A Match for Mary Bennet (9 page)

Mary wanted to say they might have asked Caroline Bingley, who always spoke enviously of Georgiana's Broadwood grand, but she simply said, “I am sorry to have missed it. But surely the noels are still to come?” Then she applied herself to the delicious curry.

Elizabeth persisted. “Georgiana wanted to share the honours with you, as she played only the folk dances you had done as duets. She thought them thin without your part.” She looked sternly at Mary. “Did you slip into the library to continue
Pilgrim's Progress
?”

Mary spoke almost before she swallowed. “Oh no, Lizzy. I haven't looked at that book for many days now.” She coloured a little, fearing she had spoken untruly, at least in part, and choking back what she thought of adding—that she only devoted herself to sturdier books now. Happily, Georgiana led Lady Elliott to their table, and Darcy arrived to sit with Elizabeth as Bingley sat down with Jane. Mary became, for a while, the listener she had intended to be. Supper progressed with no further embarrassment, save only Mrs. Bennet's overly loud comment to the assembled group: “Mary, look at that Colonel Fitzwilliam, simpering over Caroline Bingley. What a pity he has forgot how pleased he was with you at the Meryton Assembly. You should have placed yourself in his way and smiled at him. Why must you neglect your social duties? He might just as well be squiring you, you know.”

Mary shrugged. “I am sorry, Mama. I have just now noticed him.” She smiled inwardly to think that his attentions to Miss Bingley might well be the result of her own advice to him at that very ball.

Mrs. Bennet, showing dissatisfaction at Mary's indifference, kept after her about her “bounden duty” to marry. “And you know, Mr. Grantley showed a remarkable attention to you. Have you read the essays he gave you?” Mary nodded absently. “Well, you be sure to thank him and show a lively interest. He may be a bit peculiar, but he is not so bad, really. You could do much worse.”

Mary was saved from answering by Georgiana's beckoning her to the pianoforte. Together they played noels while many country folk sang. Once, when she looked up from the keyboard, she saw Mr. Oliver eyeing her with a puzzled frown. She avoided his eyes, as he had no call to be questioning her earlier disappearance. She concentrated instead on her embarrassment at having overheard the conversation of the awesome Mr. Darcy and his even more awesome aunt. She reflected long on the unhappy complications of even unintended eavesdropping.

By the week following the great Christmas ball at Pemberley, the announced engagement of Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Bingley captured the common interest. Elizabeth pointed out to Mary that Jane and Charles Bingley smiled every bit as much as did the happy couple. Lady Catherine, abandoning her sedate silence whenever the subject arose, disapproved in the most stentorian tones. Mrs. Bennet, only slightly more temperate, reserved her petulance for Mary. “That might just as well have been you, Mary. The Colonel was right fond of you at Meryton's Assembly, and if you would learn to smile and look admiringly at a man and cultivate a few flattering ways, I would not have to despair of you ever finding a husband. You certainly could have done as well as Miss Bingley if you had only tried. When a man is ready to marry, he is often not too particular about the lady.”

Lady Catherine, overhearing this, sniffed. “Indeed yes; and I could tell you the exact moment when the Colonel became ready to marry.” But she did not do so. Mary held her peace, though she could well have seconded her mother's view that the Colonel's choice was indeed just to be married, though he seemed to have been more particular as to his choice than Mrs. Bennet gave him credit for.

The happy couple, chaperoned by the Hursts, left for Norfolk to solicit the Earl's approval. The Bingleys, promising to return for the christening of their godchild, retired to Otherfield Park. The Bennets made arrangements to leave after the christening, Mr. Bennet declaring that never again would he stray so long from his own library at Longbourn. Mary looked forward to the departure eagerly. She did not ache for either the travel or for Hertfordshire but desired only to quit the environs of the accident that spoiled
Pilgrim's Progress
and of her unintentional eavesdropping, both embarrassments should they come to light. With luck she could forget them before summer visits came due, and she may even be able to avoid that, saying her mother needed company. At any rate, it was Catherine's turn to visit Pemberley, and at worst, she would be safely at Nottingham. Bingley was not half so daunting as Mr. Darcy.

