A Match for Mary Bennet (18 page)

The Bennets attended the ball without the Darcys, and they met the Bingleys and the Stiltons at the newly built inn attached to Nottingham Castle. During the evening, Mr. Bennet stayed close to Mr. Stilton, seeing that his wine glass remained full and speaking to him in low tones. After the flow of much wine, Mr. Bennet did more listening than speaking. Mrs. Bennet, charmed by the gracious and lively Mrs. Stilton, complimented that lady of high fashion on her splendid gown, with its long sleeves and low neckline. The two of them, over dinner and punch, discussed that lady of unparalleled nobility, Mrs. Long. “Nellie is such a fine lady of right good sense. No wonder her brother sends his son to her for instruction in country ways. And her cottage is so nicely furnished, you know, with good solid furnishings that have stood the test of time.”

Mrs. Stilton could not agree more completely. “Young people, you know, are hot to change everything. That is such a mistake.”

Mrs. Bennet saw the Bingleys come near in the dance and nodded wisely. “Oh yes. My own daughter stayed but one year in Hertfordshire after her marriage, and then moved clear to Nottingham. Not that I disapprove of Nottingham, mind you. But they had a fine house in Hertfordshire that we could visit daily. However, it is perhaps providential that now they live close to you because Mary is soon to spend some time with them.”

“Really? I believe James did say something of the sort. What a fine, steady girl she is reported to be, and James is quite fond of her already, you know. Would they not make a fine match?” Mrs. Stilton smiled shyly, and Mrs. Bennet beamed upon her. No conjecture in the world could have pleased her more completely. Mrs. Bennet believed in the match because of her firm conviction that marriage was every woman's proper business and Mrs. Stilton for reasons of her own. Mrs. Bennet told the boy's mother that his fastidious style in dress could open Mary's eyes and make her more willing to adopt the latest fashions, and Mrs. Stilton praised Mary's fine, steady, bookish temperament, sure it would somehow make James similarly disposed. The Bingleys danced and chatted on a cloud all their own. Catherine spotted some officers and soon learned which ones loved to dance.

Mary agreed to dance the first set with James Stilton, once she learned that she would not have to touch him very much nor speak often. Indeed, Stilton expected her only to listen as he regaled her with idle assertions and impudent falsehoods that his vanity spawned. Then she spent the evening talking to the Langleys, whom she had noticed during the second dance. This couple introduced her to parents of other choir members at Kympton, and they all pleaded with her to return as organist, but Mary offered them no encouragement. She said merely that Mr. Oliver was competent to assign duties in his parish. Mrs. Langley thanked Mary for her kind advice to Emmaline. “But if Mrs. Clifford does not immediately relent, I don't know if the child will ever try again. She finds it so hard to be humble.”

Mary nodded—wisely, she hoped. “That is a rather universal failing, I believe.”

By the time Stilton returned to lead her to the last dance, Mary reflected that she had indeed grown beyond a thirst for dancing, and the whole rhythmic movement passed for beneficial exercise. On the whole, she preferred riding Grey Dawn, because that was not done in a crowded, stifling room.

In the return coach to Pemberley, Mary listened tiredly to Catherine's delight in the officers and Mrs. Bennet's delight in the Stiltons, while Mr. Bennet, like Mary, suffered their effusions in silence. Upon arriving at Pemberley, however, Mr. Bennet took Mary's hand and detained her in the foyer while the exuberant two entered the parlour to regale the Darcys with their respective triumphs over wine, cheese, and ginger beer set out for them. As Mr. Bennet led Mary to a bench, Catherine could be heard from the parlour saying, “La, you should have been there, Lizzy!”

Mr. Bennet, all seriousness, drew her attention from the other room. “Mary, I have in the past teased you, too often perhaps. Your solemn quotations, your reading while walking, and your original scruples have all amused me at times, I must admit. But I ask you to forgive me that and to believe me seriously when I say I have always loved you and wished only the best for you.”

His serious words and tone moved and alarmed her. “Of course, Papa. I know.”

“Now I want you to promise me that when this Stilton fellow proposes marriage to you, you will refuse him.”

