The Fourth Bennet Sister

By Bethany Delleman, 2023

This story was inspired by the Korean drama Extra-ordinary You, the book Sophie’s World by Jostein Gaarder, and the Hollywood movie Stranger Than Fiction. If you like this, you may also want to read and watch those!

Chapter 1: Netherfield is Let At Last

Kitty Bennet, the fourth Bennet sister, was sitting at the table with her sisters. Lydia was trimming a bonnet, Elizabeth and Jane were embroidering their gowns, and Kitty was repairing a slit in her worked muslin frock. Mary was reading. Their mother swept into the room.

“Netherfield is let at last, did you hear Mr. Bennet?”

“I have not.”

“It is! I have just heard it from Mrs. Long.”

Her father did not answer.

“Do you not want to know?”

“ You will tell me I am sure.”

“Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England.”

Kitty listened intently as her mother described Mr. Bingley; she was so excited for a new young man to be in the neighbourhood! Perhaps he would hold a ball! She hoped that he would be handsome. It had been a pity for that lovely house to sit empty for so long.

Suddenly her mother and father ceased speaking and she heard a sound, like the scratching of a pen on paper. Before she could ask her sisters if they heard it, she blinked.

Kitty Bennet, the fourth Bennet sister, was sitting at the table with her sisters. Lydia was trimming a bonnet, Elizabeth and Jane were embroidering their gowns, and Kitty was repairing a slit in her worked muslin frock. Mary was reading. Their mother swept into the room.

“My dear Mr. Bennet, have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?”

Her father replied that he had not.

“But it is, for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it.”

Her father did not answer.

“Do you not want to know who has taken it?”

Kitty shook her head, the words were somewhat different, but had she just not heard this conversation? Her father answered exactly as she expected.

“ You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.”

““Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much delighted with it that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the house by the end of next week.”

“What is his name?” asked Mr. Bennet.

“Bingley!” Kitty burst out, but neither of them appeared to hear her.

“Bingley,” her mother repeated.

Kitty turned to Lydia sitting beside her, “Did not you know that it was Bingley? She said it before?”

Lydia said nothing and continued to trim the bonnet.

“Lydia?”

Lydia finally turned.

“Did not you know?”

“Know what, Kitty?”

“That it was Mr. Bingley who took Netherfield?”

“I know now.”

“But they said it before?”

Lydia laughed, “No one knew it before she said it, what are you saying Kitty?”

Maybe Lydia had not been listening before.

“Jane, did you hear mamma say that it was Mr. Bingley before?”

Jane looked at her, “When, Kitty? She said it just now.”

“No before, she said it before.”

“No one knew before, Kitty. Mamma just heard it from Mrs. Long.”

Kitty frowned and furrowed her brow. She was sure this had happened before! Maybe she had dreamed it? She looked down at her frock, had she not sewn this slit up before? Had she ripped it again? Suddenly her mother and father ceased speaking and she heard a sound, like the scratching of a pen on paper. Before she could ask her sisters if they heard it, she blinked.

Kitty Bennet, the fourth Bennet sister, was sitting at the table with her sisters. Lydia was trimming a bonnet, Elizabeth and Jane were embroidering their gowns, and Kitty was repairing a slit in her worked muslin frock. Mary was reading.

Kitty stood up, “This has happened before!” she cried. Her sisters did not respond. She heard a whisper in the air, “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife…”

Her mother swept into the room. Kitty grabbed Lydia’s hand, her sister looked at her, “Lydia! Mamma is going to say that a Mr. Bingley took Netherfield.”

“My dear Mr. Bennet, have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?”

Lydia said languidly, “What are you saying, Kitty? I want to listen to mamma!”

Her father replied that he had not.

Kitty wanted to scream, this had happened before! This had all happened before!

“But it is, for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it.”

Her father did not answer.

“Do you not want to know who has taken it?”

“What is happening!” Kitty exclaimed.

“Sit down, Kitty,” Jane said calmly.

“This has happened before! Do you not remember it happening before?”

None of her sisters replied. Her mother and father continued as they had before, and before. Her sisters were doing the same work! Her muslin frock was still ripped, she had sewn that seam three times now! What was going on?

“I am going mad,” she said, sitting down at last. No one replied.

She heard the scratching again. Kitty blinked.

It was evening, Kitty was wearing her worked muslin frock. She took hold of the skirt and examined where it had been torn; it was repaired. She frowned at her uneven stitches for a moment and then looked around. It was dark, a different time of day. This was not another repetition, but how had she gotten here? She could not for the life of her remember putting on the frock, or anything else. It was after dinner, what had she eaten?

Her father walked in.

“I hope Mr. Bingley will like it, Lizzy.” 

Elizabeth was trimming a bonnet.

“We are not in a way to know what Mr. Bingley likes,” said her mother, resentfully, “since we are not to visit.

Kitty started coughing.

“Don’t keep coughing so, Kitty, for heaven’s sake! Have a little compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces.”

Kitty tried to stop, but she found she could not attempt to swallow or even reach for the cup of tea in front of her. She coughed again.

“Kitty has no discretion in her coughs,” said her father; “she times them ill.”

“I do not cough for my own amusement,” replied Kitty, fretfully. “When is your next ball to be, Lizzy?”

Her cough stopped as suddenly as it had begun. “Well, that is the way of coughs ,” she thought to herself. She tried to reach for her tea, this time her limbs moved on her command. How strange. 

“Now, Kitty, you may cough as much as you choose,” said Mr. Bennet; and, as he spoke, he left the room, fatigued with the raptures of his wife.

Kitty smiled at her father, then looked around the table. Her sisters were all happily speculating about Mr. Bingley and inviting him to dinner. She joined in. Perhaps she had been dreaming before, everything was back to normal now. She smiled. Then she heard scratching. Kitty tried to keep her eyes open, but then she blinked.

It was breakfast, her father was saying to Jane, “I made no careful observations.”

“Will you say nothing, papa?” Jane replied.

He merely smiled and resumed reading his paper.

“I hope he is very handsome,” Lydia mused.

“Is he fashionable do you suppose?” Kitty added.

“I hope that he is well-read,” Mary said.

“If he is from the north, do you think he will have red hair or dark?” Elizabeth said to Jane.

“Perhaps our father can give us a hint?” Jane said with a sweet smile.

“He is said to be from the north of England,” their father said, but offered no more.

Scratching. Blink.

It was later in the day, Mrs. Long was describing Mr. Bingley to the sisters. Kitty turned to Lydia, “When did we finish breakfast?”

“Hours ago, Kitty.”

Kitty looked out the window, it was several hours later if the sun was to be trusted. Had she merely forgotten everything that had happened?

“Lydia, I keep forgetting things.”

“Shhhh!” Elizabeth said from the other side.

Lydia whispered, “Kitty, he is handsome!”

Mrs. Long stopped talking. Kitty heard the sound, then she blinked.

Kitty was crowded with her sisters at an upper window. She saw a blue coat and a black horse and a young man.

Scratch. Blink.

Her mother was planning a dinner but Mr. Bingley went to London.

“Will he be the sort of young man who is always flitting about?”

Scratch. Blink.

“Twelve ladies!” Lydia cried, “We will never find partners if he is to bring twelve ladies!”

“Seven gentlemen from London will be something,” Jane said calmly.

“I will be sitting down all evening,” Kitty pouted.

“It is a great pity that he cannot bring an equal number,” mourned Elizabeth.

Scratch. Kitty tried to keep her eyes open, then she blinked.

They were in the assembly room. Kitty looked around, confused as ever. How many days had it been since her mother had announced Mr. Bingley? Elizabeth had said a fortnight tomorrow until the next ball, she had skipped through an entire fourteen days? Kitty tried to focus and remember dressing for the ball, but nothing came to her. She could not remember sleeping once in all that time. What was happening?

“Look Kitty! Mr. Bingley!” Lydia cried, grasping her sister’s arm. Kitty looked, there was the handsome young man, with four other people with him. Introductions were made. Somehow, despite her confusion, Kitty found that the words came to her easily. Young Mr. Goulding approached her to ask her to dance. She accepted and joined the set. Charlotte Lucas was dancing with Mr. Bingley.

Kitty wanted to sit down and think but found that she was unable to do so. She kept being approached and said yes before she could stop herself. When one of the Lucas boys applied, she tried very hard to say no, and for a mere second she kept the words inside. Then the acceptance burst from her. She wanted to sit down! Try as she might, she could not stop dancing.

The set ended, with Mr. Bingley protesting that it was too soon to go home. Kitty listened to Elizabeth’s story about Mr. Darcy. He had said Elizabeth was not beautiful enough to tempt him to dance! How very rude that man was! 

Kitty, her sisters, and mother went into the carriage and rode home. She was beginning to feel calmer, this was the longest stretch she could remember where she had been awake to the world the entire time. Maybe everything before had been a dream? They talked about the ball for the entire carriage ride. When they arrived home, Mr. Bennet was still awake.

“Oh, my dear Mr. Bennet,” her mother began. Kitty looked at her sisters. They were yawning and pulling off their white gloves. Mrs. Bennet stopped talking.

Jane, Elizabeth, Mary, and Lydia began to go upstairs and get ready for bed. Kitty followed. Then the scratching got louder. Blink.

They were in the assembly room. Kitty screamed out loud, but no one seemed to notice. She took Lydia’s hand.

“Lydia, this has happened before! We already attended the ball!”

“Oh la! What fun it will be to dance! Do you think Mr. Bingley will ask me?” Lydia replied.

“No, Lydia, do not you remember?”

Lydia ignored her, she was looking around the room and naming off the young men she wanted to dance with. Kitty turned to Elizabeth, “Lizzy, do not you remember? We were here already.”

“When do you think Mr. Bingley’s party will arrive?” was the reply.

Kitty’s mouth then seemed to snap shut. She was only able to reply when again, young Mr. Goulding sought her hand. Charlotte Lucas danced with Mr. Bingley first. It was the same evening, just like before when her mother and father had gone through the same conversation three times.

“Next is the Lucas boy ,” she thought to herself. He came and applied for her hand. “What is different this time ?” Kitty wondered. The last time this had happened, words had changed. What did that mean anyway? The last assembly ball had been a rehearsal for this one somehow?

Elizabeth approached her again and told her story, “Not handsome enough to tempt him!” Had she not said beautiful before? Such a trivial change!

They rode home, her mother began speaking to her father, they began to go upstairs to bed and suddenly Kitty realised that her feet were no longer being directed. She stopped walking. There was no sound of scratching. She needed to figure out what was going on!

She followed Lydia up to their room, “Lydia, the ball happened twice!”

Lydia did not reply or even seem to hear her, she was mechanically being undressed by Sally.

“Lydia? Lydia can you hear me? Sally?”

No reply.

Kitty walked to Mary’s small, single room. She was already undressed and in bed, a hand resting on the pillow in front of her face. “Mary! Mary wake up!” Kitty cried. Mary did not stir. She shook her violently. Nothing. Mary moved back into the exact position she had been in prior. Kitty moved Mary’s hand to her face, it moved back.

She ran out and then went to the next room, Jane and Elizabeth’s. Inside she heard voices. Jane was saying, “…and I am much mistaken if we shall not find a very charming neighbour in her.”

Kitty listened outside the door for a moment and then burst through the door. Elizabeth and Jane were already undressed. She frowned, that was not possible! Sally was still with Lydia, they could not have undressed on their own! And yet, the gowns were neatly hung and they were in their shifts, sitting together on their bed.

Neither sister attended Kitty as she entered. “Jane? Elizabeth?” she said, fearing that nothing would come of it. Jane did not stop speaking or even look to the side, Elizabeth’s gaze remained fixed upon her sister. Kitty put her hand between their faces and waved it.

“Hello? Jane? Elizabeth!”

Abruptly both of her sisters laid down and were instantly asleep. Kitty heard scratching.

“No! I am not going to blink!” she cried out. “I am staying awake!”

The scratching sound stopped.

Chapter 2: Finding a Friend

Kitty was the only person awake at Longbourn; all her sisters, her mother and father, and the servants were sound asleep. She wandered about aimlessly, not feeling the least bit tired. Returning to her and Lydia’s room, she put her face as close to Lydia’s ear as possible and screamed at the top of her lungs. Her sister did not rouse or even move.

Kitty walked outside. The night was eerily quiet and when she looked up, the clear sky had no stars. Impulsively, she drew a bucket of ice cold water and carried it upstairs. Kitty dumped the water on Lydia’s head.

Nothing happened. Lydia slept on.

“What in the kingdom!” Kitty said aloud, no one heard her anyway. “How is Lydia not waking up? She is drenched in water!” Then Kitty was gripped with fear, “Oh no, what if she gets sick?” She hurried to get a towel, but when she returned the bucket had disappeared and Lydia was dry.

“I dumped a bucket of water on her! I am fairly certain…” Kitty sat on the floor, still in her ballgown. “I clearly remember dumping water on her. Where is the bucket?” Kitty walked back outside, the bucket was by the pump. She filled it again and brought it upstairs. Placing it beside Lydia’s bed, she went out of the room and then peeked around the doorway. The bucket was magically gone.

“This must be a dream. A very long, confusing dream. Maybe I am ill again.” 

Kitty felt her own forehead, her temperature felt normal. However, if it was a dream, it made sense that she would appear well inside. Was she dying in real life and imagining all of this?

“Why would I imagine all my sisters sleeping like dolls? This is so very strange. And why have the same things happened over and over?”

Kitty frowned and wished that the walls would answer her.

“I am going to bed,” she declared, though she did not feel tired, “I will go to bed in my ball gown and Lydia will notice that in the morning.” She laid down and closed her eyes.

Kitty opened her eyes. It was morning. She looked down, she was dressed for bed. Her gown was hanging neatly as if Sally really had helped her remove it.

“That is impossible!” she declared.

Lydia was still asleep. “Wake up, Lydia!” Kitty yelled.

“Shush Kitty, I am so tired!” Lydia said, yawning and rolling over.

“You heard me!” Kitty cried. “Lydia, do you remember what happened last night?”

“We went to the ball and danced all night,” Lydia mumbled.

“Did we go twice?”

Lydia opened her eyes, “What nonsense Kitty, that was the first assembly ball of the season.”

“We attended twice! I heard scratching like writing on paper and the words changed.”

Lydia did not answer. Instead she rose and began her morning toilette. Sally appeared and they both were dressed. Kitty followed Lydia downstairs and into the dining room.

The family was assembled already. Kitty had an idea.

“My name is Elephant Mousepot and my nose is blue,” she said. No one replied or even seemed to hear her. She tried again, “Do you think Mr. Bingley very handsome?”

Jane blushed, Elizabeth agreed, and Lydia burst out, “Oh la! Such a handsome man!”

“He seemed very agreeable,” Mary added.

“We attended the ball twice,” Kitty said. No one replied or looked at her. They never seemed to hear her when she pointed out the repetitions. Why?

“The Lucases will be here soon,” Elizabeth said, “we absolutely must discuss the ball.”

Kitty did not remember rising from breakfast, in a moment they were in the parlour greeting their guests. Kitty sat beside Maria Lucas, whom she knew to be her intimate friend and said… nothing. Charlotte, Elizabeth, Jane, and Mrs. Bennet were carrying on a spirited conversation but she and Maria only smiled at each other.

“Miss Bingley told me,” said Jane, “that he never speaks much unless among his intimate acquaintance. With them he is remarkably agreeable.”

Her mother replied, “I do not believe a word of it, my dear. If he had been so very agreeable, he would have talked to Mrs. Long. But I can guess how it was; everybody says that he is ate up with pride, and I dare say he had heard somehow that Mrs. Long does not keep a carriage, and had to come to the ball in a hack chaise.”

Kitty listened with interest to their discussion, until her mother began arguing with the youngest Lucas boy about bottles of wine. At that point she tried to engage Maria, but with little success.

“What did you think of Mr. Bingley”

“He seemed very amiable, do not you agree?’

“What of the rest?”

“I cannot believe what Mr. Darcy said about your sister! Charlotte told me everything last night.”

“I cannot believe it either, what a disagreeable man!”

Maria repeated, “I cannot believe what Mr. Darcy said about your sister!”

Kitty frowned. “What did he say?”

“Charlotte told me.”

“But what did he actually say?”

Maria was silent.

“Maria, have you been reading any novels?

Maria smiled again, “I am always reading novels.”

“But which one?”

Maria did not reply. Kitty sighed and stopped trying.

Their visitors eventually left and Kitty heard the scratching sound, but again she did not blink out. Instead, everyone around her became… empty? Her sisters stopped speaking and even when the next visitor came, Mrs. Long, nothing happened. Everyone smiled and sometimes even moved their mouths as if to talk, yet not a word was spoken. It was the same with Mrs. Goulding and Mrs. Philips.

Kitty got up, no one stopped her from walking out of the room. She wandered through the house. The servants moved languidly around completing their daily tasks. Her father sat in the library and flipped the pages of a book without seeming to actually read. She went outside, even the animals appeared to move in repetitive cycles. She realised the birdsong was the same, a short loop of the same sounds. How very strange!

When it was time for dinner, her sisters appeared dressed and sat down at table with the same emptiness as during the visits. They ate mechanically and did not speak. Kitty wondered if this is what it had been like every time she had blinked and skipped, acting like a puppet in a play until the next time that everyone came back alive. How strange, how very strange it was!

Again, that night Kitty did not feel tired. She sat reading a novel, with a candle that reclaimed its full height whenever she left the room. Eventually, overtaken by boredom and loneliness, she went to bed.

The next morning the Miss Bennets went to call on the ladies of Netherfield and her sisters had voices again. They exchanged pleasantries, Kitty and Lydia giggled together, and Elizabeth occasionally looked grave. Then everyone was empty again until the next day when Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley called on them. Again, her sisters found their voices, but Kitty was not compelled to speak. She found she could not stand up and leave the room, not until their guests began to leave was she free to move as she pleased.

When her body was her own, she followed the visiting sisters to their carriage.

“I have an interest in knowing Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth better,” Miss Bingley was saying to Mrs. Hurst, “but the mother and three younger sisters are intolerable.”

“I thought I was back in the schoolroom! There was so much giggling,” Mrs. Hurst replied.