After the christening, when all the other guests had departed, Elizabeth approached Mary in the music room where she was playing duets with Georgiana. “Mary, I wonder if I could ask you to stay on for a while.”

Mary hoped her horror at the suggestion did not register too violently with Elizabeth. “Oh no, I do not think so.”

Kitty, embroidering a towel as she listened to the music, looked up. “Why ever not? Surely you are not needed at home!”

Elizabeth explained, “Reverend and Mrs. Wynters have gone to their London retirement apartments, and Kympton's church is without an organist. I thought, since you enjoyed playing the organ, you would not object.”

Mary did object. “Oh, no, that is much too great a responsibility for me.” She considered the subject closed.

Elizabeth went on, “Mr. Oliver asked Darcy if you could possibly be prevailed upon to fill the post for a short time. He feels that having no music for Easter is simply unthinkable, and Mrs. Wynters had trained a small but faithful young choir that he does not wish to discourage.”

Mary grasped at any alternative. “Perhaps one of the choir members…”

Annoyingly, Elizabeth persisted. “Of course, he acknowledged his reluctance to impose upon the sister of his patron, but he felt you had the strength and musicianship to succeed. Mr. Darcy and I would be greatly obliged if you would at least attempt it.”

All the burden of her guilty secrets settled heavily on her, coupled with her instinctive distaste for a task that involved leading young people, even those as genial as the carollers she had met. Of course, she had wanted to play organ, but not for a constancy and not there. “I really could not, Lizzy; I am sorry. I have barely learned the organ, and I am clumsy with the stops. Perhaps Mr. Oliver should follow Reverend Wynters's lead and marry an organist himself.”

Elizabeth smiled broadly—and teasingly sweet, Mary thought. “He most particularly requested you. In time, he may find that some parishioner is able to do it. But for now, and to please us, do consider it.”

At that moment, Darcy entered, effectively crushing the categorical denial Mary meant to make. He smiled at Georgiana and complimented her artistry, causing her fingers to falter. The piano fell silent as she murmured her thanks. Then he turned full on Mary. “Miss Bennet, we look forward to your staying on with us.” But he gave her no chance to say she could not. Taking his wife's hand, he pulled her to the door of the music room. “Come to the library and see the beautiful work Mr. Oliver has done.”

As soon as they left the room, Catherine dropped her needlework and cried, “Oh, Mary, how could you give up a chance to stay here where the sheets are so soft and silky, and you get hot and cold water every morning in your room and excellent curry and ginger beer at tea and everything is so nice?”

“Such luxuries are not necessary to my contentment, Kitty. They are only the consequence of money, and that is the root of all evil.”

“You puzzle me exceedingly. Imagine doing the music for him! La, if I had learned to play as well as you, it could be me. Oh, do get to know him, Mary. Find out if he likes me.”

Mary remained indifferent to such a plan and abhorrent to remaining at Pemberley. “Kitty, with all my heart I wish that it were your offer and not mine. I hate to refuse, but I look forward to relaxing at Longbourn.” Mary realized that she would enjoy being an accomplice in Kitty's romance no more than she enjoyed being privy to Anne de Bourgh's. She felt caged; she had to get away. She noted Georgiana's silence, and to Kitty she whispered, “I can understand his hesitancy in asking for Miss Darcy, but she plays ever so much better than I do, and if no one else is available, she well might offer; she is that good. Besides,” she spoke aloud, “Mama needs me at home. Who can she exhort to sociability when you are so willing to oblige?” On that, Mary sought her room to finish packing and make her imminent departure obvious to the Darcys, though a faint twinge of conscience told her how ill she answered their cordial hospitality. On the way to her room, she reflected that, while soft sheets and other luxuries did not entice her, she really would miss the luxury of that library. She determined to stay out of sight until the carriage came for them next day.

