Page 8 of Cousin Conundrum

Father? Kitty frowned.

“She won’t say, to be certain, but everyone knows it’s Willy Steeple, the vicar’s son.”

“I never did like that boy.”

“’Tis what comes from having a father so dedicated to our lord and to his flock that he has no time for his own children,” Mrs. Hock said in the singsong of the oft spoken.

“It certainly is.” After a moment’s pause, Mrs. Hill added, “I can only be grateful it is not our Lydia on her way to Wales. She is a forward one, that girl, and speaking of neglectful fathers…” Mrs. Hill trailed off with a sigh.

Kitty’s eyes went wide as their full meaning came to her. Willy Steeple had got Penelope Long with child, and she would not be rid of the baby with one of Granny Smith’s tonics, but would instead spend a year in Wales. Kitty’s mind leaped to the smattering of women she knew who had ‘visited Wales.’ Did everyone know what that meant? Was that why, when those women returned, her mama was always less friendly with them? Come to think on it, the few Kitty knew of who’d taken such trips had married poorly in other villages and moved away.

Now that was caricature worthy, and would definitely delight the London crowd. Kitty grinned. Inside the room, chairs scraped as the two women stood.

“Kitty, what are you doing there?”

Her head snapped up. Her sister Elizabeth strode free of the mouth of a path that led both to Lucas Lodge and to Oakham Mount. She’d obviously been on one of her morning walks.

Pretending to drop her journal as she stood, Kitty used the excuse to crouch low as she moved away from the house. She didn’t dare straighten until she was farther out into the yard. Hopefully Elizabeth wouldn’t note how awkwardly Kitty fled Mrs. Hill’s window. Kitty couldn’t risk the housekeeper sighting her and deciding that, from now on, she required privacy more than fresh air.

Reaching her sister, Kitty opened her journal to a rather horrendous drawing of the large oak that even now shaded her and Elizabeth. “I wanted to try the oak from a different angle. Is it not splendid?” She thrust the drawing at her sister.

Ever since Kitty had seen a call for caricaturists in one of Papa’s papers, applied, and been accepted, she’d decided that any work she showed her relations must be as dreadful as possible. That was the best way to hide her secret…that she was the caricaturist K. B. Hert, an increasingly popular and sought-for crafter of country-life-mockery Londoners had come to adore.

“Ah, it is, um, better than your last effort,” Elizabeth said kindly.

Kitty beamed at her. “Do you think so? I could give it to you when I am done, for your and Jane’s room?”

“That would be lovely. Thank you. But do not rush your work on my account.”

Kitty continued to smile, for the drawing truly was dismal. “That is, unless Mama wants it to hang in the drawing room.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, you offered it to me first. Jane and I will have that lovely tree for our room.”

Tipping her head to the side, Kitty pretended to think that over, though she wouldn’t be so cruel. Elizabeth would not be required to feel the embarrassment of visitors seeing Kitty’s work, or to endure the torment of having the tree in her room. Kitty would, being known as one of the frivolous Bennet sisters, forget all about giving Elizabeth the terrible tree. It was the least Kitty could do to repay her sister’s kindness. “You are correct. Mama will simply have to wait for me to finish another work before she may have one for the drawing room.”

Elizabeth’s shoulders relaxed, her smile returning. “Should we go in for breakfast?”

Kitty nodded.

They fell in step, going in the scullery door and through the kitchen, then into the breakfast parlor, where they found that Mama and Lydia had yet to put in appearances. Mr. Bennet was there, however, with his paper before him, as were Kitty’s other older sisters, Jane and Mary. Along with Elizabeth, the two soon fell into a conversation about something war-related that Papa read aloud, freeing Kitty to plan her next caricature.

Sheep would be good. Everyone associated Wales with sheep. And a baby, of course, and if she made the baby a bit longer than a baby ought to be, well, that would be a private joke only for her. Surely, no one would take note, and poor Penelope Long wouldn’t ever realize the caricature pertained to her.

But one drawing would not be enough, for she had promised two different London papers new submissions. Perhaps a cartoon of a gambling pig…but what caption would make that amusing to Londoners? She shook her head. No, she needed to hear more. She would suggest a walk to the nearby village, Meryton, to Lydia. Kitty could argue with her younger sister about how Lydia bought too many ribbons, and took far too long to pick them out. That would give Kitty a reason to storm out of the shop, and see her younger sister take a frightfully long time to make her choices. All the while, Kitty could skulk about the village, listening at windows and gossiping. She knew all the best places to learn things.

Smiling at that solution, she set to composing her sheep in her mind.

“What is so amusing, Kitty?” Mary asked.

Startled, Kitty turned to her. “I beg your pardon?”

“You were grinning.”

“Was I?”

“You were.”

Kitty shrugged. “I wonder what I was thinking about?”