“I would question the decision to have the two youngest out, but the mother’s manners are so vulgar; she must not see the fault.”

“No indeed! What a silly woman,” Mrs. Hurst said as she stepped into the carriage. Kitty frowned, did they really find her family so terrible? What else were these women saying when she could not see them? 

She thought of following them to Netherfield, but decided against it because she heard the scratching sound and the world again became empty. Why had the blinks stopped? Kitty did not know what to do with herself during these empty times. There was no one to talk to, nothing to do, and nothing happening. She found herself longing for another moment when everyone was alive.

Fortunately she had not long to wait, the Lucases had a party and suddenly everything was awake and alive again. After a silent dinner, her family appeared to awaken and everyone excitedly dressed before setting off.

“Do you think Mr. Bingley fancies Jane?” Maria Lucas said after they had found a seat together at her house.

Kitty giggled, “I think he likes her very much.”

“If there is a wedding I want a new gown,” Lydia said.

Kitty felt a wave of resentment, “Mamma just bought you a new gown, it is my turn!” 

“Both of us can have new gowns, and new bonnets!”

“I ought to have two new gowns then, I want to look my best when the rest of the militia arrives,” Kitty pouted.

Charlotte opened the pianoforte and Elizabeth sat down to play. The room was filled with her music and Kitty listened with pleasure. It had been too long since she had heard anyone play. When everyone was empty, both Mary and Elizabeth sat at the pianoforte at home without actually depressing the keys. Mary sat down next and played a long, boring song, which to Kitty’s starved mind was heaven sent. When Mary was about to finish, Lydia grabbed Kitty’s hand and they ran to the instrument.

“Play dancing music next, Mary!” Lydia half begged and half demanded.

“Yes, we want to dance!” Kitty added.

Mary obliged them and Kitty was soon approached by a young officer from the -shire militia. Kitty knew that they were to be stationed in Meryton for some time, a great source of excitement to the entire Bennet family.

“What?” Kitty said aloud, “How do I know that? I cannot remember anyone telling me about a militia.” Kitty’s partner did not reply.

Kitty noticed that Mary was playing the same song again. She realised that almost everyone was empty again, only smiling and not speaking. Her partner, with a plastered pleasant expression, kept dancing exactly as he had. She looked about the room, the only people moving normally were Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley. They were talking quietly. Everyone else was in a loop, doing whatever they had done before.

Kitty stepped out of the dance and her partner continued as if he still had a woman across from him. Someone caught her eye, Charlotte was moving among the crowd in a way that was not repetitive. She walked to the piano and, with uncanny speed, moved Mary’s hands up half an octave. Mary continued playing in the new key, completely unaware of the change. Only Mr. Darcy turned towards the piano and grimaced.

Kitty approached Charlotye as Mary unconsciously corrected her hands and began the song for the third time.

“Kitty?” Charlotte said in wonder.

“Charlotte, what is going on? Everyone else is… stuck?”

“Yes. The scene is over and yet the players do not exit the stage. I have come to believe that we are in a novel.”

“What can you mean?”

“A novel, a story. Right now, the author is focused on those two,” she pointed at Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley, “So we can move unnoticed. I did not know that you were… aware. That anyone else was aware.”

Kitty looked around again, everyone else was locked in motion, only she and Charlotte seemed to be really awake.

“A novel?” Kitty repeated.

“When the author is paying attention, we move as she writes, when she turns her eye away, I can move as I please. No one else in my family is aware during these times; it has been lonely.”

“How do you know we are in a novel?”

“It is, in the end, an educated guess. However, my first memory is Mr. Bingley coming to town, and novels always begin when something changes. Have you not heard the sound of writing?”

Kitty remembered the day it had begun, her father and mother having the same conversation three times over with slight variation. She tried to remember anything happening before. She gasped.

“You as well?”

“Yes, I remember that was the first time I- well, my parents said almost the same things three times. I thought I was going mad!”

“Try to remember anything before that time.”

Kitty thought hard. Instead of clear memories, she only had vague notions of a happy childhood in Hertfordshire.

“I cannot recall… not exactly.”

“It seems that I was born, full grown, not four weeks ago,” Charlotte said.

Kitty closed her eyes, “I have one memory of being very ill as a child. I had a cough. That must be why my coughing hurt my mother’s nerves. But otherwise… it seems blank.”

“Well, we are not the main characters,” Charlotte muttered.

“No? Who is?” Kitty exclaimed.

“As far as I can tell, it is your sister, Elizabeth, and him,” Charlotte said, pointing to Mr. Darcy.

“Not Jane and Mr. Bingley?”

“No, because I am not intimate friends with Jane. Why else would I be important to the plot?”

“I would have thought it would be Jane, she is the most beautiful.”

“Who is Jane’s intimate friend?”

Kitty frowned, “I should know, but I do not.”

“I know far more about Elizabeth. She is… something different,” Charlotte said thoughtfully.

“And yet, she’s not aware,” Kitty said, pointing to her sister who was sitting quietly and smiling the same smile over and over as Mrs. Long smiled back.

“No. You are the first other person I have met who can move during these times. However, if she is the heroine, she is almost always under the author’s control so perhaps she cannot be aware. At least that is what I imagine.”

Mr. Darcy fell silent, Kitty heard the familiar scratching noise. “Will we skip ahead or endure the emptiness?” she asked aloud.

Charlotte sighed, “Do you need to eat or sleep?”

“No.”

The Bennet family was preparing to depart. “You had better go, Kitty,” Charlotte said.

“I can walk home after this, or I will appear at the next important scene, it has happened before.”

“Walk home in the dead of night?”

“Have you not attempted to go out of doors? Everything is empty; there is no danger.”

“I had not considered that possibility,” Charlotte admitted.

“I am glad I have someone to talk to, it has been lonely between scenes. At first I skipped ahead, but now, I am forced to wait until everyone is alive again.”

Charlotte nodded, “It happened to me too.”

“A novel,” Kitty repeated to herself, “a romance I hope.”

“I hope so, I would not want to live out a tragedy.”

Charlotte took Kitty’s hand, “You should go with your family. In this time you have without purpose, I suggest you try to figure out why you exist.”

Kitty started, “Why I exist? I was born!” she exclaimed.

Charlotte laughed, “This is a novel, Kitty! No one was born, you exist for some reason or the author would not have written you. I am the heroine’s friend and advisor, that must be my purpose. Elizabeth could have been an orphan, or had only Jane as a sister. Read some novels, think about the purpose you play in the story.”

“Why?”

“Because maybe it will help us get out alive,” Charlotte whispered. Kitty shivered and, taking Charlotte’s advice, went with her family home.

Chapter 3: Changing the Rain

Kitty sat at the dining room table surrounded by all the novels they had in the house. She was stacking them into piles, ones where the heroine had sisters and did not. The pile of orphaned, only-child heroines was the highest by far. Kitty was beginning to understand what Charlotte meant, why did she exist? Why did Elizabeth have so many sisters? And two living parents…

“We could be rivals. There are other women as rivals. Though I have not really met the main male character and I only think ill of him. If not rivals…” Kitty thought hard, then recalled her one clear childhood memory, “Oh no! Am I going to get sick and die? That would be a terrible fate and I do not know how I would prevent it. Could I stop an illness in the emptiness? I must do as I am written in a scene.”

Kitty wailed, “Then my entire existence would be to die so the heroine can be sad for a little while? That would be so cruel!” She flipped through the pages of another novel. “Or, I could be whatever this character is, a moral lesson?” Kitty read novels for the romance, she had never thought about the role characters had in the story; it was an entirely new way of thinking for her.

“Jane and Elizabeth are very close,” she reasoned, “Jane could be… she could be a rival, but she would win since she’s so beautiful, so that cannot be right. If Elizabeth is the heroine she must marry the man she loves. Jane could be… well a lot of plays end with three marriages, so she could be another marriage. I guess Mr. Bingley is for her like Mr. Intolerable is for Elizabeth. That makes sense.”

“But then there are three more of us! Will there be three more men? Or do we have another role… five marriages seems like far too many. But… the militia is coming to Meryton. Colonel Forster is unmarried, there will be more young men,” Kitty said with excitement. She should like to marry an officer! 

“But what did Charlotte mean by ‘getting out alive?’ That was a strange thing to say. Though I suppose she means that stories end,” Kitty flipped to the last page of the novel she was holding. “Finis,” she read aloud. “Though we are told they lived happily ever after. Or will we… disappear?”

Kitty breathed in deeply, that was a frightening thought. How long was a novel really? This one had started with the heroine already grown up: it might be a few months or a year, perhaps with a nice epilogue; then would it end?

She looked up at the ceiling and called, “Please leave us alive, if you can, author. Whomever you are.”

There was no reply, but Kitty had not really expected one. “So Jane is another love story, Elizabeth is the heroine, Mary is… accomplished? Lydia and I…” she recalled the words of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. Were she and Lydia really intolerable or were those women just cruel?

“We must be right near the beginning of the novel. I need to wait and learn more, then I can decide what to do,” Kitty said resolutely. She turned away and the books disappeared back to their proper places.

“I cannot change anything here in the emptiness,” Kitty observed. “In the scene, I am forced to move and speak. Am I entirely helpless? Am I doomed to whatever fate my author writes?” Kitty looked up at the ceiling in despair, but then she had an idea, “I should try to do something, anything, the next time I am in a scene. And see if it stays the same.”

The next week gave Kitty ample time in scene, but very little real information. There were a series of visits to and from her aunt Phillips, during which more news about the coming militia and its members was relayed. Kitty found herself repeating the same lines, often with giggles, as each new officer was discussed. As they were introduced to the officers, she tried to discern any special attention to herself. She tried to remember all of them, wondering if Captain Carter or Colonel Forster was important to the plot. Lydia seemed entirely enamoured with Captain Carter, was he to be her romance? 

As for making changes, she discovered that if she was able to write during a scene, the writing remained, unlike in the empty times when it would disappear. Unfortunately, this only worked if she was close enough to a writing desk since she was often rooted in place, either in a chair or standing. One time she spilled tea on her dress and the stain, though cleaned by servants, remained on her pink muslin gown. What she could do with these scanty abilities she could not say. Once she wrote on Lydia’s hand, but her sister largely ignored her and then washed the writing off without reading it. However, Kitty tried to remain hopeful and vigilant. 

After her aunt Philips left one day, Mr. Bennet coolly observed, “From all that I can gather by listening, you must be the two silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it some time, but I am now convinced.”

Kitty felt the words in her heart and remembered what the women from Netherfield had said. She wished very much to say something intelligent and proper to prove that she was not as entirely silly as her father conjectured, but when she spoke no one listened to her. Her mother and sisters kept speaking, even her father, but she was not given the chance to redeem herself. The author did not allow it.

Jane was then invited to Netherfield by post and their mother denied her the use of the carriage. When Kitty realised that Jane was likely to be caught out in the rain while riding on horseback, she felt a need to prevent it, “What if Jane will catch cold? Let her take the carriage!” Kitty appealed to no avail, no one heard her. Kitty took hold of Jane’s hand, “Ask again for the carriage.” Jane only calmly broke away and turned to go upstairs to change into her riding habit.

The scheme bothered Kitty, who had been dwelling for too long on her mortality. The prospect of Jane catching cold was terrifying to her. She was not able to follow Jane upstairs, her feet would not obey her commands. While she was standing near the stairs, Jane swept by her and went outside. Kitty watched helplessly as she mounted the horse and rode away. 

She began to count the minutes since Jane had departed, after a quarter of an hour the rain began. “Would it still be enough to make Jane sick?” Kitty thought aloud, before she heard loud scratching and suddenly the scene began again.

Mr. Bennet said, “From all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must be two of the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it some time, but I am now convinced.”

This time Kitty did not dwell on the reproof, “I was near the stairs, perhaps I could catch Jane? If it begins to rain before Jane departs, our mother will be forced to order the carriage. I only need to stop her for a quarter of an hour.”

She waited until her sister came back downstairs and managed to catch hold of her sleeve. Jane did not seem to even notice, but as she brushed past towards the door, her sleeve tore in Kitty’s hands.

“Ah, Kitty! Now I will have to change again,” Jane said mildly. She began to return upstairs.

“Mamma, surely Jane cannot ride now?” Kitty called to her mother.

“She will take the horse,” Mrs. Bennett replied.

Her father was gone, and no one else would reply to her. Kitty was suddenly compelled to sit at the sofa; Jane passed by unmolested and went out of doors. This time, the rain started minutes after Jane left the house.

“What have I done!” Kitty exclaimed, running to the window. “This is my fault, if Jane is ill it will be my fault!”

No one replied, though her sisters were also talking about the rain.

“Jane will be soaked through!” Elizabeth cried.

“She will have to stay all night!” Mrs. Bennet said in triumph.

“I so dislike being wet, Jane will be miserable,” added Lydia.

“It is a great trail for her,” said Mary.

“What if she catches cold?” Kitty worried, this time she was heard.

“A little rain will not harm her,” Mrs. Bennet scoffed.

Kitty was still able to move freely. As her sisters continued to express their worry about Jane, Kitty ran upstairs for her hat and pelisse. “Three miles,” she muttered, “three miles in the rain, what if I catch my death?”

Undeterred, she ran outside and began the walk to Netherfield. If she could actually do anything at Netherfield, she did not know, but she had to try. It was her fault! She needed to see if Jane was well. Maybe she could help her in some way… Kitty realised that her plan was not very well thought out. She had been impulsive heading outside and was now soaked through. As she began to question if she should turn back, she heard scratching.

Would she have another chance?

Kitty was back in the drawing room on the sofa, Elizabeth was looking out the window, “It is still raining, and quite hard.”

“Poor Jane!” Kitty exclaimed. No, this was a new scene, not a repeat.

“Do you think Miss Bingley lent her some clothes? I would love to try one of her gowns,” Lydia sighed.

“She will certainly see Mr. Bingley at breakfast, perhaps he will even ask her to remain longer!” Mrs. Bennet said in delight.

Kitty tried to stand up again, she could. “I returned just for that ?” she said, rushing back upstairs for her bonnet. Her steps slowed, “I may set out and be returned again,” she said to herself, remembering how wet and miserable she had been even though the fatigue had vanished just as completely as the sodden clothes.

She sat down on the floor and considered what she should do, if she brought Jane fresh clothes they would certainly disappear, the scratching sound would send her back to Longbourn, and Jane would not listen to her advice. It was all useless, she could do nothing to really change Jane’s fate. Except…

Running into Jane and Elizabeth’s room, Kitty opened the dresser and saw Jane’s first riding habit. It was still there, and the sleeve was still ripped. “I did change something !” Kitty cried, “I made Jane leave later, perhaps if I had caught her again I could have prevented it entirely. I will try harder next time!”

Kitty put on her bonnet, “I am not going to Netherfield, I need to see Charlotte.”

It had stopped raining by the time Kitty reached Lucas Lodge. She had no idea if her presence would be questioned by the rest of the family; she entered the drawing room trying to think of a reasonable excuse. Fortunately, only Charlotte looked up as she entered, the rest of the family moving in empty loops. Charlotte motioned for her to follow into the morning parlour.

“Why have you come?”

“I changed something! In a scene! But now I am worried I did wrong.”

“What did you change?”

“Jane was to ride to Netherfield, I was worried she would be caught in the rain so I tore her sleeve trying to stop her. She left at a different time and,” Kitty blushed, “I am afraid that she would have been soaked through.”

“How do you know that she left at a different time?”

“Everything happened twice, the second time I caught her sleeve.”

Charlotte considered this for a moment, “Could the author not have changed the rain?”

“Oh! I did not think of that, there was some reason the scene was written twice I suppose.”

“Did the words change?”

“I was not listening very well…”

Charlotte sighed, “You must try and pay more attention next time. We need more information. I wish I had listened to Mr. Darcy when he was speaking to Miss Bingley, we might know more. I went to Netherfield a few days ago, but they were empty, as you call it and I learned nothing at all.”

Kitty nodded, “All I know is that the militia must be important, that is all we have talked about all week.”

“Why though? If Eliza and Mr. Darcy are the main characters, why would a militia matter?”

“I was hoping, perhaps there would be more than one wedding?”

Charlotte considered this. “There are many stories that end with more than one marriage. Has any officer caught your fancy?”

“I like them all when I’m in a scene, but I cannot say that any one has distinguished me. Lydia is the one who captures their attention.”

Charlotte breathed in sharply.

“What does that mean?” Kitty demanded, “I have worried that… perhaps… Lydia and I might be…”

“Foils?

“What is a foil?”

Charlotte said, “A foil is a character who contrasts another, usually to show the difference between the protagonist and a villain or minor character.” Kitty’s confusion was clear on her face, so Charlotte continued, “You recall your sister Mary, she is very accomplished but plays to show off. No one likes it.” Kitty nodded, “While your sister Elizabeth, the heroine, is less accomplished and yet everyone likes her playing better?”

“Her songs sound… more playful?”

“Mary’s purpose may be to show the danger of vanity in accomplishments. That would make her a foil to Elizabeth, who has more real joy in learning and performance.”

Kitty frowned, “Miss Bingley compared Mary, Lydia, and I to Jane and Elizabeth. Does that mean I am a foil too?” When Charlotte did not reply, Kitty said, “Do not spare my feelings, it is more important for me to understand.”

“Your manners are vulgar, Lydia is too young to be in society, and your mother- it seems likely that you are a foil. Though I do think in a novel, most characters are.”

“Do foils live?” Kitty whispered.

“I cannot say, I have tried to understand what sort of novel we are in. I think it is far too early to tell. The author is still setting up and introducing characters; we need to get to the plot. And the genre is just as important as the author I think.”

“What do you mean?”

Charlotte said, “Have you read Shakespeare?”

“Oh yes, our father likes it, we would read aloud,” Kitty replied, having no actual memories of these events but feeling it to be true.

“Shakespeare’s comedies end in marriage and have very few deaths, if any, but his tragedies can be exceptionally bloody. I have been trying to identify our author, though if they write both genres that might not help much.”

“Identify them?”

Charlotte nodded, “I’ve done my best to recall everything I have heard the other characters and myself say, I have been reading every novel I can get my hands on hoping to find something that matches.”

