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Chapter 1

Posted on Monday, 28 July 2003, at

Longbourn House had never fallen into disrepair whilst the Bennets where in possession of it. Mr. Bennet had always prided himself on that matter. It eased the mortification he felt in having not provided satisfactorily for his family.

“Mrs. Bennet,” He would say. “Mr. Collins and his wife may cast you out into the ditch when I pass on, but at least no one in Hertfordshire will ever be able to say that anyone left Longbourn in better condition than Mr. Bennet.”

Of course, Mrs. Bennet had plenty to say on this subject, and it was seldom ever pleasant. Of late, however, even the lady could hardly complain. Her fourth daughter, Catherine, was soon to be married, at their own church, to Mr. Beasley. In fact, the only thing that could possibly taint her happiness was that she still had one more daughter to marry off: Mary.

“Really, sister, it is most grievous to still have Mary loitering about at home. What she ought to be doing is making herself more agreeable to the young men here-abouts. But no, she would read those awful books and ruin her eyes!” Mrs. Bennet often complained to her sister, Mrs. Philips. “She is nothing to me, you know. Why, when I have you at such an easy distance and can easily converse with you. And I am not so young as to make visiting amongst neighbors very agreeable.

Mary, often present or within hearing of her mother, turned a deaf ear and poured herself into her studies even more vigilantly. During her younger years, Mrs. Bennet’s tirades often bruised the tenderhearted child; but the years had toughened her and instead of leaving Mary dispirited, the words quickened her resolve.

Poor Mary had always been sorely underestimated. She was not a great wit like her sister Elizabeth, nor a beauty like Jane. She could not command the admiration of or bewitch those around her like Lydia and Kitty had. Instead, Mary was the butt of jokes, despised by young women, disgusting to young men, and only tolerable to their parents.

Even her own sisters had not been able to pierce through the plain, scholarly facade that Mary had enveloped herself in. Perhaps the young woman had not yet fully understood herself. For Mary, any plot would seem bleak.

However, the ugly duckling had not yet grown to maturity, and a swan may yet be made of her.

As before, Kitty was to be married. The wedding was to take place at Longbourn Church instead of in Hunsford. Lady Catherine de Bourgh would not reconcile herself to the idea that the Bennets had not only succeeded in sweeping off her nephew, but had now made off with her young curate. It was safer to avoid that region of England for the most part.

Kitty and Mr. Beasley were expected to arrive that very day at Longbourn. They would be the first to arrive out of the large party and Mary paced the lawn in nervous anticipation.

As glad as she was for the brief family reunion, it would mean a breech in the quiet, solitary life she had become quite used to. Not to mention, Lydia and Kitty had always been her most outspoken tormentors; she anticipated Lydia’s remarks about her being nearly a spinster. Though she was only twenty, there seemed little chance that she would ever marry.

Mary sighed heavily and shook the unpleasant thoughts from her mind. The sky was very clear this day in July. Mary did not care for the heat, but she paid scant attention to it. The color of the sky had always bewitched her. Jane had had a sky blue dress once, and Mary had tried it on one day when her sisters were out. Few colors ever made her glow so radiantly. For one moment in her life, she had felt that she was beautiful. Maybe it was the color, or maybe it had been the fact that it was Jane’s dress. Either way, Mary remember that moment and promised herself (once again) that she would have a sky blue dress-her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a coach’s wheels running over the gravel drive.

The coach stopped before the great doors and the passengers quickly made their appearance. Mary quickened her steps so that she might meet them before Mrs. Bennet could. She had never seen Mr. Beasley before and was quite curious to see what sort of man her sister had taken. From Mr. Collins letters to her father, he seemed to be a sensible young man who was very eager to extend a charitable hand to the people in his parish. Now, looking at him from a distance, Mary saw that he was also a handsome, able-bodied man.

At last, Kitty spotted her sister drawing near and pointed her out to her fiancé. “Look, my dear, it’s my sister, Mary, coming to greet us.” She said serenely.

Mary was slightly taken aback by her sister’s calm. She had expected something a bit more coarse and loud to escape from her sister’s lips. However, when she had finally reached them, Kitty reached out to embrace her sister warmly and introduced Mary to her future husband.

“And this, Mary, is my dear Mr. Beasley. I know what you are thinking. You must be wondering where I have found such a solemn young man that would dare to take me in as a wife.”

“It has crossed my mind.” Mary said before she could stop herself. She gave herself a mental kick; she had not wanted to slip back into making cutting remarks like she was used to making when Lydia and Kitty were both at home and would tease her. “But, from what I hear, you have become a very generous, good-hearted young woman. And I suppose that that is just the sort of young woman that your Mr. Beasley would be pleased with.” Mary corrected her blunder. Indeed, Kitty had not seemed to notice at all, but blushed prettily. Mr. Beasley remained silent and Mary was actually relieved when Mrs. Bennet hastily joined them.

“Oh, KITTY, my dear child! Come here, let me look at you. Oh! And, Mr. Beasley, come give me a kiss! I am so pleased with you! I believe that you are almost as handsome as Mr. Wickham! Don’t you think so, Mary? Well-come in! Come in! Mary, see that the servant knows where the baggage goes-oh never mind, there’s Hill!” Mrs. Bennet chattered incessantly for the next half-hour, at least, while they waited for Mr. Bennet to descend from his quarters. He had not been feeling quite so well as his family, especially his wife, had hoped. There was some concern amongst the older sisters, but there was little reason to suppose that Mr. Bennet was in any real danger.

“Will any of my sisters arrive today, Mama?” Kitty asked eagerly.

“Lizzy and Jane will be arriving with their families together tomorrow, I expect. I do not know when Lydia will show, she was very unclear about that point. However, my brother and sister Gardiner should arrive in time for a late supper.” Said Mrs. Bennet as speedily as she could. “You know, Mr. Beasley, I was overjoyed when I heard that Kitty was to be married in this parish! It is no comfort to have a beloved daughter married when one cannot even be in attendance.” The lady sighed at the memory of her youngest daughter’s hasty marriage in London.

“No, I can imagine not.” Said Mr. Beasley solemnly. “Though, I would wish different circumstances to have driven us away from Hunsford. My patroness’ displeasure is of little comfort to me.”

“Do you place much worth on Lady Catherine’s feelings?” Mary asked.

“I tend to act upon what I believe to be correct, whether it sits well with Lady Catherine or not, though I mean her no disrespect. However, she is not the most pleasant woman when angered.” Mr. Beasley replied.

Mr. Bennet entered at last and welcomed the gentleman into his home. Mary felt herself relax now that the young man could converse with someone a little more sensible than her mother (though not by much, Mary sighed). Her thoughts turned easily to another matter at hand: the post.

Mary had never told anyone that her greatest desire was to write. Naturally, everyone knew that she was a bookworm and that she could never manage to put books down. That is, when she wasn’t writing. Mary was born with a story in her head and a desire in her heart to tell them to others. Finally, after twelve years of plots, characterization, syntax and quite a bit of crying, Mary felt that she had written at least one novel that might be worth reading. She had called it The Vestiges of Winter. Though she didn’t care to admit it, the heroine was very much like her, and then not. A woman that had no fortune, no looks, and no talent; and somehow this woman is able to attract and marry one of the richest, handsomest, and greatest men in Britain. For some reason, it sounded a tiny bit familiar, only without the handsome Briton.

Almost four months ago, she had sent the manuscript to an editor named James Wilkinson at The Queen’s Publishing House in London and expected a reply or at least the ashes of her beloved novel to arrive with the post.

“Mary. Mary! What is the matter with you, child. Your aunt and uncle have been here a whole quarter of an hour without your notice.” Mrs. Bennet reprimanded her daughter. Mary was quite startled by being thus addressed. She had not realized how much time had passed without her notice. She quickly joined her family in the hall to greet the Gardiners. Mary quietly accepted a kiss from her aunt and a stiff embrace from her uncle. With nothing left to do, Mary and the rest of her family retired to their apartments to dress for supper.

Supper was a quiet affair. Mr. Bennet spent most of the time conversing with his brother-in-law and future son-in-law. Mary reflected on how pleased her father appeared. He finds little pleasure in conversing with my mother and he isn’t terribly interested in what I have to say unless he can laugh at it. Hmm, how sorely Eliza is missed. Mary thought. On Mary’s other side, Mrs. Bennet lectured Kitty about wedding clothes, managing servants, and how many chairs to place in a drawing room. Mrs. Gardiner, in between her sister-in-law’s breaths, was able to throw in some advice of her own. Mary smiled at herself as she noted the overwhelmed look on her sister’s face.

Poor Kitty, it must be such a shock for her. To go from a sill young woman and then suddenly learn to govern herself-only to fall in love and now then to add the responsibility of having to keep a house of her own.

“And what are you smirking at, my dear?” Asked Mrs. Gardiner in her own quiet way.

“I was merely pitying my sister. The advice, though kindly bestowed, seems to be frightening her more than it is helping.” Mary replied, grateful that her mother and sister were not listening.

“I suppose.” Said her aunt. “But, it I like older women to try and warn the younger ones not to make the same mistakes that they made. We’re always a bit nervous that they won’t be able to take care of themselves.”

“It’s a comfort, I would guess.”

“Aye, it is.” Mrs. Gardiner replied. “And what of you, Mary. I have received several letters from you mother lamenting that you seem to have no inclination to marry.”

“That I have no inclination to marry has never been positively affirmed. Simply because I have chosen not to walk to Meryton daily and flirt with every gentleman therewith does not mean that I am disinclined to marry.” Mary told her not to be short but the subject was growing positively tiresome.

Mrs. Gardiner was taken aback by her niece’s reply. She guessed that her sister-in-law was pressing the matter on Mary, but she didn’t think that the girl would have paid much mind. The only other time that she had ever heard Mary hint at having bitter feelings was when Lydia had run off with Wickham. It made the lady wonder what could possibly be going on in her niece’s head.

“Surely, there is some young gentleman in Hertfordshire who has taken a fancy to you, or vice versa?” Mrs. Gardiner continued.

“I can assure you that that is not the case. My sisters: Jane, Elizabeth, and Kitty, have been fortunate to marry where they have. I have never been lucky and I lack the ability to captivate that my sisters posses. For, indeed, we have had several strikes against us. Well, they have had two. I have three. Our dowry is not to be considered at all. There is a blemish on our reputation resulting from Lydia’s misdeeds. However, those obstacles have not hindered my sisters. But, they had something else to recommend them.

“I have often observed in my reading that there is little romance reserved for women who are neither beautiful nor rich. What’s more, few men are inclined toward scholarly females who chose to employ their time to study.

“As you can see, I am of little use to men, unless they seek a steady housekeeper and little more.” Mary said quietly.

Mrs. Gardiner was thoroughly astonished. Mary, she found, was by and large too much for her. Fortunately, the lady was able to turn her attention elsewhere by the boisterous arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Wickham.

Chapter 2

Posted on Sunday, 10 August 2003, at 5

Part A

Mary and her aunt and uncle had gone to bed early that night, each eager to avoid the audacious Wickhams. As she combed her chestnut hair, Mary anticipated the next day. Jane and Eliza would be coming home! True, though it would not be quite the same as when they were younger, it was good to have everyone under the same roof. Mary sighed and laid aside her comb, “Yes, indeed, what a family we are.” She said as she blew out her candle.

Early the next morning, Mary rose to the sound of Mrs. Bennet’s shrill voice reverberating off her bedroom walls.

“Get up. Get up! Don’t you know what day it is? Your sisters will be arriving in all their finery and you haven’t even started your hair!” The lady stopped long enough to breathe, but not very long. “Hill. Hill! What have you done with Sally? She must be with Miss Kitty at all times! Hill…” and Mrs. Bennet continued her lap around the house.

