A Match for Mary Bennet (16 page)

The family reached Norwich Mills—a fine settlement in gently rolling countryside—in good time for the fashionable autumn wedding. The earl's mansion—a large, comfortable-looking edifice with a white-pillared entrance at the end of an elm-shaded sweep—heralded a happy visit. They were met by Caroline Bingley, who spoke and acted as if she were hostess, and never had she been more ingratiating. Jane and Mrs. Hurst were present also, as was the Earl's daughter-in-law, the amiable Lady Helena. When the shooting party returned for tea, Colonel Fitzwilliam introduced his portly father and his handsome brother Henry. Then the young Lady Helena, though still quiet, modest, and respectful, livened in her manner as she gravitated to her husband. She let Viscount Henry do all the talking, but her face plainly showed an interest in all around her, which had been absent while he was not there. Though not strikingly beautiful, Helena flashed a pleasing smile frequently at her husband, and Mary noted that her dress, though fine, was not ostentatious. Caroline's jewelry bespoke more grandeur than did Lady Helena's.

Darcy and Bingley, who had come early for the rehearsal, entered the room and enquired about the Bennets' journey, and Mr. Hurst followed, saying nothing as usual. Mr. Bennet allowed that the trip was less tedious than arduous, which he supposed every journey ought to be. Mrs. Bennet complained of the wind whistling incessantly through the coach, affecting her nerves most disastrously. Mary stated that the countryside was lovely and the weather dry, if blustery.

Elizabeth, Catherine, and Georgiana were expected next day, the morning of the wedding. That evening, however, just as the whole party gathered in the drawing room after supper, a sound of voices at the grand entrance alerted the company to their earlier-than-expected arrival. Georgiana hurried to embrace her brother, offer her good wishes to Caroline and Fitzwilliam, and greet the others. Elizabeth, having greeted the Bingleys and the Fitzwilliams, threw Darcy a look that bade him follow her to a secluded corner where, with hushed whispering, she handed him a letter. Mary noted Darcy's surprise at whatever news Lizzy brought, as he tore open the letter with a puzzled look. Just then Catherine, having embraced her parents and greeted the others, came over to Mary.

“Guess who came to Pemberley two days ago! Mr. Oliver! He said he had seen you. What were you doing in Kent?”

Mary, pleased that Oliver had hurried to Pemberley to see Kitty after all, explained her short stay with Maria at Hunsford. She would have added tales of her adventures on the road, as well as the cautions she meant to give Catherine about the strange man's changing moods, but servants came with tea, scones, and fruit for the new arrivals, and Catherine left her for the refreshments, excusing herself with, “I am famished.” Mary quietly observed the company that had now grown quite large but had quickly separated into knots of quiet conversations. Henry Fitzwilliam detached himself from Helena, Georgiana, Caroline, and the Colonel, and approached the Earl with a look of concern on his face. Because he raised his voice to the older man, Mary heard him announce his worry about Darcy.

She turned to see Darcy holding his opened letter, his expression serious, even fretful, in contrast to the high spirits of the augmented party. Then Darcy seemed to fight off his distress and escort Elizabeth to the refreshments. As they passed Mary, she heard him saying he must not dampen the festivities, but he must leave for Kent immediately after the wedding. Henry approached him as Elizabeth took tea, and Mary thought she heard some reference to Lady Catherine's health. Mary immediately felt she must be mistaken, as Lady Catherine had been well when she left Kent not long ago. Then Catherine beckoned her, and she joined her sisters.

The wedding, most delicately grand to the obvious satisfaction of Caroline and Mrs. Hurst, was a ceremony fitting an earl's son, though that earl's son seemed only just tolerant of the pomp. It took place on a sparkling crisp autumn day which later added to the festive send off of the happy couple. They headed to Castle Park and were followed by Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, who wished to see where Caroline would live. Mr. Bennet turned from the avenue to the stables to check on the readiness of his horses and carriage for the next day's journey south. Mary, to enjoy the fine day, accompanied him. There they observed Darcy already mounted on his fine black steed. Henry Fitzwilliam stood at his side. “If Lady Catherine should die, send express to me, so the Fitzwilliams may be represented at the funeral. I adjure you: do not bother my brother at such a time.”

Darcy frowned down at him. “Of course. But I pray it does not come to that.”

“We all do.” Henry watched Darcy ride off, looking after him long and pensively before going back to the manor.

The following morning at the breakfast board, Elizabeth sat apart from the still-jubilant guests, and Mary noticed that she ate little. If the difficulty concerned Lady Catherine, Mary could not but wonder at Elizabeth's sorrow over so disagreeable a lady. Surely there had been little enough love between those two to lose. Or, remembering how Elizabeth missed Darcy on a previous occasion, it could possibly be Darcy's loss she felt. She must have expected to return to Pemberley in his company.