Mary was astonished beyond words. Finally she blurted out, “Oh Papa, it is not gone that far, I assure you. He doesn't mean—”

“He means to ask you, though I agree he does not act the lover,” Mr. Bennet interrupted. “He has already convinced his parents that you will be his bride. Yet, like you, I do not believe he loves you. His smiles mock and his eyes want softness. But even if he came to love you, and more absurdly, if you came to love him, you must refuse him. You would be utterly miserable with him.”

Mary could believe that. “But, Papa, this is absurd indeed. We barely spoke a dozen words together this evening.”

Mr. Bennet shifted on the hard bench. “Yes, I observed that he danced much, while you were otherwise occupied for much of the evening. Did he offer you any refreshments?”

“No, sir. Mr. Langley took care of that.”

“Did he tell you how fine you look in your new gown?”

“No, but Mrs. Langley complimented me sweetly.”

“Did he, tonight or at any other time, show more interest in the things you value than in himself and his own interests?”

Mary thought about that. “No, not that I can recall.” Some of his interests, indeed, aroused her severe distaste.

“Precisely. You see, I had been warned before we ever came north that something about Stilton's interest in you was suspect. For that I am indebted to Mr. Grantley, who took it upon himself to check the boy's background and reputation. He learned that the claim to property from his grandfather is genuine enough, but that his actual moment of possession depends upon his father. This is due, in large part, to the son's careless prodigality. He has lost considerable amounts in wagering, chiefly on horse races, but he indulges in other frivolous pursuits. His neighbours say he is the sort who wishes to carve up the world like a great roast, keeping the biggest part for himself.”

“He never mentions such things to me,” said Mary, astonished at these revelations.

“After plying his father with much wine, I extracted from him the terms on which Stilton may claim his inheritance. At first, his father meant him to receive it on his twenty-first birthday.”

“Yes, so he told me.”

“Did he also tell you,” Mr. Bennet paused and shifted his weight on the uncomfortable bench before continuing, “that his father delays his inheritance by six months for every hundred pounds the boy loses or spends frivolously?”

“No indeed. And has he ever done so?”

“So much that his inheritance is now due on his twenty-fifth birthday, and it recedes apace. It is a classic case of ‘the father gathers, the son squanders,' but in this case the grandfather gathered, and the father only tries to preserve it. But the son is bursting to get his hands on it that he may squander it.”

Mary's eyes widened. After some thought, she said, “I did notice that his only enthusiasm at Pemberley was for the stables.” And for the hives, she thought, with a shudder.

“His mother pleads for him, and she has got her husband to agree that when he marries you, he will receive his inheritance.”

“But what an absurd proposal, Papa. What can they mean by it?”

“Mrs. Long has conveyed to them your good and steady character, recommending the match as if it could communicate such a character to him as well.”

“Impossible. Do they think temperaments are contagious? I have no influence over him.”

“My dear, I do not know what they think, but I know they have no right to use you in this ungallant manner, and I suspect Mr. Stilton thinks the same or no amount of wine would have led him to warn me. Promise me faithfully and solemnly, my child, that you will refuse him.”

Mary, deeply touched and yet puzzled by his insistence on so unlikely an occurrence, hoped for some assurance that her mother might not prevail. “But will not Mama tell me to accept any offer from a man of property?”

“That well may be, but we must face the certainty that this particular young man and his property will soon be parted.” Mr. Bennet stood and placed a hand on Mary's shoulder. “Promise me, Mary.”

“Of course, Papa. I will refuse James Stilton if he asks.”

“Promise. And he
will
ask, probably often and as soon as we leave for Longbourn.”

“I promise. But I do hope you are wrong. And his parents are most unjust to propose such a thing. Mr. Stilton wields all the influence; in fact, he calls me the most biddable young lady he knows.”

“Then you see what danger you are in. He will needle you, pester you, and try every means to make you feel guilty for refusing him. And yet, if you were to accept, you would both be penniless within a year. Do not forget your promise.”

“Of course not, Papa. I will do as you say. Thank you.” And on that, they entered the parlour to mingle with the others.

Kitty was pirouetting around the large parlour as if to prolong the dance or recreate it for Darcy and Elizabeth. Mrs. Bennet, on seeing Mary at last, exclaimed over her magnificent conquest. “Such a fine, fashionable young man, and his mother already fond of you, though you have hardly met her! What a sweet couple you make—and you will be living close to your sister.”