Mary sat up and forced herself to focus on the tasks at hand. Dress, she thought, Which will I wear? Silently, she walked over to her wardrobe and scanned over her choices. “Let’s see…black, black with stripes, white, white with flower print, white with black stripes, green, pink-pink? Well, I can’t wear black and it isn’t polite to wear white-it’ll have to do.”

Mary quickly dressed and applied some perfume water. Next, she had to find something to do with her awful, straight brown hair. Yes, she could get it to curl, but it always took twice as long as her sister’s and this morning, of all mornings, she did not have the patience to deal with it. Already, she could hear Lydia’s voice over her mother’s.

Why hadn’t they staid at the inn like Mr. Beasley had done? Mary thought. “Oh-that’s right. Mr. Wickham is a ne’er do well cad and completely incapable of retaining his earnings. Therefore, he is unable to afford a room and will continue to filch of his family.” She said out loud as she made a face at herself in the mirror.

Mary was nearly finished with her hair when Lydia herself entered the room. “Mary!” She began. “Mama sent me to tell you-Mary!

Thoroughly startled and completely bewildered, Mary instantly cried, “What?”

“Mary, you’re eyes are gray!” Lydia gasped in wonder.

“I know.”

“I’ve never noticed.” Lydia stated. “Probably-no doubt-because you are always wearing those glasses.” With that, Mrs. Wickham bound out of the room without delivering her message. No matter, Mary was dressed and her hair fixed. She wandered down the stairs to the breakfast parlor. There she found Mr. Beasley already come and he was talking to Mr. Wickham. They each turned to her and bid her good morning. She, in turn, greeted them.

Something was not quite right and though Mary would rather have bitten her tongue, her curiosity got the better of her. “Pray, forgive my presumption, but what are you doing here?” Mary asked.

As though he had been expecting the question sooner or later, Mr. Beasley replied, “As a clergy of the Church, I can hardly allow superstition to alarm me.” Then, in a gayer tone, “Not to mention that I could hardly be patient enough to sit in that cheerless hotel room when I’d rather see Catherine.”

Mary accepted the excuse and thought to herself how unreasonable it was to have to wait till the actual ceremony to see your fiancé. She, however, noticed the shadow of a sneer on Mr. Wickham’s face. She was not allowed to ponder it long before others of her family ambled in. Mr. Bennet entered looking a little too pale and Mr. Gardiner behind him. Mrs. Gardiner appeared next, apparently pulling her sister-in-law with her.

“OH! Mr. Beasley! What can you mean by coming here?” Mrs. Bennet shrieked when she laid eyes upon him. “Kitty must not be seen! Quickly, Mary! Go tell you sister that she is not to come down for breakfast! She must eat in her room or have nothing at all!”

“Now, see here, Mrs. Bennet…” Mr. Beasley began to argue.

“What’s he doing here?” Lydia asked as she entered the room. “I was never allowed to see my dear Wickham on my wedding day…” Lydia was interrupted by her aunt and uncle’s protestations. In all the hullabaloo, Mary looked to her father who sat at the head of the table. His head rested on his left hand.

“Sam!” Kitty exclaimed from behind her.

“Kitty!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed in return. “Get out. Get out! Hill! Drag Miss-“

“What had been going on here?” Mr. Bingley implored.

“Mr. Bingley! Jane! You’ve come at last!” Mrs. Bennet cried, having forgotten Kitty.

“You made good time, coming from Pelham.” Mr. Gardiner said, quite puzzled.

“Oh, as far as that goes, we left a day early and arrived last night to Meryton and stayed at the inn.” Lizzy told her uncle.

“Lizzy, Mr. Darcy.” Mr. Bennet rose to greet his daughter and son-in-law.

“We’ve certainly arrived to find a great muddle. Would somebody please explain?” Mr. Bindley asked.

“Oh, Mr. Beasley had come and it’s going to ruination on us for he has not yet married Kitty! But, it is too late now for he has seen her!” Mrs. Bennet lamented.

“But, mama, if, in truth, one is not to see the bride before the wedding then the bad luck is only supposed to affect the bride and groom itself, is it not?” Mary asked.

“Not in this family!” Mrs. Bennet wailed. “Will we never have a moment’s peace?”

“Perhaps we will all feel a bit better after some breakfast.” Mr. Bingley suggested.

“I quite agree.” Mr. Darcy stated. Still in awe of her son-in-law, Mrs. Bennet obediently sat in her chair across from her husband. The others also took their seats around the table.

At last, as everyone was busy eating, Mrs. Bennet was able to observe her husband. “Mr. Bennet, you look more and more pale everyday! Will you not allow me to call for Mr. Jones?”

“No, no. I am feeling quite healthy.” He insisted, though very unconvincingly.

“My good sir, surely a precautionary visit would do you no harm.” Mr. Gardiner said.

“Thank you for your concern, but I assure you that I have no intention of being poked at by those silly pill-pushers.” He said stubbornly. “Am I to believe that the lot of you think that I look ill?”

None of them wanted to say anything to continue the discussion, but Mr. Bennet did not look well at all.

Mr. Darcy hastily changed the subject. Turning his attention to the young curate, he asked, “And how did you last find my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh?” Well, if it wasn’t original, it was timely.

“Lady Catherine was in perfect health when Miss Kitty and I departed. Although, she was not in very fine spirits, if I may be so bold.”

“And what of Miss de Bourgh?” Mr. Wickham had the audacity to ask.

“Tolerable.” Mr. Beasley replied shortly. The conversation began to lull at this point as the others continued to eat.

Presently, however, Lydia said, “It is a pity that your sister could not join us, Mr. Darcy. I’m sure we would have all been very merry!”

“Regrettable, though it may be, I believe that my sister is in a better place at present.” Mr. Darcy told her in no uncertain terms.

Mary took this as an opportunity to wander in her own thoughts. Unfortunately, the events of the day made her mind wander to other similar events.

Though she could not consider herself to be quite as extreme as Charlotte Lucas, now Mrs. Collins, Mary had also been ready to accept the same fate. It is true that Mary was very romantic when it came to young men, but they were not particularly romantic towards her.

When Mr. Collins came to Longbourn not so long ago, Mary felt that it would be her chance to make a match. Even then, Mary knew that she was not in love with Mr. Collins, but his choosing Lizzy over her and then choosing Charlotte Lucas hurt her. Surely, She thought, Someone as muddleheaded as Mr. Collins could not think himself so very high as to reject even me. However, she was wrong. It was very easy for Mr. Collins to think very highly of himself and he did not consider Mary at all.

Though it was very fortunate for our heroine, it did still leave a mark on our Mary. It made her consider her own consequence in the world and to shrink from it. Indeed, Mary did not know how to laugh at things like her sister before her. Instead, each offense was personal and deep, and a reminder of her singularity amongst her sisters.

Now, Mary's own real concern was how she would provide for herself once her father was gone. Certainly one of her sisters would take her in with their mother, but the idea did not sit well with Mary. If she could, she would--but Mary was not allowed to finish that thought. Chairs scraped the floor and dishes were removed by the servants as the Bennets and their guests rose to leave.

"Mary! Stop dawdling, can't you see the time? We'll be late for the wedding!" Mrs. Bennet chided.

Part B

The Bennets, Bingleys, Darcys, Gardiners, Philips, and Wickhams returned to Longbourn after seeing Kitty and Mr. Beasley off. Now that the wedding itself was over with, tensions between the parties began to mount. Mary generally pretended not to notice animosity between Mr. and Mrs. Darcy and the Wickhams. She, however, found it very difficult to hide the resentment she felt toward Lydia.

Mr. Bennet returned to his library after a light luncheon and the others retreated to the drawing room. Jane was telling Mary about a new book she had recently had recommended to her by a friend and asked if Mary had heard of it. Naturally, Mary had heard of hit and pronounced it be a pleasant read. Mr. Bingley was politely engaging Mr. Wickham in conversation while Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth attended to Mrs. Bennet.

“But what shall we do about Christmas?” The lady cried to her second daughter. “For, surely, Mr. Bennet and I cannot visit you all! I cannot be in Hunsford and Derbyshire at the same time. It was so simple before when it was only you and Jane married. And now I know I must go to Kitty in Hunsford, because it will be her first Christmas married, but I also must pay my respects to you now that you are very rich…”

“To be sure, mama, you need not trouble yourself.” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps we can all meet in Hunsford. Mr. Darcy and I might even call on Lady Catherine as well.” With an evil look from her husband, Elizabeth continued, “We might even bring Georgiana.”

“No, no. We could not all fight into that silly little cottage Mr. Collins gave to Mr. Beasley.” Mrs. Bennet said.

“Then, perhaps you shall all come to Pemberley for the holiday, Mrs. Bennet. I’m sure that the Beasleys will not be offended. Perhaps you can go to them some other time.” Mr. Darcy suggested.

“Yes, that will do. Well, for once I am glad that Mary is not married. Otherwise, Mr. Bennet and I would be beside ourselves with this silly business of visiting at Christmas.” Mrs. Bennet said.

“Poor Mary, we shall have to take her with us sometime when we go back to London. Where else am I going to find her a suitable husband? We shan’t find one in Brighton, all the young men are far too gay to pay her any mind. Mary, you would do much better if you weren’t so gloomy.” Lydia chattered.

Mary noticed her sisters shift uncomfortably as they listened to Lydia’s speech. All of a sudden, Mary felt like laughing. She found it so odd that they should all be discomfited by one silly girls words. In fact, this one time, she was not going to let Lydia’s bating get the best of her.

“I’m sorry but I shall have to decline your invitation, Lydia, for the reason that if I were ever to be cheerful and find myself a husband, then you would have nothing to tease me about. And, of course, there is nothing quite so important to me as giving you pleasure.” Mary smiled and took up her cross-stitch.

Lydia seemed slightly taken aback by what Mary had to say. In fact, she expected her sister to say nothing at all, or something entirely too smart for her to comprehend, as usual. Amazingly, she could find nothing to say.

The room was silent during this exchange and they had anticipated a worse outcome, however, than what actually occurred. Quickly, the others filled in the silence with banter of their own.

The tea was brought in by a servant and Mary was busy pouring when Hill entered carrying a large parcel. “Begging your pardon, Miss Mary, but this come for you while you were at church this morning.” And the servant handed the parcel to her.

Mary’s hands shook as she accepted the parcel from Hill and silently she pulled the strings away. She bit her lip as the paper fell away and revealed the thing she had both desired and dreaded to see.

It was completely beyond her comprehension. Wilkinson had not liked it, he had not liked it enough to publish. She read the small letter that rested on top of the parchment, informing her that the Queen’s Publishing House was rejecting her manuscript. They did not offer a reason. Mary quickly wiped away a tear that streaked across her cheek.

“What is it, Mary? What have you got?” Jane asked with a hint of concern. She had noted the feeling in her sister’s face.

“A b-book.” Mary quietly stammered.

“Oh, is that all. La, as if you haven’t got plenty of those.” Lydia laughed.

Mary felt a surge of anger rush through her. “No, Lydia, this is mine. I wrote it.” She hissed before rushing from the room with her work.

Mary fled to her refuge. Once in the room, she collapsed on her bed. Twenty years of hurt and anger leapt for in a deluge on her pillow. She did not know how long she lay there and wept, but several knocks on her door went unheeded.

Mary forced herself to calm down and to be sensible once more. After washing her face in the porcelain basin besides her bureau, she decided to splurge on herself.

She knew. Tomorrow, first thing, she would go to Meryton and order a new dress. A new dress made of sky blue muslin. Maybe she would get her hair cut in some pretty fashion, and maybe some new gloves. Yes, she had been terribly disappointed, and now she was going to make up for it. Mary breathed a triumphant and satisfied sigh before removing her things from her bed and getting ready to turn in for the night.

