Page 10

Mr. Bennet had not yet risen from his bed when his manservant arrived to help him shave, but the appearance of Mabberly was enough to convince him that it was time to face the day.

There was much to be done, however little he was looking forward to it.

In short order, the Bennet patriarch was seated at the breakfast table with his wife and daughters, wishing that he had not indulged in a second glass of brandy the night before.

After two cups of strong coffee, Mr. Bennet squared his shoulders and told himself to get on with it. “Well, girls. What shall you be doing with yourselves today?”

The question was so unexpected that the table fell silent for an instant before Lydia turned back to Kitty and continued chattering about one of the officers—something about him dressing in women’s clothes and passing undetected among his fellows at a card party. Mr. Bennet sighed.

Before he could become wholly frustrated, however, Jane spoke softly at his elbow. “I shall be visiting the Wagners this morning, Papa. Young Annie just had her baby last week and we have a basket of clothes and food for them.”

Mr. Bennet nodded, pleased. To be entirely honest, he hadn’t been aware that his daughters were visiting Longbourn’s tenants and continuing the tradition of charity baskets.

He was mildly ashamed but quickly brushed this feeling aside.

Turning to his left, he queried, “Lizzy? Shall you be accompanying Jane on her mission of mercy?” To himself, he grimaced; it was too easy to fall into his old habits of sarcasm even when the situation did not merit it.

Elizabeth did not seem to notice her father’s tone—it was what she was accustomed to, after all. She was merely happy that he appeared to be making some effort to inquire into his daughters’ activities. “No, Papa. Mrs. Hill and I must go over the housekeeping accounts this morning. ”

Her father nodded, something of his sister’s letter on the importance of educating girls in matters other than embroidery and useless conversation coming back to him.

He turned to his next daughter, tucked between Elizabeth and Kitty at the table and obviously not expecting to be addressed by her father.

“Mary?” When she did not respond, Elizabeth poked her sister with her elbow and Mr. Bennet realized that his middle daughter had been reading from a book hidden in her lap.

When her startled eyes met his, he repeated his query. “Mary? What shall you be doing today?”

After opening and closing her mouth several times in surprise, Mary eventually managed two words. “Studying, Papa.”

Bennet smiled—he might be able to reach this daughter. Unfortunately, Mary took his smile as one of derision and tucked her chin so that all he could see was a slightly crooked part in her soft brown hair.

“Mary?” He attempted to gentle his voice and was rewarded by a pair of eyes peeking up at him from under a thick fringe. “What are you reading, my child?”

“Fordyce’s instructions on the importance of charity,” she squeaked, clearly expecting to be mocked.

Bennet sighed, sorry to see how his sharp tongue had affected the poor girl.

He was struck by an idea. “Mary, I would be pleased if you would take some time from your studies this morning to accompany your sister on her visit to Longbourn’s tenants.

” Seeing that she was about to argue, he added in a firmer tone, “Charity is indeed a virtue, daughter. However, we must remember that it is the practice of charity that is virtuous, not merely its exposition.”

He looked Mary straight in the eye until she nodded slightly before relenting.

“It’s a worthy subject for your consideration, my dear.

Bring your Fordyce to my book room this afternoon and we shall discuss it further; I should like to hear your thoughts.

Did you know that charity is one of the Five Pillars of Islam?

According to their holy book, Muslims believe that each year a percentage of their possessions must be given to the poor and deprived.

” Mr. Bennet noted that his daughter was looking at him wide-eyed.

“Muslims, Papa?” Mary’s curiosity overcame the caution she had learned to practice around her father.

“Muslims—followers of the Islamic religion. Sometimes called Mohammedans or Mahometans, although that is incorrect; they do not worship Mohammed but consider him a prophet, just as we Christians believe Jesus of Nazareth to be the Messiah and the son of God.” Thomas observed that he was well beyond his daughter’s knowledge but was encouraged by her apparent interest. “Well, well. I have some business to attend to this morning but come to my study this afternoon after tea and we shall discuss it. At university I came to know a man from Jerusalem; he was translating various ancient texts and studying the intersections between the Christian, Islamic, and Jewish faiths. Quite fascinating—I shall see if I can find the notes I took on his lectures.”