“Mama, do not imagine that I mean to marry Mr. Stilton, even if he asks me. He is not so fine a match as you may believe, and he certainly is not fond of me.” Mary wondered much at her parents' differing impressions.

“He most certainly
is
a fine enough match for you, Mary! His property is considerable, his eye for fashion could improve yours, and he is even musical! What more could you ask?”

“Mama, did not his mother tell you that he ridicules anyone who goes to church, including his own parents? He is a freethinker, Mama. Do not wish that on me.”

“La, child! You cannot expect to have everything in a man.”

“Mama, if I must marry, at least I must marry a Christian.”

“What do you mean
if?
Of course you must marry. And if you wait and wait for a perfect man, you will find that he is waiting for a perfect woman.”

Mary laughed. “Well, that would suit me, Mama. Let Kitty be quick to marry. I do not look for it.”

“Of course Kitty must marry. But so must you. How ungrateful to let a chance slip by, just because he does not suit you in everything.”

Mary's eyes went to Mr. Bennet, who was frowning, and Elizabeth, catching the exchange, turned the subject. “Mama, how did you like Nottingham Castle? And the new inn attached to it?” At that, Mrs. Bennet proved she had truly examined her surroundings, and she praised the sconces, the mirrors, the draperies, the staircases, giving each its due. Mary gave her sister a grateful smile.

Mary left Pemberley the day after the Nottingham ball, waiting only to bid the Bennets Godspeed to Longbourn. Jane and Bingley had come to say farewell to them also, and they meant to transport Mary with her trunk to Nottingham. Then on Thursday, the Darcys visited Otherfield, bringing Grey Dawn to Bingley's stables for Mary, who marvelled at the great man's generous spirit. “And you must not leave her behind again. She is yours, you know.” Darcy took her hand gallantly as he bade her farewell. Mary reflected gratefully that Elizabeth had indeed softened him. Or perhaps, as Lizzy had explained, she found him so and only then loved him enough to marry him.

For three weeks Mary, dreading to respond with the rejection that would mortify her mother, successfully contrived never to be alone with James Stilton. He rode over most mornings on Willie, and if it was early enough, they went riding with Bingley. If Mary had already had her ride, they played duets in the music room, usually with Jane as audience and Beth assisting at the instrument. If he came even later—which often occurred, causing Mary to deduce that he was no early riser—Jane or a servant accompanied them on a walk in the gardens or a chat in the morning room. Jane, who had been apprised of Mr. Bennet's information, most diligently provided a chaperone. On Jane's at-home days, Elizabeth often came, and she also understood Mary's dilemma and did her part when necessary. On the day before some of Elizabeth's at-home days, Mary accompanied Jane in the pony cart to Lambton's inn, and they visited Pemberley in the morning. Mary knew Stilton cared not to follow there, and Jane could visit Elizabeth while Mary aided Mrs. Reynolds in watching Miss Johnstone, whom Darcy had dubbed “the overstuffed wanderer.” Once in the small parlour where Mary followed alone, Miss Johnstone addressed her, to Mary's great surprise. “Are you staying here with your sister again?”

Mary's slight hesitation and her quick look around to see if the lady might have been speaking to someone else betrayed her amazement. “No indeed. I am guest of the Bingleys at Nottingham, but Jane likes company on her ride here to see Lizzy.”

“You are fortunate indeed to visit in such society.” Miss Johnstone fingered a damask chair cover lovingly. “Like your sister, you were not born to it.”

“Yes. I am grateful.” Mary frowned, wondering to what this conversation led.

“Tell me, does your sister always tease Mr. Darcy as boldly as she usually does when he joins the guests for refreshments?” Mary shrugged and nodded. The broad-faced lady continued. “I wonder that he tolerates her impertinence so good-naturedly. Perhaps you might advise her”—she lowered her voice confidentially—“that in a few years, when she has lost her good looks, he may tire of such countrified treatment. Then she may lose her place to one who esteems him, as is proper.” Her look of happy contempt at this thought annoyed Mary, who recoiled at such boldness.

Astonished, Mary could think of no reply but to echo what Jane and Bingley often said. “Mr. Darcy admires Lizzy for her wit. And I believe Lizzy truly esteems her husband. I am convinced that he knows it.”