The next morning, after breakfast, Mary quietly slipped out of Longbourn House and walked briskly out of sight.

Meryton was an easy walking distance from Longbourn and Mary was there before she knew it. A few more steps and she found herself in front of Mrs. Doak’s shoppe. She was a very expensive, very exclusive (as far as a small country town was considered) and Mary trembled inwardly at the thought of what the bill was going to be. However, she stood up straight, pulled her shoulders back, tilted her nose toward the sky and opened the door.

A bell chimed and the different smells of fabric wafted through the air. The room Mary stood in was small, containing only a counter and some bolts of fabric. It was dimly lit and deserted. However, a larger room behind this one was filled with light and a small woman was moving around.

“Excuse me.” Mary called shyly.

The woman, Mrs. Doak, a feisty Scotswoman, practically waltzed into the room. “I’ve never seen you before; get out of my shoppe.” She said hastily.

“Please, Mrs. Doak, I know that you don’t take anyone who happens to walk into your store, but I would really like to buy a dress from you.” The small woman and her graceful movements threw Mary off. She did not expect her to be so abrupt.

“I’ve no time.” Mrs. Doak replied, apparently unmoved.

“Listen, I can make the payments, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Mary continued.

“Yes, but where would you wear such a dress as I could make?” The woman demanded.

“To a ball, it’s an evening gown I’ve got in mind.” Mary told her. This was getting tiresome.

“You could not find a ball around here that would do one of my dresses honour.” The lady said. “Say, who are you, anyway?”

“My name is Mary Bennet, I -“

“Well, that settles the matter. I’ve heard of you. Bookworm. OH, don’t look so surprised, this is a small town, I’ve heard of everyone. Ladies come in here and gossip about the events of last night’s ball and why they have to have their hems mended. Well, one thing’s for sure, I’ll not waste my talent on someone who only wears evening gowns in the library.”

“Mrs. Doak, all I want is a well made evening gown made with blue fabric. I also want discretion until the gown is finished. Now, I shall sit in this silly shoppe until you agree to have it made.” Mary said stubbornly.

“Oh, being mysterious are we. I don’t suppose you’re going to elope like your sister. Or maybe you’re trying to catch the eye of some rich gentleman acquainted to your sister’s families. Oh, don’t look so cross, I’ll make the dress.” Mrs. Doak complied. “Come in here, I’ll take your measurements…now about the payment…”

Mary left the seamstress with much relief. To make up for the fright the woman had given her, Mary went to the local bookstore. This, too, was a plan. Naturally, the others would have missed her and she had to think of some excuse for her trip to Meryton. She didn’t know why, but she felt like she must keep this excursion a secret. Why, though? At best, they would say nothing, and at worst they would laugh. She thought.

Mary reached the bookstore and was greeted by the owner, Mr. Gibbs, who knew her quite well by now.

Without any specific book to look for, Mary decided to use the “Ritual.” That is, she walked down a random isle and closed her eyes, whichever book her fingers landed on, she bought.

“Let’s see,” She said to herself. “I don’t think I’ve tried this isle yet.” She stopped and let her hand fall. She opened her eyes and read the title. “German, How to Speak and Write It. by Wilhelm Schulz. What will I need this for?” But, as was the custom of the ritual, Mary must purchase it.

She left the bookstore and return to Longbourn. She was joined immediately by Mr. Bingley who was outdoors waiting for her.

“There you are, Mary. We wondered where you’d gone.” He said hastily. Mary noted that he looked a little pale. “I would have walked to Meryton myself, but Jane wanted me here-that is, your father isn’t well at all. Darcy’s gone for Mr. Jones. The poor fellow can’t even sit up in bed.”

Without delay, Mary was in the house and joined her sisters in the hallway outside of their father’s bedchamber.

Chapter 3

Posted on Tuesday, 19 August 2003, at

It always amazed Mary how little nature observed the moods of Men. The sun shone brilliantly in the afternoon sky, yet a cloud of uncertainty must surely have settled over Longbourn.

Mr. Bennet was in bed with a high fever and Mr. Jones was attending to him. Mrs. Bennet was shut up in her room with only Lydia for comfort. Mr. Wickham was in Meryton, no one knew or cared what he was up to.

Jane, Elizabeth, Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Darcy sat with Mary in the drawing room discussion the course wisest to take.

“We shall stay on as long as we may.” Jane told her younger sister. “Mr. Bingley has written to his steward who will oversee Pelham.”

“Elizabeth will remain likewise. I, however, have to answer to those above me. I am due in London the day after next. But, I hope to tie up the matter speedily.” Mr. Darcy said.

“Yes, that is all settled, but what of Kitty?” Elizabeth asked. “Surely, she will wish to be notified.”

“Yes, indeed, but I cannot help but feel terrible that such news should reach her so shortly after her wedding. It has only been a day and they cannot be properly settled yet.” Jane lamented.

“It is a grievous blow, to be sure. And, yet, it would be more grievous if we did not write. For, we have no assurance that our dear father will make it through this illness. Only consider how it would be if she did not see him ere the end.” Mary replied solemnly.

Mary, as usual, addressed the situation less delicately than her sisters could have wished. They blanched when she conjectured dear Mr. Bennet’s death and were silent for a time.

“At any rate, I have already taken the liberty of writing to Mr. and Mrs. Beasley at Hunsford. It is my hope that they will journey here or Mr. Beasley will at least send Kitty.” Mary continued.

Jane and Elizabeth each turned to the other, each thinking, Of all people, not Mary!

“That was very kind of you, Mary, but you should have left it to Jane or myself. I’m sure that you have plenty of other things on your mind.”

Mary could not pretend to not understand her sister, though Elizabeth was not ever cruel. Mary had herself often noted that she could be too blunt and often times brutally honest with others. Elizabeth was afraid that she had written a very disturbing (and possibly morbid) letter that would surely alarm Kitty.

Knowing this weakness of hers, Mary endeavored to be as mild and compassionate as possible without making light of the situation. At any rate, she would have to wait till Kitty arrived in order to note the success or failure of her labor.

Lydia joined the party in the drawing room shortly after. “Lord, mama is in such a frightful mood! I swear, if I had to sit with her much longer, I’d have gone wild!”

“Is Mama asleep?” Jane asked meekly.

Lydia plopped into a chair and slouched in a very unladylike manner. “Lord, yes. But where is dear Wickham?”

“Don’t you know?” Mary asked, trying to pretend that she was trying not to sound sarcastic.

“I believe Mr. Wickham walked to Meryton, Lydia.” Jane told her sister.

“Oh, how cruel of him not to tell me!” Lydia pouted. “For there are so many people that I am longing to see. Not to mention that poor Aunt Philips is probably wild for news from Longbourn. I would most definitely prefer sitting with her than with Mama during her fits.”

“But consider, dearest, what Mama is experiencing at this moment. She may lose her husband.” Jane tried to reason with her. “Father is not so young as he used to be.”

“Well, she hasn’t anything to be afraid of anymore. Not like two years ago before any of us where married. Now she’ll be able to live well enough with you or maybe at Pemberley with Lizzy.” Lydia replied foolishly.

“Of course Mama will be cared for, but that is not the point. Mother is about to lose her husband with whom she has spent nearly thirty years of her life. And if that is something that you cannot understand then I pity you.” Lizzy retorted. Mr. Darcy reached for her hand upon noticing her distress and caressed gently.

Conversation dropped off and they only awaited the appearance of Mr. Jones, the apothecary.

The minutes passed too slowly to be of much comfort to anyone. What can Mr. Jones be doing up there? Mary thought to herself. The worst of it was that she kept imagining the worst. Rheumatic Fever? No, that’s more common amongst children. Typhoid? No, there was nothing on his tongue. Scarlet fever, perhaps? He’s already had that…Malaria? Hmm, not tropical enough. Bubonic Plague? No, there were no blisters…and the list went on and on and on.

Finally, Mary’s impatience was rewarded with the appearance of Mr. Jones. He entered the room solemnly and looked at each person as his eyes scanned the room. Mary felt her heart race with fearful anticipation.

“Is your mother not here?” Mr. Jones asked.

“No, sir, she took to her room. I believe she is resting.” Jane told him.

“So much the better.” He said. “It shall come easier from her own family.” The man cleared his throat as he collected his thoughts.

“I will not mince words. I’m sure that every one of you expects the worst. I will not say that there is no hope for Mr. Bennet, but he is not well at all. He has a high temperature brought on, I believe, by a viral infection…” Mr. Jones continued to explain what he knew. He confessed that there was little he could do, but to attempt blood letting. Hopefully, this would draw out the infection.

“Mr. Bennet must have constant care. Naturally, we’ve got to keep his temperature down and his person clean.”

“There are enough of us here to be able to take care of my father.” Elizabeth said, glancing at Mary and Jane’s determined faces.

“Yes, of course.” Mary said. Elizabeth smiled at her.

“Well, that is all for now.” Mr. Jones said. “I shall return tomorrow to look in on the patient and deliver more instructions. Good day ladies, gentlemen.” Mary, who took the place of mistress in her mother’s absence, saw Mr. Jones out and returned quickly to the drawing room.

There she found Jane, looking very pale, leaning on her husband. Elizabeth, with her head in her hands, was being comforted by Mr. Darcy. Lydia was playing with a bit of lace.

An overwhelming sense of jealousy and longing swept over Mary. How she longed for such companionship. But, it was her lot to bear this burden alone, and it was exhausting. Still, Mary wanted to say something comforting and wise.

“However tragic our present affliction may be, let us find comfort in the wise words of St. Paul. That our ‘present suffering is not worth comparing-“

“Mary,” Elizabeth groaned. “I know you meant well; but really, for all your knowledge, you’ve yet to learn timing.”

Lydia snorted and Mary decided it was time for tea.

Mary spent much of her time in her father’s room that week.

She drew the curtain around her father’s bed after making sure he was properly covered with blankets. Mr. Jones was adamant that Mr. Bennet should not be moved, but the room needed airing badly. It smelled of a sick room and the air was horribly stale. Therefore, Mary took all precautions before throwing the windows open. Mary breathed in the fresh air happily. It was warm, but there was still a chance that-somewhere a door had been slammed.

Mary took the liberty of leaving her father’s side and stepped out onto the second floor hallway. Elizabeth and Jane were trying to talk to Lydia who was in another one of her rages. Lately, she had been trying to squirm out of her share of the sitting up. Each of the others had taken a share of Lydia’s work, but Mary had gotten the brunt of it. It was easier to simply give in than to fight Lydia. However, that’s exactly what her sisters were trying to do.

“Lydia, we’ve been very patient and generous with you, but if you are going to stay on then you need to help us with papa.” Lizzy chided her.

“We aren’t asking much, dearest. Only, we’ve grown very fatigued, especially Mary, and we could use a little more help from you.” Jane said. “Even Mr. Bingley is sacrificing time to be here…”

“I will not go into that filthy room!” Lydia snapped. “I don’t have to. I’m sure Mr. Jones wouldn’t ask me!”

“And why is that?” Elizabeth demanded, her temper flaring.

“Because, I have just found out that Mr. Wickham and I are going to have a baby!” Lydia shouted.

Mary’s mind reeled. Ugh! She thought. That’s unfortunate.

“Well, in that case, you should probably pack up and leave!” Elizabeth nearly shouted back.

“Now Lizzy, calm down.” Jane intervened. Mary was a little disappointed. She thought Lydia might get the throttling she deserved. “Lydia is still useful. She can sit with mama. (Lydia huffed away) And she is right.” Jane told Lizzy. “She shouldn’t be up here.”

