Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

T he eldest Bennet sisters stood at the door of Mrs Bennet's room, which had been closed for several days. Hill opened the door and grimaced at the rush of stale, heavy air that smelt of the sickroom.

To Elizabeth's surprise, Kitty was sitting alone in the gloom. "Kitty! Why do you sit in here?"

Kitty raised red, tear-filled eyes. "I miss Mama."

Mary appeared at the door with a large wicker basket. Kitty jumped up. "This is Mama's room! You are not taking her things away? You must not! She is scarcely cold in her grave!"

Kitty had been subdued since Lydia's death, much altered from before. From the time she was small, her reticent personality had been overwhelmed by her dominant younger sister. After her encounter with Maria Lucas, she preferred not to go out at all and had filled her days by sitting with her mother. Now her mother was gone as well. Elizabeth realised that she had seen little of Kitty all week.

"Kitty, are you worried that we shall pack all her things away and forget her? We would never do that!" said Elizabeth. "We are merely airing out the room and taking what needs to be laundered."

Mrs Hill was observing Kitty, her eyes thoughtful. "Is there something more that is grieving you?"

Kitty hesitated, then slowly extended her hand. In her palm lay a small, grubby object that was not immediately recognisable as paper. Elizabeth took it from her and examined it. It had been crumpled up at least once and then smoothed; it had been folded and refolded so many times that the creases were barely hanging together.

"It is from Lydia," said Kitty. "She pushed it under my door the night she ran away. I did not find it until the next morning." She began to cry, sinking back down onto the bed. "I heard her in her room, moving about very late in the night, but I was so sleepy that I did not get up. If I had, she might not have run away and been killed, and Mama would not have died." She put her head in her hands and wept as if her heart was breaking. Mrs Hill quickly sat next to her on the bed and held her tightly.

"You are not blaming yourself, are you?" cried Elizabeth.

Mary huffed. "You are blameless! Did you pack Lydia's things for her? Did you help her into the cart? No, you did not! You are an innocent victim, just like the rest of us!"

"I felt that I might have stopped her, but I did not. So instead I tried to show Mama how much I cared for her. I thought… Well, I thought if I did, she might wish to get well again. But perhaps she did not care enough to stay for the rest of us."

Although Elizabeth had also wondered whether their mother cared equally for her daughters, she would never admit that to poor, fragile Kitty.

Jane replied softly, "Kitty, I am certain Mama loved us all, but I believe Lydia reminded her of her own youth. Mama fell into her melancholia partly because of our sister but mostly because she realised that due to the shame Lydia brought upon us, all her hopes and dreams for any of us would never come true. She had always feared the future because of the entail. Because of our repudiation, her worst fears of being forced to leave Longbourn were more likely to happen. It was not because she did not choose to live. In fact, I believe she had been gaining in strength until she became ill."

Elizabeth carefully opened the fragile note. It had been handled so much that it was barely legible. Jane leant in to read, and together they deciphered the untidy scrawl.

You will laugh when you discover that I am gone, and I cannot help laughing myself for surprising everybody! I am going to London with Wickham, though he does not know it yet! He is so in love with me, even though he pretended interest in Miss King. I shall answer for it; he never cared three straws about her. Who could about such a nasty little freckled thing? And now she is gone to Liverpool or somewhere; I am sure I do not care where. I know he loves me because he kisses me so well, better than Denny or Pratt. He teased me last autumn that we would be wed, and today I discovered that he has ordered a carriage from the livery stables this very night! He means to carry me to London, I am sure. How nicely we shall be crammed in! I shall hide in the carriage and surprise him, and he will not need to come to Longbourn. I do not want to wait here in case the carriage noise wakes up Papa. What a good joke it will be. I can hardly write for laughing! Mama will be proud of me for thinking of it, and it will be very good fun besides. How I shall like being married before any of you! Then I shall hold balls and parties in my home and get husbands for you all. When you see me next, I shall be Mrs Wickham! Goodbye!

Elizabeth read it through and then read it aloud for her sisters to hear. When she finished, the room was still.

It was Mary who broke the silence, her eyes wide. "Lydia kissed men? Mr Denny, Mr Pratt, and Mr Wickham? She kissed multiple men ?" she stammered, her voice beginning to rise.

Jane had taken the note from Lizzy and was reading it, shaking her head. "I cannot believe it, even of Lydia. Yet here is the proof in her own hand." Her voice trailed off. "The last thing she ever wrote…"

Kitty sniffed. "I do not even think that Lydia was in love with Mr Wickham. She never spoke of him more than any of the other officers. She thought all the officers were in love with her though. She always said she would be the first to be married, even when Mama thought Mr Bingley would pro—" She clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh! Jane, I am sorry!"

Jane's chin rose, her expression resolute. "Do not think of it, Kitty. Mr Bingley was not the man we thought he was, and it is for the best that he has gone."

