Elizabeth pretended to consider this. “We shall endeavor to sin in moderation.”
At which Sophocles, watching from a chair, yawned so broadly that it seemed almost judgmental.
Mary sniffed. “He is a beast of appetites himself. I don’t think he is a proper model of restraint.”
Elizabeth only smiled and scratched the tomcat under his chin. “Ah, but he never lies about what he wants.”
That night, the house finally quieted, but Elizabeth could not sleep easily. She sat at her small writing desk in her bedchamber, Sophocles perched on the windowsill watching the moonlit garden with hooded eyes.
She bent over a letter half-written but unfinished to Aunt Margaret Gardiner, pen paused mid-word.
She considered the words she wanted to write:
Jane is hopeful. I try not to be. Mama is determined to see us all married by Michaelmas, preferably to Mr. Collins or Mr.Bingley, the gentleman who has let Netherfield Park, although we have never seen either of them. I do not know which fate is worse.
She put the pen down.
Instead, she reached out to Sophocles. He hopped down, landing silently, and came to butt his head against her arm with deliberate affection.
Elizabeth smiled wearily.
“At least you love me for myself.”
The cat settled into her lap, purring low and deep, his weight grounding her in the dim hush of the room.
***
The next morning dawned brisk and cool, with the scent of wet grass creeping into the corridors of Longbourn.
Mrs. Bennet was up before anyone, rattling the household into order like a field marshal.
“Hill! The carpets must be beaten. Kitty! Lydia! Stop squealing about uniforms and fetch the ribbons I set out last night. Lizzy! Where is Lizzy? We have no time to waste!”
Elizabeth appeared from the back hall, Sophocles draped lazily over her arm.
“Good morning, Mama. You seem calm today.”
Mrs. Bennet glared. “You think you are so clever. That cat sheds everywhere. Put him down!”
Elizabeth set Sophocles on the floor. He sat, neatly tucking his paws beneath him, unrepentant.
Mrs. Bennet stabbed a finger at him. “He will not be allowed in the parlour when Mr. Collins visits!”
Elizabeth looked at her mother with feigned horror. “What, banish the only honest judge of character in the house?”
Sophocles meowed once—a short, commanding sound that would startle even Lydia into silence.
Jane covered her mouth to hide a laugh.
Mrs. Bennet waved them all off in disgust. “Hopeless girls! All of you! Hopeless!”
Elizabeth only smiled, smoothing Sophocles’s head, and whispered softly to him, “We shall see, old friend. We shall see who passes your inspection.”
He blinked up at her with solemn approval.
All around them, the Bennet household hummed and rattled and plotted for the future—marriages, dances, inheritances.
But Sophocles watched it all with cool, unblinking calm. He would judge them all in his own time.