Breakfast over, Mary thanked her bounteous host the Earl and spoke also to Lady Helena and Viscount Henry before setting off to assemble her things to be put into Bingley's carriage. Elizabeth followed, and when they reached the top of the staircase, Elizabeth took her hand. “Mary, please come to Pemberley for a few weeks. Mama and Papa have agreed to stay awhile, and you have seen little of Kitty lately.” Then she lowered her voice. “Besides, Jane and Bingley have been giddy as newlyweds themselves, and no wonder! They have been little enough alone since they married. Would you greatly mind staying with me at least until Darcy returns? I mentioned the plan to Jane, but she had some notion that you wish to be in Nottingham for reasons of your own.”

Mary examined her feelings and decided that was not actually the case. Just then Jane joined them. “Oh, Mary, you have already had a visitor at Otherfield, and most disappointed indeed was Mr. Stilton that you were not with us a week ago.”

Warmth crept up Mary's face, and she worked to school her voice to indifference. “Oh, we played some duets at Longbourn when he visited his aunt, Mrs. Long. He is very musical—an unusual thing in a man.”

“So I understood. And immediately I made plans to start Beth at the instrument, lest I be remiss as a mother. One never knows when music may attract a beau. Perhaps when you visit, you may introduce Beth to a gentler handling of the pianoforte than she now displays.”

Elizabeth broke in laughingly. “Good heavens, Jane. Have you so much of Mama in you that you begin already to think of Beth's beaux?” The two laughed together, carefree as young girls, and Mary realized that Jane truly had welcomed this wedding.

Mary assured Jane that she would be glad to oblige, though she doubted the efficacy of the instrument as an attraction to men, most of whom take little interest in it. Then Elizabeth pled her case. “Dear Jane, please lend me your visitor at least until Darcy's return. Once Kitty leaves for Longbourn I shall be forlorn indeed. Besides, I have a fine pattern and some lovely blue muslin. I should dearly love to send Mary to you in a new gown.”

Mary did not need a new gown, being more comfortable in her old ones, but she did not mind staying at Pemberley long enough to explore that Blake book she had not had time for. If Catherine too stayed awhile, she may even have time to warn her of the strange Mr. Oliver, so that she may open her eyes and judge for herself if she wished to pursue the acquaintance. He might, after all, be again visiting the Pemberley library, and if Kitty refused to be discouraged, Mary could be philosophical about it and hope to see three sisters well married and in the vicinity. In such a case, she might not have to depend too long on any one of them. She could explore three libraries, play on their instruments, and walk their varied grounds—a bright prospect indeed. She let Jane know that she would gladly accept Lizzy's offer.

After they had seen the Bingleys off, Elizabeth took Mary's arm. “Thank you for agreeing, for Georgiana's sake as well as for mine and Jane's. When you are here to play duets with her, she seems livelier somehow. Otherwise, she so often plays and sings ‘The Mansion of Peace,' and I fear she reverts to the doleful tempo she used to play before she knew the whole piece.”

Mary said, “Perhaps there is more to her childhood past that she wishes to recall. Can Darcy not help her?”

“I fear not. He says he was at school during her earliest years. He did think that Lady Catherine might be able to help her, as he guesses that their father sent her to their aunt to be cared for during his long mourning for their mother. But if Lady Catherine is really dying, that avenue too may be lost. Please try to bring Georgiana out of the dreamlike melancholy that so worries me.” Lizzy squeezed Mary's hand. Mary told her that of course she was glad to oblige Elizabeth, whether it was to benefit Georgiana or Jane. Still, she puzzled over Lady Catherine. Charlotte must have sent word of some sudden reversal in that lady's health.

Elizabeth smiled sweetly. “Did you see the Bingleys' smiles? One could easily take them for the wedding couple. But of course, they must have thought Caroline would be with them always, and to find her so well situated and the Hursts so taken with Norfolk must delight their good hearts.”

Mary nodded her agreement, but it bid fair to tarnish the shining future she had just planned for herself. It was all very well to depend on sisters for a visit, but for a lifetime? Would they be hoping all the while to see her marry, and if it happened, would they rejoice in it as Jane did to see Caroline married? Her thoughts turned to young Stilton. True, he was no reader, he boasted that he never so much as darkened a church door, and his moderate estate would provide scant occupation for him. What kind of life would that be? Could she endure so empty an existence? Even to please her family, she did not think she could, but she hoped it would not come to that. She trusted that the ridiculous young man's interest did not even come near to the prospect, despite Jane's sallies. She determined to pray over it, accept whatever future God sent, and attempt to remain easy at heart. At present, it did not seem that her sisters minded her presence, and Pemberley was not only the most comfortable place for her, but the safest. Stilton would certainly not venture thirty miles to seek her. She entered Elizabeth's carriage with Georgiana, still content with her own lot and philosophically indifferent to Kitty's.