“Oh! How clever!” Kitty exclaimed, “Though, that would mean that the author’s own novels exist here… is that vain?”

Charlotte laughed, “It would be a little vain, would it not?”

“What if the author is new and has no other novels?”

Charlotte sighed, “That is possible, but what else am I to do? With so little ability to control anything, I thought at least if I could anticipate what was to come I would feel better.”

Kitty asked, “Have you tried to change anything in scene?”

“I have not been able to, my hands are not my own.”

“How strange!”

Charlotte considered this for a moment, “Maybe you are such a minor character, Kitty, that the author is not fully imagining what you are doing, so you can move more freely. I have spoken far more lines than you.”

Kitty frowned, “I do seem to be very unimportant. I am present often, but given little to say.”

Charlotte took her hand, “That may be a good thing. Heroines go through trials and anxiety, you may slip by this story without harm.”

“Or I may be meant to die, I have been sick before.”

This silenced Charlotte for a moment, then she said, “Our existence is bent towards the heroine and the narrative, we will be whatever the author requires. That cannot be changed, as far as I can imagine.”

“I don’t want to be silly Kitty, following Lydia wherever she goes and being insulted behind my back. My father thinks I am ridiculous. I have no notion of how to change and no ability when I am in a scene.”

“We have a good deal of time, why not try to be better? Even if it is only in the emptiness where you improve. If we continue to live after this narrative is over, you can become a heroine.”

“Will you help me?”

“Why not? We have no need of sleep. Come as often as you can and we shall work on this together.”

Kitty smiled. It is a truth universally known that all people, even those who are fictional, need hope. The torn sleeve and Charlotte’s promised aid were enough to light a spark for Kitty. She felt infinitely better.  At least until the scratching started again and she was back at Longbourn to learn that Jane was indeed sick.

Chapter 4: Minor with a Capital “M”

As Kitty walked into Meryton with Elizabeth and Lydia, she had every intention of continuing on to Netherfield with Lizzy to visit Jane, but Lydia took her arm and would not let her go. By the time she was able to try to walk in that direction, Lizzy was long out of sight. Determined to see Jane, Kitty pressed on alone only to find that the twisting pathways always led her back to Meryton and Lydia. She tried again and again to no effect, it seemed the author would not allow her to go to Netherfield.

Frustrated and tired, Kitty found herself forced to stay with Lydia. Everyone was empty, they simply went through the motions of visiting the milliner’s shop, their aunt Philips, and then lingering near Clarke’s library to catch a glimpse of Captain Carter.

That evening, a servant arrived to inform them that Elizabeth was staying at Netherfield overnight. When he left with some of Lizzy’s clothes, Kitty attempted to follow him but again found herself confused and back at Longbourn. “But I was able to go to Lucas Lodge,” she wondered aloud, “Why can I not go to Netherfield? Perhaps because there is a scene and I cannot be in the scene?”

She waited until her family had gone to bed, setting out one last time in the dead of night. She took a lantern with her, knowing it would end up back where it belonged once she turned away from it. This time her path was not hindered, she found herself at the great house. It was dark, all the inhabitants must have gone to bed. Having never been there before, she went upstairs and began to search the bedrooms. She found Miss Bingley, her hair bound in curling ribbons; her brother; and then Mr. Darcy, before finally chancing across the room Jane had been given. By then her cheeks were hot, as one of the gentlemen had been sleeping without a shirt or covers.

Elizabeth was asleep, sitting in a chair with her arms and head draped across Jane’s bed. Kitty felt Jane’s forehead, she was hot and sweaty. She found the cloth that had fallen, soaked it in water and returned it to where it belonged without any idea if it would help or not. Jane did not awaken or even stir as Kitty had expected.

“I am sorry, Jane! I wanted to protect you but it went wrong. I hope you will be well soon.”

There was a book on the table beside Jane and a candle still lit. Kitty took it up, “You do always like to be read to when you are sick,” she said, and began reading it aloud where it had been marked, “ Marianne’s preserver, as Margaret, with more elegance than precision, styled Willoughby, called at the cottage early the next morning to make his personal enquiries. He was received by Mrs. Dashwood with more than politeness; with a kindness which Sir John’s account of him and her own gratitude prompted; and every thing that passed during the visit tended to assure him of the sense, elegance, mutual affection, and domestic comfort of the family to whom accident had now introduced him. Of their personal charms he had not required a second interview to be convinced…”

Jane started coughing and Kitty looked up from the novel, it disappeared from her hands and returned to the table. Elizabeth roused and began to attend to Jane; Kitty’s presence in the room was entirely ignored. “I suppose they cannot see me if I am not meant to be here,” Kitty said aloud. No one heard her.

Kitty tried to pick up the novel again only to find it stuck fast to the table as if it had been glued down. The bowl of water, the candle, and chair were also tried to no avail. “I am not supposed to be here, I cannot change anything,” Kitty conjectured aloud. “I should return home, there is nothing I can do.”

She lingered by the doorway for a moment. “We are in a novel, the author must be as good as a god. Please let her recover,” Kitty appealed to the ceiling. “I love Jane, even if those feelings are what you wrote me to feel.”

Having received neither comfort or assurance, Kitty left the house and began the long walk back to Longbourn.

The next morning the scratching started again; the Bennets received a note from Netherfield saying that while Jane was getting better. Elizabeth requested that her mother would visit and see Jane’s recovery for herself.

When they saw Jane, Kitty was pleased to see her better than the night before. She thanked the skies; it seemed that Jane would indeed live. They were invited by Miss Bingley to the parlour, where Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, and the Hursts were assembled.

“I hope you have not found Miss Bennet worse than you expected,” said Mr. Bingley to Mrs. Bennet.

“Indeed I have, sir,” was her answer. “She is a great deal too ill to be moved. Mr. Jones says we must not think of moving her. We must trespass a little longer on your kindness.”

Kitty tried to listen carefully and remember what was said, but she was continually distracted by Lydia whispering to her and giggling, “Kitty, we should ask Mr. Bingley to host a ball!” Kitty tried whispering back that it would be rude, but to no avail. Lydia only heard the assurances and encouragement that Kitty was forced to add.

Kitty turned back her attention just as Mr. Darcy said, “I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love.”

“Pft, why am I even here if I have no lines! I really am an insignificant character,” Kitty whined. Mr. Bingley turned his head and looked straight at her. “Mr. Bingley, did you hear me?” Kitty said in excitement. He quickly looked away, back towards her mother. “I am sure he was only looking at Lydia,” Kitty said frowning, as Lydia had been rather loud at the same moment she spoke. “Are they all judging us for giggling?”

Lydia burst out, “Mr. Bingley, surely you will keep your promise of holding a ball sometime soon? You recall you suggested holding one at the assembly. It would be the greatest shame in the world if you did not keep your word!”

Kitty blushed scarlet, feeling strongly how improper it must be to make such a request. She glanced at Elizabeth, who was looking down at her hands and trying to control her countenance. “Elizabeth is ashamed of us too,” Kitty said mournfully, “We are foils, foolish foils. Worse than foolish because the author will not allow me to improve.” She giggled out loud again, though she would rather have cried.

The mortifying scene ended and the carriage arrived. Kitty walked from the house in shame. She could easily perceive the disdain in Miss Bingley and Mr. Darcy’s eyes, the humiliation on Elizabeth’s face, and the complete obliviousness of her mother and Lydia.

“I may be able to tear a sleeve, but I cannot change Lydia or even myself in a scene. I must speak and giggle as the author demands,” Kitty said sadly as she went into the carriage, “Author, I wish you knew that I wanted to change. I wish you would let me be better.”

As the carriage pulled away and Mrs. Bennet and Lydia began a spirited discussion on Miss Bingley’s headdress, Kitty could only sigh. She began to think that it was most likely that nothing would happen to her at all, she was too insignificant. Catherine Bennet was only the silly, younger sister of the heroine, who went on a visit to Netherfield to whisper and giggle, never to speak. There was nothing to distinguish her but a cough, nothing to set her apart from her older sisters except their superiority. 

“I am an insignificant observer,” Kitty resonated aloud. Her sister and mother paid her no mind. She hung her head until they reached home.

Kitty was not of a disposition to remain despondent for long, that evening she set out for Lucas Lodge where Charlotte and her discussed the latest scene. Afterwards, Charlotte explained the errors in propriety that Kitty had begun to feel herself. Powerless as she felt to prevent Lydia from running after officers and offending the sensibilities of the Netherfield party, she hoped that knowing what was right would eventually render some benefit.

“Do you think anyone else is aware?” Kitty asked Charlotte.

“I have not yet seen anyone who is not empty between scenes. Why do you ask?”

“I thought Mr. Bingley looked at me when I spoke out of turn, as it were, but then he did nothing else to confirm that he heard me. I may have been mistaken.”

“I will watch him when next we meet,” Charlotte said with resolution. “Speaking of that gentleman, your Jane staying at Netherfield must be a good thing, Bingley is already much in love with her, time together can only do them good.”

“I think she is too sick to leave her bedroom though…” An idea shot through her like an arrow and Kitty gasped aloud, “Jane is ill for Lizzy! She must spend her time out of the sickroom speaking with that Mr. Darcy.”

“Oh very clever, Kitty! I am sure you are right,” Charlotte said nodding, “They say, ‘ the course of true love never did run smooth ,’ and adversity must bring the hero and heroine together. For Jane and Mr. Bingley however, it seems like a very simple love story. Their marriage will probably continue to throw your sister and his friend in each other’s way.”

“Mr. Darcy said something about poetry being the food of love to Lizzy when I visited, that seems like a sign of affection.”

“I warrant it is. However, one question remains, why the militia?”

Kitty sighed, “I hope it will bring another marriage. Lydia is convinced it may; she is wild for the officers.”

“Are you not?”

“If I was not aware, I daresay I would be, but it is strange to see everyone in the emptiness. If I married, it would be rather lonely.”

“All the better,” Charlotte laughed, “you would not have to endure him for very long.”

Kitty frowned, “Endure him? I mean to marry for love.”

“Do not we all? Perhaps you will, but I am not the sort to marry for love. And in a novel, I would be fortunate to marry at all.”

“What do you mean?” Kitty asked.

“Kitty, how many novels have you read where a woman with very little beauty, no fortune, and scant education married at seven-and-twenty? Women like myself are never the heroine of the novel, I am sure the author intends to leave me behind as a spinster.”

“You are not yet thirty,” Kitty said, trying to be comforting.

“In a novel, you must be dead after twenty-five.”

“I am only eighteen,” Kitty said, “if I was any more significant to this story, I would think I had a chance. Yet, I seem to hardly matter! You have spoken more words in scene than me, by a lot.”

“Only to advise my friend, I have yet to see a prospect for myself. Bingley might have danced with me first at the ball, but he did like his second better.”

Kitty shook her head, “I will not give up, there may be something in store for us! If it is a romance, why can we not hope that everyone ends happily?”

“Even in novels, Kitty, old poor women never end happily. They are scorned by everyone.”

“I do not think Elizabeth would do that to you, she is your friend.”

“Elizabeth may fly away to her happy ending and never think again of Charlotte.”

“Then we will find a way to change our fortunes!” Kitty took Charlotte’s hand and looked her full in the face, “I will never stop trying.”

To this effect, Kitty tried her hardest when Elizabeth and Jane returned home to curtail her giggles and speak sensibly. She managed to hold a giggle in for about a minute, during which her entire face flushed red and she trembled with the effort, Elizabeth looked at her strangely and Jane asked if she was quite well before the offending sound burst from her even stronger than before.

“Colonel Forster is going to be married,” Kitty was forced to say, then then added herself, “Oh, then I suppose he is not for us. Why? Why the militia?” she wondered aloud. And as always, nobody heard.

Chapter 5: New Characters!

“I hope, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet to his wife, as they were at breakfast the next morning, “that you have ordered a good dinner to-day, because I have reason to expect an addition to our family party.”

“Who do you mean, my dear? I know of nobody that is coming, I am sure, unless Charlotte Lucas should happen to call in; and I hope my dinners are good enough for her. I do not believe she often sees such at home.”

“The person of whom I speak is a gentleman and a stranger.”

“A new character!” Kitty burst out, “I hope he is handsome. And for me!”

However, her character seemed far less interested and she missed half the letter and half the conversation because Lydia would not stop talking about officers.

“Lydia, we should pay attention to our father!” Kitty tried, but while Lydia heard her, she only laughed and continued as she had before.

“What do I care for a clergyman?” Lydia said, “Whilst there are men in red coats!”

Kitty, at least, was eager to meet her distant cousin and the man who would inherit their estate. She knew that if one of them secured him as a husband it would save them all from poverty. “If this novel ends with any of us unmarried, then we can still live here for as long as we like if he marries into our family. I hope he is a good sort of man.”

When Kitty was able to move from her seat, she took up the letter from Mr. Collins and read it over. The language was difficult for her to comprehend, which she hoped meant that he was intelligent, and she paused for some time over the sentence, “ I cannot be otherwise than concerned at being the means of injuring your amiable daughters, and beg leave to apologize for it, as well as to assure you of my readiness to make them every possible amends; but of this hereafter.”

“Every possible amends? Does he mean to choose a wife from among us then or only an assurance to provide for us when our father dies? Either way, this seems very promising! Jane and Elizabth already have their allotted men, if he does mean to marry it must be Mary, Lydia, or I!”

Kitty tried to dress with more than usual care in anticipation of their cousin’s arrival, but unfortunately her efforts disappeared as soon as her cousin arrived. Despite this brief disappointment, she was pleased by him from the first. He was about five-and-twenty, tall, with short, light brown hair and a sallow complexion. Kitty did not think he was handsome, but he was nearly so and could have been more to look on if someone advised him in his manner of dress.

For the first time since she had awoken, Kitty had the honour of receiving compliments, which while both numerous and diffuse (her other sisters were praised as well), she felt in her heart. Someone had noticed her and complimented her beauty despite the presence of both Jane and Lydia. Her heart swelled for a moment, until his admiration extended to the furniture, the room, and every dish of food and she began to feel that it may be no great thing to be taken notice of by a man such as him.

By no means discouraged, Kitty continued to smile when she could and thank Mr. Collins for his kindness, though he scarcely seemed to hear her even when her words were compelled. It was only after dinner that she began to understand from her father’s words and smiles to Elizabeth, that Mr. Collins was absurd.

“Perhaps he is only nervous,” Kitty said, while her father and Mr. Collins spoke too each other, “He has never met us before and meant to repair the breach between his family and ours. Anyone might babble a bit in this situation. Besides, I do not think I would dislike a man for being overly complimentary. It is better than being overly sharp.”

“Mr. Collins, would you do us the honour of reading aloud to your cousins?” Mrs. Bennet asked. Kitty smiled and with great alacrity she fetched the novel they had been reading the last few days, Evelina .

“I beg your pardon, I never read novels myself. Not that it is not a common diversion in many circles, but I myself do not enjoy such works as a clergyman.”

Kitty’s heart and face fell, she had been beginning to convince herself to fall in love. How could she marry a man who did not read novels? Her father must be right: he was intolerably stupid. In this sentiment, Kitty and the author must have agreed, for a glance around the room confirmed to Kitty that even her older sisters were disappointed. They all went to fetch more books and Mr. Collins selected the very worst offered, Fordyce’s Sermons .

Three pages of a dry sermon read in monotonous solemnity must be enough to cool the ambitions of any girl’s heart and Kitty was wishing him on any other sister by the time he reached the second paragraph.

“Mary would be a sensible choice,” she said, observing that she was the only sister truly paying attention. Elizabeth and Jane wore a mask of apparent interest but Kitty could tell they were only still and silent by a great exertion of self-command. She tried to do likewise. However, it was hard not to be grateful when Lydia broke the silence.

“Do you know, mamma, that my uncle Philips talks of turning away Richard? and if he does, Colonel Forster will hire him. My aunt told me so herself on Saturday. I shall walk to Meryton to-morrow to hear more about it, and to ask when Mr. Denny comes back from town.”

“Lydia, you must be quiet,” Jane whispered.

“Hold your tongue, your cousin is reading,” Elizabeth added.

Kitty looked to Mr. Collins, she could tell he was angry. He spoke mildly however in response, “I have often observed how little young ladies are interested by books of a serious stamp, though written solely for their benefit. It amazes me, I confess; for certainly there can be nothing so advantageous to them as instruction. But I will no longer importune my young cousin.”

Kitty blushed, for she felt that these words might be directed at herself as well as Lydia. Mr. Collins went to play backgammon with her father, leaving the girls to their own devices. Kitty quickly realised that the scene was coming to an end, for while her sisters spoke they said nothing of interest. She was able to move and walked over to where her father and Mr. Collins were playing backgammon, however they were nearly empty as well. Feeling that nothing more could happen that evening, Kitty settled down with the previously rejected novel.

Kitty was still reading when her mother and Mr. Collins came down early for breakfast the next morning. Stealing over to the doorway, she listened to their conversation.

“It seems to me Mr. Collins that the only thing missing from your humble abode is a mistress,” Mrs. Bennet was saying.

“Indeed, it is a deficiency that I have felt most acutely. However, now that I have met your fair daughters, it seems that I may not be long in search of a proper partner. It was my very motive in coming to Longbourn.”

“Ah, I understand you perfectly, Mr. Collins. You have my encouragement, but however, which of my fine daughters do you think the most suited to such an honour?”

“It feels incumbent upon me to observe that the eldest is unmarried.”

“Unmarried she is, but not as free as might be supposed. As to my younger daughters, I could not take upon myself to say—I could not positively answer—but I do not know of any prepossession;—my eldest daughter I must just mention—I feel it incumbent on myself to hint, was likely to be very soon engaged.”

“Ah, well the second then,” Mr. Collins said, though his mother was turned away tending to the fire and could not have heard him.

“Oh no!” Kitty cried out, “He cannot chose Elizabeth, she is for Mr. Darcy! Unless Charlotte has it wrong and He is not the main character… no, for he is far more handsome than Mr. Collins and is not a hero always handsome? But my mother knows nothing of this, she cannot advise.”

A different thought occurred to her and Kitty gasped out loud, “Will it be like Evelina ? Every man in that novel proposes to the heroine, unless they are outright married. Even her own grandmother’s lover! Is Mr. Collins only here to be rejected?”

