * *
As I stood up to get some punch, I neared Charlotte and Elizabeth as they were doing what they did quite well: observe and theorize. In this particular moment, they chose to consider Jane’s feelings toward Mr. Bingley.
“Yes,” Charlotte responded to something that Elizabeth had said, “Jane does seem very well pleased with her new conquest. After all, it is evident that he is charmed by her.”
“I am very happy for her, Charlotte. And more importantly, I am proud of her. She is very much yielding to the preference which she had begun to entertain for him from the first and is in a way to be very much in love. But she does well to be discrete in her affections, since Jane unites a composure of temper with a uniform cheeriness of manner, with great strength of feeling. This leads to her being guarded from the suspicions of others.”
“A very prudent plan,” Charlotte said, and I was able to distinguish a thread of doubt in her tone. “But, when considering the ultimate goal of making a good match, is it a wise one? It may perhaps be pleasant to be able to impose on the public in such a case. But it is sometimes a disadvantage to be so very guarded. If a woman conceals her affection with the same skill from the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him. And it will then be but poor consolation to believe the world equally in the dark. There is so much of gratitude or vanity in almost every attachment that it is not safe to leave any to itself. We can all begin freely—a slight preference is natural enough. But there are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement. In nine cases out of ten a woman had better show more affection than she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly, but he may never do more than like her, if she does not help him on.”
“But she does help him on, as much as her nature will allow. If I can perceive her regard for him, he must be a simpleton, indeed, not to discover it too.”
“Remember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane’s disposition as you do.”
“But if a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavor to conceal it, he must find it out.”
“Perhaps he must if he sees enough of her. But though Bingley and Jane meet tolerably often, it is never for many hours together. And, as they always see each other in large mixed parties, it is impossible that every moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane should therefore make the most of every half-hour in which she can command his attention. When she is secure of him, there will be more leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses.”
“Your plan is a good one,” Elizabeth responded, “where nothing is in question but the desire of being well married, and if I were determined to get a rich husband, or any husband, I dare say I should adopt it. But these are not Jane’s feelings. She is not acting by design. As yet, she cannot even be certain of the degree of her own regard nor of its reasonableness. She has known him only a fortnight. She danced four dances with him at Meryton, she saw him one morning at his own house, and has since dined with him in company four times. This is not quite enough to make her understand his character.”
Charlotte nodded. “Not as you represent it. Had she merely dined with him, she might only have discovered whether he had a good appetite, but you must remember that four evenings have also been spent together—and four evenings may do a great deal.”
“Yes! These four evenings have enabled them to ascertain that they both like Vingt-un better than Commerce, but with respect to any other leading characteristic, I do not imagine that much has been unfolded.”
“Hey there!” Lydia said, clapping me over the shoulder. Her interruption overwhelmed me and I almost shrieked. “What are you doing here, taking so long? Now I am not the sort to be unable to converse with three men at once, but Mr. Dixon has been asking after you in a way that is annoying me.”
“He has?” I asked, feeling stupid for delaying. “You are right.” Taking my hand, she pulled me back to the throng, and I sat down next to Mr. Dixon, whose eyes lit up when he saw me.
“I worried that the punch had drunk you before you finished drinking it,” he noted.
“Never fear,” I assured him, “I do believe that I am a match for anything. Even if it were to rain for forty days and forty nights, I would merely find it to be something that gave me ample supply of water to drink.”
He laughed and Mr. Atkins raised his glass.
“To Bennet wit,” Mr. Atkins replied.
“Witty?” I echoed. “Me?”
“You all are capable of pretty words,” he responded, “I choose to see them for what they are.”
“And what is that?” Lydia asked.
Mr. Atkins smiled.
“Pretty!”
We all laughed.
“I knew that you would not forget me,” Lydia laughed, when Mary passed us, rolling her eyes.
“Roll your eyes again, Miss Mary,” Mr. Atkins said, “for you do it better than any other of your sisters.”
Mary blushed, and rubbed her face, bashful.
“I do not know what to say to that, Mr. Atkins,” Mary admitted. “But you have made me smile, so I can say that you are wise, in a way that I will always be surprised by.”
She walked away, chuckling.
“She’ll spend the rest of the evening trying to make up for that moment by being very serious,” Lydia proclaimed. “Believe me, we will suffer for her letting happiness creep into her life in that one moment. She will repay that display of gaiety by diving into her studies even more and philosophizing while looking stern for the next few days.”
We laughed and Mr. Atkins and Lydia continued to talk.
“So, I am curious,” Mr. Dixon said to me, “can Miss Kitty Bennet roll her eyes in such a manner? Because it is hard to believe that she is capable of anything else but gaiety herself.”
“Let me see,” I said, sitting up straight and focusing. “If I commit to it seriously, and focus hard, I believe that will do the trick.”
I rolled my eyes.
“There,” I said, “how did I do?”
He clapped.
“Marvelous.”
Overall, the evening was a painful bit of pleasantness. Mr. Dixon and Mr. Atkins were entertaining. Diverting enough to be a proper sort of distraction for me. For, the entire evening, Mr. Bingley remained by Jane’s side, and Charlotte Lucas’s words rang true. Mr. Bingley liked Jane, and there was an end to it.