Mrs Long held out her empty cup to Mrs Bennet to refill. Mary set her shoulders and pressed her lips into a line.
“At least with a fortune, Mary King will not end up an old maid. I forgot to ask, Lady Lucas, when does Charlotte come home?” Mrs Bennet refilled her neighbour’s cup as she spoke, and Mary sucked in a breath.
“Charlotte will be home next month. My son’s wife is still recovering from the influenza.”
“It is so good of Charlotte to go where she was needed. She has always been a useful, practical girl. Such a shame she was unsought. Fortunately, there have been few spinsters amongst your connexions.”
Lady Lucas pursed her lips, and Mrs Long quickly said to Mrs Bennet, “Mrs Cuthbert, Mrs Collins, and Mrs Redmond married young. I suspect your Lydia will be married within a year. She is a handsome, lively girl.”
“Beauty and liveliness are no guarantee that a gentleman will make an offer.” Lady Lucas’s voice dropped. “Look at Eliza. At least my Charlotte has three brothers of her own.”
To be unmarried did not wound Elizabeth, but to be a single woman on so narrow an income as whatever her uncle Gardiner or her brothers-in-law chose to grant her was maddening. She was always at another’s mercy. To be poor and dependent was more of a galling bitterness than to be unloved by a man.
“Being married is the only honourable provision for a well-educated young woman of small fortune.” Mary’s voice dripped with pride. “It is her pleasantest preservation from want, but not all women are able to achieve that state. Lizzy may end up a hopeless old spinster, but it is our duty to care for unmarried sisters.”
To remain single would not be as bad as being married to a stupid man like Mr Collins.
Mrs Bennet lifted the teapot, but Mary cleared her throat; Mrs Bennet blushed and put it down to allow her daughter to do thehonours of the table. Mary gave a superior smile to her assembled party. “Lizzy will not wonder how to employ herself as she grows old without husband or children at her side, as she can show her worth to her family by being of use in her married sisters’ households.”
Two years ago, Elizabeth might have been diverted by their folly. Or she might have excused herself from the visiting ladies and hidden in the library with her father. But now the books, along with everything else in the house, belonged to Mr Collins. He was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature had been but little assisted by education and society. Having now inherited Longbourn and a sufficient income, his self-conceit and weak head were firmly settled.
Between his pompous nothings, and Mary’s pride in being mistress of Longbourn that likewise gives her a conceited manner, they deserve one another.
“Lizzy, come and tell the ladies how you found Jane’s boys,” said her mother. “Do you think the new baby much like Mary’s young William?”
“I suspect any letter from Jane will do the boys all the justice a doting mother can give. Excuse me, I was about to go to the instrument.”
“No, you will not,” Mary spoke sharply, and Elizabeth stopped. “The child might be sleeping, and I will not have you disturb him. I have decided you may play my instrument only in the morning before breakfast, if you first ask me for permission.”
A cold sweat broke out across her body. Elizabeth struggled to find her breath, and numbness crept up her fingertips. She bowed and left the room without a word, struggling up the stairs on stumbling feet to collapse on her bed as another stab of sharp pain struck her. She felt tightness in her chest as her heart pounded away, and a feeling of being smothered attacked her.
“Lizzy!I intend to walk to Meryton. Lizzy? Are you unwell?”
Lydia’s boisterous presence at her bedside assaulted Elizabeth’s senses. She must have fallen asleep for an hour after her painful heart episode.
“I am perfectly well,” she replied as she sat up. Could she walk the mile to Meryton? The walk was flat, and Lydia was not likely to set a brisk pace if she was chattering away. Had enough time passed for her heart to recover? “You walked into Meryton yesterday.”
“Mary has morning sickness and refuses to be bled again. Mamma is tired of hearing Mary complain and I offered to go to Mr Jones to buy bicarbonate of soda.”
“That was kind of you.”
“And I want a smart bonnet indeed, because the one Maria and I tore to pieces earlier is beyond saving.”
“How shall you pay for that?”
“Mamma always finds a way to increase my pocket allowance. She says I must look smart to catch a husband.”
This style of talk continued all the way into Meryton, and only looking into the shop windows could draw Lydia’s attention away from husbands and flirting.
“Do you see this new muslin in the window? It is a better colour for your darker hair and eyes, but I might as well buy it as not.”
“Lydia…”
“Only you must lend me the money, because I spent all of mine on that hat. Lord! How I wish to be married and have pin money of my own.”
“I have none to lend you. Let us get what we came for.” Elizabeth pulled her sister across the street and into the apothecary shop. She was dearly fond of Lydia, and they were united in their dislike in having to live with the Collinses, but there were moments when her sister’s manner tried her patience.
“Let us bring some comfits for Mr Collins; his breath is rancid,” Lydia said when they entered. “Poor Mary. I cannot credit how they are to have a second child.”