Mary found her trunk packed and ready to close, and only a few things set out for the morrow. She smiled, and in her heart she blessed Polly for her foresight. All was as good as accomplished. She hurried across the corridor to the grand ballroom, so silent now, and with only four great wreaths adorning the walls as a reminder of its recent gaiety. She made her way to the balcony she loved, but when she reached it, she heard the Darcys in the lower library. She turned to leave, lest any new secrets reach her ears.

Elizabeth exclaimed in approval, and Darcy said, “Good as new.”

Mary hesitated at the door.

“He noticed the problem when he opened it to record Charles's christening, and he whispered, ‘I'll fix this for you.' All the early pages had come loose, with all our family's history threatening to fall out. But they are secure now, and look how easily the pages turn.”

Elizabeth agreed. “Why, it is almost better than new.”

“He said he learned to repair books from necessity at Ramsgate—such a poor parish even the altar ritual books were falling apart.”

Mary turned from the door and listened intently. Elizabeth was saying, “It is not as if you have neglected your fine collection.”

“Our fine collection,” Darcy corrected. “No, the Bible itself was readable, except at these first pages. Oliver said both the glue and the threads of binding need refreshing from time to time, especially where there is a fireplace.”

“And he offered to look at all these books?” Elizabeth's tone emphasised the immensity of the task.

“Yes. He loves books and appreciates using the library. I almost hate to accept the tithes he pays me for the living. This kind of work is invaluable.” His voice trailed off as he and Elizabeth left the library, and Mary looked longingly at
Pilgrim's Progress
, neglected there in its familiar place on the shelf. If she left as planned the next day, would he even think of examining books so far from the fireplace? If she did not leave, perhaps she could hint that it too needed rebinding. Perhaps she could manage to stay a short while, just until a regular organist could be found. If she took the post as requested, Mr. Oliver might feel obliged to fix the book. She would talk to Elizabeth, perhaps unpack the top layer of her trunk, and stay a short while.

Mrs. Bennet insisted that the whole family stay another day when she learned of Mary's plan to stay on. “If she should find it abhorrent when she first tries it, how could she return to Longbourn without us?” She followed this with her more pressing reason. “Mr. Grantley surely looks for Mary to be at the February assembly in Meryton. She really should not miss such an opportunity to cultivate a valuable acquaintance.” Mr. Bennet, eager for home but loath to leave Elizabeth, made but faint objection, and so Kitty enjoyed another night in her soft sheets.

When Mary returned from her first practise, Mr. Bennet, ensconced in the foyer with a good book and a decanter of wine, greeted her. “And how did you enjoy leading the choir?”

Mary shrugged. “I can probably endure it for a short while, until a regular organist can be found. The choir girls have fine voices, though some are but twelve years old.”

“And they know the music?”

“Well, yes, in a manner they do. But if I sing with the altos, the sopranos falter, and if I try to help the sopranos, they all go flat.”

Mr. Bennet nodded, smiling. “If I were you, Mary, I would merely threaten to sing with them when they are out of tune. They will work hard to get it right.”

Mary knew well that her family could abide her playing with far greater aplomb than they did her singing, and his advice did not surprise—or amuse—her. After the Bennets left for Longbourn, the advice rang in her mind during subsequent practises, and she was far less inclined to join the singing. For services she never did, and usually they went well enough.

Mary grew to enjoy the comfort of leisure time in the library as well as her walks or rides with Elizabeth on errands to Darcy's tenants and other townsfolk. When she relaxed in the morning room now, Mary took up needlework on her own, as she had learned to enjoy it, while Elizabeth nursed her child. Mary even became familiar enough with Mr. Darcy to relax a degree when he dropped in, as he so often did between his tasks in late morning. He treated her as his own sister, not hesitating to discuss business of the manor with Elizabeth in her presence. Usually Mary rose to leave when he opened such a subject, but Darcy always bade her remain.

