“I believe I should like the journey to the north very well,” said Kitty.
That, of course, set the girls to arguing about who their relations would welcome more, who would gain more amusement from the experience, among a host of other nonsensical disagreements. Elizabeth ignored their dispute and fixed her attention on her youngest sister, wondering what she was about. Lydia had not a subtle bone in her body, leading Elizabeth to suspect the girl had been thinking of something in particular when she mentioned leaving Meryton. It had not concerned the northern tour—of this Elizabeth was certain. Lydia had stated repeatedly how disinclined she was to travel north.
When the sisters arrived in Meryton, they separated according to their own interests. Lydia and Kitty, unsurprisingly, went straight to the milliners, though Elizabeth was certain they would find their way to the dressmakers in time. Mary, as was her wont, visited the booksellers, for the proprietor, Mr. Lodge, also kept a selection of sheet music Mary often perused. Jane stayed with Elizabeth. They entered the general store to fulfill cook’s charge and then joined Mary at the bookseller. Jane, though not the reader that Elizabeth was and having no skill on the pianoforte, was still well-read enough to find several selections that she enjoyed. It was no surprise at all that Mary had found a piece of music she wished to purchase—Elizabeth estimated Mary dispensed with as much as half of her allowance in such purchases. What remained she usually used on books, though not the sort Elizabeth enjoyed.
For a time, the sisters took pleasure in each other’s company, debating a book or poring over a piece of music. As they searched, Elizabeth found a duet by Mozart that she and Jane might do a creditable job in performing, and Mary, eager as she was to play the pianoforte, agreed she would enjoy playing for them. In time, they gathered their purchases at Mr. Lodge’s counter and soon exited the shop.
They had no sooner gained the street outside when Kitty approached them, her manner more than a little disgruntled. “Have you seen Lydia?” asked she.
“Do you suppose Lydia will ever willingly enter such an establishment boasting nothing more than the dusty tomes she always decries?” asked Mary, more than a little primly in Elizabeth’s opinion.
“She is not with you?” asked Elizabeth.
Kitty shook her head. “We were in the dressmakers looking at the latest designs when she disappeared.”
Jane shook her head while Mary pursed her lips. “I suppose she cannot get into any mischief in Meryton, of all places,” said Jane. “Shall we leave her to find her own way home?”
“I am uncertain that is wise, Jane,” replied Elizabeth, considering the past months of the girl’s folly. “We should at least look for her before we return to Longbourn.”
The sisters all agreed, and they spread out searching for their wayward sister. As it turned out, their investigation was unnecessary, for it was not thirty seconds later when Lydia came sauntering down the middle of Meryton’s primary street. As the sisters were as yet all nearby, they converged on her at once.
“Lydia,” whined Kitty. “Why did you leave me alone?”
The girl’s shrug in response preceded her excuse. “I saw something interesting in the haberdasher’s window and went to investigate. But it was not so curious as I thought.”
The response seemed a little too glib for Elizabeth’s taste, but there was no reason to question her sister further. Had Lydia remained silent, that would have been the end of the matter, but Lydia, being who she was, could not help but make a nasty comment at her sister’s expense.
“Besides, you are so dull, that associating with you is nothing less than a punishment.”
Kitty turned red, and a retort seemed poised on the tip of her tongue, but Elizabeth interjected to forestall an argument.
“That is unkind, Lydia. If you cannot refrain from making such comments, perhaps you should remain silent.”
The hateful glare that Lydia directed at her was entirely predictable. “You lord your position is my elder over me, but it shall not always be that way, Lizzy. In time,Ishall take your position. Then you shall be sorry!”
It was more of Lydia’s drivel and Elizabeth was not about to listen to it. “Perhaps you will. Until that day, you will mind your manners and abstain from such comments.”
With a haughty glare, Lydia turned and marched away toward Longbourn, and once they had exchanged glances, the sisters turned to follow her.
“That girl is beyond impossible,” muttered Mary as they walked.
“She is yet young and immature,” said Jane, ever the peacemaker.
“She is old enough to know how to behave,” retorted Mary. “If our mother would not coddle her so, perhaps we might influence a change in her manners.”
“Only if our father took a hand,” said Elizabeth.
Mary grimaced, but she did not dispute Elizabeth’s assertion.
“Iwouldhurry to catch her,” said Kitty, uncertainty written in her hesitant words. “But I doubt she would welcome my presence.”
“I dare say she would not,” agreed Elizabeth. “It is best to leave her to her own devices, Kitty. Hopefully, she will regain her equanimity by the time we return to Longbourn.”
Such an outcome was, it seemed, too much to hope. Lydia remained a significant distance in front of them, such that she arrived at Longbourn several minutes before her sisters. By the time they entered the house, the girl had retired above stairs. Other than emerging for dinner that evening, Lydia shunned their company in favor of her bedchamber.
“There is little enough reason to question her,” said Mr. Bennet when Elizabeth said something of the day’s events. “Lydia is determined to be displeased, and displeased she will be.”
Then her father chuckled and added: “It is unfortunate, I suppose, that circumstances denied her the sojourn in Brighton. I remain convinced it would have been the best way for her to learn of her insignificance.”