Miss Johnstone smiled in a superior manner, making Mary aware for the first time of the gap between her front teeth. “As her sister, I supposed you would defend her. But mark my words: her impudence will cost her dearly one day.”

Mary was so taken aback by her attitude that she almost failed to note the souvenir of the day slipping into Miss Johnstone's reticule: a miniature beaker of German forest glass that had adorned the mantel shelf. Mary fought the urge to mention impudence as she held out her hand and said calmly, “Mr. Darcy would miss his sample of Waldglas. He speaks highly of it.”

Miss Johnstone had the grace to blush as she gave her usual excuse. “It might have been mine, you know. I knew him long before your sister did.”

Mary thought, but did not say, “But he married my sister.” Just as Mary replaced the beaker, Mrs. Reynolds arrived to let her know Jane had summoned the pony cart and to remain with Miss Johnstone. She nodded as Mary went out and Jane reached the door of the parlour. On the long way home, Mary wondered aloud, “Why on earth does Lizzy allow that Miss Alicia Johnstone to visit if she requires such guarding?”

Jane, contriving as always to say something good, offered, “The lady appears to be a most loyal admirer of Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth understands and pities her.”

The next morning Jane, tired after her day abroad, declined to accompany Mary when she rode out with Stilton, but Bingley did so, holding Beth before him on the saddle. Stilton, who ignored Bingley and his daughter, kept urging Mary to greater speed, a request which Mary chose to ignore. When they reached a downed tree crossing the forest path, Stilton spurred Willie to leap over it, and he called to Mary to do the same. She shook her head and calmly followed Bingley, who guided his horse carefully around the tree and back to the path. Mr. Stilton raced further up the path and then back to chide them. “Why did you keep an old lady's pace?” Again he spoke to her as if Bingley and Beth were absent.

“Mr. Stilton, we are merely out for relaxing exercise. I have no thought to risk the horse's legs and my neck for a thrill of speed. The air is fine, and Beth enjoys the pace we have set. You, of course, may do as you please.”

He continued to gallop ahead through the woods, coming back intermittently to boast of Willie's pace. Whenever he left again, Mary relaxed, as she and Bingley pointed out to Beth the pretty birds and the lush groundcover. Once she pulled up her horse as Bingley did the same to enjoy the song of a sparrow bold enough to remain close. “Listen to the bird, little Beth.” Mary whispered, “Hear that clear whistle, then a kind of chirp, and finally a throaty purring!”

Beth whispered back in awe. “He purrs like a kitten.” Before starting off again, they inhaled the sweet woody smell of rotting leaves and dank undergrowth. When at last they turned for home, Mr. Stilton had been long out of sight. Back in Otherfield's near orchard, almost to the stable, Stilton pulled up behind them at a sensible pace, and Mary greeted him politely. She was amused to see a twig with a brown leaf in his usually well-tended hair. Then she also noted a scratch on his cheek, with dried blood and a smear of dirt, and she guessed that he had sustained a fall. She became convinced of a mishap when she noted that he, who prided himself on impeccable dress, now sported a blotchy mud stain on his doublet. Perhaps he would not urge her to greater speed in the future. He appeared out of sorts, and his voice was accusing as he addressed her. “I don't know why you chose to stay behind! You are not so young that you must ride like a baby! You might have accompanied me.”

Mary, whether she rode like an old lady or like a baby, did not respond to his affront. She refused to believe that whatever had happened to him had been her fault. He took leave of them abruptly as they reached the stables where Ben waited to take Beth from Bingley.

“How did you like your ride today, little one?” he asked.

“We saw a brown bird!” Beth told Ben excitedly. “And he made three songs!”

Bingley dismounted and helped Mary off, and Ben took the horses, commenting on the state of their shining coats. “Not frothy like that young man's horse.” He watched Stilton ride off as he raced for home. “I believe he will kill that creature riding like that.”

Bingley, smiling as if he too had noted Stilton's disarray, remarked, “Or vice versa.” Mary felt sorry for whatever woman would one day marry that rash young man. She rejoiced in her chosen life, sure that her contentment would lie in being of service to the sisters with whom she would one day live, and only sorry that she could be of so little service to them now.