“She is a lazy, selfish girl with no thought of anyone but herself. (Jane shook her head) Do not shake your head, Jane. You know that if you or I were in the same situation, we’d have tried to help in anyway that we could. She has been scheming for days to get out of work. She has no right to be here.”

“Yes, she does, Lizzy. If something happens to papa then she must be near.” Jane answered calmly.

“To collect what money she can upon his death, that is.” Elizabeth raged. “Then she will clear out as fast as she can-do you really suppose that she’s going to have a child?”

At this point, Mary returned to Mr. Bennet’s room, exhausted. Mr. Jones should be here soon to draw more blood.

It had been a very long week, indeed. Mr. Bingley was with Mr. Bennet attempting to wash him. Lydia and Mr. Wickham had moved to her Aunt Philips’ home in Meryton. No one at Longbourn had seen much of them. Jane and Elizabeth were both resting in their rooms.

Mary sat in her father’s library looking through the post. Another letter for Elizabeth from Mr. Darcy, of course. Several official looking envelopes for Mr. Bingley. Here was a note from the Mrs. Hurst addressed to Jane. Mary laid them aside to deliver later, she laid her head in her left hand and flipped through the other letters. Bills mostly. Mary sighed. Father is in no condition to deal with these. Perhaps my Uncle Philips will be of some use. By why hasn’t Kitty written? There is no letter and there hasn’t been one. I would think that she would have sent a line from Hunsford right after she had arrived anyway. Maybe the letter has been misplaced?

Mary took her sibling’s letters and began to deliver them; she gave Mr. Bingley’s to Jane. On the way, Mary stopped in her mother’s room to check on her.

“Good morning, mama. How are you feeling?” Mary asked. She moved quietly about the room fixing the covers on the bed and opening the curtains covering the window.

“No one knows how much I suffer.” Came Mrs. Bennet’s characteristic reply.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Mary answered without hearing her mother.

“Have I not any letters?”

“None, mother.” Mary told her. “I shall send Hill up to you.”

“Thank you.” Mrs. Bennet sank back into her chair and held up a well-worn handkerchief to her nose.

“Do you think you’ll be coming downstairs today?” Mary asked as she opened the door to leave.

“No.” Mrs. Bennet replied. “But, I may go to see Mr. Bennet.”

“Very well.” Mary closed the door behind her and walked down the staircase. She found Hill speaking with Cook and Mary asked her to attend to her mistress.

At that moment, Mary heard the sound of carriage wheels running over the gravel drive. She hastened to the door and with much relief, saw that the travelers were none other than Mr. and Mrs. Beasley from Hunsford.

Kitty jumped out of the carriage before Mr. Beasley could assist her and embraced her sister warmly. “Oh, Mary! Thank you so much for writing! I thought it must have been from Lizzy except that it was your hand and signature. I’m so sorry I didn’t respond; Mr. Beasley and I have been so busy! We came as soon as we could. How is papa? May we see him?”

“Of course. Come with me. Oh-you go. I’ll fetch a servant to tend to your baggage.” Kitty and Mr. Beasley departed and Mary ran for a servant.

Later that afternoon, Mr. Beasley joined Mary in the dining room and handed her an envelope. “It is addressed to Mrs. Bennet,” he told her. “But, Catherine informed me that it would be best if given to you.”

“Thank you, sir.” Mary took the proffered letter and even before she looked at the seal, she assumed that it was from Mr. Collins. What he would have to say she could only imagine. But, it was dinnertime and the letter must wait.

The Wickhams were not present at the table and the newest addition, besides the Beasleys, was Mrs. Bennet (though she had said she would not). She had spent the entire morning sitting with her husband. Now, Mary noted that she had never seen her mother quite so solemn and mild. Any other time, the change would have gratified Mary, but it alarmed her instead. Mary tucked his thought into the folds of her mind and turned an ear to the conversation.

Elizabeth had received news that Mr. Darcy would be returning to Longbourn in a short time. Everyone was much gratified by this news. Jane announced that Mr. and Mrs. Hurst were in excellent health and extended their condolences.

Kitty then raised a question concerning Lydia. She had received a letter from Mrs. Wickham that stated her condition. Jane and Elizabeth both confirmed the matter. That was settled and the family fell into silence.

At last, however, Mary was able to escape to the Library and read the letter. It read:

‘Hunsford, near Westerham, Kent,

July -

‘Dear Madam,

It has come to the attention of Mrs. Collins and myself, from your obliging neighbors and friends, the Lucas’, and confirmed from my curate, that your honorable husband has been afflicted most seriously. Allow me to offer my heart felt condolences. My wife, who has made me the happiest of men, wishes me to tell you how sorely she grieves for you. Let us pray that the benevolent hand of God will spare your husband’s life, and that he will see many more years. Though, at his age it is unlikely, as Lady Catherine has condescended to inform me.

Your friend and well-wisher,’

‘William Collins’

There were no words to describe the extent of the Mary’s wrath. “Friend and well-wisher?” She spat. “How dare he! Insufferable cad!” Mary tore up the offensive letter and cast it into the pile of ashes in the fireplace. She then sat at her father’s desk and allowed her tears to flow unchecked, too tired from nursing to fight them. Fear like she had never known burrowed deep in her heart.

Mary did not know how long she sat there in her father’s chair before she was interrupted. Kitty came in looking for her. “Oh, there you are.” She said. “We were wondering where you were. Mary, are you ill?”

“No, no.” Mary told her. “I’ve only just read Mr. Collins letter.”

Kitty sank into a chair across from the desk. “That man is abominable, to be sure. Between him and Lady Catherine, I’ve much work to keep my wits. I’m sure I’d have lost them if it hadn’t been for Sam. But, what about you? You do not look well.”

“I’m am worn with much work.” Mary answered.

“You do not have as much time to yourself as you are used to.”

“I find that I do not mind it like I thought I might. I am kept rather busy and by the end of the day I find that I am so worn to study.”

“You’ve done a marvelous job, or so Jane and Lizzy tell me.”

“Have I? I only do what is expected of me.” Mary replied.

“Well, now that I am here, I’ll be able to lighten the load some.” Kitty said as she rose to leave. “We left some supper for you. Good night, Mary.”

“Good night.” Mary replied, feeling very much refreshed.

A fortnight passed. Mr. Bennet’s condition often wavered on the brink between life and death. Mr. Jones had done all he could and yet there was no significant improvement. Mr. Bennet, however, was sleeping peacefully of late and could converse with his caretakers. Mrs. Bennet spent a portion of everyday with her husband discussing, no doubt, the future. They too, however, seemed to have healed some breech from years passed. The effect was that Mrs. Bennet seemed was more subdued of mind and spirit.

One morning, while Mary was straightening up his room, Mr.Bennet woke up from his nap and said, “You were always different from your sisters, Mary, always so independent and reclusive. Sometimes, I wondered if your mother and I did something wrong.”

Mary was quite taken aback by this comment and replied, “No, I don’t think so. It’s just the way I am. It’s probably a good thing since I have to make my own way in the world.”

“You’ll have a comfortable home with Jane or Lizzy, no doubt.” He said with a strange note in his voice. It frightened Mary exceedingly.

“Maybe.” Mary replied quietly.

“Well, send in Lizzy when you go. I would speak to her ere I go…”

Chapter 4

Posted on Friday, 5 September 2003

Mr. Bennet was laid to rest on the 21st of July, in the year of our Lord 18--. His body was buried in the churchyard in the village of Longbourn.

~

Mr. Collins arrived shortly after.

~

“Forgive me for saying so, but that ODIOUS Mr. Collins has just arrived, ma’am.” Hill announced with a flounce of her skirts.

The grieving family had been sitting in the drawing room after the funeral guests had left. Everyone shot Mrs. Bennet worried glances, gauging her reaction to the news.

“Let him in, Hill.” Mrs. Bennet replied. Her voice carried a trace of numb recognition. Indeed, Mrs. Bennet was a woman changed.

Mary turned her thoughts from her mother and gave notice to her sisters. Elizabeth’s hands were both clenched to her sides and her face flushed. Jane and Kitty had turned as pale as their mother. Lydia had left with the guests.

That Mr. Collins was discourteous in coming so soon to disturb Mr. Bennet’s widow, Mary was quite sensible. However, she reasoned that Longbourn was, by right, his to come to whenever he chose. The last that that she wanted was a breech between the two parties. It was unbearable to her that they might humiliate themselves in the eyes of their neighbors once more by creating a scene. F

In order to spare her mother and stall Mr. Collins, Mary left the drawing room to meet him herself.

Mary was very grateful to find him alone. Not that she could really have suspected Charlotte of being so heartless. Had she come, the situation would have been far more pitiable. As altered as Mrs. Bennet was, Mary could hardly suppose that such an appearance would go with some speech on the widow’s side. The friendship between the Bennet women and Mrs. Lucas would become confused with the disgust felt for the husband.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Collins.” Mary said coldly, though she was not sensible of it. Mr. Collins appeared not to have noticed either.

“I have come to offer my condolences for the time-that is, the unfortunate death of your father.” The gentleman bowed deeply. “Lady Catherine has also condescended to forward a message from herself. She wished to inform you of the proper way to lay out a body. That is, before the family casts in their handful…”

“That is very kind of Lady Catherine to think of us, but I am afraid to say that her advice is but too late. My father is already buried as of this morning.” Mary interrupted rather hastily.

“Oh-yes, that should do it.” Mr. Collins replied, satisfied. Mary noted that he did not go off into one of his long apology speeches as usual, and it vexed her.

Mary was growing impatient despite herself. Mr. Collins was beginning to look about the foyer with a much more familiar eye than Mary liked. When he made a step toward the drawing room Mary immediately stepped forward.

“Mr. Collins, won’t you join me in the breakfast parlor?” Mary decided that being frank would be the best thing. “My family is not equal to visitors at present.”

Mr. Collins looked vaguely surprised but joined her anyway. After she had seated herself, she asked, “Is Mrs. Collins in the county as well?”

“Oh, yes. She, despite my wishes, remained at Lucas Lodge with her parents. It is a great joy to her, I am sure, to relocate with her amiable family. Of course, she was greatly grieved to part with our noble patroness. I flatter myself that Lady Catherine was quite out of spirits when we departed for this part of the country. None the less, her ladyship has the most generous, compassionate hears. ‘Mr. Collins,’ she said to me. ‘My one consolation is that Mrs. Collins will be mistress of a descent estate.’ She has condescended to give us hints for improvement. Ah, what a loss her society is. But, at least I might take joy in her full undertaking of Mr. Beasley, my curate, now rector. Lady Catherine has long wished to mentor the young man. It is a shame that he did not follow my advice and keep himself guarded from your younger sister’s wiles. I warned him, and I am sure you’ll agree, that a connection with your family is quite dangerous to one’s reputation. Lady Catherine is much grieved by it, herself. But, I see that you are not quite pleased with this idea. Ah, Cousin Mary. I always thought you were the sensible one amongst your family. It grieves me, more than I can possibly say, to see you in such a predicament. As Lady Catherine de Bourgh has always condescended to say…” Mary listened with disgust as her cousin droned on. Insufferable man. She thought. I was so deceived at first meeting him. It is a wonder that I was ever hurt by his choosing Elizabeth and then Charlotte…poor girl. “The follies your father chose to overlook…”

“Mr. Collins, how dare you speak of the dead in such a fashion! I have tried to endure your tyrannies, but now you have gone too far! At first meeting you, I had been deceived. I thought your scholarly air and humble speeches were admirable. I have since discovered that you are a base, insensitive, and that your show of humility was only a twisted form of boasting. Through correspondence with my father over the last few years, when my family was in need of allies, you were quick to wash your hands of us, and offer only you censure. And now, this last and greatest offence, my father had not been in his grave but one day and already you are inclined to intrude on his mourning widow. Have you no compassion, no a sense of propriety. I am heartily ashamed of you!” Mary finished her diatribe and hastened angrily from the room. She found her family sitting in languid silence and spoke to her mother.