The next few weeks showed Mary a Pemberley new to her. Fall still bloomed like summer, and the gardens beckoned. Her linden tree still wore some heart-shaped leaves, and she imagined in them love stretched up to God. Sometimes with Elizabeth she gathered flowers to be dried or witch hazel and herbs to be stored for healing; sometimes she strolled the walk between the coppice and the stream and enjoyed the rippling water and the echoes of woodmen's axes preparing for winter fires. Though she meant to investigate the Blake work, she returned instead to
Pilgrim's Progress
, even taking it with her past the oaks and chestnuts on the north lawn and up wooded hills to where a stone bench overlooked the great house. There she read or worked for a time, watched as the men went out to fish—if Mr. Gardiner visited—or out to hunt, which Mr. Bennet preferred. In Mr. Darcy's absence, Mr. Shepard provided guidance to the well-stocked stream, and Elizabeth entertained Mrs. Bennet and Catherine and, for a short visit, Mrs. Gardiner. Mary never neglected her morning hour of music with Georgiana, and sometimes Georgiana even accepted her invitation to go out and explore the gardens. Once, on a particularly fine day, the two of them shared the stone bench in companionable silence, when Elizabeth and Catherine called them down for a picnic on the lawn. Charles, released from nursery and pram, rolled on the lawn under Callie's watchful eye, and Georgiana produced a ball and played with the lively child, leaving the sisters to converse of Longbourn days.

Catherine spoke of her longing to see Lydia. “Papa never lets me go, though Lydia often invites me. But lately he says he would not even know where to send me if he wished to. Wickham has left the regulars, you know, and they move around so much now.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes indeed. Lydia told me as much when she came this summer, unhappily, that was just at the time when you went with Jane to London to help her shop for Caroline's wedding.” Elizabeth turned to Mary. “I believe she had been at Longbourn as well.”

“Yes.” Mary did not wish to discuss Lydia's desire to see Kitty, as she might well have been no fit influence for her pliable sister. “She just missed you there too, Kitty. But she did not stay long.” Should she say that Lydia seemed unhappy, as Oliver thought? But then, Oliver had put his own discernment into some doubt. She added only, “She did not confide in me.” Callie brought Charles, again in his pram, over to his mother, and Kitty and Georgiana went for a walk by the stream. As an afterthought, Mary added, “From what Mr. Oliver and I heard at the post inn, Wickham had sent Lydia to beg money from the family. He spoke as if he had some scheme to take a living as a clergyman.”

Elizabeth jumped up, and then grabbed the pram which had almost overturned. “Do you mean that it was Wickham plotting with Witherspoon to take over Rosings and Hunsford?” She plopped down again next to Mary. “Why did you not tell me?”

Mary could only think: Witherspoon! The very man she had wanted to meet, and she never looked at him! “But I understood that Oliver had rushed to tell you about Wickham…” Suddenly it dawned on Mary that Oliver had recognized not Wickham but Witherspoon. “Oh, Lizzy, I have been so stupid. First, I thought Oliver went to Kent to learn about Miss de Bourgh and some verger at Hunsford, because I had overheard Lady Catherine and Mr. Darcy in the library at Christmastime. But I felt so guilty overhearing it that I never mentioned it to Mr. Oliver, and he never told me his errand. Then, when he seemed so upset at seeing and hearing Mr. Wickham, I thought rather that Wickham was the real point of his errand.” Close to tears, Mary blurted out, “Oh Lord! It must mean Wickham will replace Mr. Collins at Hunsford. What will our cousin and Charlotte do?”

Elizabeth put her arm around Mary. “No. It means only that he is up to another scheme, which may prove as fruitless as his previous ones—just another folly that comes to naught.” Lizzy picked up Charles, who was fussing since his near upset. “There, there, little Charles. You are going to be fine.” She looked at Mary. “And let us hope little Lucas may be fortunate also.”

“Do you think it may come out all right?” Mary dearly hoped her reticence did not cost Charlotte any difficulty.

Elizabeth shook her head slowly. “We can only wait and see. Darcy and Lady Catherine mean to entail the de Bourgh estate so that Witherspoon can never have the legal power he now takes for granted. We must pray that all goes well in Kent.”

