Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Elizabeth did not realise she was nodding off until someone cleared their throat from the parlour door. She sat up straighter in her chair, grabbing for her book as it slid off her lap. To her surprise, it was the cook who had woken her. "Mrs Thorne! Is anything the matter?"

The older lady lowered herself into an arthritic curtsey. "Pardon me, Miss Bennet, I was hoping you might know where Annie's got to?"

"I am afraid not, why—has she gone missing?"

"She has, ma'am. I wondered whether you or Miss Catherine had tasked her with any errands that would explain her absence," Mrs Thorne replied.

Elizabeth glanced around the room. Then she looked at the clock. Her aunt and uncle had departed for the theatre well over an hour ago. When they left, Kitty had been at the little table in the corner playing Patience. Elizabeth had not heard her leave. A sense of foreboding washed over her. "I shall speak to my sister. She may know something."

Mrs Thorne thanked her and shuffled away.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, which did little to alleviate her misgivings, then took up a candle and made her way into the next room. For if she wished to speak to Kitty, she would first have to find her. The morning room was empty, as was their shared bedchamber, as was every other room in the house. Increasingly convinced she knew where both girls were, Elizabeth returned to her bedchamber and opened the closet. It was no great surprise to discover her sister's favourite gown missing. She growled in frustration. Kitty had gone to the exhibition.

She deliberated for a short while about whether it would be better to send for her uncle or go herself to intercept the wayward pair. Doing nothing and merely waiting for her sister to return was not an option. Quite apart from the dangers of two young girls gallivanting about London unaccompanied after dark, Elizabeth had enough experience of sisters running off in the night into the waiting arms of officers that she did not have much faith Kitty would come home at all unless she were fetched there.

"Oh, for goodness sake!"

She snatched her own best gown out of the closet and, as best as she could without either her sister or the maid's help, made herself presentable for a candlelit evening at the British Institution. When she was ready, she ran below stairs to the kitchen where she explained to the rather startled cook that Annie had gone with Kitty, and appealed to her uncle's man, Yorke, to accompany her to Pall Mall.

"My uncle has the carriage," she said to him over her shoulder as he followed her back upstairs.

"I shall hail a hackney coach, miss. If you would wait here?"

"Yes, of course. Thank you."

Thus, Elizabeth found herself dressed in all her finery, pacing impatiently up and down the entrance hall of her uncle's house, fuming with her sister, and railing at the nameless stranger who had given her the cut direct which began this whole vexatious chain of events, for without that, Kitty would never have even met Sergeant Mulhall.

She could not help but wish Mr Darcy were there, for he had saved one of her sisters and would no doubt make short work of rescuing a second. But that thought drew a sad laugh from her—the news that another of her relations had disgraced herself could only make Mr Darcy triumph anew at his lucky escape. Besides, as she had told Kitty, he had absolutely no reason to involve himself in her affairs, for he did not love her.

A door opened, and she turned around, ready to leave, but froze on the spot upon coming face-to-face with Annie. Annie, who had come not through the front door, but from Mr Gardiner's study, the door to which was permanently locked whenever he was not within, and the key kept on his person at all times. Elizabeth had not even tried the handle in her search of the house, so certain had she been that it would be empty.

"Is my sister in there?"

Annie nodded, wide eyed, and Elizabeth stormed past her, calling for Kitty. "How did you get in here? I have been looking for you everywhere !"

She came up short upon entering the room. Someone—presumably Annie—had filled it with candles. There must have been two dozen at least. Elizabeth dared not think what her aunt would have to say about that. Kitty, in her best gown and with her hair beautifully arranged, was standing in front of the wall on which were hung several of Mr Gardiner's favourite paintings. She was hugging herself and crying.

"Oh, Kitty," Elizabeth said gently. "What are you doing?"

"Pining for what I have missed." This was followed by a loud sniff. "It was going to be so romantic."

Since she was behind her sister and therefore out of sight, Elizabeth gave in to the temptation to roll her eyes. It was all excessively theatrical, even for Kitty. Still, she did not like that her sister was distressed. She stepped closer and put an arm around her. "I am sorry you could not go."

Kitty only shrugged at first—until she looked at Elizabeth properly. "Why are you wearing that?"

"I thought you had gone to the exhibition. I was on my way to find you."

Her sister gave a wordless cry and wrenched herself free of Elizabeth's grip. "You would think that! What must I do to prove to you all that I am not Lydia?" She crossed her arms and added, sullenly, "I am not you either!"

"What does that mean?" Elizabeth asked, wounded.

"It means, I do not want to hide away, wallowing in misery for the rest of my life any more than I want to run off and live in ruin and disgrace."

"I am not wallowing in misery!"

"No? What would you call it? You are convinced that Mr Darcy does not love you, but you will not take the chance to be happy with anyone else. You would rather stay at home and fall asleep in your chair like an old woman. Well, I do not want to do that! I wanted to see Sergeant Mulhall."

After a moment to absorb her sister's barbs, Elizabeth said with studied composure, "I am sure that in time you will?—"

"He liked me, Lizzy! Nobody ever likes me," Kitty interrupted. "They always like Jane because she is handsome, or you because you are witty. Or they like Lydia's boldness or Mary's godliness. Nobody ever notices me. Sergeant Mulhall was the first. And I really liked him. Just because you are determined to refuse every bit of interest any man shows in you, I do not see why both of us should be alone and unhappy."