“Mama, I am eager to be gone-whatever you decide to do, I am at your disposal.”

Mrs. Bennet looked up at her third daughter in silence and nodded her head. Jane then said, “Mama had agreed to stay with us at Pelham. You, of course, are welcome at any of our homes-Pemberley or Hunsford Cottage.”

If it is agreeable to you, Jane, and to your husband, then I shall stay with my mother for the time being.” Mary stated.

Chapter 5

Posted on Tuesday, 7 October 2003, at 6

An overwhelming wave of nausea rolled through Mary’s body. She could feel that horrible lump form in her throat, struggling to keep from doing something shameful. Oh, why had she tried to read in the coach? As much as she loved reading, she had always been a very shocking traveler and could never enjoy that pastime in a coach. Mary’s head ached keenly though her stomach stopped rolling for a moment. All Mary wished for was a stationary bed in a room with all the windows open and the curtains drawn.

True, at the time, Mary had been anxious to quit Longbourn and the Collins’. But, now she wondered why she had been so hasty. Her stomach lurched again.

“Are you quite all right, Mary?” Jane asked with concern.

“Not completely,” Mary admitted.

“Is there anything we can do?” Mr. Bingley asked. “Perhaps we could open the glass a bit more?”

“No, no. I need to lie down, but I can make it to Pelham.” Mary strove to master herself without making them stop at an inn along the way.

Jane shifted to sit next to her sister (she had sat across from Mary, with her husband) “Come rest you head on my lap, dearest.” Jane coaxed her sister. Mr. Bingley, Mary saw with amusement, almost looked jealous.

Mary drifted into a wakeful slumber, neither awake nor sleeping. This unfortunately weakened her defenses and she was forced to think about the very things she had purposefully tried to block.

Her father was dead, yes. That was tragic and Mary felt it fully. This emptiness she felt with the loss of her father had left her to ponder other things. Living. How was she to sustain herself? Her practical side immediately thought of course, you’ll be with Jane, she’ll take care of you.

I don’t want Jane to take care of me. I have more pride than that. I will not be a burden on her family. Mary’s less practical side insisted.

Oh, yes? And how do you plan on doing that exactly, you ninny? The only thing you’re skilled at is reading and giving innocent people headaches with your caterwauling on the pianoforte.

“Aha!” Mary shouted as she sat up.

“What?” Bingley and Jane asked in alarm.

“Oh, I had an idea.” Mary replied a bit more calmly.

“An idea? How novel, what is it?” Mr. Bingley asked.

“It is my little secret.” Mary smirked. Really, Mary never smirked. My, I am acting quite out of character. Hee hee. She thought.

Jane and Bingley merely shrugged it off after exchanging confused glances.

The journey to Pelham was ended much to Mary’s delight. She was given a room on the second floor, close to Mrs. Bennet’s.

For several hours, Mary lay in the dark, recovering from the nausea she suffered in the carriage. A light repast and a nap had done her a great deal of good.

The time of resting, however, was over. Mary rose to draw the curtains from around the windows to allow the fading light to enter the chamber. A cool breeze drifted in through the window. “Much better,” she muttered to herself. The next thing to do was sit at the little writing desk under the window, and with a newspaper compose a small letter. It was signed, sealed, and addressed, but Mary hesitated. No, she would not send the letter, yet. There was still a chance that she could come to feel at home at Pelham. At any rate, it was far too early to make any decisions. A maid entered her room and offered to help Mary with her toilette. Being tired of sitting in solitude for so long, Mary accepted the offer (though she normally groomed herself without assistance). Wanting to start a conversation, Mary began asking generic questions about the neighborhood that she already knew that answer to. “ How many families dine with the Bingley’s?”

“Oh, a good twenty or more, I’d say, ma’am. This part of the county is still developing, and there are not very many genteel families. But, there are the Misses Crofts (two old maids); the Shelleys; the Darcy’s, of course; Mr. Warhol; Lady Blackburn…” the maid rambled on.

Mary was soon ready to join her family downstairs. Supper was not yet on the table and the others were waiting in an adjacent room.

Jane and Mrs. Bennet looked on as Mr. Bingley played with his 18 month old daughter. Mary, only once seeing the child, had not reconciled herself to the title of aunt. Half-orphaned, she thought. No! This will not do! I will not pity myself. Surely, there is something more useful I can do.

“There you are, Mary!” Mr. Bingley acknowledged her as cheerfully as always. “Supper should be on the table at any moment, I dare say. I’m glad to see that you’ve got your colour back! Come here and see little Eliza.”

Mary sat at a distance to admire the child, who was a remarkably handsome child. But, she refused to hold her niece, protesting that she was ‘the type of woman that made babies cry even when she smiled.”

Either way, Mr. Bingley was content to play with his daughter till the servant announced the evening meal and the nurse took her away.

Mary was grateful that no one from the neighboring families was to join them. It was only too bad that it would not last. She knew that Bingley was eager and Jane pleased to have company, but it had been a very trying fortnight. It still had not registered in her mind that Pelham, not Longbourn, would be her home.

“Well, I wonder how the new mistress of Longbourn finds herself.” Mr. Bennet brooded (never pleasantly as the word suggests). “ I wonder if she’s counted the silver, yet. I made sure that several of the spoons and forks were missing. The knives are no matter, they’re all dull anyway.”

Mary grimaced. The last thing she wanted to do was to talk or listen to conversation about the Collins’. Not to mention that Mrs. Bennet seemed to be recovering from the shock of losing her husband. The air in Derbyshire seemed to be in complete accord with her constitution.

“My own comfort is that something Cook prepares will not agree with her and she’ll choke!”

“ Mama! You should not wish for poor Charlotte to come to any harm. It is not her fault that Longbourn was entailed. She only did what was right by her in marrying Mr. Collins. We could expect nothing more.” Jane said diplomatically.

“Oh, yes she could! Crafty little viper. She knew what she would get if she married that detestable sniveler.”

“Well, be comforted that you have two daughters with even grander estates for you to come to.” Mr. Bingley joked. “And a son-in-law with connections to the venerable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, of which Mr. Collins has a lesser claim.”

“Oh, yes. What a fine thing for my girls. I am so happy that you and Mr. Darcy have taken them off my hands.” Mrs. Bennet was in raptures. Mary grimaced again. Mr. Bingley had more sense than she thought; he knew exactly what to say to improve Mrs. Bennet’s mood.

“It is a pity that we could not get you married off to your Uncle Philip’s clerk while we were still in Meryton, Mary.”

Here we go again. Mary sighed inwardly as she sipped her wine. It wasn’t nearly strong enough. “Mr. Cartwright was engaged to Miss Baird last I knew, Mama.”

“Oh-well, that does not signify. I am sure there are plenty of other gentlemen in this neighborhood who will take a fancy to you. All you have to do is stop wearing those infernal glasses. You only need them for reading.” Mrs. Bennet said with gusto.

“But, I am always reading, Mama.” Mary replied. “And, I believe it would be prudent if you and I settled in this house a bit more before you begin to ‘set my cap’ at anyone.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Mary. I am not going to set your cap at anyone. How vulgar.” Mrs. Bennet sniffed.

“I agree.” Mary sighed. Supper was finished, the servants signaled to withdraw the dishes, and Mary darted up to her room.

Eager to be alone, Mary shooed out the maid who was unpacking her things, and finished it herself.

Elizabeth and her young son frequently joined the enlarged family circle at Pelham throughout the course of the Bennet’s first week there.

Mary could plainly see that her sister was by no means recovering her spirits. Not that she, nor Jane, nor Mrs. Bennet, for that matter, were not suffering quite as much as she; they managed at least to keep it to themselves. That is, it was not necessary that they composed themselves all daylong. Almost from the first day of their arrival, callers from the village came to give their respects and share any new pieces of country gossip they had picked upon since the Bingley’s had left.

Once such visitor was a genteel woman, who had two daughters, one recently married, and the other only just engaged. There is no woman quite so comfortable as a woman who has successfully lost her daughters to gentlemen.

Mrs. Gehant was a short, plum, cheery woman who had the audacity to marry a wealthy Frenchman. Fortunately, she had natural good humor and liked her husband enough to keep him.

The housekeeper showed the lady into the drawing room. Jane rose to great Mrs. Gehant and renew the acquaintance between the rest of the Bennet family.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Bingley. I am so glad to see you safe back.” The kindly woman said.

“Thank you, Madam.” Jane replied. “We had a very safe journey, indeed.”

“I’ve come to remind you of the promise you made to attend Letitia’s ball. And, of course, to extend the invitation to your mother and sister.” Mrs. Gehant said.

Though Jane did not particularly relish the idea of going to a ball at this time, however, the promise had been made and there was no escaping it.

“Of course, Mr. Bingley will be sure to attend, Mrs. Gehant, but I cannot speak for my mother and Mary. I do not know if they will be equal to accepting our gracious invitation.”

But, this was too much for Mrs. Bennet. She was not silly enough or distraught enough not to appreciate the honor of being recognized by a lady such as Mrs. Gehant. Not to mention that it would be a good opportunity to put Mary in the way of eligible and very rich bachelors.

“Oh, don’t be silly, Jane dear. How could Mary and I refuse such a kind invitation? Of course, Mary and I would be delighted to attend your daughter’s ball.”

Mary highly doubted that she would enjoy anything of the sort. But, she kept her tongue bit.

“I am glad to hear it, ma’am. You must know how good it is to have daughters well settled.”

Mrs. Bennet beamed, smiling bigger than she had in the last fortnight-she had found her kindred spirit. “OH, yes! It is very lucky that you have two daughters equally…”
~

Another visitor or so came to call on Jane that morning. In the afternoon, they were left to themselves.

Jane was running about the house with her housekeeper and putting things to rights, while her husband was finishing up some business with a local trader. Mrs. Bennet was having fits in her room and Mary was sitting quietly in the library, reading a well-worn copy of The History of England (by whom else but the Author).

It was at this time that Mary was interrupted, just as she was finishing the lament of Joan of Arc, by a servant who carried a large parcel that was directed to her. In astonishment, Mary rose to accept the parcel and take it to her room. There, she inspected the address more closely, not recognizing the hand, she opened the box. She found a small note on top of a pile of tissue. Mary opened the letter only to discover that it was from Mrs. Doake in Mertyon. Still more astonished, Mary turned the tissue away to reveal a heap of sky blue material.

“Good heavens, how could I have forgotten about this? It is a good thing that Mrs. Doake was able to get my directions from someone in the village! I had quite forgotten that I even ordered it. Why, so many things have happened since then. I’ve scarcely thought about my sill novel.” Mary cried.

She held up the gown to herself and looked in the glass. It was made from a very simple pattern with a gathered bodice and straight sleeves that rested just above her elbows. It was the material that made it so elegant and costly. The under-dress was made of blue satin, with blue lace trimmings.

Without hesitation, Mary began to undress. Her fingers trembled as she slipped the gown over her head and replaced it with her new dress. It was almost impossible to button it up; Mary took deep breaths to calm herself.

Finally, it was done and she turned to face herself in the glass once more. It was beautiful. She was beautiful.

“Mary, what will you be wearing to Miss Gehant’s ball tonight?” Mrs. Bennet asked nosily.

“A dress.” Mary replied shortly.

“I know that, dear, but what sort of dress is it. I hope you will not wear black like you did at the Harville’s last winter. It is really too shocking.”