The thought of Elizabeth attracting every man and being the object of all of their desires filled her briefly with vexation and jealousy. “Everything will bend to the heroine,” she moaned in dismay. Brightening at her next thought, she added, “Though perhaps if he proposes and is rejected, he will naturally move to the next sister? Mary may still have a chance. He did change Jane for Lizzy with ready ease.”

This thought made her happy enough and quite willing to agree to a walk to Meryton with her sisters, though she knew she would be forced to go either way. Mary declined to come. She was holding a book, though Kitty could not see the title, “I would rather read this morning than gossip,” she said curtly.

“It would be better if you came,” Kitty said to herself, knowing that Mary would not attend to her.

Then Kitty saw Fordyce’s Sermons still sitting on the side table. As they were dressing to go out, she had free use of her hands and feet. Running to the table, she took up the volume of Fordyce and switched the book in Mary’s hands out. “Mr. Collins likes this one, you would do better to attempt to catch him,” Kitty said unheard.

Mary did not seem to notice and began to walk back upstairs with Fordyce instead of the previous volume. Kitty smiled in triumph as she tied up her bonnet. When Mr. Collins failed with Lizzy, Mary would be ready to take up the torch. Hopefully.

“Small changes,” Kitty said to herself with a smile. The girls set out to Meryton. Kitty could easily perceive that while Mr. Collins was attentive to all of them, he spent the most time talking with Elizabeth. He did indeed mean to marry her.

They arrived, Lydia, on Kitty’s arm, exclaimed, “There is Lieutenant Pratt! Do you think Denny will be back from London?”

“I hope so!” exclaimed Kitty. She tried with all her might to swallow the offending giggle bubbling up in her throat, but it escaped at last much to her consternation. “All Kitty does is giggle,” she moaned, “I would rather die than giggle again.”

Her melancholy thoughts were diverted the next moment by the sight of an extremely handsome stranger.

“We have never seen him before,” Jane observed.

“He must be a friend of Captain Denny,” said Elizabeth with obvious interest.

“He is the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on!” Lydia cried.

“Who could he be?” Kitty added.

“We must contrive to meet him,” Lydia said, and tightening her grip on Kitty, who was by no means unwilling to be led. Her younger sister declared, “There is something I wished to see in that shop!”

The pretence was quickly dropt and all four girls, and their uninterested cousin, were soon standing before Mr. Denny and the stranger. He asked for the honour of introducing them to Mr. Wickham, which was immediately granted.

Kitty had no time for thought or plot, she was so mesmerised by Mr. Wickham’s manly beauty and charming manners. She giggled multiple times without regretting it and felt her cheeks hot with blushing. How was it possible for a man to be so perfect in every way! She felt that she was quite ready to be fallen in love with.

She was brought back to earth by the appearance of Bingley and Darcy. “Ah,” she said aloud, “Mr. Bingley for Jane, Darcy for Elizabeth, is it possible that Mr. Wickham is for me? I would die of happiness!”

Before Kitty could fix her eyes on Mr. Wickham once more, she noticed Mr. Darcy’s eyes widen in surprise and his face colour. She followed his gaze to Mr. Wickham, who had turned rather pale, “What is this? Do they know each other?” she said, and then she nearly shouted, “This is why the militia!”

Mr. Bingley turned as she spoke, and Kitty was about to ask if he could hear her, when he began to take leave. “Oh, he must have noticed his friend’s distress,” Kitty reasoned. He did not turn back towards her until he was saying goodbye and she saw no other symptom of awareness in his countenance. 

With the other two gentlemen gone, Kitty turned her full attention back to Mr. Wickham. He looked like an angel, his voice was so soft and gentle; his appearance lacked nothing but regimentals! Mrs. Philips house appeared too soon! Lydia and her aunt’s entreaties that the men come within were declined, to the sorrow of them all, and the fascinating Mr. Wickham was gone.

They all went upstairs to try to learn more about Mr. Wickham; unfortunately their aunt only knew as much as themselves. Very soon, the conversation fell into repetition and Kitty realised that the scene was over. Fortunately, Mrs. Philips had invited them to come for the evening the next day and Kitty felt certain that Wickham would attend.

“He is a new character after all, it would be shameful if we could not learn more about him! Oh, I do hope he is meant for me. He is so handsome! I could endure the emptiness if I could gaze upon his face all day!”

As soon as Mr. Collins had given a favourable account of Mrs. Philips at Longbourn, all semblance of awakeness ended and everyone was empty once more. Kitty ran from the house and went straight to Lucas Lodge.

“Two new young men, that is promising,” Charlotte agreed. “Do you really think Elizabeth would refuse Mr. Collins? My understanding of her is that she is very sensible.”

Kitty nodded, while neither she nor Charlotte had specific memories of their lives, they seemed to have impressions of the characters they would have known well, “Mary reads more, but I do believe Elizabeth is very quick. I suppose she may be romantic and would not accept even though it is a rational decision.” Kitty did not add that at this moment, she was likely to refuse Mr. Collins as well. It was not entirely for the sake of Wickham, the dislike of novels was a strong detractor in her mind.

Charlotte sighed, “Well, she is the heroine, there will be offers for her aplenty and a true love at the end. We poor minor characters must hope for her scraps.”

“Why are you so dour today?”

“You may be having adventures, but I have not been in a scene for days and days. Time flows slowly for me here.”

“Why do not you come to Longbourn and watch?”

Charlotte sighed, “I will own that I am too afraid to try.”

“What do you mean?”

“What if I change something and it cannot be repaired?.”

Kitty contemplated this, “Would you advise me to stop my efforts to change the story?”

Charlotte was silent for a moment. “No. I am content trying to discern what my purpose might be in this novel. I seem to have a larger role than you, so I may have a good ending, but in the same way a change I make may cause larger consequences. You appear to be are far less significant to the plot. Why not try? I have no definite proof that I am right in my caution. Also, the author may just set everything you do right in the end.”

Kitty nodded, “I am insignificant, all I seem to be able to do is giggle.” Then with renewed spirit, she added, “If I am able to move unnoticed and make changes, then I would prefer to be a minor character. I hate the moments where I am controlled. But Charlotte, if you are more important, then something will happen to you. Something good!”

“I certainly hope so,” Charlotte said, though she did not seem convinced.

Kitty sighed dreamily, “You just need to meet Wickham, he is the most handsome man in the world. That will cheer you up.”

“He cannot be meant for me.”

“I hope he is for me, but it would make any woman happy to look at him. Did I tell you though, he knows Mr. Darcy?”

Charlotte shook her head, “Are they friends? That would bode well.”

“No, not friends. Mr. Darcy was startled to see him and Mr. Wickham went pale.”

“Conflict then, all novels have conflict. Maybe they will duel over the fair maiden’s heart.”

“Oh, that would be so romantic!” Kitty exclaimed, before thinking on it again and then crying out, “Oh no! But if Mr. Darcy is the hero he will surely win; I could not bear Mr. Wickham dying.”

“I would be more worried about your father,” Charlotte said, but then recollecting herself, added, “Not that I anticipate his demise, I am only thinking of the most likely sources of dramatic tension.”

“I take no offence, my mother speaks of it so often I will admit it has occurred to me as well. The hardest thing if he died and we were forced to go away, would be the separation from you, I would have no other rational companion.”

Charlotte nodded, “Though I would miss your company dearly, I think I can bear with solitude.”

“Do not worry, I will come as often as I can. Now, I brought Mr. Collins’s letter. I cannot decide if he is intelligent or not. Will you read it?”

Charlotte took it up and was laughing after a few lines, “He is absurd, though well educated.”

“How do you know?”

“I find this letter hilarious, I think the reader is meant to as well.”

“What about it? He uses very big words.”

“Yes, but he does not wield them in a way that appears natural. As for his character, this section in particular reveals all you must know: “ I flatter myself that my present overtures of good-will are highly commendable.” He is actually praising himself for his own good deeds! What a very ridiculous man!”

“He was very complimentary, about everything.”

“It is clear he believes flattery will get him everywhere. He is not entirely wrong.”

“I enjoyed it at first, but he went on about everything . It is very difficult to appreciate flattery when it is over-applied.”

“He is comic then, I wonder if he will have a larger purpose in the plot or if he is only here for a few laughs.”

Kitty brightened, “Comic? Does that mean we are in a comedy for certain?”

“No, even tragedies have comic characters, like Polonius in Hamlet, who rambles on and on without anyone attending. He reminds me of your Mr. Collins in some ways. Comedies have tragic characters and tragedies have comic, I do not think humans can withstand an entire novel or play with nothing but sadness and joy is sharpened by sorrow. Even within a comedy, like Much Ado About Nothing, Hero is a tragic figure:, her betrothed destroys her honour and leaves her to die. Dogberry is entirely comic, even though he has some influence on the plot.”

Charlotte was about to explain further when Kitty burst out, “Oh I loved Dogberry, he always says the wrong word! He was the one who said, “ thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption ” to a villain! I was reading our volume at home, since you mentioned Shakespeare a few nights ago. ”

“Then do you understand what I mean?”

“Yes! You must be right; Mr. Collins is very comic. Yet, you say we cannot be sure if this is a comedy?”

“The surest way to know if a story is a tragedy or comedy is to see if it ends in a death or a marriage.”

“I cannot wait that long! As much as I love reading mysteries in novels, I do not want to live one and only discover my fate on the last page!”

“We may have no choice, though my intuition still points towards comedy.”

“Good.”

Charlotte smiled, “Tell me about the party tomorrow, try to learn more about Mr. Wickham and Mr. Collins.”

Kitty smiled and sighed, “Oh, fear not, I am planning to spend all my time with Mr. Wickham. I hope the author lets me.”

Chapter 6: The Villainous Mr. Darcy

“Charlotte!” Kitty cried the next evening, as she burst through the door. “We were wrong all along! Mr. Darcy is not the hero, he is the villain!”

Charlotte’s eyes widened in surprise, “What did you hear?”

“Oh,, Charlotte, you would not believe! Mr. Darcy has ruined all of Wickham’s prospects and left him penniless!”

“Do you recall the exact words?” Charlotte asked.

Kitty held up a bundle of lottery tickets, “I wrote down everything I heard. No one was paying attention to me so it was easy. I have gotten somewhat better at ignoring Lydia too.”

They spread the tickets out on the table. The notes were jumbled and somewhat poorly written, as Kitty had been rushing to record everything. Kitty and Charlotte sorted through them for a while, reading sections as they went.

“‘You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you certain information on that head than myself—for I have been connected with his family, in a particular manner, from my infancy .’ he said that first!”

“ ‘I think him very disagreeable ’, I suppose Elizabeth is not yet in love with Mr. Darcy,” Charlotte observed.

“This one next, ‘ The world is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or frightened by his high and imposing manners, and sees him only as he chooses to be seen .’ You see! We were deceived.”

“ ‘Why did not you seek legal redress? ’ good question, Eliza,” Charlotte said.

“Here is his response, ‘ There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law. A man of honour could not have doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it ’… and then, um, ‘ or to treat it as a merely conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence… nothing. ’”

“Then he claims this arises only from a strong dislike of himself…” Charlotte trailed off.

They finally had everything in order, with some omissions due to how quickly Wickham had spoken or Lydia exclaiming loudly about winning a round. Charlotte read everything over carefully, occasionally asking Kitty if she remembered anything more about a statement, and then thought silently for a few minutes.

“Kitty, I think Mr. Wickham is lying.”

“How can you say so? Oh, you did not see and hear him; there was so much truth in his face!”

“Perhaps it is better that I have not, because his face may have taken you in. When you read it all together like this… I do not believe him.”

“Why not?”

“Look here, ‘Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him .’ and here, ‘It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy” and yet he goes on and on, dragging each of them through the mud, even Darcy’s sister! Kitty, this is not true. It gives him no pain, he said all of it readily.”

“No, it cannot all be a lie, he had the look of truth. And his voice…”

“Wickham said himself that his father was a lawyer, and Mr. Darcy’s father would have been well versed in legal contracts himself, given his wealth and consequence. Do you truly believe that they would have left a will in such a way that allowed his son to enact such a revenge? It would have been ironclad! Especially if Darcy’s father knew about the rivalry.”

Kitty shook her head, she could not reconcile Charlotte’s cool logic and the fiery emotion in her heart that screamed that Wickham had been wronged.

Charlotte continued, “The way he tests the waters before he speaks, he never leads, he follows Elizabeth’s assertions and builds on them. He has done this before; he is a seasoned deceiver. And he gives so much information! This is only the second time they have met and he is willing to tell a stranger every particular of his entire life!”

“No, no, no,” Kitty said to herself, shaking her head. “You were not there, you cannot understand!”

“Do you recall in Evelina , the villain Willoughby sent Evelina a false letter from Lord Orville that destroyed his character in her eyes and long prevented the main characters from understanding each other? I believe that Wickham is doing the same, poisoning Elizabeth against Darcy.”

Kitty nodded, but she could not accept Charlotte’s argument. “We knew that Willoughby was a bad man,” Kitty argued, “He had been untruthful before in Evelina . Also, Darcy is no Lord Orville, my whole family dislikes Mr. Darcy.”

“Mr. Bingley being such good friends with Darcy, I find it impossible that he could really be so cruel and yet friends with that man.”

“Mr. Bingley may be deceived.”

“They have been living together at Netherfield for a month! You think in all that time Mr. Darcy would have maintained a perfect charade? And they would have known each other for some time beforehand, for them to come here together.”

“I withhold my judgement,” Kitty said, though she in fact remained in favour of Wickham, “until we learn more.”

Charlotte sighed, “I hope we can observe him together at the next gathering.” She then said quietly to herself, “ Fair is foul, foul is fair .”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s from Macbeth. Remember Kitty, this is fiction: a novel. Do you think everything would be so easy and the man that seems fair would be the hero?”

“Sometimes what is foul is foul. Everyone hates Mr. Darcy, he insulted Elizabeth the first time he met her! He thinks my family is rude. Why should they all be wrong?”

“Most of the members of your family are rude, Kitty,” Charlotte said. Seeing Kitty’s despair, she added, “We agreed not to spare feelings.”

“No, I do want the truth. Even if we are rude, he could be polite. Would a hero not be polite?”

“Both you and I have seen very little of him, it is unfortunate you were not able to observe Elizabeth’s visit to Netherfield. Perhaps he was far more pleasant during her visit.”

Kitty sighed, “We must wait until you see Mr. Wickham in scene. I hope that Mr. Bingley gives his promised ball soon!”

“I find it unlikely that my opinion will change, but we shall see,” Charlotte said gravely. “Will you at least agree to be wary?”

Kitty nodded and said, “I will keep a very close watch on Mr. Wickham.” Then she blushed and smiled at the prospect.

Fortunately for Kitty, the next time she heard the tell-tale scratching that announced a scene, it was Mr. Bingley and his sisters come to deliver an invitation to their ball. Unfortunately, there was such a settled rain for the days leading up to the ball that Mr. Wickham was left unexamined and unvisited. All of the sisters hoped that he would attend and Kitty began to suspect that each of them (save for Mary) were hoping to be asked by him for the first dance.

Kitty witnessed Mr. Collins ask Elizabeth for the honour of her hand for that very set, which her sister accepted reluctantly but politely.

“Poor man, Elizabeth will never accept him,” Kitty mused. Why would any woman who had met Mr. Wickham ever accept anyone else! She continued to try her best to force Mr. Collins and Mary together, and she occasionally succeeded in placing them beside each other on a sofa, but to no avail. Mary remained focused on her study and Mr. Collins on Elizabeth. Until the proposal happened, there was nothing to be done to prevent disaster.

Earlier in the day, Kitty also had the good fortune of hearing her two eldest sisters discuss Mr. Wickham, as Kitty had taken to following Elizabeth around if she could. Lizzy explained again what had been said the previous evening.

Jane replied, “They have both been deceived, I dare say, in some way or other, of which we can form no idea. Interested people have perhaps misrepresented each to the other. It is, in short, impossible for us to conjecture the causes or circumstances which may have alienated them, without actual blame on either side.”

“Impossible!” Kitty exclaimed unheard, “One of them must be at fault and I suspect who!”

Elizabeth said, “Very true, indeed; and now, my dear Jane, what have you got to say in behalf of the interested people who have probably been concerned in the business? Do clear them , too, or we shall be obliged to think ill of somebody.”

“Laugh as much as you choose, but you will not laugh me out of my opinion. My dearest Lizzy, do but consider in what a disgraceful light it places Mr. Darcy, to be treating his father’s favourite in such a manner,—one whom his father had promised to provide for. It is impossible. No man of common humanity, no man who had any value for his character, could be capable of it. Can his most intimate friends be so excessively deceived in him? Oh no.”

Kitty heard the echo of Charlotte’s words and began to doubt herself. Could it be true? Could Wickham be the one deceiving Elizabeth? Or it was all a mistake? “Jane believes that neither is at fault. There are many plots in novels where two angry opposing sides are reconciled. Maybe they are meant to be brought back together?”

Elizabeth’s staunch support of Wickham gave Kitty some confidence, but it was impossible for her to entirely banish either Charlotte or Jane’s assertions. She must give them credit, for while Wickham had given his account they had no proof on either side and Darcy had not been able to defend himself.

“I will accept that it is possible Wickham is mistaken. To believe that he is a villain is a step too far,” Kitty reasoned.

The next few days were dreary and, far more importantly, void of any new information. Kitty was in scene to discuss shoe roses, dresses, accessories, and dance partners with her sisters; that was all. Mr. Wickham did not appear and they did not go out. Kitty still walked through the rain to visit Charlotte Lucas, a feat which no one attempted during the day. They discussed abstract concepts of stories and avoided any mention of Mr. Wickham, as no new information had appeared. The Lucases had also been invited to the ball, increasing the attraction of that event even more than Kitty would have thought possible, since she took little joy anymore in dancing.

“He will certainly be there and I will see how he behaves around Mr. Darcy,” Kitty said in great anticipation. “The mystery will be solved!”

