“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 wayinto 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 vexatiouschain 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 thatanotherof 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 youeverywhere!”
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 thather 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. “Youwouldthink that! What must I do to prove to you all that I am not Lydia?” She crossed her arms and added, sullenly, “I am notyoueither!”
“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, romanticheroine 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.”