Catherine and Georgiana returned, and Elizabeth, Callie, and the baby returned to the house with them. Elizabeth told Mary she had a letter to write, and Mary guessed that it must be to Charlotte or Darcy. Mary tried to resume her reading, but the words swam before her eyes meaninglessly, her mind on Darcy's endeavours. Elizabeth's voice had rung with worry but never despair. Her faith in Darcy, palpable as her love for him, confirmed Oliver's judgement on their marriage, no matter how he belittled his own discernment. His self-reproach on that very trait must have been founded on his observation of Witherspoon alone, without any knowledge of Wickham's influence. He had missed Witherspoon's treachery, and he blamed himself for it. Was his real fault that he, like Jane, thought too well of people and failed to recognize a scoundrel? Perhaps this was the warning Catherine needed. She had to smile at herself as she reckoned that she had been too much with her mother: she already considered Catherine and Mr. Oliver a match!

Sunday, though a steady rain dulled the morning, the Bennets and Georgiana went to Lambton with Elizabeth for divine service. At the church, they met Jane, Bingley, and Beth, who had stayed at Lambton's inn that Saturday night. The Bingleys returned with them to Pemberley. Then the older Bennets took advantage of the rain's cessation to tour the park in Darcy's phaeton, purchased for just such excursions. Jane teased Mary that she came to visit her “tardy guest.” Mary saw that Jane sparkled despite the grey weather, and her heart blessed Elizabeth's thoughtfulness that had promoted this renewal of the Bingleys' bliss. Mary and Georgiana took Beth to the small parlour for fruit and sandwiches, and then, as was their custom, on to the music room for duets. After a short time, Beth slid off the chair where Mary had enthroned her as audience, leaving her soft doll in the chair. She ducked under the piano bench and climbed up between the musicians. In the midst of one of the lively dances Stilton had given Mary, the toddler added a note or two occasionally. The additions did not appreciably diminish the effect, and once or twice seemed actually to enhance the music. When that happened, Georgiana giggled and Mary smirked, praising Beth for her fine musician's ear. Because they laughed, so did Beth, but she did not thereby increase her contributions. She seemed as content to listen as to join in. Jane, Bingley, Catherine, and Elizabeth joined them, and all marvelled at the child's quiet appreciation.

“And has she never pounded the keys or run around the instrument?” asked Jane as the dance ended.

Georgiana assured her that Beth was “either a musician or a critic—she adds a note only when we falter.” Then she invited Kitty to the nursery to “play aunt,” as she called it, and they went out smiling.

Elizabeth complimented Mary on having done wonders for Georgiana's humour, while Bingley complimented his lovely daughter and told Mary she would be welcome at Otherfield as soon as possible. “With your example, she may learn to respect the instrument instead of attacking it as she flies by.”

As if knowing she was the center of attention, Beth touched a few keys tenderly, and then slid from the bench and under Mary's skirts to join her parents. “I play too!”

Bingley swung his bubbly daughter to his lap, just as a servant arrived with an express letter.

Elizabeth tore it open. “It is from Darcy.” After she read a little she groaned. “Lady Catherine has died. Darcy has sent for Henry Fitzwilliam to represent his father and brother at the funeral.” Elizabeth caught Mary's anxious eyes on her. “He says he was not in time to fix the inheritance, but he was glad to be able to attend her in her last days. He adds that the future of Rosings is up to Miss de Bourgh now.”

Mary looked down, ashamed. “And if Wickham succeeds to Hunsford, I wonder how well and how long he will tend his flock.” She searched her mind for any relieving comfort. “At least Lydia may have a real home. I think she did not like moving so often.” As she spoke Lydia's name, she thought of the many times she had avoided doing that, and wondered if Elizabeth noticed the change. It did not seem so. The Bingleys listened and stared, wondering. Beth looked at her sombre parents, and her face puckered as if to cry. Jane soothed the child with one hand and a ready smile, while Elizabeth acquainted them with the scheme Darcy had intended to foil, had he arrived in time. Bingley, understanding aglow in his face, exclaimed, “That was the problem on Darcy's mind in Norfolk! It was not just Lady Catherine's failing health. No wonder he left so precipitately. I trust he does not blame his tardiness? He did what he could.”

Elizabeth examined the letter again. “It does not appear that he feels remorse. He says ‘Whatever comes of Anne's marriage, perhaps it may be for the best.' Oh, but he had not yet received my letter. He did not know Wickham's part in it.” She sat back, dangling the letter from pinched fingers. “Oh, Mary, if I had been more open with you about our fears, he might then have known all from the first.”

Mary, deeply moved by her sister's assuming blame for secretiveness, the very fault she knew to be her own, prayed fervently that all would turn out well.

Jane handed her daughter to Bingley and sat beside Elizabeth. “I wonder. Miss de Bourgh thought ill enough of Wickham. Pride alone may prevent her falling in with any scheme of his. And she certainly will not marry so soon upon her mother's death that she will not learn of it by then.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Perhaps it is as you say, though if she is in love, nothing may change things now. We must hope for the best. And, as Mary observed, even if the worst occurs, at least Lydia may benefit.”