Chapter Text
Despite being a ‘silly young thing’, Kitty Bennet was quite content with her life.
Her father’s snide opinion of her did not trouble her overmuch. To be silly was to be unburdened, untroubled by the weights that held down her older sisters’ shoulders. Until they were married, Kitty felt no pressure to be anything or serve any whims but her own. In fact, she saw being foolish as a way of being free.
It was her sisters who were trapped. They had to comport themselves well, for they had to save the family’s fortunes. Their faces, opinions, habits and gowns were the only ones of any importance. The younger girls were loved, of course, and cossetted by their mother… but they did not matter.
Kitty and Lydia finally came out, and were thrilled that their lives were about to change. Instead, they were overlooked so often that they realised their actions meant less than nothing to their father, and very little to their mother. As long as they seemed happy, the woman was quite content to let them behave as they pleased.
The youngest two agreed that they might as well make the best of things. If they did not, Lydia said, then what was the point of being ignored?
The idea resonated in Kitty’s soul. She had spent years resenting her older sisters and longing for just a day in their sunlight. It would have been wondrous indeed to be called beautiful, as Jane was almost daily. Even though she had no great love of reading, she would have rejoiced to be called into her father’s study, as Lizzie often was.
Kitty even tried to create her own light. She studied hard, practicing singing and dancing until her throat and feet were sore, but whatever talent glowed from her was meaningless. It would not help her marry. Her dancing simply carved her family’s opinion of her ‘silliness’ into stone.
How was that fair? If she liked to embroider or play pianoforte, then they would call her accomplished. If she devoted her hours of study into languages or etiquette, then she would be sophisticated. But Kitty was a physical creature, enamoured of things she could do, and could not devote her life towards things in books.There was nothing marvellous about creating something that would turn into tatters in a few months, like a sampler or a bonnet. But there was something wonderful in being inside a creation. Kitty knew that she could not become a good prospect for her mother, or a sensible daughter for her father, but when she was dancing she could become that dance.
When the balls were over and they came home, Kitty wondered if anyone would spare her a thought. But she had not made any matches, of course. She had only found good dancing partners, and they were never suitable. Jane and Elizabeth were always the subject of conversation, and never Kitty.
There were so many shadows in her life, and Lydia’s dim fireflies of wisdom were her only guides in the darkness.
That was, until Lydia eloped. She found her own blazing light, it seemed, in Mr. Wickham. He was the type of person who would never even think of stepping into the shadows. Whenever he entered a room, he was noticed. He burned.
The two silly-things were awestruck by him, staring with slack jaws whenever he made a speech or walked about the room. It was Lydia who moved first. Kitty was too nervous to follow her. She was forced to watch from the corner as her little sister took the prize.
But it wasn’t fair! Kitty was older! Lydia was barely even out!
That night the girls had a fiery argument. Age, Lydia cried, had nothing to do with one’s right to speak to a man! Just because she was the youngest didn’t mean that everyone else always had to be first! She would expect such words from the other girls - awful, selfish creatures! - but from Kitty?
“You should be ashamed.” she finished finally with bitterness in her voice and victory in her eyes. She knew that she had won. Kitty had enough energy to argue, but not the heart.
What was the point? Lydia had already bested her; Wickham was another man who would overlook her, now that his eye had fallen on another. She told herself to be glad for Lydia, who had finally stepped into the sunlight. But it was difficult. Very difficult.
Was she pleased when Lydia left? She concealed the elopement from her parents, of course. Part of her thought it was their just punishment, for being so oblivious of everything else that mattered. But another part of her was disgusted with her sister, knowing that Lydia’s scheme would bring ruin upon the rest of them.
Lydia professed to hate her older sisters, apart from Kitty, and had no compunction about harming them. The one sister who she tolerated was necessary collateral damage for Lydia. And when she became Mrs. Wickham, Lydia showed them all her disdain in the way that she crowed and triumphed over them.
She departed, as Lizzie and Jane did a few months later, with smiles and well-wishes ringing in her ears. And, for a few months, her marriage did appear as blessed as her older sisters’ - if not financially, then at least in terms of the affection she felt for her husband. The letters she sent were full of effusions which Kitty suspected were improper to write of. Some paragraphs were scandalous!
They painted such a lurid, cheerful picture of a husband that Kitty threw all of her efforts into finding one of her own. Aided by her mother, who finally saw Kitty as something worthy of attention, she leapt into the best society Meryton had to offer.
For months she held a position almost equal to the one Jane had enjoyed. She was not as beautiful, but she had such lively joy in her mannerisms that people were drawn to her. There were several young men, indeed, who were most interested in her company.
During those months, as her star burned brighter, Lydia’s began to fade. A small aside in one letter gradually became a string of complaints which contaminated every cheerful story she tried to tell.
Soon, there were no cheerful moments at all. Lydia wrote to her sister of her mornings, not her evenings. Mornings alone, with no breakfast because the money was all gone. Mornings with Wickham, where the air was as tense as a bowstring. And mornings after Wickham, when Lydia could not even remember what had started the fight, but feared the evening when he would return home and begin it again.
Kitty read the letters with horror. What could she suggest? Lydia was lawfully married, and her husband had every right to treat her so poorly. If he ordered her to stay in the house, or to pawn her jewellery, or to face his anger - then she had to. The alternative was shame, poverty and disgrace.
Lydia had burned many bridges when she eloped. The friends she might have turned to were long gone. There was only her sister, who read her letters and knew there was nothing to be done.
How could Kitty look her suitors in the eye, after such a revelation? When she heard them speak of marriage, she thought only of locked doors and brutal commands. They smiled at her, but what of it? Wickham had smiled too. He still smiled, Lydia told her, even when he raised his fists.
Kitty’s paranoia grew with each letter, until she trembled every time a visitor was announced. She had no compunction about turning down invitations to walk or ride, but it was impossible to even make the attempt. Mrs. Bennet leapt onto every invitation and accepted with such alacrity that the gentlemen believed Kitty shared her excitement. And so Kitty would go, holding elbows, smiling politely, and desperately trying to think of how to escape.
She was sure that, if one of the men proposed, her mother would accept that on her behalf, too. Her father had little enough affection for Kitty, and would not defend her overlong. Before she knew it, Catherine Bennet would be trapped forever, just like poor Lydia.
Despite being a ‘silly young thing’, Kitty was quite determined to live a life she chose.