Overwhelmed by a wave of fury, Elizabeth paced to the window, her fists clenched. "Lydia was so selfish! She never gave a thought to anyone else. Not her sisters, not even her own mother who spoilt her so!" She turned to face her sisters, tears running down her face. Her voice shook. "I can see it now. Lydia was always destined to ruin us. It was only a matter of when, not if. Somehow, some way, some time, it would have happened. She wanted what she wanted and had no care for any damage she would cause in order to get it. The older she got, the worse it became. Do you suppose Mr Wickham was truly going to carry her to London, or did she simply impose herself on him, and he took advantage of her foolish conceit? Lydia lied, cheated, and stole to get her way, and she was never a bit sorry for any trouble she caused!"

At this, the bitter floodgates opened; old grievances and long-suppressed grudges were aired.

"She was never sorry for taking my things. She always said they would look better on her in any case. Mama never made her give them back, even when I had bought them with my own pin money!" cried Kitty. "Lydia never cared for me at all. I was just an audience to her!"

"She continually mocked me for my music and my clothing," chimed in Mary. "She mocked everyone who did not behave as she did!"

The gentle, firm voice of Mrs Hill cut through the rising rancour. "Ladies, while your feelings may be justified, might I point out that you are the ones who will be damaged by carrying such anger in your hearts. Miss Lydia will not. Her behaviour was very bad, very wicked indeed, and it is true that it has hurt you all deeply, but it has cost her her life. She is dead at the age of fifteen. Think on that."

The sisters were silent, sniffling. "You are right, Mrs Hill," said Elizabeth. "I am sorry."

The housekeeper went on. "You will need to forgive Miss Lydia, and perhaps even your mother, so that you may proceed with whatever lies ahead for you. Although it may not seem so now, as you are being isolated and punished by your neighbours, you can go on to have respectable and happy lives. Do not let your futures be blighted by old hurts.

"You can love others in spite of their faults, even if they cause you pain. Now this may be thought of as quite improper, but if you will permit me, I would tell you of my experiences with persons, though deeply flawed, who showed great kindness to me when I was a child."

It was indeed improper, as it was customary for the distinction of rank to be carefully preserved between masters and servants, but Longbourn was in an interesting state. Because they were being shunned, there was no outside company. The situation was gradually creating an increased familiarity between all the inhabitants of the manor, regardless of rank.

Jane nodded. "Yes, Mrs Hill, please speak freely."

"I was born in a workhouse," Mrs Hill began to a chorus of gasps from the sisters. "My mother, the very young woman who gave birth to me, died within hours. I never knew her name because she refused to give it. I do not believe that she was married to whoever my father was. I was later informed that she was gently born and had been expelled by her family when her condition became known. Some years later, one of the elder residents of the workhouse told me that I bear a strong resemblance to her. I have a necklace that was hers, the only thing she had other than the clothes she was wearing."

Elizabeth joined her sisters, now all gathered on the bed listening to Mrs Hill's tale.

"That in itself was something of a small miracle, since the master of the workhouse would keep any object that might have value for himself. But the woman who became my friend and mentor took the necklace before he could get to it and saved it for me. She also asked that she be allowed to care for me, rather than sending me to an orphanage.

"My friend was called Mrs Gilson, though upon later reflection I realised that was probably not her true name. She was a lady, and had been a wife and mother, but she had a fatal weakness for strong spirits, and her addiction caused her husband to throw her out without a penny. Even her children repudiated her. When she was herself, which was most of the time, she was intelligent, gracious, and genteel. Occasionally troublemakers would smuggle in strong drink, and she could not refuse it. She became a different person. She did and said very bad things. She would go off with men. It was very frightening to me. The master and mistress of the workhouse always took her back after these episodes, to their credit. I have since wondered whether her family paid them a substantial sum to keep her from living on the streets."

Mrs Hill smiled. "She spent countless hours with me, teaching me to read and write, to do sums, to act and speak like a lady, even though as the natural child of unknown persons, I could never be one. I believe she missed her own children and grandchildren, and I was their substitute. My best alternative in life was to go into service, and she prepared me to serve in a gentleman's household. She even taught me to play chess and backgammon, since she had no one else to play with.

"Mrs Gilson told me once that I should think only of the past as its remembrance gives pleasure. At that time, I did not quite understand what she meant, but now I think it a very good philosophy. So, you should try to only remember happier times with Miss Lydia and your mother and try not to think on any sadness and anger."

Elizabeth thought about that and understood. She did not want to spend the rest of her life, whatever it may be, dwelling upon the shame Lydia had brought to them, carrying the burden of anger and resentment. She would only remember pleasurable days.

"Now, let us show our care for your poor mother and freshen her room just the way she would have liked it," said Mrs Hill, and they set to work.