“No, Mama. I can certainly promise you that I shall not wear black. But, I would rather not discuss what I should be wearing. You shall see tonight.”

Mrs. Bennet was still in shock. Mary simply held her wrap a little closer around he shoulders. She hadn’t anticipated that sort of reaction when she came down stairs in her new gown. The poor woman had never realized that her daughter closely resembled herself when all was said and done. In short, Mary did have looks. They were simply well hidden. It was almost too much for Mrs. Bennet. Jane and Bingley had born the initial shock a little better. Mr. Bingley dished out some jumbled compliments and Jane beamed (though she could hardly speak for five minutes).

Mary dreaded Elizabeth’s reaction, this sort of attention was rather embarrassing.

The spacious doors were opened and a servant bid the small party to enter. The ladies checked their petticoats and prepared to enter the ballroom.

Mary followed the others reluctantly, a bit self-conscious about her appearance. I certainly shall never indulge in fashionable dresses ever again. I’m sure that I’ve never been this silly over the like before. It makes me think I’ve grown very vain. If only King Solomon could see what a ninny I’ve turned into. She thought testily.

The Bingley’s and their guests were announced and greeted by the hostess and her daughter, Letitia.

“Good evening, Mrs. Bingley, Mr. Bingley, Mrs. and Miss Bennet.” Mrs. Gehant called out to them enthusiastically from the floor. She scurried over to usher them in. “Miss Bennet, I don’t know that you have ever met my youngest daughter, Letitia. She was away when you came last to visit your sister. Please allow me to introduce you.”

Mary felt that any such introduction would be quite useless since she doubted it would be much of an acquaintance. One, the lady was engaged, which meant that she would hardly wish to be bothered by anyone but the gentleman. Two, her name was Letitia. The name implied that she was beautiful, accomplished (though ignorant in general), and rather haughty. In short, she was not worth speaking to. Were not all Letitia’s like that? Mary was sure that she had read a sermon along those lines once.

However, when she was presented to Miss Gehant, she found that her presumptions, as they generally are, were wrong.

The young woman was not very tall, pleasantly plump, and jovial. Miss Gehant’s warm affability and genuine pleasure in meeting her struck Mary, and pleased her greatly. Letitia even promised to join her later when guests stopped arriving so that they could further their acquaintance.

Much pleased, Mary retreated deeper into the room. She dropped into a seat without any thought of dancing was much surprised to find Mr. Darcy and a strange gentleman approach her.

Mr. Darcy had a queer, confused look on his face as he drew nearer to introduced the gentleman.

“Mary, might I introduce you to Mr. Warhol, he desires to make you acquaintance.” Mr. Darcy bowed awkwardly and quickly walked away.

“Good evening, Miss Bennet. I was wondering if you might give me the pleasure of standing up with me when the music begins again.”

Though quite taken aback, Mary accepted his offer and stood up to dance when the players struck up their instruments again.

Mr. Warhol was an older man, not that he was old, but he was definitely older than her. He spent much of the dance asking such as “how long have you been in this county, have you been here before….” etc.

Mary answered his questions politely and concisely, though she grew rather bored. Se wondered if she had read any books of information that they could discuss.

“Sir, I was wondering if you had ever read-”

“A romance novel, Camilla I suppose,” he interrupted. “No, of course not. I don’t have time for such trivial pleasures as ladies often indulge in.”

“You are mistaken; what I was going to ask if you had read The Pious Clergy, essays by George White. And if you would recommend it?”

“The Pious Clergy, by White? Why, yes, I have read them. Very well laid out, I say. But, I would not recommend it for light reading as a young woman is want to do. However, if you should ever happen to take it up, I should be happy to decipher it for you.” Mr. Worhal replied.

“Oh…thank you.” Mary stammered stupidly. She was used to being teased, but rarely patronized. This man must think her very stupid indeed. Ha! Mary was the last girl in this county that needed him to explain anything written by White.

The Dance ended and Mr. Worhal led her off the floor. “And now I shall return you to your fiancé. You must thank him for allowing me to steal you away.” He said.

“Fiancé? I assure you that I have none.” Mary replied with some confusion.

“But-you don’t? Forgive me for being presumptuous but then you must have some beau here with you?” he asked.

“No, sir.” Mary stated, missing the sly look of his eyes. “There are none anywhere.”

“Oh, forgive me for the mistake. I hope I have not offended you.” He bowed and was gone.

Mary blinked, shook her head, that man is a little bit off.

“Oh! There you are, Miss Bennet. I have been greeting people for the last two hours and it’s all make me so muddled and dizzy. I hope that you have not been sitting here all night! That would be so shocking.” Miss Gehant babbled.

“No, I have just been dancing with that gentleman over there. I believe his name is Warhol.” Mary pointed him out.

“Oh, Mr. Warhol. He’s a decent enough fellow. He has a nice estate east of here. I suppose you’ve only talked about the weather and the roads.”

“Aye, he’s a very formulaic conversationalist to be sure.” Mary smiled as she though about his absurd comments about “deciphering” White. It was too awful, and yet so comical.

“Well, I hope we can have a pleasanter conversation before Captain Farrell whisks me away to dance. It is our engagement ball and it is the only proper thing to do.” Miss Gehant replied gaily. “It is such a shame that I should onlyhave the opportunity of meeting you not that I am almost married and leaving the country in a twelvemonth.”

“Twelvemonth? That is a long engagement, is it not?” Mary asked with surprise.

“Long? No, indeed, three, or maybe two years is a long engagement, but never one. Of course, it may be longer than is generally expected, but I am not ready to leave home any sooner. Why, I fancy I feel homesick already.”

“But, why marry at all if you are loath to leave?” Mary asked.

Miss Gehant grew very animated during their conversation and replied readily, “Why? Why else? I am very fond of my home but I am terribly in love with Captain Farrell. I’ll sooner get over any uneasiness than I’ll get over him. After all, it would be a foolish, child-like thing to call off an engagement.”

Mary nodded in agreement while her hostess continued. “It is a pity you had to leave all your friends behind. I am sure you miss them terribly. Was there anyone of whom you were particularly fond?”

“As in a gentleman?” Mary asked, though she knew the answer. Miss Gehant nodded enthusiastically. “No, I was not particularly fond of anyone in Mertyon. I have other things in mind besides marriage.”

Letitia looked shocked. “But-but what else is there?”

“I am going to be a teacher. In fact, I am gong to send an advertisement to the papers.” Mary replied as she scanned the ballroom for her family.

“A teacher? Wait-a teacher!” Letitia cried animatedly. “Are you quite serious?”

“I-I think so.” Mary stammered.

“And you need a position?”

“I am sending an advertis-”

Miss Gehant bounced out of her seat and called to a young man wearing a uniform. “Captain Farrell! Come quick!”

“Yes, my love?” He asked as he strolled over.

“Come meet my new friend Miss Bennet. She wants to be a teacher.” Letitia smiled broadly and winked her eye.

This, of course, reminded Mary of her mother and she began to feel rather suspicious.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Bennet.” Captain Farrell bowed over her proffered hand. “Are you seeking a position?” he then asked without ceremony.

All of these questions were starting to scare Mary. She hadn’t been making any definite decisions about the scheme since she wrote the advertisement and she was still uncertain. However, it was her fault for speaking so soon.

“I believe so.” Mary replied timidly.

“Splendid! I have a good friend who is the headmaster at a dame school up north. He recently lost a teacher and is having a hard time replacing her. I could give you a letter of recommendation even, which, of course will get you a position instantly.”

“Oh.” Mary was completely overwhelmed. She knew it was meant kindly, but it seemed rather sudden. It did seem rather impertinent for a newly formed acquaintance to so eagerly press services.

“Oh, dear. James, I fear we’ve dismayed poor Miss Bennet. Perhaps you should go talk to your mother over there while I put my friend back to rights.” Miss Gehant shooed the Captain away. “I am terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to push the matter on you. It’s just that Luke (Dr. Shore, dear) is such a good friend of James’. He’s so desperate to keep the school going and he’s had such a hard time of it.

“I met him last summer when I visited the lakes with Captain F’s family-the school is in Cumbria, you know-he is one of the best men I have ever met. I’m sure that I would have fallen in love with him if it hadn’t been for the fact that I was already quite in love with James. The landscape, you can imaging, is very good for the young ladies’ drawing lessons. The peak is breath-taking.”

Mary sorted through all the fragmented information. “In Cumbria? I can’t imagine why there would be a school in that particular corner of the country.”

“Oh, girls come from all over. Dr. Shore is a native of the Lake District and would never think of moving to London for the sake of opening a school.”

“Indeed.”

“Oh, look, Captain Farrell is giving me a very droll look. I suppose that I must dance with him.”

Elizabeth replaced Miss Gehant. “Ah, so this is the infamous gown that Jane described to me. It becomes you well, Mary. I have overheard several young men say that they wished to know you more.”

“None of them have attempted to ‘know me better’ as you put it.” Mary replied. “Perhaps the dress is not yet infamous enough to make them act upon their wishes.”

“Or, maybe they are disquieted by your aloof persona.” Elizabeth mildly rebuked her. “So, you have found a friend in Letitia Gehant. She’s a good-natured young woman. Not to mention, of course, that she is very social. Maybe it’ll be catching.”

“We’ll see, Eliza. Maybe it’ll be more contagious than you know.” Mary replied.

Chapter 6, Part A

Posted on Tuesday, 21 October 2003

Flickering candlelight sent the shadows shivering over the walls of Mary’s room. The moon’s silver rays illuminated her face as she laboured over her parchment. Her quill made scratching faintly as it moved across the page. Mary paused and lightly caressed her pale cheek with the feather as she collected her thoughts.

There were several spots of black ink on her otherwise white nightgown and her fingers were smudged from dipping her pen too deeply into the well.

The wind played with the trees, swaying the boughs mournfully. Mary stared out her window at the grounds below; she was held in trance by the trees as they danced. Somehow, they seemed to whisper some meaning to her heart.

The wind came from the north.

“Good morning, mama, good morning, Jane.” Mary greeted them as she took her seat at breakfast.

“Good morning, Mary. I hope you slept well. Today we are going to Pemberley to see Lizzy. I hope you are up for a walk as we plan to tour the park before it starts to grow too damp outdoors.” Jane chattered merrily. Going to see Elizabeth always made her extra cheerful.

“Certainly, and I shall bring my copy of the Naturalist’s Guide to English Foliage so that I can identify the vegetation.” Mary replied with satisfaction.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Hodges, came in presently with the morning letters. There were two for Jane, three for Mr. Bingley, and, two for Mrs. Bennet (from her brother and sister), and one for Mary. She accepted the letter and looked at the seal, which she did not recognize.

Naturally Mary was very curious as to who it could possibly be that would write her. However, she placed the letter in her pocket and finished her breakfast.

The North wind had cooled the august air and made a tour of the park very refreshing. Mary stood on a mossy knoll under an ancient oak and felt the wind caress her cheek and play with her curls.

Breathing deeply, Mary settled down on the grass and springy mass. With her, she carried a small felt sack containing a small sketchbook and pencils. It was true that Mary had never been taught to draw and she certainly was no artist, but she had always loved to sketch flowers and other plants for scientific purposes. None of her sisters had ever guessed what her notebook was for, because Mary always kept it well hidden. Today, Mary would use the drawings to identify the plant species found at Pemberley.

Jane, Elizabeth, and Mrs. Bennet were lost somewhere on the grounds for all Mary knew, but she kept to her work. She had been drawing for an hour when she was startled by the appearance of Mr. Warhol.

“Oh! Excuse me, Miss Bennet. I was not aware that I would find you here. I say, what are you doing?” Mr. Warhol bent down on his hams to inspect her drawings.