Kitty joined her sisters in excitedly searching for Mr. Wickham when they arrived at Netherfield, and it is possible that none of them were more disappointed than she when it was discovered he was not to attend. The words of Denny rang in Kitty’s head as Lydia dragged her through the ballroom, “I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now, if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman here.”

“What was it that Mr. Wickham said at my aunts? ‘ Oh no—it is not for me to be driven away by Mr. Darcy. If he wishes to avoid seeing me he must go .” And yet now he avoids the ball… Is it possible that Charlotte is correct? And Mr. Denny’s smile, he knows all about Darcy then, whom Wickham swore he would not expose…”

She covered her face with her hands and let out a breath, if only she knew!

Kitty was then solicited by Lieutenant Pratt for a dance and it occurred to her that any spying that evening may be impossible. Elizabeth was dancing with Mr. Collins but Kitty was too far away in the set to overhear her. She was at least able to inquired into Mr. Wickham’s character, Pratt quickly replied with, “Everyone likes him very well” which was some kind of information.

Offer after offer continued, Kitty stole a glance at Charlotte who was unengaged and standing near Elizabeth, “I do hope she has more success than myself, I cannot escape!” She did manage to ask every partner for their opinion of Wickham, however, and they were uniformly positive.

It was not until supper that Kitty found herself at liberty. She seated herself near Lizzy, who while not speaking much herself, was observing their mother with growing embarrassment. Mr. Darcy was sitting opposite Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet, the latter of whom was expounding on all the benefits of Jane’s forthcoming marriage to Mr. Bingley.

“Our mother will never stop,” Kitty observed as Elizabeth attempted to quiet her, “That is her character after all. She exists to make Elizabeth want to sink into the floor.”

“For heaven’s sake, madam, speak lower. What advantage can it be to you to offend Mr. Darcy? You will never recommend yourself to his friend by so doing,” Elizabeth whispered.

Kitty’s eyes widened, “Do you like Mr. Darcy then? How could you! I must find Charlotte and learn what has been said while I danced!”

Elizabeth’s mortification and Kitty’s consciousness of it continued as Mary began to play at the pianoforte. Kitty watched Elizabeth’s face fall further than it already had. She stood (no one attended her) and looked over at Jane and Bingley, fortunately they seemed entirely oblivious to the ridiculous display, “Their path of love continues smooth, whatever may happen with Darcy, Wickham, and Elizabeth.”

Their father put an end to the performance, though in a manner that even Kitty understood as rude. Mr. Collins spoke next, and Kitty discerned from Elizabeth and the Bingley sisters’ expressions that it was a very silly speech. 

“Is this meant to be comic?” Kitty mused, “I feel like Elizabeth is nearly dead from shame! Perhaps it is amusing to read, but to to live it is heart wrenching.”

Finally the dancing resumed. Kitty was not solicited; her part of the evening must be over. She wondered briefly if the author had entirely forgotten her, insignificant as she was. It would have made her melancholy, if she was not pleased to be inn command of her own body. Kitty followed Elizabeth and Charlotte, who was unable to converse freely, as they were badgered by Mr. Collins. He wanted to dance with Lizzy; she staunchly refused.

Kitty hoped that Charlotte had heard a good deal more than herself, for the entire evening was feeling wasted, when a person walked beside her and pressed something into her hand. She looked round, but was unable to see who might have done it in the thronging crowd. Kitty opened the scrap piece of paper with great anticipation. In a blotted, hastily-written script that she did not recognize, it said,

“Miss Kitty: Beware of Wickham.”

Late, or early, as it was after the Bennet family returned home, Kitty ran most of the way to Lucas Lodge, unable to wait another moment before she spoke to Charlotte. Her friend was waiting for her by the doorway.

“Look at this!” Kitty cried, holding up the scrap of paper, “Charlotte, I think someone else is aware!”

“Was that in scene? It could have been part of the plot.”

Kitty scoffed, “Plot? For Miss Kitty Bennet? No, if it was part of the plot then someone else would have received it. I am sure; there must be someone else awake.”

“I wonder who it could be, I do not recognize the handwriting. Perhaps someone from the Netherfield Party. Oh! We have a handwritten invitation,” she flew to retrieve it, “This is a woman’s hand I think, that wrote the invitation. Miss Bingley’s perhaps. It does not match the note at all.”

“Perhaps it is Mr. Bingley, I did think he could hear me once or twice.”

“You said he never replied.”

“True, I do not know! Why stay hidden and only give me this note?”

“I cannot say… how strange. However, that confirms all my suspicions and what I heard last night,” Charlotte said. “Both Mr. and Miss Bingley warned your sisters that Wickham is not to be trusted. Elizabeth remains convinced that Wickham was wronged; I am fairly certain that he is the guilty party.”

“Why would he lie?”

“He may be telling his version of events, which while not fractal, seems true to him. I am being charitable however, my real opinion is that he hates Darcy and wishes to ruin his reputation. Elizabeth was a receptive listener and he delighted in her falsely gained pity. Narratively, it makes a lot of sense as a roadblock keeping the two main characters apart.

Kitty looked anxiously at her friend, “If he is really such a villain, what if he kidnaps Elizabeth or worse? How can I protect her? Tonight at the ball, I could not even leave my dance partner until after supper. I cannot always be at her side. I am only one, insignificant character!”

“It may not be that sort of novel.”

Kitty felt tears in her eyes, “What if it is?”

Charlotte took her hand, “Kitty, Elizabeth is the heroine.”

“That will not save her if the story is Romeo and Juliet or Othello .”

“Kitty,” Charlotte looked her full in the face, “We just need to believe this is a comedy, because otherwise I do not wish to know.”

Kitty felt a sort of despair creeping over her and for once she did not understand how to overcome it. Wickham was a liar and the heroine believed him. Someone else was aware, and though they would not reveal their identity, they were frightened enough of Wickham to warn her. It must be serious, they were standing on the precipice of something dark and dangerous but the future was entirely hidden.

“If the author makes me, I will walk blindly towards him, like a lamb to slaughter,” Kitty said, “I cannot tell if my admiration of him is my own feeling of what the author wants me to feel; I only know that the Kitty in scene would follow Wickham anywhere. Elizabeth and Lydia would do the same. What can I do?”

She began to sob.

Charlotte suddenly embraced her, “You cannot lose hope, Kitty! Not you. Small changes, remember. We know the truth now, I will do my best to tell Elizabeth if she consults me, I promise I will try even if the author prevents me. I already told her not to be a fool and value Wickham above Darcy and that was in scene. Maybe I am meant to warn her!

“You are the most insignificant among your sisters, and yet you are the only one awake. Maybe you were meant for something more; maybe you will prevent disaster. I believe in you, even if the author does not. Promise me you will not give in.”

Kitty dried her tears and nodded slowly. “I promise.”

Charlotte held Kitty’s face in her hands and said solemnly, “Kitty, we are making it out of this novel alive.”

Chapter 7: Two Proposals

The very next morning Mr. Collins proposed to Elizabeth. Kitty was forced to leave the room by her mother, however as Mrs. Bennet lingered in the vestibule herself, Kitty found herself free to return. She heard a good deal of the proposal through the keyhole and found herself laughing in spite of herself. Elizabeth was sensible after all! Kitty could not imagine who would ever want to marry Mr. Collins.

However, still believing that Mary might be a better companion for such a man, she tried to encourage her sister to go down and meet him; to the point of trying to drag her downstairs. Mary would not move. Then the scratching sound became louder and Kitty was back in the breakfast room.

Her mother said again, “Oh dear! Yes, certainly. I am sure Lizzy will be very happy—I am sure she can have no objection. Come, Kitty, I want you upstairs.”

Kitty laughed, “Oh Lizzy, it is fortunate you are not aware! This repetition would be the death of you.”

Perfectly convinced that Elizabeth would again refuse, Kitty made another attempt at convincing Mary to take up the torch. It proved to be useless, even when Kitty made off with Mary’s book in an attempt to make her take up a chase. When Kitty was transported downstairs to greet Charlotte Lucas, Mary was not among them.

“Mr. Collins has made an offer to Lizzy, and she refused!” Kitty was obliged to say to Charlotte, though she had heard Lydia say almost the same thing moments before. They all walked together into the breakfast room.

Mrs. Bennet seemed somewhat pleased to have an audience to witness her great disappointment. Mr. Collins came in, much to Kitty’s surprise who imagined that he would avoid company after such an insult to his pride. Their mother requested to speak with him alone, Kitty felt compelled to leave with Elizabeth and Jane, Lydia and Charlotte stayed behind. The moment Kitty passed the doorway, she was again able to move as she pleased. She remained and listened to Mr. Collins as he formally ended his intentions towards Elizabeth.

When Kitty and her sisters reentered the breakfast room, she expected one of them, or perhaps their mother, to attempt to redirect Mr. Collins’s attention. It was not to be; he was speaking to Charlotte and that was how he remained for the rest of the day.

Kitty was perplexed, as angry at her mother as she was with Elizabeth. She ought to be trying to transfer his affection to her next daughter. Why was she doing nothing whilst he spent so much time with another woman?

“Mamma, do you not recall how quickly he transferred his affections from Jane to Lizzy? You must intervene!” Kitty pleaded to no avail. Her sisters seemed relieved that Charlotte had taken on the duty of entertaining him.

Charlotte was in scene for most of the day, Kitty was only able to speak with her as she was taking her leave before dinner. “You know he will probably propose to you,” she said, “The poor man will face multiple rejections.”

“My character will accept,” Charlotte said, “and I own that I am not sorry for it. That seems to be where the narrative is leading now.”

“What do you mean? How can you be content with such a man?”

“It is more than I had hoped for! At my age and with my attractions, I thought I would end this novel an old maid! If he does propose, I will be safe.”

Kitty frowned, “If we do continue to exist after this novel is over, you will be married to him forever!”

Charlotte smiled, “I can bear it, he is no more ridiculous than my father. Besides, I suspect he will be empty most of the time. And when your father dies, I will be able to provide for any of you who are unmarried. I promise.”

“Unless my father dies during the story and the author turns you wicked.”

“To be so close friends with your sister, I cannot imagine that will be my destiny. However, I am getting ahead of myself, he is only here until Saturday and it is Wednesday today, can he really propose so soon?”

“Comic character,” Kitty said pensively, “I suppose it might be possible. That would be rather ridiculous.”

“And in keeping with his character thus far.”

“I suppose if you are willing to have him, then I wish you well. Oh!” Kitty exclaimed, “But you will have to move to Kent!”

“Maybe we will be able to write to each other? We must try. I cannot think that my role in this story is over, perhaps I will come back to visit or-”

When Charlotte did not continue, Kitty finished for her, “Or my father is meant to die soon.”

Charlotte nodded. She could say no more, the story compelled her out the door and Kitty was left alone, in a house of empty family.

The next morning, Kitty walked with her sisters to Meryton; it was one of the most infuriating experiences of her existence. Mr. Wickham joined them once they reach the town and began his excuses by saying, “I found,” said he, “as the time drew near, that I had better not meet Mr. Darcy;—that to be in the same room, the same party with him for so many hours together, might be more than I could bear, and that scenes might arise unpleasant to more than myself.”

Kitty exclaimed aloud, “This from the man who said he would not be driven off!” but her feelings were singular.

Elizabeth quickly replied, “I admire your forbearance, though your presence at the ball was dearly missed.”

They continued on in such a manner, every sentence soaked in flattery and admiration so clear that Kitty found herself wanting to vomit. “Eizabeth, how can you be so blind?” she cried, and then recollecting her own blindness, blushed crimson. “I wish I could make it clear that Wickham is false, I wish I could show you the note,” Kitty mourned. She had tried, after all the note had been made in scene so it had continued to exist, but when she attempted to place it before her sisters they did not acknowledge it. What else could be done?

Wickham accompanied them back to Longbourn. That walk proved to be more embarrassing to Kitty than even the Netherfield Ball. The entire mile home she could not help but watch and hear Elizabeth’s fawning treatment of that man. She saw Lizzy’s blushes when Wickham complimented her. Her sister was smitten and Kitty was in agony. The very few trite lines that she spoke during the walk were in an unnoticed tone of utter wretchedness.

He was introduced to their parents. Kitty stood helplessly by, unable to alter anything. She was fully able to move but at a loss as to what could be done. No one could hear her and she could not think how ripping a gown or spilling a drink could help this situation. If she had courage enough, she would have taken his own sword and stabbed him, 

“I wish I had the courage of Beatrice,” she murmured unheard, “I would eat your heart in the marketplace.”

The odious man finally departed, but nothing improved. Jane received a letter and Kitty, perceiving her distress, made it her business to read it. Mr. Bingley and his party were gone. Kitty gasped, “The path of true love never does run smooth! Poor Jane!” Overhearing her sisters’ discussion of the letter, she concluded that Mr. Bingley would certainly not return to Netherfield any time soon. This must be that conflict Charlotte had spoken of previously.

“It is a very poor exchange,” Kitty said miserably, “we have lost Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy and must content ourselves instead with a charming villain.”

Her mother lamented and her sisters worried, whilst Kitty agonised about Mr. Wickham and what possible doom he might bring.

Charlotte was the one who made the journey that night to Longbourn, much to Kitty’s surprise.

“There are no stars at night,” she observed as she met Kitty on the walk, her friend having just set out to meet her.

“No, the author must not have imagined them, or something. I guess stars will not feature in this story.”

“How is it that we know there ought to be stars?” Charlotte wondered. Kitty had no answer and the two went inside.

“We have both read novels and poetry, stars are a common subject.”

Kitty sighed, “I almost feel like I remember what they look like.” She then described her day and her failure to make Elizabeth understand Wickham’s character. Charlotte sympathised. They tried in vain to think of anything that could be done.

“Stay by her side as much as you can,” Charlotte finally concluded, “and if he tries anything, take his sword!”

“Were you not advocating submission to the plot only a few days ago?” Kitty laughed.

“Yes, I was, and I will do what the author demands of me with Collins, but… I love Elizabeth. I want to protect her from harm. We have found the villain and whatever sense of justice or morality I have will not allow me to sit still and do nothing.”

Kitty smiled. Another thought occurred to her, one that had been growing in her mind for some time. “Why do you think we are aware? Not only us and no one else, but I mean, how are we aware at all within a novel? The author does not seem to realise that we are.”

Charlotte thought for a moment, “I wonder if we are shards of the author’s own mind. When they created this imaginary world, a piece or two broke away and we are reflections of them. Imbued with the consciousness that has created everything.”

“Oh, that sounds beautiful.”

“I sometimes wonder if the author is here somewhere, or if we could somehow talk to them. I have tried only to be met with silence. I think we are a mistake, that the author never meant to create us. It would be kinder if we were empty; we would be happier than we are now.”

Kitty shook her head, “I would rather feel all the mortification in the world then never truly know myself. Whatever happens in this story, I would rather be awake. I cannot imagine being empty; I pity my sisters.”

“It is going to be lonely if we are parted.”

“Maybe someone will be awake wherever you are going?”

Charlotte frowned, “We are the only two so far, that would be too much to hope.”

“If we are a piece of the author’s mind, I wonder if we would return to her at the end of the story. Then we would surely survive.”

“You are quite philosophical today.”

Kitty laughed, “I would rather think of anything except Mr. Wickham! Elizabeth prides herself on discernment and yet she cannot see what was clear to you immediately.”

“She likes him, she likes being liked, it’s not that uncommon or even shameful. We are all taken in at one time or another I believe. Thankfully, people such as Mr. Wickham are rare. Let us hope there is only one in this novel.”

“Oh dear! I hope so! I cannot do everything,” Kitty exclaimed. They spent the rest of the evening on lighter topics until Miss Lucas was swept away by the author.

The next day the Bennets dined with the Lucases. It was abundantly clear to Kitty that Mr. Collins had indeed transferred his ‘affections’ to Charlotte and she wondered if it were indeed possible for him to propose soon after his rejection. Kitty followed him out of the house the next day to witness the spectacle. She laughed out loud in the garden as Mr. Collins used nearly the exact same words he had once employed for Elizabeth to propose to Charlotte.

The answer in scene was yes, as they both had predicted. Kitty remained in the garden and waited for Charlotte to return.

“Are you certain this is what you want?” she asked when Charlotte joined her.

“I am, but what would you do if I asked you to alter it?”

Kitty laughed, “Oh, I would burn down the church! That would delay the marriage at the very least, would it not?”

“The author had better begin to worry if their characters are plotting arson behind their back.”

“The author should worry! I am not the silly, giggly, harmless Kitty that she wrote. If my sisters are in danger, I am going to defend them, no matter the cost.”
“I will try to write to you,” Charlotte promised. “I do not think I could walk from Kent.”

The promise made, they both waited for the inevitable marriage. Mrs. Bennet mourned, Lady Lucas gloated, and Mr. Bennet joked. Kitty hardly played a part in the affair, she had not spoken a real line for several days. Mr. Collins left and returned to Longbourn, though during his second visit he spent nearly all his time at Lucas Lodge. Elizabeth remained enamoured with Wickham and Jane waited for word from London.

Kitty and Charlotte had taken to trading off which house they spent the evening in, as Charlotte had been scouring the Bennet library for any novels she had not yet read. They were both at Longbourn therefore late one evening when a loud knock was heard at the door.

“Is this a scene?” Kitty said.

Charlotte looked around, “No servant is going to the door.”

“We should wait,” Kitty said nervously. Nothing had ever happened at night as far as she could remember.

The knock continued, hard and fast.

Kitty took a deep breath, “I think we should answer.”

Charlotte was trembling as Kitty rose from her chair and walked to the entranceway. She looked around a last time for a servant, then concluding that no one could hear the knocking, she threw open the door. Standing before her was a rather dirty and tired looking Mr. Bingley.

“I walked here from London,” he said wearily, “it took me seven attempts. Tell me, please, does your sister really love me?”

Chapter 8: Conflict is the Air We Breathe

 “Mr. Bingley! You are awake!” Kitty exclaimed.

“Yes, I have been since the beginning, or at least that is what I believe. I am very tired, may I sit down?”

Kitty nodded vigorously, “You must be!” She ran to light a candle in the drawing room. Kitty paid no attention to his muddy clothes, the stains would disappear once a new scene began. Charlotte brought him something to eat from the kitchen and then they all sat down together.

