A Match for Mary Bennet (22 page)

Bingley let the Colonel finish his wine before asking him to go on. “So, did you find him where he fell?”

“No. Actually, he said he lay there for a day, until his water gave out, and he knew he must find some. By then he had heard water lapping against rocks, and he carefully crawled over spongy turf and rolled down the bank, feeling intense pain in his head and ankle. Already feverish when he reached the stream, he at first just put his head in it to cool the fever. This did not help much, of course. By the time I found him lying beside the river, he did not respond to my call, and I feared the worst. But when I lifted his head and put brandy on his tongue, he opened his eyes. Then I went to work in earnest to revive him. I washed his wounds with an alkanet solution and rubbed some pine resin on them. I applied the dead nettle, sorrel, and broad bean poultice I had prepared earlier on his head. I gave him some rose hip tea and put beech leaves on his swollen ankle. It reminded me of finding my good friend Sir Michael on the battlefield with a great head wound. The treatment was the same.”

Darcy looked at him in surprise. “Surely you do not mean Michael Williams, the apothecary who followed you to war?”

“The very one.”

“Was he knighted? I saw him not long ago, and he said nothing of it.”

Fitzwilliam laughed. “No. But our regiment always called him Sir Michael, because after every battle he boasted of his exploits and used to say, ‘If I were only rich enough, the Regent would have knighted me.' We agreed, because it is best to agree with him, and he has been Sir Michael to us ever since.”

Bingley urged him back to his story. “By the time Darcy found you, had you made progress with Sir Henry?”

“His fever had gone down, until we ran out of herbs and food. And he had been able to tell me what happened to him, but by the time Darcy found us, his head was again on fire and he began to talk as if Papa was with him. I was worried, I tell you.” He turned to Darcy then. “Lady Helena relieved his fever with some blackthorn bark tea, and he is quite himself again. His horse had reached the stables again—before us—but Henry refuses my suggestion to rename him, from ‘Gallant' to ‘Dastard.'”

Darcy laughed heartily and interposed, “I am glad for one thing out of all this. I was able to see my cousin's remarkable gift for military leadership. He knew exactly what we must do to raise his injured brother: he ordered blankets and ropes, directed us to lash the blankets to thick poles, and secure the ropes to the makeshift sling. Once Henry was on this battlefield pallet, he told us to string the long ropes taut over sturdy branches on top of the bank. Then, from the river edge, he and George pulled one side, and Watts and I the other until the pallet reached the upper bank. Watts and I had a hard time keeping up with the farmer and the soldier, I can tell you. It is a miracle poor Henry was not dipped in the water again.”

Elizabeth said, “And I am glad for another reason: Georgiana was saved from the tension of these days. By the time she learns of it, she will know the happy ending.” Darcy seconded her feelings, knowing Georgiana's fondness for Fitzwilliam.

Bingley asked only how Lady Helena received Sir Henry's return, learned of her tears of joy, and then permitted other conversation. Festivity lasted late into the evening, and the whole party stayed the night. In early morning, Elizabeth, Darcy, and Mary bade farewell to the Fitzwilliams and the Hursts, who set off for the North. After sampling the breakfast board, they thanked the Bingleys for a grand celebration and a restful night. They returned to Pemberley happy in the thought that Jane and Charles could resume their calm existence. On the way home Darcy asked Elizabeth, “Were you as worried about me as your welcome implied?”

“For that you must apply to Mary. She accused me of inventing a Gothic novel about your exploits. You must never provoke me to it again!” Elizabeth then turned the conversation to Georgiana's expected return from London and how surprised she would be at all their news.

By mid-November, Mary found her cottage to be home indeed. Betsy and Tom resided in the rooms behind the kitchen and provided the great comfort of meals, washing, and whatever she could require. Even as she admired the sculptured yews that stood watch at her door, she now loved even the tawny leaves on the path and the hedges, now mere tufts of twigs along the footpath to Pemberley. She also grew fond of the bridle path through the pine woods, past the lovely trellised porch of Kympton rectory—which reminded her of Netherfield—to the simple two-chambered old church of Saint Giles. On her twice-weekly brisk ride, she could often glimpse the tall, stone steeple all the way, and she wanted to tell Grey Dawn, “There. That's where we are going!”

