CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Elizabeth was reclining on the chaise longue in the upstairs parlour, reading the last few pages of her book, when Kitty flounced in and planted herself noisily in the nearest chair. She rested the book face down on her chest and waited to hear what her sister wanted. She knew she would want something; a theatrical entrance was always a precursor to a plaintive request. It was a method Lydia had perfected not long after she first learnt to walk, and which Kitty had not long after adopted.
She did not have to wait long, though her sister’s appeal, when it came, made little sense.
“I have decided to come with you tonight.”
“Pardon?”
“Do not be funny about it. I promise not to get in your way. But I would like to come.”
“What are you talking about? Come where?”
“To the candlelit opening.”
“Whatcandlelit opening?” Elizabeth cried, exasperated. “Pray, start talking sense or leave me to finish my book.”
Kitty huffed in apparent affront. “I thought you might take a little persuading, but I did not think you would be as unreasonable as this.”
Elizabeth swung her legs off the chaise and sat up. “Kitty, I do not know what you are talking about. I am not going anywhere this evening.”
“Yes, you are! You are going to the exhibition with Mr Knowles—you told me so yourself!”
Elizabeth let out an incredulous laugh. “I was being facetious! I never want to step foot in that place again as long as I live, and I certainly do not want to go there with Mr Knowles.”
“But Aunt Gardiner is going with you. I heard her telling you what she plans to wear when I joined you both at breakfast.”
“Aunt Gardiner is going with our uncle to the theatre this evening.”
Kitty blinked at her, observably deflated. “Then…you are not going to the exhibition?”
“No.”
“But you must!”
“Why?”
“Because I wish to go, and you were my excuse.”
Elizabeth snapped her book shut and set it aside. “You had better tell me what is going on.”
Kitty glared at her as though she were personally responsible for the downfall of all her schemes and said sullenly, “I am meeting somebody there.”
“Who?”
“It does not signify.”
Elizabeth took up her book once more and reclined without a word on the chaise longue.
“Oh, very well!” Kitty exclaimed. “I am meeting Sergeant Mulhall.”
“When was that arranged?” Elizabeth asked in alarm, sitting up straight again. She listened in astonishment as Kitty admitted to secretly sneaking out to meet the officer not once but twice that week. Her sister betrayed not an ounce of contrition, and bythe end of her explanation, Elizabeth was struggling to contain her vexation. It was Brighton all over again, distinguishable from Lydia’s misadventure with Wickham only by dint of Kitty not yet having packed her bags and run away!
“I ought to have known something was amiss when you said you were taking the air with Annie yesterday. You hate the air!” When Kitty only rolled her eyes, Elizabeth cried, exasperated, “Have you learnt nothing from Lydia? She ruined her life this way—would you do the same?”
“Sergeant Mulhall is nothing like Wickham.”
“No? He is an officer who, without any provocation, has told us lies about an innocent man, and has secretly pursued a lady instead of announcing his intentions openly and honestly to her family. He soundsexactlythe same to me!”