“Why did you not reply when I spoke to you earlier?” Kitty asked.

Mr. Bingley sighed, “I was afraid that if I did anything wrong the story might change. I heard Miss Lucas say we were in a novel, at her father’s house party, so I knew what was happening. I had been so confused before that, I thought I was mad. Then I thought everything was going so well! I was in love with the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on; she was good and kind. I thought if I stayed quiet, I would marry her. Then everything went wrong in the blink of an eye.”

“What has happened in London?” Charlotte asked.

“Only one ‘scene’ that I was in, as I have heard you call them: Darcy told me that Jane was not in love with me. I was compelled to agree to remain in London for the season, but I could not believe it was actually true. I saw my sister writing a letter in scene and I read it. Am I really meant to marry Miss Darcy? I could never be happy with her now that I know your sister.”

“This is a novel, your path of love cannot run smooth,” Kitty said sagely.

Mr. Bingley coloured, “I must confess, I do not read very many stories. Not that I cannot read, but I read very slowly and I often mix up the letters in words. Caroline used to help me when I had to read something for school.”

“Have you read any novels?” Kitty asked.

“Not that I remember.”

“Shakespeare?”

“I seem to recall the plays, vaguely. I could not tell you anything about them.”

Charlotte interjected, “We only seem to have half memories of what came before.”

“Yes. It is very strange. I know Darcy; I am certain that we have been friends for a long time, but when I try to recollect the past… I cannot even remember how we met. I cannot envision my mother or father.”

Kitty nodded, “Was it you then, who gave me the note?”

“Yes, I had to warn you! There was a scene, Darcy told me that Wickham attempted to seduce a young gentlewoman and elope with her. He told me much more besides; Wickham is not a man to be trusted.”

“Thank you,” said Kitty. “And you walked all the way here?”

He nodded, “I have been trying for days. The first four times I attempted it, every path led me back to Darcy’s house. The fifth time I was able to leave London, but I was transported back for a scene. Then I was turned around again. Finally, I set off the seventh time and I was able to continue. I walked for three days, through the night too. I got a bit lost at one point, I think it should only have taken two days.”

Charlotte asked, “Why did you not take a horse? It is only a half day’s ride, is it not?”

Bingley said grimly, “I tried once in the emptiness to ride one of my horses, it disappeared halfway through and I was badly injured until the next scene.”

“Ah!” Kitty cried, “That sounds terrible!”

“It was, it seems rather cruel that we can feel pain or fatigue in the emptiness, even if it disappears.”

Charlotte nodded, but then it occurred to her that Bingley had information they needed, “What happened while Jane was sick at Netherfield, between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy? We were unable to observe those moments.”

Bingley shrugged, “They fought a lot, nothing important.”

“They fought? Kitty!” Charlotte cried, rising from her seat, “Kitty! They are Benedict and Beatrice! Kitty, this is a comedy!”

Kitty jumped up too, “And Bingley and Jane are Hero and Claudio!”

“Yes!” Charlotte exclaimed.

Bingley remained seated, “Who?”

Charlotte took a deep breath and sat back down, “ Much Ado About Nothing , by Shakespeare. Benedict and Beatrice are enemies to lovers. Elizabeth and Darcy are enemies to lovers! They began with an insult! It makes perfect sense. Wickham is here to make Elizabeth dislike Darcy even more! Oh this fits perfectly .”

“Did you love Jane at first sight?” Kitty inquired of Bingley.

“I did, or my character did, but I soon followed.”

“Exactly like Hero and Claudio!” Kitty said happily. She even giggled.

“What happens to them?” Bingley asked.

Charlotte replied, “Hero and Claudio fell in love right away, so an external factor, the prince’s brother, pushes them apart. That is exactly what happened to you! Darcy is the external factor. Benedict and Beatrice hate each other at first, but then are tricked into thinking the other person likes them. Though, I think Darcy must like Elizabeth already since he asked her to dance at the Netherfield ball. So their enemies to lovers plot will be one-sided, unrequited love at first. Not all plots are identical, but this has all the right elements.”

Bingley thought this over for a moment. Both Kitty and Charlotte were flushed with excitement, it seemed that every question they had was answered. He remained unhappy, “Is there anything I can do? No one hears me in the emptiness.”

“No,” Kitty said, “I am sorry, I have only managed very small changes thus far. I have no notion of what we might do to bring you and Jane back together. You cannot force yourself to return from London to Netherfield?”

“Not in scene, I did try but the words were forced from me.”

“And Jane will not even see you here, if you remain.”

“I know, I saw you come to Netherfield once, but no one else remembered you.”

Kitty blushed crimson, “Oh! You saw me?”

“I usually sleep at night, because I can and there is nothing else to do. You woke me up when you were searching the bedrooms.”

Kitty covered her face with her hands, “I was only looking for Jane, I did not intend to intrude.”

“Think nothing of it,” he said kindly.

“What do you intend to do now?” Charlotte asked.

Bingley held up his hands in a gesture of confusion and helplessness, “I wanted to come, to see her, even though she would be empty. I wanted to know that she was safe and well. I was so determined to come I admit I had no idea what I would do upon arrival. I thought about it a thousand times without coming to an answer.”

“She is- oh! I never answered you! Yes, my sister loves you very much, she was devastated that you left without a word,” Kitty said.

Bingley sighed deeply, “I suspected as much.”

“Did you really want to marry a person who would be empty so much of the time?” Kitty asked.

“Why not? I am surrounded by empty people. At least we would have scenes where she was alive.”

“True.”

They were all silent for a moment. Charlotte was the first to speak, “This is very good news, because I do feel confident that we are in a comedy. This will all end in marriage, though I have no idea how long it will take. You will marry Jane and Darcy will marry Elizabeth.”

“Then I must wait?” Bingley said miserably, “I am so lonely in London.”

“You can stay here as long as you like, no one will notice anyway. Walking back would be silly; the author will move you back at some point,” Kitty said. Then recollecting that they ought to have some rules of propriety, she added, “You need to stay downstairs.”

He nodded, “Of course. Why are you both awake at night?”

“This is when we meet to discuss the story, we have had a lot of plot during the day,” Charlotte replied. “I imagine it is better to sleep if nothing is happening around you.”

“Wickham plot?”

Kitty frowned and nodded, “Elizabeth is in love with him. Or at least very infatuated.”

“Why did Darcy not reveal his character to everyone? I tried at the ball, I told Miss Bennet as much as I could. Did no one listen to me?”

Charlotte said simply, “There has to be conflict, this is a novel after all. Misunderstandings based on limited information is the air we breathe. So no, Elizabeth did not believe you.”

Bingley sighed, “I should have proposed at the ball, then I would have been honour bound to remain.”

“Jane may not have even heard you,” Kitty said, she patted his hand comfortingly, “There is nothing you could have done. Whatever is said in scene that the author has not commanded is completely ignored.”

“I know,” Charles said, “I tried to talk to Darcy and my sisters so often before I finally realised they would never hear me.”

Charlotte said mostly to herself, “My purpose in the story and why I am to marry Mr. Collins is still unclear.”

“Mr. Collins lives near Lady Catherine, does he not? Darcy’s aunt. He travels there every spring to visit her,” Bingley said.

“Ah, if she comes to visit me, she will be thrown together with Mr. Darcy! Mr. Bingley, you have a wealth of information,” Charlotte said, smiling.

“I was present when Mr. Collins introduced himself to Darcy at the ball, I am unsure if I know anything else important.”

“We have several hours until morning,” Charlotte said. They talked over everything that they could remember happening since they had become aware of themselves. Charles was able to fill in some more scenes that the others had missed. The certainty that they were in a comedy remained, as did the conviction that Charles would eventually marry Jane, though he found this to be cold comfort without any knowledge of when it would occur or how long he would be left alone in London.

When they had exhausted all their information, Kitty suggested they read the most pertinent play to Charles. A few hours later, they heard footsteps on the stairs. Charlotte disappeared and the volume of Shakespeare vanished, all returning to their proper places. Kitty was whisked away to the breakfast table. The author must not have been thinking of Charles, because he was able to remain and watch the woman he loved sit with her family, unable to tell her that he had returned. What he would have done to be able to speak to her!

Charlotte arrived in scene early that morning, Kitty and Charles stayed behind, knowing that she would tell them what happened, and attempted to make Jane aware of his presence. As usual, when either of them spoke they were ignored. Jane snatched her hand back if either of them attempted to take it.

“She looks miserable,” Charles said to Kitty, “I wish I could tell her the truth. Do you think I could force myself into a scene with her? Would she see me then?”

“I think you would be transported back to London.”

“My sister may still correspond, maybe I could write on one of the letters?”

“I have tried writing, it is always ignored.”

“Then there is nothing I can do?”

Kitty sighed, “We seem to be at the mercy of the author. I have been hoping to protect my sisters from Wickham, however…”

“What would you do?”

“Words are ignored, but actions are permanent if done in a scene. I managed to tear Jane’s sleeve once and I delayed her departure to Netherfield on the day it rained. So I believe if I harmed Wickham in some way, the scene would change.”

“You want to attack him? I would not have imagined that of you.”

“Does he not deserve it?” Kitty asked.

“I suppose he does,” Charles sighed, “but how could an action help me? How could I make myself understood?”

Kitty had no answer. 

Elizabeth returned indoors from her private conversation with Charlotte and minutes later Sir William arrived to announce his daughter’s engagement. Kitty was in that scene, with all of her sisters. Charles, without any other idea, tried to approach Jane. Just as Kitty had predicted, he disappeared.

Kitty hung her head, “We will try to help you, Mr. Bingley, if you manage to return. I only wish I knew what to do!”

Several weeks passed, which despite some frustration were the most pleasant that Kitty had yet experienced. Charles walked back to Longbourn from London and began to spend the nights with herself and Charlotte, most often reading novels and trying to predict what would happen in their story next. During the day, he stayed at Netherfield, as seeing Jane in her pitiable state unable to remedy her pain was too difficult for him to bear. Kitty joked that he was their ghost, haunting Longbourn by night and Netherfield by day.

Mr. Collins returned, set his wedding date, and left. Miss Bingley wrote to Jane and assured her that the family was settled for the winter. Charles stood helpless in unheard agony as Jane told Elizabeth she must forget him. Kitty watched Wickham nervously. Charlotte prepared herself for marriage.

They did make attempts to tell Jane about Charles, Kitty even dipped her fingers in ink and wrote on the wall during a scene “Bingley loves Jane” but it went unnoticed, though the ink remained permanently. Words could not reach the other characters and no action could show Jane that Charles was only detained in London by the cruelty of an unknown author. 

The Gardiners arrived for Christmas and Kitty was drawn into many a dinner party, all of them with Wickham as a guest. While Elizabeth remained infatuated, nothing happened to give her vigilant sister alarm. Kitty played her part and giggled away, resigned to the fact that the author knew nothing about her true mind. However, an overheard conversation with Mrs. Gardiner gave her cause to hope, both for herself and her new friend.

“Charles!” she said, when he arrived that night (they had long ago agreed to drop all formalities between each other), “Jane is going to London! She will be staying at Gracechurch Street.”

“She is? Then I will return and meet her there!”

Kitty cautioned, “My aunt thinks it not very likely that you will ever be in the same circles, and Elizabeth fears your sister will drop the friendship entirely.”

“I have come this far; if I can find her in London maybe I can change our story. I know if my character saw her again, he would never let her go.”

“I will watch Elizabeth and Wickham, and now my aunt has warned Elizabeth against him, which was a great comfort. You, Charles, try for Jane, and Charlotte,” Kitty turned to her, “be well in Kent. It has been so pleasant being together, now we will all be alone.”

Charlotte took Kitty’s hand, “I can bear it. Sleeping at night will help and Mr. Collins assured me that Rosings has an extensive library. I will not run out of things to read at the very least. What will you do?”

“I have a notion to teach myself how to play the pianoforte. As you said, if we remain here after the story, I will have a better chance to marry if I gain some accomplishments. You have said my manners and conversation are already so much improved, when the author is not in control. I have become fairly certain that my character will not be paired during this novel, three weddings is enough, is it not?”

They both looked at Charles. “I am going to improve my mind by extensive reading,” he said, chuckling at a joke they did not understand, “I had an aversion to it as it was so difficult for me as a child, but it has become easier with practice. I have almost read all the novels in the library at Netherfield. There was one that reminded me a lot of this story, I was meaning to tell you.”

“What was it called?” asked Charlotte.

“ Sense and Sensibility . There were three sisters. One, Marianne, was rescued after falling in the rain by a man named Willoughby, he seemed so similar to Wickham. It appeared that Willoughby and this sister would marry, but he abandoned her in London for an heiress.”

“Oh, I think Elizabeth was reading that novel to Jane when she was ill,” said Kitty. “I remember the name Marianne.”

“How did it end?” Charlotte asked.

“Happily for everyone, even Willoughby, which I found strange,” Charles replied.

“Strange indeed, usually the villains see a proper retribution,” Charlotte said.

“If there is some time before Jane departs, I will bring it for us to read together.”

“I hope Wickham gets what is coming to him,” Kitty said, “I will be angry if his crimes go unpunished.”

Charles laughed at her, “Then it will be up to you to remedy that mistake on the part of the author. Are you still planning to stab him?”

“If he touches Elizabeth, or Lydia, he will get what he deserves.”

“You should be the heroine of the sequel and fight a duel at dawn,” Charles said with a smile.

“If only the author recognized my merit! I am wasted as a minor character. And if you were the main character, Jane would already be married. The author was foolish to chose as she did.”

Charlotte scoffed, “If everything was concluded so easily, there would hardly be a story. Where is the conflict, the climax, the resolution?”

“Why do we need conflict?” Kitty said, Charles nodded.

“Because otherwise there is no story! Authors will skip over entire months or years if there is no conflict between the characters. Stories begin when something changes, Charles taking Netherfield, and then end when conflict ends, either with death or marriage.”

“If you think marriage is the end of conflict you have not observed my mother and father,” Kitty joked.

Charlotte did not acknowledge her, “I suspect we may be about to live through a very dull period until Elizabeth visits Kent. There already seems to be very little plot. The main characters need to get back in the same place.”

“They would be if I could only marry Jane.”

“Marry Jane; then play matchmaker to those poor arguing lovers!” Kitty cried.

“I will do my best,” Charles promised seriously. Then the morning broke, and he disappeared.

Chapter 9: Rebellion

The next moment Charles was in London, at his brother-in-law’s house. Caroline had received a letter, she was taking care to hide it from his view.

“Who wrote to you?” he asked.

“An old friend,” she said dismissively. She folded the letter back up and slid it into a large pile of papers. Charles tried to reach towards it, but his limbs were locked in place. He strained against his invisible bonds. A finger moved towards the letter, then a hand. He was beginning to see red in the corners of his eyes. His arm moved towards the letter.

Suddenly the scene ended and he fell forward. The force was great enough that when his arm slammed into the table, he was sure it had broken. Clutching it to his chest, he used his left hand to find the letter.

It was from Miss Bennet. It announced her impending journey to London and expressed the wish to see her friend again.

“Caroline will have to end the friendship in person,” Charles said to himself. He would need to find a way to accompany her. Since they were living at different houses, it would be unlikely for Charles to be around Caroline when the visit occurred. 

“No, this is a novel,” Charles reminded himself, “If the author writes the scene, I will be present, if only because that is more dramatic.”

He tested his arm, it was not broken, only badly bruised. He had been able to move though, he must try to move again. He must change the story if he wanted to be with Jane.

As he was staying at Darcy’s house, he was soon returned there by the author. Bingley stayed alert, when he was transported somewhere it was usually because a scene was about to begin. As he had expected, his sisters and Mr. Hurst soon arrived for the evening and the scene began.

He was on one side of the room talking with his brother-in-law, Louisa and Miss Darcy were playing a duet on the pianoforte, and Caroline was walking over to where Mr. Darcy was standing near the fireplace. “She is going to tell him about the letter,” Charles speculated. What would happen if he overheard? At this point it was impossible, he could hear nothing above the sound of the instrument and Mr. Hurst. He excused himself and tried to take a step.

His feet felt like lead. Kitty had described herself as glued to the floor and Bingly felt that it was so, and yet he must try. He flung his entire weight forward, knowing he might hurt himself if he fell. He took a single step. Charles was seeing red again, he gasped and tried again. He took a second step. He tried to count how many it would take to cross the floor. Ten? Twelve? He took a deep breath. Three steps.

Darcy turned and looked at him, Caroline pursed her lips and frowned. He took another step. And another. He was almost beside them, but they had noticed and stopped talking.

His sister looked at him somewhat angrily, then smoothed her expression and began to talk about something benign. He felt scripted words rise in his mouth. This was his chance, it might be his only chance. Words said out of script were always ignored, but what if he replaced what he was meant to say?

He knew he was to say: “Miss Darcy plays very well.”

“M-,” he stopped, “D- did.” The words caught in his throat and he seemed liable to spit out what the author demanded. He swallowed. “Did Miss…” he breathed, “Bennet?”

“Pardon?” said Caroline.

The same scripted words were waiting to be said, but Charles tried again, forcing every syllable, “Did you say ‘Miss Bennet?’”

Caroline’s face flushed, Darcy looked somewhat startled.

“No!” Caroline cried.

Charles waited and looked at Darcy, his sister would lie to his face, but his friend, he believed, would not.

“Miss Bennet is coming to London,” Darcy said gravely.

Bingley wanted to laugh with delight, they had both replied to him! They had heard him, and now his character knew that she was coming to London. Had he changed anything? Was this enough?

Darcy continued, “This is likely only a scheme by her mother to reunite her daughter with you through your sister.”

Caroline nodded vigorously.

Charles felt the next words bubbling up in his throat. He was meant to agree with Darcy. He swallowed and breathed in deeply, “I… would like… t- to… see her.”

Caroline blanched. With a scoff, she said, “I have no intention of going to that part of town.”

“I do,” Charles said. His words came easily and he wondered if he would be heard.

His friend replied coldly, “What business could you have with Miss Bennet?”

Charles nearly gasped, his next words were compelled, but they were what he intended to say, “I left Hertfordshire without taking leave, I want to apologise for my rudeness.”