When the Bennet family arrived from Longbourn for the long winter visit, Kitty surprised her by asking to stay at the cottage in her guest room. Mary was happy for the company, and even happier that Catherine could forgo the luxuries she had praised at Pemberley. She suspected that her sister meant to accompany her to Kympton in order to see Mr. Oliver, and she immediately resolved to walk to church on Sundays so that Kitty could do so.

On her first evening at the cottage, Catherine showed her a letter from Lydia revealing that Wickham had found a kind sponsor, would study and take orders, and now awaited a “very fine living” where they may settle—“one that may well surprise the whole family!” Mary doubted the surprise, but she held her peace. She thought it strange that Lydia could sound so assured, whereas no word of an intended marriage had come from Miss de Bourgh. Kitty invited her to guess about the living, but Mary said only that any provision for a stable home would be a fine thing for Lydia. She knew she could not guess with any but complete accuracy, as Hunsford was the only name that swam in her head. She feared Kitty was disappointed in what must have seemed like Mary's lack of interest, and for that she was sorry.

One Sunday, as Mary prepared to play for the advent service, Tom Hooks whispered shyly to her before going to the bellows. He held out a sheaf of papers. “Please, Miss Bennet, would you read this before I show it to Mr. Oliver? It is an assignment.”

“Of course. May I take it home and return it to you next Sunday?” He nodded assent, so she took the loose papers from him and tried to keep them reasonably straight as she placed them in her reticule. She wondered briefly about this assignment for his teacher and why she should be any judge of it. Perhaps it contained a musical composition, she thought idly as the girls took their places and she arranged her music in order at the organ.

After the service, she gave Tom's request little thought until, arriving back at the cottage with Kitty, she felt the bulk in her reticule. She sent Catherine to the breakfast room while she sat in her comfortable parlour and read the pages, keeping them carefully in order, as he had not numbered them. She saw with surprise that it was a short dramatic work, perhaps a Christmas pageant, and really quite charming, she thought. As she read, she imagined choir members as the angels, and Tom as the shepherd about whom he wrote. She took it along to Pemberley when she and Kitty went there for Sunday dinner. After the meal, when they gathered in the drawing room she read it to Catherine, Elizabeth, and Miss Darcy. As she finished, Elizabeth remarked, “What a charming little piece! I always fancied that Mr. Oliver tutors him to return the favour his own pastor did for him. Now I believe he must see this boy's great promise and wishes to further his education for that reason.”

Georgiana asked to see the script. “I could almost picture the little shepherd refusing to go visit a child in a cave, thinking his duty was to stay with his sheep! How did he ever think of such a thing?”

Kitty also seemed to enjoy it. “Mary, will your choir present this as a play?”

Georgiana, more lively than Mary had seen her for some time, caught the idea. “Yes, what will you do with it?”

“I hadn't thought of that. I thought to return it and tell him how I like it. Do you suppose he may have wished it to be presented?”

Elizabeth said, a bit sadly, “But it is so late for that. How could we ever assemble costumes, even if the girls could learn the simple lines?”

Catherine's enthusiasm bubbled up. “But look at how he has made a main character of one boy and many angels for the group of girls! Do not you suppose he had them in mind?”

Georgiana enthusiastically spoke of old costumes used for Christmas pageants when she came home from school as a child. “We had theatricals then, and do you know, even Miss Anne de Bourgh took part once! I am sure my brother remembers.” Georgiana led them to an upper room full of trunks and old furniture where she extracted from one large trunk many relics of old Christmas pageants. She held up a long white gown. “Won't this be long enough even for Miss Langley?” She pulled out yet another. “This is about right for Dorothy Dixon, do you not agree?” Mary nodded her agreement as Georgiana held it against herself. “I wore this one when I was ten.”

