Old friends and new fancies

by Sybil G. Brinton

[Chapter XXI]

In the gloom of the following morning, at an hour which seemed exceptionally cheerless by reason of the mist and fine rain which prevailed, Mr. Bingley's chaise drove round to the front entrance of Pemberley. Kitty, who, after a night of weeping and wretchedness, had fallen into a doze, was aroused by the sound of movements and voices, but when she peeped through her curtains, she was too late for anything but a heartrending glimpse of the skirts of William Price's great-coat, as he stepped into the carriage. The door was shut, Darcy and Fitzwilliam waved their farewells, and the horses moved off at a brisk trot. Kitty watched and listened to them as long as she could, and then flung herself on her bed in a paroxysm of grief. Though William's avoidance of her during the latter part of the previous evening, his strange altered looks, and his embarrassed way of saying good-night, had undermined her hopes to such an extent that she had been all night facing the terrible desolation caused by the thought, "If he does not care for me after all," yet she had not actually given all up in despair until the moment of hearing him leave the house. Some note, some message, might have arrived—might still arrive; but since parting from him, Kitty had not been able to quell the horrible fear that all was over. The indications, which had been so favourable, had completely changed since Mrs. Jennings had uttered her foolish remark; in vain had she tried to reinstate her old relations with William Price. What could it all mean? Each time she put this question to herself she gave way afresh to unrestrained tears, and, weakened by fatigue and emotion, was totally incapable of following out any train of thought or conjecture. She had longed to hasten to Georgiana the night before, to pour out her heart in an appeal for the support which Georgiana had never failed to give; but Elizabeth had checked her in this intention; and, poor Kitty, unable to bear pain alone with any degree of courage, had worked herself into a deplorable condition by the time her sister arrived at her door in the morning.

Elizabeth and Jane had naturally both surmised something of the state of things as regarded Kitty. It was not difficult for anyone acquainted with the previous development of the affair, to perceive that William Price had not fulfilled the expectations which had been formed of him, and Elizabeth accounted for Georgiana's evident unhappiness by concluding that she had become aware that this would be the case. William Price had looked much as usual, up to the last, but Elizabeth suspected that there had been some elucidation either between him and Georgiana, or through Mrs. Jennings, and she hardly knew how much to blame him. There was no time to talk matters over with Jane, for she felt, as soon as she was up, that her immediate visit must be to the chief sufferer, to comfort and sustain her and, if possible, to shield her from the consequences of her own error.

Kitty would not admit her at first, and when at length Elizabeth persuaded her to do so, she was distressed to see what ravages the shock of disappointment and the hours of weeping had wrought. Kitty's tears broke out anew, but the sense of Elizabeth's affection and companionship somewhat soothed her, and when she could speak more coherently, she begged to see Georgiana, who could perhaps tell her things—who would be able to explain. This Elizabeth could not permit, for she saw that Kitty was in no fit state to talk over her troubles, but she promised her an early opportunity of doing so, and having induced her to swallow some food and a cordial, she soon had the satisfaction of seeing her fall asleep. These precautionary measures were fully justified in the course of the next forty-eight hours, during which time Kitty remained really ill, attacks of strong hysteria alternating with weakness of extreme exhaustion. Every care was lavished on her by her two sisters, by Georgiana, and by Elizabeth's maid; but naturally anything like rational discussion of the cause of her illness was out of the question, and, indeed, Kitty herself, after once asking if Mr. Price had left any message for her, or spoken of returning at some future time, and receiving a negative answer, seemed, after giving way to a torrent of tears, unable or unwilling to puzzle matters out any further.

Georgiana did not escape the inquiries and speculations of Elizabeth and Jane. When she descended from her room the morning after the ball, at an hour little later than her usual one, to take her place in the family circle, she had regained complete control of herself, and declared herself entirely refreshed, and beyond a little heaviness of the eyes and paleness of cheeks, naturally attributable to the fatigues of the last two days, there was nothing in her aspect to cause remark. No one guessed at the sense of guilt which filled her heart when she saw what grief and disappointment had done for Kitty, or at the deep compunction and almost unendurable self-reproach which assailed her when the others discussed his strange defection, and professed themselves unable to account for the curious change in his attitude towards Kitty—a change which several people had noticed the last hour of the ball. Elizabeth and Jane asked her if she was at all prepared for it, whether anything had occurred to make her suspect that Mr. Price would not propose marriage to Kitty after all. These questions were a hard trial to Georgiana, for she could not bear to be other than straightforward, and for a multitude of reasons she could not divulge the true explanation; she could only say in a low, troubled voice, and with as few words as possible, that she had learnt, in the course of the evening, that their expectations were mistaken ones, and that she feared Kitty would take it very much to heart.

Seeing her unhappiness on her friend's behalf, the two ladies forbore to tease her with further inquiries, though Jane still felt that Georgiana could have thrown more light on the mystery had she cared, and in her hearing continually lamented the failure of everything for poor Kitty, who had fallen, as it were, between two stools, the regrettable ending to all this pleasant time, and the fickleness of young men, or, rather, the unfortunate complications that arose through their not knowing their own minds. Georgiana had to listen to this in silence, though conscious that the last was not an accusation that could fairly be brought against William Price, and Elizabeth's more rational way of accounting for things was not much better, when she said that she did not think Mr. Price guilty of more than thoughtlessness, but it was certainly a pity that he had not been able to perceive earlier the extent of Kitty's feeling for him, as no doubt, when he had at last become aware of it, he realized what Elizabeth had already surmised to be in his mind, namely, that his roving life did not warrant him in thinking about matrimony at present. Georgiana thought she might venture to say here that William Price had indeed expressed great sorrow to her on finding that he had been the cause of disappointment to Kitty, and she even went so far into the dangerous fields of explanation as to add that he had had no suspicion of it until surprised by a chance word of raillery from Mrs. Jennings. She was pleased to see that this news partly rehabilitated him in the mind of Elizabeth, if not of Jane; and for fear of betraying more than she ought, she went away, wondering why she should be glad for him not to be misjudged, when she really ought to be only thinking of how wrongly he had behaved.

The hour of enlightenment for Kitty could not be long postponed. By the third day she was well enough to sit up in a large chair in her own room, and on being visited by Georgiana, begged her to stay for a time, and to fasten the door. When assured of their freedom from interruption, she seized her friend's hand, made her sit close beside her, and implored her to relate everything she could that would throw light on Mr. Price's changed conduct and hasty departure. Georgiana nerved herself to reply, but for the first few minutes, Kitty was talking and crying incessantly, pouring out the pent-up grief of the last few days, so that Georgiana had great difficulty in calming her, and dreaded the effect of the revelation about to be made.

"Dear Kitty," remonstrated Georgiana, "you must not cry; you must be more composed, or Elizabeth will not let me stay with you. Do try to be brave; think whether it is right to give way so much; you will make yourself ill again, you know."

"Anyone would be ill after what I have been through," lamented Kitty; "I shall never be happy again. Why does he not care for me? Did he tell you why not, Georgiana? What have I done, or what has Mrs. Jennings done? Something must have happened to offend him, for he changed all in one minute."

"I do not believe anything happened to offend him, Kitty," returned Georgiana. "As he has gone away now and did not do what he all thought he would do, is it not best to assume that he does not care in the way we hoped for, and try to forget about it, and not mind too much? Dear Kitty, I am deeply grieved for you: it has been my fault, more than anyone's, and you are right to reproach me; I can never forgive myself for having led you into the mistake."