Kitty Bennet's Diary (Pride and Prejudice Chronicles) by Anna Elliott Read Free Book Online Page B

I am barred from the entertainment myself, I will take my pleasure through watching you.”
    Jane meant it quite sincerely, too.  That is what Jane is like.
    She rose to take her leave soon after—telling us that we must call on her soon, and saying that she would of course see us at Saturday’s ball.  The air of tension or strain was nearly gone from her tone as she kissed us both and departed.
    But I felt a prick of something like uneasiness or worry, still.
    Usually it is no good trying to speak with Mary about such things, but there was no one else for me to talk to.  So I said, as the door closed behind Jane, “I hope nothing is amiss between her and Charles.  It is strange that she should have come to London alone.”
    Mary made a slight, dismissive gesture.  “It is most unwise of her to travel.  Everything I have read indicates that very great harm may be done to the child by excessive activity.”  And then she picked up the written list I had given her of dancing steps: rigadon, fleuret, and so on.  “Shall we try it again?  I flatter myself that I was making significant progress when we were obliged to leave off.”
    I cannot imagine why I was surprised.  Mary, generally speaking, has no concern whatever for anyone’s affairs but her own.
    Or perhaps that is not quite fair.  Rather, she is supremely confident that no one would get into difficulties if only they could be more like she is herself.  And therefore in her view, there is no use in worrying over others—not when their troubles are so clearly of their own making.
    However, unlike Jane, I do occasionally lose my temper.  Well, if I am continuing to be honest in this journal, I suppose it is more than just occasionally.
    I snapped, “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Mary, Jane is your sister as well as mine.  Haven’t you any thought to spare for why she should have been willing to take the risk of travelling with the baby’s birth so near?”
    Mary looked quite surprised—at least briefly.  But then she frowned and said, “In my opinion, speculation is uniquely unprofitable.  If you truly want to know the reasons for Jane’s behaviour, you ought simply to ask Jane herself to elucidate.”
    I gave up.  Attempting to argue with someone who actually uses the word ‘elucidate’ in casual conversation is clearly futile.
     

Later …
    I would not have believed it possible—but a second miracle occurred this afternoon in regards to Mary.  I was playing at spillikins with the children in the nursery, when Mary came in and asked whether she might speak with me.  I was surprised, but I said of course—and picked up Susanna so that she would not disturb the pile of jackstraws while her older brothers and sisters kept playing without me.
    Mary has in fact been leaving off her glasses these last few days.  Her eyes look quite different without them.  Actually, her whole face looks different—less priggish and solemn.  This afternoon as I walked with her over to the nursery window seat and sat down, she looked … pensive rather than prim or self-righteous, a furrow of thought between her brows.
    “I have been thinking,” Mary said, “about your remarks earlier today.  You implied that I was lacking in proper sisterly affection because I was not more concerned about Jane and her reasons for coming to London.”
    “Well—”  I stopped, uncertain of how to reply.  It seemed unkind to say that, yes, absolutely, I thought her behaviour smug, sanctimonious, and entirely self-absorbed.
    As it happened, though, I did not need to say anything, because Mary went on.  “I have come to the conclusion that you were correct,” she said.
    Which was miraculous enough in itself, but Mary did not stop there.  She said, “The poet Donne teaches us that, ‘No man is an island, entire of itself.’  I have been remiss in neglecting the truth of that useful lesson.  I ought to be more concerned about Jane.  Do you think I ought to write to