By the time their candles burned to stubs and the hems of their gowns had swept up trails of dust from the floor of the little-used room, they had assembled simple costumes for several shepherds and as many angels, and they folded each again carefully and put it into a box for servants to bring down later for brushing and airing. As they returned, laughing over their soiled gowns and still excited about their project, Mary said, “We have a lovely ‘Glory be to God' which the angels could sing as they enter. The girls love that one.”

Elizabeth smiled, brushing the bottom of her skirt. “And who shall be the audience?”

Mary frowned, taken aback. “I had not thought of that. We could not do it in church.” Reality attacked their rosy scenario, and doubts assailed her. “I am not even sure the girls would wish to do it.”

Georgiana thought that it would be a fine entertainment for the children's Christmas party, provided the girls wished to perform it.

Elizabeth, obviously delighted to see Georgiana's exuberance, smiled broadly. “Good! I wish to see this production if it is to be.”

Catherine, who had never been part of a home theatrical, began to have misgivings. “Much as I do not wish to dampen our enthusiasm, Mary was right to question whether the girls may wish to learn this as much as we wish them to. After all, we are not proposing to don those old costumes ourselves and learn the parts.”

Mary decided to approach the girls on Wednesday. “Georgiana, please do nothing about costumes unless I can be sure that Tom and the girls agree.” Mary dearly hoped that if the production took place, the Reverend and Mrs. Wynters could be present to see the young folks involved again in Yuletide festivities.

After practise Mary had a few words with the girls about their practise until Mr. Oliver left, so as not to spoil Tom's surprise for his teacher. Then she read the script to the girls. The girls all showed an immediate desire to participate, and Bella Hooks assured her of Tom's approval. “He even said he could bring his friends to play some of the other shepherds!” Mary saw that Tom had fully anticipated her. The girls chose parts for themselves before even thinking about costumes and offered to come on Saturday to practise. When Mary told them she would bring costumes, they were doubly eager. They came to look at the manuscript to read their lines and say them over before leaving for the evening. Mary had to shoo them out, lest Mr. Oliver worry that they were walking home too late. Most of them left reciting lines as if they meant to learn them that very night.

On Saturday, it appeared they had done much of their memorising. Tom appeared with some friends who took great interest in the shepherd costumes. Mary imagined that Tom had actually coached the eager young people. Mary realized that this must have been the boy's desire all along. The costumes created much glee for the impromptu cast there assembled, and each shepherd and angel chose a fitting robe. The hubbub in the loft must have reached the ears of Mr. Oliver working below to prepare the sanctuary for Sunday, and Tom grew nervous lest his teacher grow curious. He begged Mary not to tell the vicar, who had not yet seen the lesson. He said quietly that he truly hoped Mr. Oliver could judge the production by seeing it played rather than reading it. This started a chain of requests.

“May my parents come?” “Oh, my mother would love this above all!” “Oh, please may my father hear it? He is a shepherd!” Mary had to say she could not promise such a thing.

“I must ask Mrs. Darcy about this. The coach house cannot hold such a crowd as you wish to impress! We must wait.”

“Oh, please,” begged Tom, “do ask good Mrs. Darcy!”

Mary feared that Elizabeth would regret her kind offer. She would speak to her sister, but she warned the youngsters not to count on having so great an audience.

When Elizabeth heard the problem, she said immediately, “Why that is quite simple: the young people must give two performances. On the feast of Saint John, if they come to the ball with their parents, they can perform for the adults. Our guests will enjoy it, and it will add greatly to the noel singing.” Mary was doubly delighted at this, knowing that Mrs. Wynters would indeed see the young folks having their very own part in the Christmas celebration.

Back at the cottage after the Christmas ball, Catherine sat in the parlour, declaring herself too exhausted to ascend the stairs. Then, she proceeded to go over all her delight in the evening, not the least of which included two dances with Mr. Oliver. She also complimented the cast of Tom's little play, which everyone had enjoyed greatly. “And you know, the last scene, where the angel comes in dressed as a shepherd to offer to tend the sheep was best of all! It was a grand idea to let the angel costume show under the shepherd's robe, so anyone would know it was really an angel.”