One morning in late February, Darcy gestured her as usual to remain at her pursuit when he came upon them quietly at their tasks, Georgiana's songs wafting in from the music room. “Please, Miss Bennet, I never mean to disturb the peace of your occupation.” He turned to Elizabeth. “My dear, Lady Elliott asks Georgiana for an early visit in London, which suits my sister, who likes to avoid the height of the social season and wishes to return home for Easter. I would like for us both to convey her there and then to approach Lord Exbridge about his unhealthy isolation. What think you?”

Mary sincerely hoped Lizzy would not feel she must stay home to keep her company, and she wanted to give her that assurance, but since she had not been consulted, she hesitated to say anything. She could see that Lizzy frowned and delayed her answer. Finally, Elizabeth said, “Of course Georgiana must go, as Lady Elliott is such a good friend for her and we do not wish Georgiana to miss the amenities of London society.” She looked at her husband with pleading eyes. “But Charles and I have become so used to this tranquil hour. Would you be very angry with me if I stayed here?”

“No, indeed. I perceive that you have grown rather necessary to your son, despite the wet nurse. But you do see that I must go?”

“Oh, yes. Though my preference is to be with you always, that is my selfishness. Charles has come to need me for this hour, as he also needs Callie and the stability of the nursery, so I must sacrifice my need of you. Please hold me excused this year. Can you look upon it as welcome time alone with your sister? I do not like to think I have come between you two in any way.”

Darcy sighed. “I had feared that would be your choice.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, brushing the baby tenderly with his fingers as he did so. “Georgiana says she is ready to leave on the morrow. Lady Elliott will see to her return, so I do not mean to stay away more than a se'ennight. I will miss you.”

“And I you. I will pray for your success with Lord Exbridge. Will you visit in Kent as well?”

“I mean to spend one night there, as Lady Catherine has requested. I cannot spare more than that so near to planting time. The weather bids fair, and I leave you in good hands.” He smiled on Mary. “We will both be alone with our musical sisters.”

Mary did not know whether to be glad for the greater ease she would feel at his going or sorry for the loss of Georgiana who had lately been a true sister to her. Still, she had apparently not been part of Lizzy's decision, and for that she was grateful.

The next day, Mary bid a polite farewell to Mr. Darcy and a warm one to Georgiana, while Elizabeth held Darcy ever so long in embrace and fondly kissed Georgiana, sending her off with a store of the winter's remaining currant and cherry jams for Lady Elliott. With Darcy, she sent damson wine for Lord Exbridge.

A large and empty silence ensued after the carriage rolled away, though Mary anticipated an increasing ease of life. She would concentrate on the choir and her organ work, and hours with Lizzy in the morning room would be as sweet as their times at Longbourn. However, Elizabeth was, if anything, more silent, and when Mary looked for her next morning after breakfast Delia explained, “Mrs. Darcy had breakfast in her sitting room, and desires that you join her there with your embroidery.” Mary gathered her threads and pillow slips and made her way upstairs to the sitting room. There Lizzy smiled her welcome and tended to the suckling child. No music could have reached them, even if Georgiana was home to play and sing. If Mary tried to remind Lizzy of some homely joy of Longbourn, the reply she got was a nod or a murmur. Mary wondered much at the diminution of her sister's witty spirit, and she almost began to look eagerly for Darcy's return.

At the church, things went much as usual, with practises improving in both antics and music. The girls became relaxed with Mary on Wednesdays, and their chatting and larks increased, while on Sundays they showed that they could be serious and that their singing had spirit. In particular, a tall, willowy sixteen-year-old girl named Emmaline Langley, a lively brunette with sparkling blue eyes, liked to entertain her friends with moues and sallies, and she often held the final note of a motet long enough to make her friends giggle. This happened only at practises, when Mr. Oliver operated the organ bellows, and Emmaline kept her eyes on him rather than on Mary. On Sundays, for morning services, young Tom Hooks worked the bellows, but he would not be able to perform that office for practises until late spring when it would be light out. Emmaline kept turning adoring eyes on Mr. Oliver, never noticing the sign to cut off the last note, even after Mary's reminders.