Not much later, Mr. Bennet retired to his study, pleased that he had made some progress with at least one of his daughters.

His hope for a bit of quiet before meeting with his neighbors and seeing to the safety of the local shopkeepers’ pocketbooks was not to be, however.

Within minutes, there came a great pounding on his door accompanied by the sounds of his wife and youngest daughter in high dudgeon.

Thomas groaned but opened the door, allowing his sanctuary to be invaded by his high-strung wife and the daughter he feared was most like her.

“Mr. Bennet! You must tell her— she won’t listen and is determined to ruin us all!” wailed Mrs. Bennet, waiving a lacy handkerchief in the air like a white flag.

Simultaneously, Lydia was stamping her foot and snarling. “Papa— I must have new clothes for Brighton for there shall be ever so many balls and parties and I’ve nothing to wear! Mama promised but now she won’t take me…”

Mrs. Bennet turned on her spoiled daughter. “You’re most certainly not going to Brighton— such a dangerous place! I’ve half a mind to keep you away from Meryton until the regiment leaves!”

“But you promised! I’m to be Mrs. Forster’s particular companion! And make merry with all the officers! I can’t miss the parties or I’ll just die— I must go to Brighton!”

The spat continued on for some minutes at such a decibel that Mr. Bennet could not catch their attention long enough to get a word in.

Rolling his eyes, he moved to shut the door and then picked up an old straight-backed chair from the corner and set it behind Lydia.

Neither female took any notice of his activity until he picked up a very heavy atlas from a shelf and dropped it on the floor with a satisfying “THUMP!”

Before Lydia had a chance to wind up her tongue again, he spoke sternly, “Sit down and be silent, child.”

Lydia sat in the uncomfortable chair, crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. Thomas nodded severely and moved to stand before her. “Lydia. You are fifteen years old, yet you act like a child of five— a spoiled, reckless little girl who should still be on leading strings.”

Seeing that she was about to argue, Mr. Bennet pointed at her sternly. “Silence, I said. You will listen even if I have to gag you with my handkerchief.” Lydia humphed and kicked the chair rungs.

“It is because of your poor behavior that your mother and I have decided that you are not mature enough to travel without one of us to look after you. You will not be going to Brighton, much less ordering any new gowns. I shall explain the change in plans to Colonel Forster when I see him later today.”

Red in the face, Lydia sprang to her feet and shrieked at her parents. “But you promised! I want to go to Brighton—the balls! The officers! You said I could!”

Mr. Bennet put his hand on Lydia’s shoulder and pressed her back into the chair. “Quiet! This is precisely the type of behavior that prompted our decision, child. In fact, if you continue as such, you will force me to reconsider whether you are truly mature enough to be ‘out’ in Meryton society.”

Lydia’s jaw dropped and her eyes goggled, too stunned to speak for a minute.

For the first time in her young life she saw her parents united—Mrs. Bennet was standing beside her husband nodding in agreement, even to his last statement!

Lydia snapped her jaw shut; clearly a different tactic was necessary.

Her father watched with disgust as his youngest daughter’s expression shifted from fury to cunning to wretchedness, crocodile tears dribbling down her cheeks.

“But Papa… Mrs. Forster is depending on me… You don’t want me to let her down, do you?” she whimpered, patting at her cheeks with a handkerchief.

Mr. Bennet snorted. “Lydia Bennet. You are a fifteen year old girl with little education and no sense that I can see. Mrs. Forster is a married woman full-grown. If she needs assistance, she should turn to her husband or the other officers’ wives.

She has a household to run; she will not be spending her days trimming bonnets and her nights gadding about at balls and parties.

And if she is spending all her time on such frivolities then she is not a lady whom we would wish you to model yourself upon! ”

Most of what Mr. Bennet said passed straight over Lydia’s head; she was not interested in reasons, just approval.

Seeing that her father was unmoved, she turned beseeching eyes upon her mother with an expression that had never failed before.

“But Mama… if I go to Brighton, one of the officers is sure to fall in love with me! Denny and Carter like me a great deal already, and now that Wickham is no longer engaged to Mary King, he has begun to pay attention to me as well!” Her begging voice began to gain enthusiasm as she repeated her favorites’ names, but her mother was already shaking her head.