Where was I... oh, yes, well our oldest sister is Jane, and she’s the
beauty of the family or so we keep hearing, yadda yadda, natural curls, milk
and roses skin, blue eyes, yeah yeah. And yes she is pretty, in a like,
wholesome milkmaidy slightly chubby sort of way. No style at all poor thing.
We’d hate her for all this praise except she’s so nice. Too nice really.
Sometimes I want to rip her ringlets out and push her down the stairs.
‘Oh Jane,’ goes Lizzy, ‘you’re so nice, so good, you never speak ill of
anyone.’
Hmm, I’m thinking, no wonder she’s got no friends! You know what they say
– if you can’t speak well of anybody, come and sit next to me!
As for our sister Mary, a more heart-rending case you can’t imagine.
She’s pretty much fugly, so Ma doesn’t rate her, so she spends her time reading
and learning stuff in a very in-your-face kind of way. Any idiot can see she’s
trying to get Pa to like her, of course the insensitive git just takes the p out of her non-stop for it. So she
tries all the harder... my life, it’s awful, I’ve tried, honestly I have, I’ve
even offered to do her hair and nails and such, but no, she’s determined to
keep plugging away at her chosen road to desperationville. Kitty’s my nearest
sister and sidekick, I’m the brains of our outfit and she pretty much just
follows my lead really. She’s lucky I’m here as she’s none too bright.
Well as for me, I’ve got looks, modern looks, and style, you either have it or you don’t and I’ve got it in
spades. I am the very epitaph of cool. Plus I’m a double D and I know how to
use it. Or should it be them?
(In case you don’t know, ‘cool’ means stylish and knowing how to dress.
As in, ‘Lydia, you’ll catch your death of cold in that low neckline!’ Me: ‘I’m
just pleasantly cool, thanks.’ Also ‘double D’, as in, deliciously décolleté.
Do keep up!)
Well anyway, Ma was begging and pleading and wheedling Pa to visit this
Netherfield guy. And Pa was refusing. I could tell he was just yanking her
chain, she’s so easy to wind up, poor old soul.
She’s like, ‘Mr Bennet, you
must visit him, so that we can. I’m
thinking of his marrying one of our girls.’
He’s like, ‘Oh, is that why he’s moving here?’ Sarky blighter. He’s got
zero respect for Ma, and it shows. Then he’s all, ‘As you are as handsome as
any of them, he might like you the best.’
I’m thinking, oh yes, throw the old biddy a bone why don’t you,
patronising or what.
She’s like, ‘You take delight in vexing me,’ well give her a coconut, ‘my
poor nerves!’
He’s like, ‘I have a high respect for your nerves,’ like hell he does.
Surely it’s as much in his interest as hers that we get married, as that
seems to be the only career option the ‘rents understand, and who are Jane and
Lizzy gonna meet, out here? They’re practically past their sell-by dates as it
is. And till the old sisters get snapped up, it’s a bit difficult for us
younger ones, it’s kind of a rule, a stupid one but there you go. Suddenly it
dawns on me, maybe Pa really doesn’t give a rat’s behind if we get married or
not, after all he’ll be brown bread when we’re all homeless on the street and
selling our hair and god knows what else to survive. I’d alert the authorities
if I thought they’d listen, but there’s no support except the Workhouse, and
death and dishonour are way better than that. You should see the uniforms
there! OMG. Not an accessory in the place, hot and cold running lice and all
the whippings you can manage, no thanks.
So Kitty’s coughing germs over us all, and Ma’s snapping at her, and
she’s sulking, oh it’s all fun and games at Longbourn.
Kitty says to me, ‘Well this bloke Bingley’s way too old like you said,
so why should we care, even if he does have four grand a year?’
I’m like, ‘Four grand?’
She’s like, ‘Don’t tell me you’d consider it, it’s gross!.’
I’m like, ‘No, but Jane or Lizzy
might do for him, and think of it sis, we can visit them when they’re married,
even go to London with them, and you never know, might meet up with some interesting guys, if
there are any in existence who aren’t soldiers.’
Soldiers... mmm... I’ve heard there’s a certain Captain, whose
regimentals I wouldn’t mind polishing... anyway, we’d at least get a break from
this hellhole. Ma’s panicking in case her nemesis Lady Lucas gets the bloke for
one of her brood of losers, course it turns out Pa did visit him after all,
managed to shoehorn a fifteen minute call into his packed schedule of erm,
reading. So it’s all about the upcoming ball, where this bloke will be on show
like a prize pooch.
Pa scuttles back to the library, and Ma’s all ‘What an excellent father
you have girls!’ yeah right. ‘Lydia my love,’ she goes, ‘I dare say Mr Bingley
will dance with you at the ball, though you are the youngest.’
I’m like, whoop-de-do. ‘Well I might be the youngest but I’m the biggest.’
She’s like ‘Oh yes you are the tallest my love.’
It wasn’t my height I was referring to, if you know what I’m saying. This
ball is the highlight of the social scene here, sad or what. Rumour has it
Blingley, as I like to call this loaded incomer, (Ma going on about all the
gold and jewels he’ll be able to drape over whichever Bennet bags him), is
bringing some friends, hopefully younger brothers, to the ball. Fresh meat!
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