Charles only had time to watch the disappointment cross Darcy’s face before the scratching grew louder and the scene began again.

He was on one side of the room talking with his brother-in-law, Louisa and Miss Darcy were playing a duet on the pianoforte, and Caroline was walking over to where Mr. Darcy was standing near the fireplace.

Charles immediately began pushing himself towards his sister and friend. Once he crossed the floor, he heard the scratching again. The scene restarted.

He began to walk towards them again. Scratching. Restart.

Charles was fortunate that his exhaustion evaporated with each attempt because otherwise he would not have been able to go on. He lost count of how many times the scene played out. Sometimes small details changed, his sister’s position, his place in the room, but nothing deterred him for long. Step by step, he made his way to them and resisted a hundred scripted lines to ask instead about Miss Bennet.

Finally, the scene reset in a different position. Charles was standing with Caroline and Darcy. 

“I received a letter from Miss Bennet, she is coming to London,” his sister said. “You cannot believe my surprise! She said in Hertfordshire that her family never comes to London. A very paltry scheme I am sure.”

“Her mother has persuaded her and orchestrated this visit, I have no doubt,” Darcy added.

Charles felt his line, “Then it would be unwise to visit,” but he would by no means speak it. “I… will… v- visit her,” he said instead.

Caroline and Darcy both regarded him with horror. He waited for the sound of the scratching to rise but nothing happened. The scene did not reset, and yet no one moved for a few moments. Charles said again, “I will visit her, I plan to renew my acquaintance with Miss Bennet.”

Kitty was waiting eagerly for the post. It had become the most important part of her long, dull days as she dwelt in Hertfordshire alone, surrounded by empty people. As Charlotte had anticipated, the plot had largely halted and they seemed to all be in a period of waiting. Elizabeth was to visit Charlotte in the spring, winter was passing slowly and without incident.

The post provided some amusement. Charlotte wrote to Elizabeth frequently and while the letters were scripted, she always also wrote to Kitty. The outside of the envelope was filled with speculation about their novel, Charlotte’s real experience in Kent, and advice for the future. From Charles, unfortunately, Kitty could hear nothing, which made the communication from Charlotte all the more dear. She replied in kind whenever Elizabeth wrote.

That day, however, a letter arrived from Jane. Kitty watched Elizabeth read it, knowing that soon she would be able to read it herself. Lizzy was in scene, and her astonishment at the letter was evident. Once she had finished reading it, she nearly ran upstairs. Kitty followed. Lizzy stowed the letter in one of her books, safe (she imagined) from prying eyes. The second she departed, Kitty took up the letter.

My dearest Lizzy, I must ask you not to disclose the contents of this letter to anyone else in our family, as I am wary of raising hopes that were so recently dashed, especially in my mother. Mr. Bingley and his sister called today and I was astonished to see them. I had only written requesting to see Miss Bingley, as you know. It was a strange visit; Mr. Bingley was the chief talker and his sister was uncharacteristically quiet. I daresay that he was happy to see me, and he apologised more than once for not taking leave before settling in London. He even spoke of soon returning to Netherfield if it was practicable. I will say only that he had every appearance of an old friend, what more this could mean, after his absence, I will not endeavour to speculate. Do not be run away with hope, dear Lizzy, for I must confess my heart is weighed down with doubt.

I am pleased to hear you will visit Hunsford with Sir William and Maria. I am sure you will be very comfortable there.

Yours, etc.

“He has done it!” Kitty nearly squealed, but then recollecting herself, she added, “Or they were always meant to meet again in town. I wish I knew! Either way, I will be happy for Jane. I know his intentions.”

Kitty easily perceived in the next scene that Elizabeth was pleased with the news as well. Her sister had been more convinced than even Jane of Mr. Bingley’s love and the visit in London had indeed taught Lizzy to hope. Perhaps it was this hope that supported her spirits when Mr. Wickham suddenly changed his preference from her to the newly wealthy Miss King, a circumstance which neither Lydia nor Kitty’s in scene character could endure without a good deal of mourning.

More letters came from town and halfway through the month of January, Lizzy was permitted to share the information that Mr. Bingley had called on Jane several times in town, and frequently was present when Jane visited Miss Bingley. Mrs. Bennet was in raptures and her sisters all praised Jane’s good fortune. Kitty hoped that nothing new would cause it to go off, but she trusted that Charles had it all in hand.

Elizabeth departed for London and Hunsford. Kitty made an attempt to accompany her, but disappeared from the coach halfway to town and was returned to Longbourn. Without Elizabeth, all plot evaporated. She often was compelled to accompany Lydia to Meryton, but as everyone was empty there was no pleasure in it. Without a protagonist present, days passed without meaning. Even Charlotte’s letter ceased, as her correspondent was now with her.

Kitty played pianoforte during the day, slept at night, and read and re-read any books she could find. She did not despair in her loneliness or worry, she had faith in Charles and Charlotte.

Charlotte cut the pages on another novel, it was about six years old and yet never read by the family that owned the beautiful library.

“What a waste this all is,” Charlotte mused, as she opened the book, “a thousand books or more and yet it seems that they are only for your guests.”

She sighed as she looked over the first page; she had read this one before. The cut pages always restored themselves when she returned the book to the shelves so it was difficult for her to tell what she had already touched. She had read a lot the months before Elizabeth’s visit which had been dull indeed. Now that plot was happening around her again, she was staying up at night to read, unmissed by her empty husband and friends. Charlotte rose from her chair and began to search the library again for anything she had missed.

“What is this?” she asked, there was a small cupboard door she had never noticed. She opened it. Written in gold lettering on the wood of the back of the door, she read, “Unfinished”.

There were several manuscripts, some of them very short. Charlotte read the titles, “Lesley Castle, Catherine or the Bower, The Watsons, The Three Sisters, First Impressions.”

The last was the largest and Charlotte took it with her to the seat where she had arranged several candles for light (they would restore in a scene, so she wasted nothing in the excess). She opened the manuscript and saw in neat handwriting.

“Mrs. Bennet to her sister Mrs. Gardiner”

My dear sister, Netherfield is let at last!

Charlotte dropped it to the floor.

“Mrs. Bennet!” she gasped.

She took it up again and searched the page frantically, “Mr. Bingley, my dearest Jane, Lydia… a sister named ‘Cassandra’ but I suppose that changes. This is our novel! In epistolary form!”

Charlotte ran back to the cupboard, “Shards of the author’s mind, her unfinished works are somehow stored at Rosings.”

She sat down once more with the manuscript and began to read in earnest.

Chapter 10: Proposal

Charlotte followed Elizabeth on her walks; everything was all playing out exactly as it had in the unfinished draft. Darcy was joining Elizabeth despite her hints to discourage him, which in the epistolary version she had written to Jane to complain about. He was in love with her and if the story was going to be the same, he would propose soon. Yet, something had changed, Charlotte knew Jane and Bingley were meeting in London. That was her first complaint about his conduct. Would the proposal change too? Would Elizabeth be prevailed upon to accept?

“Ah, Colonel Fitzwilliam is joining her,” Charlotte murmured to herself, “Has anything changed? I know what he is to say.”

She listened to them talk. It was what she had read in the manuscript. There was Eliza’s joke about Colonel Fitzwilliam marrying into fifty thousand pounds, and their discussion of Miss Darcy, whose secret Charlotte now knew.

“Oh yes,” said Elizabeth drily—“Mr. Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley, and takes a prodigious deal of care of him.”

“Care of him! Yes, I really believe Darcy does take care of him in those points where he most wants care. From something that he told me in our journey hither, I have reason to think Bingley should have benefited by his aid. But I ought to beg his pardon, for I have no right to suppose that Bingley was the person meant. It was all conjecture.”

“What is it you mean?”

“It is a circumstance which Darcy of course could not wish to be generally known, because if it were to get round to the lady’s family it would be an unpleasant thing, especially given how it has gone on.”

“You may depend upon my not mentioning it.”

“And remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to be Bingley. What he told me was merely this: that he congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage, I only suspected it to be Bingley from believing him the kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort, and from knowing them to have been together the whole of last summer. However, he also said as well that despite his best efforts, the lady has gotten hold of his friend once again and all his pains to discourage his friend were in vain. He has only just kept the engagement from being confirmed.”

Charlotte could see Elizabeth’s indignation. The conversation proceeded from there much as it had been in the initial draft. “She is going to refuse him,” Charlotte conjectured, “and that means Lydia will elope. I need to warn Kitty!”

By what means this might be done was at first perplexing, until Charlotte remembered that Darcy would give Eliza a letter. “I can write on the back of it and warn Kitty. We were worried about Wickham seducing Elizabeth, I do not think we ever thought of Lydia. I will try to bring her the manuscript, though I have no notion if that will work.”

It was always the whims of the author that permitted or restricted their travel. Charlotte knew that Kitty was going to attempt to visit her, but it must have gone off because she had never come. However, she was fairly certain her plan of writing on the letter would work. Surely Kitty would search about Eliza’s belongings for clues to the plot; she would find the letter. Somehow, she would need to find a way to keep Lydia safe.

Kitty found the letter the very night Elizabeth returned home. It was hidden among her belongings but Kitty had the leisure of nighttime and a great deal of curiosity. The letter was immediately of interest, as its creases told of a great deal of re-reading. She saw first in large letters on the back:

Kitty, Stop Lydia from going to Brighton, she will elope with Wickham, who has no intention of marrying her. I found a draft manuscript of our novel, I will attempt to bring it to you. -Charlotte

The rest of the letter was quickly opened and read over. Wickham’s true nature, so long conjectured by the awake friends, was now fully exposed. He was the villain they had suspected! Mr. Darcy was completely exonerated to Kitty, who blushed again and again over his representation of her family.

“Stop Lydia from going to Brighton,” Kitty murmured, once she had read everything, “how is it to be done?” Her character had already railed against the injustice of the younger Lydia accompanying Mrs. Forester when she could not, but to no effect. Mr. Bennet seemed entirely willing to allow Lydia to go, and unwilling to accompany his daughter. It would all come to disaster if Kitty could not change it. She sat and thought as hard as she could.

“Nothing I say will sway them, even if I were able to say it in scene, my character’s complaints are ignored. I cannot take hold of Lydia’s hand or sleeve forever, she will leave eventually. The only thing I could do is…” Kitty blanched at the thought, but it was the only thing that promised well. “If I see Wickham, I can stab him, but I doubt I will in scene before Lydia departs and then it would be for naught. I think I have to hurt Lydia. Only to save her, but badly enough that she cannot go.”

It was a horrible plan and her mind rebelled against it, and yet she could think of nothing else. Certainly it would be better for Lydia to be hurt now and recover than to allow her to mar her entire existence with an imprudent marriage. “I wish Charlotte were here! She would know what to do; she would have a better idea! It is only me and this is all I can think of.”

“But how?” Kitty asked herself. She didn’t want to hurt Lydia too much and what could she do in scene? She had to make it look like an accident as well, or else she might be in trouble. “I could push her down the stairs, but she fell down once as a child without any harm. If she knew it was me, what would mother and father say? I cannot stab her, she does not deserve it.”

Suddenly Kitty’s eyes grew wide, “Tea! I can spill tea! That would look like an accident and it would only scald. She would be too hurt to leave but she could recover. Tea is perfect. The next time I am in a scene, I will spill tea on Lydia.”

Kitty’s resolve only deepened when she overheard Elizabeth begging her father to keep Lydia home, which resulted in nothing. “Even the heroine believes it is a bad idea,” Kitty said, “I must stop her by any means necessary!”

It happened that very evening. Kitty felt the scene begin and the tea was just served. She poured herself two steaming hot cups and then began to cross the floor. She was meant to sit down, she felt the words in her throat, “I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not ask me as well as Lydia, though I am not her particular friend. I have just as much right to be asked as she has, and more too, for I am two years older.”

Before she spoke, she deliberately stumbled and spilled both cups of tea in Lydia’s lap. Her sister screamed, her mother screamed, Elizabeth and Jane jumped from their seats to help Lydia; and Kitty stepped back and watched in horror and anticipation.

“Please, let this not be in vain,” she begged, in a whisper, “I would never hurt you if I had any other choice.”

“Send for the apothecary!” Mrs. Bennet cried.

Kitty felt hope rising, and then the scratching grew louder and the scene began again.

Thirty-two times, Kitty spilled tea on Lydia. At attempt five, she began weeping and she cried through to attempt fifteen. After that, she simply felt numb. On attempt thirty, she collapsed to the floor and apologised again and again, entirely unheard. The tea spilled, Lydia screamed, and Mrs. Bennet called for the apothecary. Small things changed every time, a few times Kitty spilled coffee instead, but nothing ever prevented her grim task. The fact that the scene replayed again and again gave her the hope and strength to keep going.

On that last attempt, Kitty heard the scratching cease. She heard something that sounded like a person slamming close a book. Then everything went dark.

Kitty did not have even time to scream before scenes flashed before her.

“Why was Kitty asked to go? I am intimate friends with Mrs. Forester,” Lydia wailed. Before Kitty had time to protest, the scene changed again.

“Why was Mary asked to go? I am intimate friends with Mrs. Forester,” Lydia wailed. Mary seemed startled. The scene changed.

“Why was Jane asked to go? I am intimate friends with Mrs. Forester,” Lydia wailed.

“Jane does not even know Mrs. Forester,” Kitty laughed. The scene changed.

“Why was Miss King asked to go? I am intimate friends with Mrs. Forester!” Lydia wailed. Kitty wanted to scream at the author that Miss King did not deserve this fate either, but as rapidly as it had begun the scene changed.

“Why can we not go to Brighton?” Lydia wailed.

“Papa, can we not go?” Kitty added in the same peevish tone.

Her father made some vague remark, which communicated no real substance either way. Elizabeth smiled at her hands. Jane said something placating. Mrs. Bennet joined her two younger daughters in lamenting and Mary demeaned the pleasures of the seaside.

“Is the author going to let Lydia alone?” Kitty asked. “Please, tell me I have saved her?”

Lydia was unhurt and as far as Kitty could tell, she was not invited to Brighton.

“We ought not to be too morose,” Lizzy reminded them, “Mr. Bingley is coming back to Netherfield this very week.”

Jane blushed and smiled. Instead of being happy about this development, Kitty worried what it might mean for the story. She knew it was only two weeks until the militia departed, would something happen here? As long as Wickham was around, Lydia must still be in danger.

“I must stay vigilant,” she said, “the author has changed the story. What the author’s intentions are now I cannot even imagine! Yet… yet, I must think the author will try again. They tried so hard to send Lydia to Brighton. Maybe Charles will have some ideas when he arrives.”

The hope of another awake character’s arrival in Mr. Bingley and her mission to protect Lydia 

kept Kitty busy for the next week. She was her sister’s devoted shadow in scene and out. They saw Wickham frequently, but Kitty was unfortunately (or fortunately) unable to make good on her plan. When she attempted to draw his sword, it seemed glued in his scabbard. She had yet to get her hands on anything else sharp. Besides, without sufficient motive, it would be hard to explain why she had injured him. No one else knew of his crimes except Elizabeth and she seemed unwilling to share them with the family or the people of Meryton.

Bingley arrived, to receive adulation from the Bennet family and satisfy every hope by formally asking for Jane’s hand in marriage. For once, Kitty’s character and true self were in complete accord: she was as happy for her sister as possible. However, she was even more happy when she arrived at Netherfield that evening and was able to speak freely with Charles in private.

“What happened in London? Did the author bring you back together?” she asked eagerly.

“No, the author, I believe, had no idea of us meeting again so soon. I replaced some in scene words.”

“You did!” Kitty exclaimed.

“Yes, it was the hardest thing I have ever done, but I unstuck my feet from the floor, walked across a room and asked Caroline and Darcy if they were talking about Miss Bennet, Darcy admitted the truth.”

Kitty was filled with excitement, “I changed something too! Your success makes me think that maybe Lydia’s story will turn out well. Charlotte told me that if Lydia went to Brighton with the regiment, Wickham would elope with her, with no intention to marry. I spilled tea on her over and over until the author changed the story, now she’s not to go.”

“You spilled tea on her?” Bingley said, surprised.

Kitty reddened, “I could not think of any better plan. It seemed… preferable.”

“You are right; it would be better to be scalded today than married to that rogue for the rest of your life. I do not know if I could have done it myself. Not to my own sister,” he shivered at the thought.

“Where is Mr. Darcy?” Kitty asked abruptly, not wanting to think about the tea any longer.

“I tried to convince him to accompany me, but he declined and remained in London.”

“He proposed to Elizabeth and she rejected him, he is probably unwilling to see her again so soon.”

Charles was clearly surprised, “Did he really? He did seem somewhat quieter than normal, but I never would have thought… and she rejected him? I thought they were meant to be together.”

“We think they are, I suppose he will propose again.”

“Darcy? I cannot imagine… how strange for him to oppose my forming an alliance with Jane when he meant to propose to Miss Elizabeth!”

To satisfy all his questions, Kitty showed him the letter from Darcy to Elizabeth and then explained everything else that they knew had happened. She also had a recent letter from Charlotte (written on the back of her correspondence with Elizabeth) which explained what had occurred in the draft copy of the novel, which as far as they knew was now void. 

“My greatest fear is that I have prevented nothing,” Kitty said, “and that Wickham will somehow make off with Lydia despite my interference. The militia leaves in a week; I have tried my best to stay with Lydia at all times, but if I will be able to prevent some terrible incident… I do not know!”

“I will do what I can, though we ought to meet at your house from now on, in case Lydia tries to escape in the night.”

This seemed like the best course of action and Kitty walked home with renewed determination. If Charles could change his story and secure Jane months earlier than he was meant to, if the draft manuscript was to be trusted, then she must be able to save Lydia.

They were all going to make it out of this novel unharmed.

Chapter 11: A Pause in Plot

Nothing happened.

At first Kitty was vigilant, especially for the week before the militia departed from Meryton to Brighton, but Lydia, while distraught, did not attempt to run or join the officers. Wickham came one last time and spoke to Elizabeth (Kitty a silent observer); then he left them without incident. No plot seemed to be occurring, unless one was to count frequent bouts of complaining from Lydia and Kitty’s characters, and Mr. Bingley’s frequent visits and eventual marriage to Jane. 