Mary’s first instinct was to whip the book away from him, but propriety staid her hand.

“This is a decent enough likeness,” he told her. “These, of course, are Cattleyas Laelias, not native to English soil.” He pointed to her sketch of hothouse flowers.

“I know,” she replied quietly.

“Which, of course, is from-”

“Peru. Yes, I know.” Mary stated.

“Why, yes. You do know a bit about hybrids don’t you.”

Mary thought this a bit ridiculous, as it was common enough to find orchids in a hobbyist’s greenhouse. Once again, she wondered what sort of a simpleton he took her for.

The man handed the sketchbook back to Mary and rose to his feet again. “Seeing as we are in a compromising situation, I shall leave you no and spare you the speculation of the neighbors and your family. Good day to you.” Mr. Warhol tipped his hat and stalked back into the woods.

“Lord, he’s odd.” Mary exclaimed to herself as she continued to sketch. Soon, however, her cramping stomach reminded her that it was time to return to the house. A breeze stirred up the dust along the path as she walked. Mary reached for a handkerchief in her pocket to blow her nose with. Instead, she found the letter she had received that morning and had forgotten about.

Holding her nose, Mary broke the seal and read:

Haverton, Cumbria
Aug. 7th, 18-
Dear Miss Bennet,

Forgive me if this letter appears presumptuous, as you have not specifically expressed any interest in Haverton School. I have been informed by an acquaintance, which we both share, that you are seeking a position as a governess or as a schoolteacher. As it is, I am in need of a teacher. Allow me to be so bold as to give you the short history of Haverton School for young ladies.

My great-grandfather, Mr. Louis Haverton, originally established the school in London. It was later moved to Cumbria by my grandfather, Mr. Charles Shore, and his wife Molly Haverton Shore. His health would not permit him to stay in London, but neither would give up the school. Therefore, it followed them north.

The ages of our pupils range from five years of age to eighteen years of age. Many, though not all, are under the care of a legal guardian. Our purpose is to train the young ladies to become well-informed governesses and companions, as they are likely to have to support themselves in future.

Our curriculum includes geography, history, grammar, writing, arithmetic, music, drawing, and etiquette. Amongst our weekly schedule, there is prayer in the morning, service on Sunday, tea, exercise in the shrubbery, and an annual trip to London.

I pray that you find this offer satisfactory. Terms of employment will be discussed upon the reception of your reply.

Your servant,
Dr. L. Shore

Mary was exceedingly astonished. It has been a fortnight since Miss Gehant had first mentioned the Cumbria scheme. Though she had often thought of it, she certainly had not acted on her friend’s information. What’s more, she certainly had not expected Miss Gehant or Captain Farrell to actually send a suggestion to their friend without her consent.

Mary’s thoughts had not finished this train before she reached Pemberley house and found that her conspirator friend had also arrived.

“Miss Bennet, how charming to meet you here. How diverting!” Miss Gehant gabbed as she stepped out of the carriage and shook hands with Mary. The young lady’s mother was also present and the three turned to walk into the house.

Mary’s sisters and mother were already inside the house, in the saloon where the former Georgiana Darcy had once entertained the former Elizabeth Bennet. Mrs. Reynolds announced the guests, and the mistress seated them. Mary was quite relieved to find that refreshments were on their way.

All the while, Mary was burning to question Miss Gehant about the letter from Dr. Shore. Though Mary was not angry with her friend, it did seem too bold a thing to do in writing the Doctor. No to mention, of course, the inconvenience to their friend if Mary should choose not to apply.

However, Elizabeth was a bit quicker. “I was wondering, Mary, if you had met with Mr. Warhol in the park this morning. I know it’s a bit unlikely considering the size of the park, but I know that you wandered from us in the same direction that I sent him.”

“I did, indeed. I confess that I was very surprised to see him. He helped me identify some flowers and left without stating his business. I returned to the house some time after that.” Mary told her.

“He was looking for Mr. Darcy. I wondered if he had any luck meeting up with him. I sent him up to look by the streambed toward the eastern end of the property. I hope he has found him, though it is an extensive park.”

“What were you doing out there, Mary?” Jane asked curiously.

Mary didn’t want to admit that she was drawing, because then she would probably have to show her awful sketches to her family. But, she didn’t want them to think that she had planned a rendezvous with Mr. Warhol, either.

“I was reading my Naturalist’s Guide to-um, you know. Nothing interesting.

Satisfied, Jane and Elizabeth both became engrossed in Mrs. Bennet’s conversation with Mrs. Gehant, which left Mary and Letitia free to discuss other matters.

“I was very surprised, Miss Gehant, to receive a letter in the post this morning from the headmaster of Haverton School.” Mary told her rather pensively.

“You mean Dr. Shore? Well, it is very odd that he should do that. For, I never mentioned you above once or twice in the letter that Captain Farrell sent.” Miss Gehant replied in earnest.

Mary smiled at her friend. She thought that Miss Gehant would be very cunning except that all of the things she did were done out of goodness and from talking to much, not deliberation. In other words, she had not intended to direct Dr. Shore to write to Mary, but she could not help telling the gentleman all about her new friend. Then, she had indirectly told Dr. Shore that there was a young lady currently in the market for a job. But, then, that left the uncomfortable question of how he had gotten her directions.

“Of course,” Letitia mused. “James might have written something.”

“Certainly,” Mary replied. It was amusing how Miss Gehant kept switching between Captain Farrell’s last and Christian name. Obviously, any irritation that Mary felt was done away with.

“But, what did Dr. Shore write? If you don’t mind, that is?” Miss Gehant asked.

“Dr. Shore wrote that he had heard from a mutual friend (“James!”) that I was looking for a position as a teacher, and that he had one available. He wrote some history about the school, and gave a description of the girl’s schedule. It was very straight forward.” Mary told her.

“Oh, is that all? He always writes such long, amiable letters. Of course, this was a bit businessy. Oh well. So…what is your answer?” Miss Gehant’s eyes glowed with anticipation, as if Mary was about to tell her who the town hussy was.

“My answer? Why, I hardly know. It’s all so sudden. Besides,” Mary lowered her voice to a whisper, “I have not yet mentioned a word of this to my family.”

“OH.” Letitia breathed as if she had just heard a deep secret. “WHEN-WILL-YOU-TALK-TO-THEM?” She said in something like a stage whisper.

Amused, but self-conscious, Mary replied, “I’m not certain.”

“I-WISH-YOU-WOULD-MAKE-UP-YOUR-MIND. LUKE-NEEDS-A-WI…UH-I-MEAN-TEACHER.”

Once again, Mary noticed that tell-tale twinkle in Miss Gehant’s eye that she had often seen in her mother’s. “I’ll try to write back to Dr. Shore as soon as possible, but that does not mean that I am committing myself to-”

“Mary!” Mrs. Bennet called to her daughter rather more enthusiastically than was wanted. “You’ll never guess what dear Alice has told me. There’s to be an Assembly sometime soon and that there is a large family of eligible bachelors sure to attend! I think, perhaps, that you shall be obliged to go.”

The Lakes were looking more promising every moment.

Mr. Darcy had come in from the park eventually and was followed by Mr. Warhol. The latter gentleman placed himself in between Miss Gehant and Miss Bennet on the settee. Then addressing himself to the former, he asked, “Well, Miss Gehant, when are you off?”

“Not for a long piece of time,” she answered, guessing that he meant her marriage. Of course, with Mr. Warhol, you never could tell.

“Good, good. Well, Miss Bennet, I hope that you have not given up on your pictures. Indeed, you had not gotten very far. I was surprised to you had left. After all, proper sketches are very time consuming. Perhaps, I should lend you some of my own. I am sure I could make a proper naturalist out of you given time.” He rambled on from plants to animals, to bones and to petticoats and why whalebone decays in a Hindustan climate. Mary politely ignored him and Letitia tried to keep her face from looking too disinterested.

At last, however, the ladies from Pelham and Rosswell were obliged to leave. Mr. Warhol begged them to stay while Elizabeth politely pushed him out the door.

“Here’s a letter from Louisa, Charles.” Jane handed her husband a pink envelope with his (and only his) name on it.

“Oh, I wonder what she could be writing about?” Charles mumbled absentmindedly over his toast. Little Eliza had said her first word last night and he still hadn’t recovered.

Though he didn’t seem to think much of the letter, Mary noticed that Jane’s spirits were affected. It was, no doubt, due to both Bingley sister’s continued abhorrence of her. Jane was, by nature, optimistic, but the constant strain between herself, her husband and his family, and her own, had warn away at her.

Mary could feel familiar white-hot anger well up in her stomach and swell through her limbs. The thought of what she could do if she got a hold of Louisa’s and Caroline’s corset strings caused her lips to curl into an evil smirk. The mental image she conjured was well worth relishing, even if it didn’t ever come to pass.

“Ah, it seems that they’re all settled at Norwich by this time. But, they’ll still be in town through Michaelmas. Why, Jane, they want us to come down to see them before they quit the place.”

Jane looked confusedly at her husband and seemed to signal to him (which only confused him).

Mary thought she understood what Jane was trying to communicate and felt the same awkwardness her sister must feel creeping over her. A look at Mrs. Bennet told Mary that the feeling was not lost on her mother. It was then that Mary was reminded of the change in her mother since Mr. Bennet’s decease. Mrs. Bennet seemed to have more of a sense of propriety (except in the case of suitors) and also understood that the Bingley sisters had a decided dislike of them. However, the question at hand was whether or not the two of them would go with Jane and Bingley.

Mrs. Bennet rose from the breakfast table and said that she felt especially fatigued and would be in her room. Mary followed close at her heels, claiming that she had letters to write.

Since she really didn’t have anyone to write to (save Dr. Shore), she took out her manuscript once again and read through it. The other night, before she received the Haverton letter, she had spent a good deal of time rewriting the old story, tweaking and changing her characters. It had been difficult because they had fixed names and personalities now and Mary felt that she had ruined them. However, she couldn’t find any other reason why they would have rejected the manuscript. The plot was not original, but tested by many authors. Since they seemed to do well, then she must as well. Perhaps her characters were too perfect to be true.

Frustrated, Mary tossed away her pen. Her brain was all muddled and her mind often wondered. Perhaps it was time to join the others again. it would clear her mind. So, downstairs she went, tripping lightly over the floors. Se was not noticed by anybody and she thought the house must be deserted until she came right up to the drawing room door, which was only opened a crack.

Though Mary could not see, she could here the voice of her sister and brother-in-law in an intense debate.

Chapter 6 ~ Part A

Posted on Sunday, 30 November 2003

Flickering candlelight sent the shadows shivering over the walls of Mary’s room. The moon’s silver rays illuminated her face as she laboured over her parchment. Her quill made scratching faintly as it moved across the page. Mary paused and lightly caressed her pale cheek with the feather as she collected her thoughts.

There were several spots of black ink on her otherwise white nightgown and her fingers were smudged from dipping her pen too deeply into the well.

The wind played with the trees, swaying the boughs mournfully. Mary stared out her window at the grounds below; she was held in trance by the trees as they danced. Somehow, they seemed to whisper some meaning to her heart.

The wind came from the north.

“Good morning, mama, good morning, Jane.” Mary greeted them as she took her seat at breakfast.

“Good morning, Mary. I hope you slept well. Today we are going to Pemberley to see Lizzy. I hope you are up for a walk as we plan to tour the park before it starts to grow too damp outdoors.” Jane chattered merrily. Going to see Elizabeth always made her extra cheerful.

“Certainly, and I shall bring my copy of the Naturalist’s Guide to English Foliage so that I can identify the vegetation.” Mary replied with satisfaction.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Hodges, came in presently with the morning letters. There were two for Jane, three for Mr. Bingley, and, two for Mrs. Bennet (from her brother and sister), and one for Mary. She accepted the letter and looked at the seal, which she did not recognize.