Mary laughed. “That was the invention of necessity. There was an angel dress long enough for Miss Langley, but no shepherd one, and she had no time to take one off before putting another on.”

“It came out perfect,” said Kitty, “and they certainly learned their parts well in so short a time. I told Tom what a fine work he had written, and I heard Mr. Oliver tell him so too.” Kitty sprawled on her chair, her legs extended. “Do you know what his assignment was?”

“No, Tom never told me.” Mary took the tray Betsy brought for them, thanked her, and said she would not be needed further.

“Mr. Oliver told him to illustrate Saint Luke 21:34. Tom said he chose the part about ‘worldly cares' because they involve everyone and people even think of those distractions as virtues, since they see it as their duty. Mr. Oliver declared it splendid, and so did I.” Mary had to agree, and she went to bed feeling that for once she had thoroughly enjoyed a Christmas ball at Pemberley. Part of her pleasure had consisted in Stilton's absence, as she had feared the Bingleys might have invited him. But mainly she felt she really belonged to Pemberley now, and she knew some of the local folks, especially those of Kympton. She had danced with some of them as well as with her brothers, and she had been pleased to see Mr. Oliver dance with Kitty, and even with Lydia, whose attendance did not affront Mary this year. Rather, since she learned that Lydia had travelled without Wickham, she feared her sister may be on another begging tour, and she pitied her. Mrs. Wynters had found Mary and told her, “The angels and shepherds were such a grand addition to the festivities this year. I told young Tom how fine I thought it.”

Surprisingly, Miss de Bourgh had attended with Mrs. Jenkinson, commandeering all the comforts formerly accorded Lady Catherine. She spoke more often and more forcefully than Mary had ever heard her before, and she had long converse with Mr. Darcy, causing Mary to wonder about an announced wedding in the offing. Miss de Bourgh did not dance, however, and wore only mourning dress throughout her stay.

At supper Elizabeth had noted that Wickham's pretension in trying to become a preacher had no more genuineness than Blaise Castle's pretension to historical value. Jane chided her gently, saying she had always hoped for Wickham's desire to turn from immature things. Mary saw that her sisters accepted the turn of events in Kent and seemed to do so with no regrets that Anne had not been warned in time, so she relaxed also in the prospect of Lydia's possible advancement. She knew that Mr. and Mrs. Collins had declined attending Pemberley's ball, and she hoped it was only because Collins did not wish to be away at Christmas from his post at Hunsford. She truly wished them the best, even as she desired so fine a place for Lydia and her husband, especially if he had, as Jane hoped, cast off his immature ways. They had also mentioned the absence of Colonel and Mrs. Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth opining that Mrs. Fitzwilliam probably preferred to celebrate at Norwich Mills with the Earl.

The following day Mary came down late and found Kitty in the breakfast room ahead of her, humming to herself. Catherine, with a knowing smirk, asked, “Have you heard anything of late from Mr. or Mrs. Collins?”

“Not at all, except that they could not come for the Christmas ball. Surely Mr. Collins does not leave his parish at the holy season.” Mary refused to ask for the intelligence that Kitty apparently wished to have teased from her, though Kitty resumed her humming and appeared ready to burst with it. No doubt Lydia had revealed Wickham's whole plan to her. Mary wondered more about what Darcy had learned from Miss de Bourgh, but of course, she would not ask him.

Only after the Christmas visitors had embarked for Nottingham, Kent, and Longbourn, did Mary find time to try the cottage pianoforte her sisters and brothers had presented her for Christmas. As she played a quiet and dreamy andante, she reflected on the stirring music of the Christmas service, realizing that the choir girls had been far easier to handle since they had undergone the rigorous treatment by Mrs. Clifford. She hardly knew that lady, but she conceived a gratitude for her. Oh, Emmaline still flirted with Mr. Oliver at practise, but she did not have to endure further mockery of herself, and their parents had expressed such pride in the girls' performance that Mary felt a new contentment in her situation. Though her sisters were still too bountiful—she caressed the keys of her spinnette—she would not in the future be forced upon their hospitality. She would find contentment in her different kind of world, and she looked ahead to the promise of tranquil days.