She stopped talking, and the room fell into silence. Elizabeth heard the front door open and the muffled sound of Yorke and then Annie's voices. Kitty remained where she was, staring dejectedly at the floor, looking every bit the candlelit, romantic heroine she had evidently been aiming for. She looked very pretty, in fact. And she was right; Elizabeth was wallowing. Jane and Mrs Gardiner had been telling her so for months. As had her mother, in her own way, when she sent her to London to find a husband. Even Lady Tuppence had told her to waste no more time on a hopeless situation. It was a difficult truth to accept, but she ought not to blame Kitty for speaking it aloud.

Elizabeth came to a decision. "You are right. You should not give up this chance. And I should like to make the acquaintance of this Sergeant of yours. Let us go to the exhibition."

Kitty looked up so quickly it was a wonder she did not hurt her neck. "Do you mean it?"

"I do. It is late, but I do not think it is too late. We are both dressed for it. Yorke has a hackney coach waiting. What is to stop us?"

There was nothing, other than the tight knot in Elizabeth's stomach which she was doing her best to ignore, and in short order, they were in the coach on their way across town.

Elizabeth was mesmerised by the transformation at the gallery. A forest of candelabras had been brought in and cleverly arranged to complement the paintings in different and fascinating contrast to daylight. The architecture of the building itself was emphasised to majestic effect. Musicians played in one of the upstairs rooms, and people had taken to whispering, giving the whole place an ethereal, almost hallowed feel. She was enthralled.

She came to her senses when Yorke excused himself to wait in the servants' area. She thanked him and went with Kitty to join the people meandering about the exhibition. There were fewer than there had been on every other visit, no doubt due to the lateness of the hour, and she did not have to fight as hard or wait as long to view each painting.

"How did you get into Uncle's study?" she asked as she looked.

Kitty was bouncing on her tiptoes, impatiently searching the room, and answered distractedly. "I picked the lock."

"Kitty!" It was a good thing for her sister that Elizabeth had not asked the question before now, for if she had received that answer when they were still at home, she most certainly would not have rewarded the behaviour with an excursion. "How do you know how to pick a lock?"

"Wickham taught me."

She wished she had not asked, and when a handsome man in regimentals approached them in the next moment, beaming from ear to ear, she had to forcibly remind herself that not all officers were as disreputable as her brother. He had not said more than a few words, however, before the distinction became self-evident. Sergeant Mulhall was well-spoken and civil, with none of the self-important charm she had come to expect from Lydia's husband.

"Miss Bennet," he said, bowing to Kitty. "I am excessively pleased to see you. I began to think you would not come."

"As did I!" Kitty replied. "But here we are—disaster averted. My aunt and uncle were engaged for the theatre this evening, it turns out, but this is my sister, Lizzy. She is the eldest of the two of us, which gives you leave to call me Kitty this evening. Lizzy, this is Sergeant Mulhall."

Something about the exchange struck Elizabeth, and it took a moment for her to realise that it was the want of Kitty's usual giggling flirtation. Her sister spoke to this man as though they had known each other for years, all ease and friendliness. It reminded her of how she and Mr Darcy had conversed, even when they were disagreeing. There had been no undue deference or officious attention from her, no pompous flattery from him. Mr Darcy did not flatter by compliment; he flattered by acknowledging her equal mind and speaking to her accordingly. The memory made her miserable for herself but delighted for her sister.

"Good evening, Sergeant. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

"That is a good start," he replied. "But I assure you, the pleasure is all mine. Colonel Fitzwilliam has said enough in your praise that I could not have been happy to make the acquaintance of anyone less lovely. He sends his regards, by the way."

"Does he?" Elizabeth said, striving to sound easy. "He has not sent any more messages of whose company I ought to avoid, then?" She tried to make it sound teasing, but her smile felt fixed, and she was sure the heat in her face must expose her as having meant more than she had said. What she really wanted to ask was whether the colonel's warning about Lord Rutherford had truly originated with Mr Darcy, but she had not the courage to enquire, certain as she was that she would not like the answer.

Sergeant Mulhall cleared his throat. "No, madam, but he did ask me to pass on his apologies. He regrets his presumption and wishes you every happiness with Mr Knowles."

"Mr Knowles?" Elizabeth repeated stupidly.

"I told Sergeant Mulhall you were coming here with him this evening," Kitty explained. With a shrug, she added, "I thought you were."

"I see." Here was the answer to the question she dared not ask, then. So far from confirming his cousin's interest in her romantic affairs, Colonel Fitzwilliam had instead sent Elizabeth the clear message that she ought to cease wallowing and marry someone else. Et tu, Colonel? she thought wryly.

"Thank you, sir," she replied. "Please tell him that his regards are returned. But you are not here to talk to me. Pray, both of you, go! Enjoy your evening." She gestured to the wider gallery, encouraging them to move away together. "I shall be over here, admiring this painting of a…" She cast a glance at the nearest easel. "Dead fish."

Sergeant Mulhall looked unsure, but Kitty wasted not a moment in snatching up his arm and leading him away. Elizabeth watched them go, fighting prodigiously hard against a swell of jealousy at the way they bent their heads together to whisper to each other.

"Miss Bennet!"

She froze, the knot in her stomach squeezing tighter, for she knew that voice. Never mind that she had been steeling herself for this moment, she still felt unprepared. Slowly, she turned around and curtseyed.

"Mr Knowles."