Naturally Mary was very curious as to who it could possibly be that would write her. However, she placed the letter in her pocket and finished her breakfast.

The North wind had cooled the august air and made a tour of the park very refreshing. Mary stood on a mossy knoll under an ancient oak and felt the wind caress her cheek and play with her curls.

Breathing deeply, Mary settled down on the grass and springy mass. With her, she carried a small felt sack containing a small sketchbook and pencils. It was true that Mary had never been taught to draw and she certainly was no artist, but she had always loved to sketch flowers and other plants for scientific purposes. None of her sisters had ever guessed what her notebook was for, because Mary always kept it well hidden. Today, Mary would use the drawings to identify the plant species found at Pemberley.

Jane, Elizabeth, and Mrs. Bennet were lost somewhere on the grounds for all Mary knew, but she kept to her work. She had been drawing for an hour when she was startled by the appearance of Mr. Warhol.

“Oh! Excuse me, Miss Bennet. I was not aware that I would find you here. I say, what are you doing?” Mr. Warhol bent down on his hams to inspect her drawings.

Mary’s first instinct was to whip the book away from him, but propriety staid her hand.

“This is a decent enough likeness,” he told her. “These, of course, are Cattleyas Laelias, not native to English soil.” He pointed to her sketch of hothouse flowers.

“I know,” she replied quietly.

“Which, of course, is from-”

“Peru. Yes, I know.” Mary stated.

“Why, yes. You do know a bit about hybrids don’t you.”

Mary thought this a bit ridiculous, as it was common enough to find orchids in a hobbyist’s greenhouse. Once again, she wondered what sort of a simpleton he took her for.

The man handed the sketchbook back to Mary and rose to his feet again. “Seeing as we are in a compromising situation, I shall leave you no and spare you the speculation of the neighbors and your family. Good day to you.” Mr. Warhol tipped his hat and stalked back into the woods.

“Lord, he’s odd.” Mary exclaimed to herself as she continued to sketch. Soon, however, her cramping stomach reminded her that it was time to return to the house. A breeze stirred up the dust along the path as she walked. Mary reached for a handkerchief in her pocket to blow her nose with. Instead, she found the letter she had received that morning and had forgotten about.

Holding her nose, Mary broke the seal and read:

Haverton, Cumbria
Aug. 7th, 18-
Dear Miss Bennet,

Forgive me if this letter appears presumptuous, as you have not specifically expressed any interest in Haverton School. I have been informed by an acquaintance, which we both share, that you are seeking a position as a governess or as a schoolteacher. As it is, I am in need of a teacher. Allow me to be so bold as to give you the short history of Haverton School for young ladies.

My great-grandfather, Mr. Louis Haverton, originally established the school in London. It was later moved to Cumbria by my grandfather, Mr. Charles Shore, and his wife Molly Haverton Shore. His health would not permit him to stay in London, but neither would give up the school. Therefore, it followed them north.

The ages of our pupils range from five years of age to eighteen years of age. Many, though not all, are under the care of a legal guardian. Our purpose is to train the young ladies to become well-informed governesses and companions, as they are likely to have to support themselves in future.

Our curriculum includes geography, history, grammer, writing, arithmetic, music, drawing, and etiquette. Amongst our weekly schedule, there is prayer in the morning, service on Sunday, tea, exercise in the shrubbery, and an annual trip to London.

I pray that you find this offer satisfactory. Terms of employment will be discussed upon the reception of your reply.
Your servant,
Dr. L. Shore

Mary was exceedingly astonished. It has been a fortnight since Miss Gehant had first mentioned the Cumbria scheme. Though she had often thought of it, she certainly had not acted on her friend’s information. What’s more, she certainly had not expected Miss Gehant or Captain Farrell to actually send a suggestion to their friend without her consent.

Mary’s thoughts had not finished this train before she reached Pemberley house and found that her conspirator friend had also arrived.

“Miss Bennet, how charming to meet you here. How diverting!” Miss Gehant gabbed as she stepped out of the carriage and shook hands with Mary. The young lady’s mother was also present and the three turned to walk into the house.

Mary’s sisters and mother were already inside the house, in the saloon where the former Georgiana Darcy had once entertained the former Elizabeth Bennet. Mrs. Reynolds announced the guests, and the mistress seated them. Mary was quite relieved to find that refreshments were on their way.

All the while, Mary was burning to question Miss Gehant about the letter from Dr. Shore. Though Mary was not angry with her friend, it did seem too bold a thing to do in writing the Doctor. No to mention, of course, the inconvenience to their friend if Mary should choose not to apply.

However, Elizabeth was a bit quicker. “I was wondering, Mary, if you had met with Mr. Warhol in the park this morning. I know it’s a bit unlikely considering the size of the park, but I know that you wandered from us in the same direction that I sent him.”

“I did, indeed. I confess that I was very surprised to see him. He helped me identify some flowers and left without stating his business. I returned to the house some time after that.” Mary told her.

“He was looking for Mr. Darcy. I wondered if he had any luck meeting up with him. I sent him up to look by the streambed toward the eastern end of the property. I hope he has found him, though it is an extensive park.”

“What were you doing out there, Mary?” Jane asked curiously.

Mary didn’t want to admit that she was drawing, because then she would probably have to show her awful sketches to her family. But, she didn’t want them to think that she had planned a rendezvous with Mr. Warhol, either.

“I was reading my Naturalist’s Guide to-um, you know. Nothing interesting.

Satisfied, Jane and Elizabeth both became engrossed in Mrs. Bennet’s conversation with Mrs. Gehant, which left Mary and Letitia free to discuss other matters.

“I was very surprised, Miss Gehant, to receive a letter in the post this morning from the headmaster of Haverton School.” Mary told her rather pensively.

“You mean Dr. Shore? Well, it is very odd that he should do that. For, I never mentioned you above once or twice in the letter that Captain Farrell sent.” Miss Gehant replied in earnest.

Mary smiled at her friend. She thought that Miss Gehant would be very cunning except that all of the things she did were done out of goodness and from talking to much, not deliberation. In other words, she had not intended to direct Dr. Shore to write to Mary, but she could not help telling the gentleman all about her new friend. Then, she had indirectly told Dr. Shore that there was a young lady currently in the market for a job. But, then, that left the uncomfortable question of how he had gotten her directions.

“Of course,” Letitia mused. “James might have written something.”

“Certainly,” Mary replied. It was amusing how Miss Gehant kept switching between Captain Farrell’s last and Christian name. Obviously, any irritation that Mary felt was done away with.

“But, what did Dr. Shore write? If you don’t mind, that is?” Miss Gehant asked.

“Dr. Shore wrote that he had heard from a mutual friend (“James!”) that I was looking for a position as a teacher, and that he had one available. He wrote some history about the school, and gave a description of the girl’s schedule. It was very straight forward.” Mary told her.

“Oh, is that all? He always writes such long, amiable letters. Of course, this was a bit businessy. Oh well. So…what is your answer?” Miss Gehant’s eyes glowed with anticipation, as if Mary was about to tell her who the town hussy was.

“My answer? Why, I hardly know. It’s all so sudden. Besides,” Mary lowered her voice to a whisper, “I have not yet mentioned a word of this to my family.”

“OH.” Letitia breathed as if she had just heard a deep secret. “WHEN-WILL-YOU-TALK-TO-THEM?” She said in something like a stage whisper.

Amused, but self-conscious, Mary replied, “I’m not certain.”

“I-WISH-YOU-WOULD-MAKE-UP-YOUR-MIND. LUKE-NEEDS-A-WI…UH-I-MEAN-TEACHER.”

Once again, Mary noticed that tell-tale twinkle in Miss Gehant’s eye that she had often seen in her mother’s. “I’ll try to write back to Dr. Shore as soon as possible, but that does not mean that I am committing myself to-”

“Mary!” Mrs. Bennet called to her daughter rather more enthusiastically than was wanted. “You’ll never guess what dear Alice has told me. There’s to be an Assembly sometime soon and that there is a large family of eligible bachelors sure to attend! I think, perhaps, that you shall be obliged to go.”

The Lakes were looking more promising every moment.

Mr. Darcy had come in from the park eventually and was followed by Mr. Warhol. The latter gentleman placed himself in between Miss Gehant and Miss Bennet on the settee. Then addressing himself to the former, he asked, “Well, Miss Gehant, when are you off?”

“Not for a long piece of time,” she answered, guessing that he meant her marriage. Of course, with Mr. Warhol, you never could tell.

“Good, good. Well, Miss Bennet, I hope that you have not given up on your pictures. Indeed, you had not gotten very far. I was surprised to you had left. After all, proper sketches are very time consuming. Perhaps, I should lend you some of my own. I am sure I could make a proper naturalist out of you given time.” He rambled on from plants to animals, to bones and to petticoats and why whalebone decays in a Hindustan climate. Mary politely ignored him and Letitia tried to keep her face from looking too disinterested.

At last, however, the ladies from Pelham and Rosswell were obliged to leave. Mr. Warhol begged them to stay while Elizabeth politely pushed him out the door.

“Here’s a letter from Louisa, Charles.” Jane handed her husband a pink envelope with his (and only his) name on it.

“Oh, I wonder what she could be writing about?” Charles mumbled absentmindedly over his toast. Little Eliza had said her first word last night and he still hadn’t recovered.

Though he didn’t seem to think much of the letter, Mary noticed that Jane’s spirits were affected. It was, no doubt, due to both Bingley sister’s continued abhorrence of her. Jane was, by nature, optimistic, but the constant strain between herself, her husband and his family, and her own, had worn away at her.

Mary could feel familiar white-hot anger well up in her stomach and swell through her limbs. The thought of what she could do if she got a hold of Louisa’s and Caroline’s corset strings caused her lips to curl into an evil smirk. The mental image she conjured was well worth relishing, even if it didn’t ever come to pass.

“Ah, it seems that they’re all settled at Norwich by this time. But, they’ll still be in town through Michaelmas. Why, Jane, they want us to come down to see them before they quit the place.”

Jane looked confusedly at her husband and seemed to signal to him (which only confused him).

Mary thought she understood what Jane was trying to communicate and felt the same awkwardness her sister must feel creeping over her. A look at Mrs. Bennet told Mary that the feeling was not lost on her mother. It was then that Mary was reminded of the change in her mother since Mr. Bennet’s decease. Mrs. Bennet seemed to have more of a sense of propriety (except in the case of suitors) and also understood that the Bingley sisters had a decided dislike of them. However, the question at hand was whether or not the two of them would go with Jane and Bingley.

Mrs. Bennet rose from the breakfast table and said that she felt especially fatigued and would be in her room. Mary followed close at her heels, claiming that she had letters to write.

Since she really didn’t have anyone to write to (save Dr. Shore), she took out her manuscript once again and read through it. The other night, before she received the Haverton letter, she had spent a good deal of time rewriting the old story, tweaking and changing her characters. It had been difficult because they had fixed names and personalities now and Mary felt that she had ruined them. However, she couldn’t find any other reason why they would have rejected the manuscript. The plot was not original, but tested by many authors. Since they seemed to do well, then she must as well. Perhaps her characters were too perfect to be true.

Frustrated, Mary tossed away her pen. Her brain was all muddled and her mind often wondered. Perhaps it was time to join the others again. it would clear her mind. So, downstairs she went, tripping lightly over the floors. Se was not noticed by anybody and she thought the house must be deserted until she came right up to the drawing room door, which was only opened a crack.

Though Mary could not see, she could here the voice of her sister and brother-in-law in an intense debate.