The wedding was unremarkable. It was a small affair, Bingley’s sisters and brother-in-law came from London and then left for Scarborough a few days later. Jane moved to Netherfield and they all visited frequently. That was all. Most of the time, everyone besides the awake characters were empty.

As far as Charles or Kitty could discern, the next event would be Elizabeth’s tour of The Lakes and everything was waiting until then. It was not such an imposition to wait, as they spent their time together pleasantly enough. Their only regret was that Charlotte could not be with them.

“Is it not strange to be married to Jane while she is not aware?” Kitty asked one day.

“It is somewhat lonely,” Charles admitted. “It would rather more pleasant if we were both aware. I feel obliged to tell you: I only interact with Jane when she is not empty.”

Kitty’s eyes widened, “Then are you-” she hesitated.

“Am I what?”

“Are you even married?” she finished in a whisper, blushing deeply.

Charles laughed, “Do you really want to know?”

“No, I would rather die,” Kitty said, her face burning.

“My greatest hope is that when this novel is over, Jane will really be alive.”

Kitty nodded, “That is what I hope as well, which is why I could not allow Lydia to go off with Wickham. For her to be finally aware and married to such a man! Though Charlotte also supposed that we may… fade away when the novel is over.”

“I prefer to live in hope, but if we do die, at least I know that I fought for my love.”

Kitty smiled, “And I tried to save Lydia, whether I succeed or not at least I tried.”

“I will help you if I can, she is my family too.”

As nothing happened for several weeks; Kitty will be forgiven for lowering her guard. Elizabeth was on her modified trip to Derbyshire, which all the awake characters (Charlotte by letter), assumed meant she would meet Darcy again. With the heroine away, very little was happening in Meryton. Kitty had taken to spending the day at the pianoforte and visiting Charles only occasionally. With nothing to talk about, they had taken to sleeping at night, and so, it was one disastrous morning when Kitty woke up and Lydia was gone.

Kitty’s first thought was that Lydia was downstairs, though that was unlikely as Lydia almost always slept in later than the others. When she arrived at the breakfast table and did not find her sister, she ran back upstairs. Throwing open the wardrobe, she shrieked upon seeing it nearly empty. There was a note on Lydia’s bed, she tore it open.

My dear Kitty,

You will laugh when you know I am gone, and I cannot help laughing myself at your surprise to-morrow morning, as soon as I am missed. I am going to Brighton and if you cannot guess who to see, I shall think you a simpleton, for there is but one man in the world I love, and he is an angel. I should never be happy without him, so think it no harm to be off. You need not tell mother and father of my going for as long as it can be helped. After all, will the surprise not be greater when I write them and sign my name Lydia Wickham? What a good joke it will be! Tell them I am ill in bed and I will be far away before they know. I can hardly write for laughing.

Your affectionate sister,

Lydia Bennet

Her first inclination was to collapse on the floor and cry, or run to her mother. Kitty thought for a moment and realised that both of these impulses were authorial. “No,” she said, “What would a heroine do in this situation? My mother will go into hysterics and then everyone would know what Lydia has done. If we can recover Lydia before anyone notices…”

Then she burst out, “How was this concealed from me? Have they been communicating somehow? Lydia was always talking about Wickham but it was so repetitive I stopped listening.”

She thought of their walks to Meryton and realised for the first time that Lydia had often stopped at the post office, something which had never occurred before. “How foolish I have been!” She searched the room and found a bundle of letters under Lydia’s mattress. They had been corresponding since Wickham had left for Brighton.

Kitty dried the tears which had unconsciously been running down her cheeks. She did not feel like crying, she only wanted to get Lydia back by any means possible. Running downstairs again, she found that her father and mother were both awake. She held the bundle of letters in one hand and Lydia’s note in the other.

Words formed in her mouth, she was to tell her mother in sobs that Lydia was gone to Brighton. She gulped them down, and trusting in Bingley’s account of his own success, forced from her mouth, “Send… away… the servants.”

“What do you mean by that, Kitty?” her mother asked.

Her original lines rose again, but she said again: “Send… away… the… servants.”

Mr. Bennet gave her a strange look, but then did as she had asked. “What is so important to tell us, Kitty?” he asked.

Kitty breathed deeply, and finally let the demanded phrase leave her lips, “Lydia has run away to Brighton! To be with Wickham!”

Mrs. Bennet gasped and sank back in her chair, Mary exclaimed, and Mr. Bennet looked rather green. The next words were to be some mournful nonsense about how Kitty was unhappy that Lydia had left her behind, but instead she said, “You must… recover her… as soon as you can, father. Ask Mr. Bingley…” she was now seeing red and barely able to breath, “for help. No one must know.”

She then walked to the fire and threw the letters and note into the flames. She turned back to her family. Her authorial words still stuck in her throat, she said authoritatively, “Lydia… has gone to visit Aunt Gardiner. That is what we will say.”

Her father, for the first time in Kitty’s entire life, looked proud. Her mother was another story, and it quickly became apparent that her cries would be heard by the servants and maybe even into the village if she was allowed to carry on.

“Mary, Kitty, take your mother upstairs. I will send a note to the Bingleys. We must find Lydia as quickly as possible. Not a word of this is to leave the house, only speak of it to Hill, as she must attend to your mother.”

Kitty wanted to dance with delight, but she contained her exuberance and solemnly led her mother out of the breakfast parlour and into her sitting room. Leaving a very reluctant Mary with their mother, for she claimed to have a great deal of study that was being interrupted, Kitty ran back downstairs to await the arrival of the Bingleys. Jane was very pale and trembling when she arrived, her husband only seemed resolute.

“I have sent word to Elizabeth to ask for our uncle to aid us in the search,” Jane said. Kitty thought it was somewhat odd that Jane would write, but she supposed it was necessary for the story to recall their sister from her trip.

Charles, in character, offered his horses and carriage. When his scene was over, he turned to Kitty and said, “Even if we cannot immediately overtake them, I will do everything I can to prevent Lydia from marrying Wickham.”

“If the manuscript is to be trusted, Lydia and Wickham will hide in London. Darcy finds them there, through Mrs. Younge.”

“I remember,” Charles said just before he was whisked out the door by the author. Kitty knew she would be trapped at home by the author, she could only wait and hope.

Chapter 12: Recovering Lydia

Charles was unsure if his presence in London could do any good. He had no more idea than his father-in-law where Mrs. Younge lived, though he had the advantage of knowing her name, and if he did manage to find Lydia out of scene, how would he convince her to leave with him? Empty characters generally resisted all attempts to move or touch them. 

All that they had discovered in scene thus far was that Lydia had not continued to Brighton, she was most likely still in London. What Charles suspected, but could not confirm, is that Wickham had fled from Brighton already due to debt and was also concealed in the metropolis. After all, tht was what had been written in the draft manuscript. He and Kitty assumed that the author was trying to reclaim the plot that she had disrupted by preventing Lydia’s trip to Brighton.

Bingley had several advantages over his companion, Mr. Bennet, and right now the chief of these was that he did not require sleep. They had taken a room at a hotel and the moment Mr. Bennet went to sleep, Mr. Bingley was back out of doors searching for Mrs. Younge. He had a vague idea of where she might be, gleaned from her situation and station, so he began in the most likely places.

He found the lodging house at about 4:00 a.m. and as Kitty had before him, he was forced to search the bedrooms for Lydia. He feared that he might find her with Wickham, but when he finally came across the right room she was alone. There was a letter on the side table, he picked it up and lit a candle.

It was from Wickham. Kitty had read over all the other letters Lydia had in her possession before burning them and they had contained no information about her flight or where she might meet her lover. It was because this letter, which Lydia had retained, gave all the directions.

“It seems odd that he would know the date of his flight from debtors,” Charles mused as he set the letter back down. Then he laughed and said, “The author is desperately trying to fix her plot, we have been ruining it for her. Now it has become less sensible.”

For a moment he reflected that novels must have plot, and danger and intrigue, or else who would ever read them, but as he did not mean to sacrifice his sister-in-law on the altar of entertainment, he left off that line of contemplation and wondered how to bring Lydia with him. He had walked to this part of town; there was no way he could call his carriage out of scene. He wondered if it would be at all possible to carry Lydia back to the hotel, but while he thought he could probably carry her weight so far, he could not bear her while she fought against him for so long a time. It would be impossible.

He decided at last to remain with Lydia until he was recalled to a scene, and then he would do his best to tell his father-in-law what he had discovered. Wickham might arrive at any moment and then it would be difficult to prevent marriage. As it was, Lydia was imprudent, but she was in no real danger of being required to marry.

Charles watched over Lydia until about eight in the morning, when he was recalled for breakfast. Mr. Bennet was awake and anxious; he was outlining a plan to check the road to Brighton for any traces of Lydia. Charles was meant to agree, but instead he forced out:

“I found your daughter, she is staying at — St, the boarding house of Mrs. Younge.”

Mr. Bennet looked at him in wonder. Bingley waited to hear the sound of scratching, preparing himself to again defy the author’s wishes, but instead he heard what sounded like a distant sigh and suddenly the words waiting to be spoken were exactly what he wished to say, “My friend Darcy told me some time ago that Mr. Wickham was associated with a Mrs. Younge, so I made inquiries.”

There was nothing more to say, the two men left as soon as the carriage could be called and very soon, a sixteen year old girl was roused from her bed at a lodging house bed and taken back under the protection of her father.

Kitty was trapped at Longbourn but there was plenty for her to do there. For her plan to be successful, her mother must be prevented from spreading the news about Lydia abroad, whether to their servants or any of their so called “friends”. At first, Lady Lucas came around so often that Kitty began to believe that she had moved into the front room. Recalling that Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine played a part in the final scenes of the novel, Kitty assumed that Lady Lucas was sent in an attempt by the author to spread the news of Lydia’s elopement.

Kitty insisted, over and over again, that her mother was ill, until her mother’s false friend finally stopped coming to call. It was a constant effort to keep her mother from ruining the entire family.

It was fewer days than even Kitty had suspected before they had word from her father. His letter put an end to Mrs. Bennet’s “illness” and restored peace at Longbourn: Lydia had been recovered and was with their father. Charles had written on the back of the letter, only to Kitty, assuring her that Lydia was safe and that Wickham had not touched her.

The only question left in Kitty’s mind was how the author would now bring about the reconciliation of Lizzy and Darcy. They had prevented everything which had formerly brought them to a good understanding. There was no more Lydia to save, no submission to marrying into such a brother-in-law as Wickham. If Darcy had been aware, he probably would have thanked them, yet how was he to win the affections of his love?

“Have I ruined Lizzy’s happy ending?” Kitty wondered unheard. “No, I think not. The author wants them together and they must have met at Pemberley. Some other circumstance will arise to bring them together I am sure.”

She told herself this and tried very hard to believe it.

A few days later, both Lizzy and Lydia returned home in company with Mrs. Gardiner, to solidify their innocent falsehood and recover her children. Mr. Bennet and Mr. Bingley had already arrived, quietly triumphant. Kitty watched over Lydia, afraid that the author might try to ruin her again. Very soon, however, she was comforted by a letter from Mrs. Gardiner to Elizabeth.

It seemed that Lydia had let slip that Mr. Darcy had met them in London and Lizzy had written to her aunt to inquire into the circumstances.

It was a very long letter, but the substance was this: Mr. Darcy had secretly purchased Lydia’s correspondence to Wickham and destroyed it, protecting Lydia’s reputation. It had cost over a thousand pounds, which was the sum total of Wickham’s debts.

“This is the act of kindness towards our family that will change Lizzy’s mind about Darcy!” Kitty exclaimed. Then she shivered, “Is the story coming to an end? What will become of us?”

Lady Catherine visited Longbourn and the next day Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth were engaged. Bingley invited his friend to stay at Netherfield. The entire family was overjoyed. Kitty was alone in fear and worry, what would happen to them now. Charlotte returned home for a visit from Kent and the three aware friends braced themselves for whatever was to come.

They were gathered together one night at Netherfield; the Bingleys were hosting a ball.

Charlotte sighed, “The novel must be over soon, the main characters are engaged.”

“We made it here alive,” said Kitty, taking each of their hands in her own, “What happens next?”

“Either we die or we live,” Charlotte whispered.

“Do we live as we are, surrounded by empty people?” Charles asked, “I do not know if I could exist like this forever.”

Charlotte sighed, Kitty shivered, and Charles looked longingly at Jane, who was smiling and nodding at her sister. Without an answer, they held hands and looked out the window, into the darkness of a starless sky. The music played behind them, people danced, and spoke without making words. Then the room got louder.

“It must be a scene,” Kitty said, when they heard voices and laughter.

“Not a scene…” Charlotte murmured. Then she nearly shouted, “Kitty, Charles! Look!”

She tore her hand away from Kitty’s and pointed at the sky.

“Stars!” Kitty cried.

Moving as one person, rushed from the window and out of doors, someone calling after them as they ran. The night was crisp as cool, Kitty could hear horses neighing in the distance, waiting to be retrieved after the party. The night was no longer silent. The sounds did not repeat. The sky above them was dotted with a thousand tiny lights.

“Is the world… real?” Kitty asked.

“We should return inside,” Charles said.

Kitty ran to her mother and said, “My name is Elephant Mousepot and my nose is blue.”

Mrs. Bennet snorted, “What nonsense is that, Kitty?”

Kitty could not help embracing her, “You heard me!”

Her mother frowned, “I always hear you, and what havoc it does to my poor nerves!”

“Ah, your nerves, I will do better to preserve them,” Kitty promised. She glanced over at Charles and saw that he was trying his best not to cry. “Jane is real too!” she said out loud.

“What do you mean, Kitty?” her mother demanded.

Kitty laughed, “I will need to stop saying my thoughts! Now that you can all hear me.”

“When could I not hear you, Kitty?” Mrs. Bennet demanded as Kitty ran to the pianoforte where Mary was playing.

“Mary,” she said, when the song was over, “may I have my turn?”

Mary was all astonishment, but she did surrender the instrument. Jane and Elizabeth looked at Kitty in wonder as she played and sang a lively tune. The room grew quieter. Attention turned to the formerly forgotten Bennet sister. About halfway through, Kitty realised how many people were listening and she almost choked on her song. She resolutely finished and then dashed out of the room.

Charles found her in the library, sobbing.

“Kitty, are you well?” When she did not manage to reply, he continued, “Everyone was amazed by your playing. Even Mary admitted to your talent. You do not need to be ashamed.”

Kitty shook her head and trying to calm herself, at length said, “They can finally see who I really am.”

Charles embraced his sister-in-law. He said softly, “My wife is alive.”

They stayed there together until Charles began to feel that as the host he would be missed and Kitty had dried her tears and lost the appearance of weeping. It took a moment for them to each remember that they would no longer be whisked away to a scene. Kitty went to find Charlotte, who was speaking in an animated tone to Elizabeth. She excused herself and turned to Kitty, who drew her a small distance away.

“Do you regret your choice?” Kitty asked in a low voice.

Charlotte shook her head, “No. I may even enjoy my husband’s company after so long alone. How can I be disappointed about anything? We are alive; everyone is alive, we have a real future ahead of us. And I have a comfortable home.”

“And Longbourn to look forward to,” Kitty said with a smile, for she did not begrudge her friend the eventual inheritance.

Charlotte took Kitty’s hand, “I no longer feel any guilt on that account, your elder sisters are married well and you, I am sure, will find an excellent match. How could you not?”

Epilogue:

After Elizabeth’s marriage and the Bingley’s purchase of an estate near Pemberley, Kitty and Lydia spent most of their time away from home with one or the other of their elder sisters. They remained close friends, or became close friends depending on how one wishes to regard those months where only Kitty was conscious, despite a great change in their friendship. It was Kitty now who led Lydia, scolded her for impropriety, instructed her in manner, and kept her clear of suspicious men. She even attempted to teach her to play and sing, but there her influence was hopeless. Lydia’s charms would remain confined to her beauty and disposition, which was lively despite being softened into acceptability.

Jane and Elizabeth were both highly gratified by the sudden change, though they did not understand how Kitty had transformed into such a different creature in so short a time. They did their best to put her forward in the world. In a year or two she married, and married well. Lydia married when she was almost an old maid, much to her dismay, to an officer in the navy.

Several years after the novel ended, Kitty was visiting her parents at Longbourn at the same time as Charles and Jane, when Charlotte Collins came to see them. She took her two dearest friends aside and opened her workbasket to reveal a three volume novel.

“I found this hidden at Rosings, it’s our novel!”

Kitty and Charles both gasped.

Charlotte held it up for them to examine, “It was the same author as Sense & Sensibility , though I have not found this novel anywhere else. I guess it doesn’t exist in our world except at Rosings. Here is the most interesting thing, all our changes are gone. Lydia elopes with Wickham, Charles doesn’t return to Jane until the fall.”

Kitty picked up the third volume and flipped through it, “How is this possible? We changed all of this.”

Charlotte shrugged, “Perhaps the author went back and edited? Though why this would not change our reality, I cannot say. It is a very good novel; what we did ruined a lot of the plot.”

“I am not sorry,” Kitty said seriously. Then after a moment’s thought she added, “What if there is another novel world, where the author’s plans were not disrupted?”

“That is not our concern,” Charlotte said sensibly, “we did what we could here and we saved your sister. If there was another world, how would we know or travel there?”

“You are right,” Kitty said, trying to put the thought out of her mind.

“Can I borrow this?” Charles asked, intently reading the first page.

“Of course,” Charlotte said with a smile. “It was very interesting to read what ought to have happened, and even what the narrator thought of us all. I do think it is best that we keep this a secret from our families.”

Kitty blushed as she thought of her giggly, silly character, but she did read the novel after Charles and was forced to admit that it was very good. It did not give her any regrets however, and she never learned to apologise for what she had done.

Years passed. The time that Kitty, Charles, and Charlotte had lived inside a novel began to seem like a distant dream. If any of them had been alone, they might have begun to believe that it had been a fantasy, except for the copy of Pride & Prejudice that they always kept hidden and the close friendship which had been formed by their mutual struggle.

Thank you for reading! You can check out my other works on my homepage or on my short stories page.