“Miss Langley,” Mary often reproached her, “you must watch and stop singing when I nod, as the other girls do.”

“I am sorry, Miss Bennet. I was distracted. I will do it right on Sunday, I promise.” And she invariably did so, because then her view of Mr. Oliver leading the service below could comprise Mary as well, and she could follow directions as well as anyone. Nor did she care to call attention to herself in that manner when her parents were present in the congregation. Mary eagerly awaited the day when young Tom could be present for practises and she could command the attention of the older girls, who all seemed infatuated with the new vicar.

Mary spoke to Miss Langley after the third practise in a manner she hoped would bring results. “You have a lovely voice, Miss Langley, but no one voice should be heard in choir. Your continuing inattention is a frivolity that shows lack of respect for the other singers.”

Emmaline reddened, but she did not improve. She seemed determined to make Mr. Oliver notice her and appreciate her fine voice. After a while, Mary resigned herself to the nonsense, having reluctantly agreed to keep the choir until Easter as Mr. Oliver requested. After that, Emmaline could intrude herself on the vicar's notice however she pleased, and good luck to her. How unfortunate that Catherine had not stayed behind and joined the choir. She could have offered Emmaline some competition, perhaps to more effect, since Catherine was closer to Oliver's age. And, to Mary's way of thinking, he really ought to marry; then not only would choir girls be more attentive, but also he would not so often intrude himself in Pemberley's library. She reproached herself for her possessive attitude toward the library, but she could not conquer it. And now, Oliver set up supplies for repairing books on a table in the corner farthest from the fireplace. He regularly appeared not just on Tuesdays to read, but also on Fridays to examine book after book from the shelves. Occasionally, he took one to his corner table, where with ruler, stylus, paste-pot, and threads he plied his new trade. Sometimes he even hummed as he worked. Mary found it hard to keep her mind on what she read whenever those sounds invaded her quietude. When she could no longer stand it, she sighed, shelved her book, and headed for the door. Usually Oliver called as she left, “Sorry, Miss Bennet, if I have disturbed your study.” She waved to him then, hoping that her impatience did not show, but she could not, in truth, declare that he had not disturbed her.

Darcy returned, as promised, before ten days had elapsed, though now daytime cares took him to the fields when he was not consulting with his steward. In evenings, at dinner and after, he admitted little by little his small success with Lord Exbridge. “He did agree to see me at least and was pleased with the wine you sent.” And another evening, when Elizabeth asked him about his trip: “Lord Exbridge remarked that the taste of the wine reminded him of his own fields nearby, which he has not visited these two years or more.” And at another time: “Even when I was about to leave, he could not promise to ask Martha and young David to live with him. At the door he hemmed and hawed and said only, ‘Perhaps, one day.'”

“Oh, dear. Being so much alone cannot be good.” Elizabeth's sympathetic tone gained hope. “But you did at least see him. Perhaps, as with Lady Catherine, time will bring him to relent. And I promise to accompany you next spring.”

Mary felt she should say something, though her awe kept her a listener most of the time. “Did Miss Darcy bear the journey well?”

“Yes, thank you, Miss Bennet. But after I had left her with Miss Elliott, I kept wondering whether I should not have asked her to come with me first to Lord Exbridge. Only my fear that he would refuse to see me made me defer to her shyness and save her that supposed rebuff. I am sorry now that she did not come.” He turned a rueful gaze on Elizabeth. “She may have been more successful with him.”

“Perhaps, but you must not discount the success you did have. And next year, she must accompany us there.” Elizabeth's bright eyes sought his, and Mary noted a sparkle in them she had missed of late. “And what of Lady Catherine? Does she continue well?”

“Indeed yes. She talks of joining us again next Christmas. Unfortunately, I arrived on a Monday and could not stay to observe Sunday service as she had requested. I must make other arrangements for that, perhaps after Easter, when Mary and Lady Elliott will be returning south.” He turned to Mary. “Will you be greatly relieved when your stint at the organ is over?”

Mary felt that the organ playing was the least of her concerns; the lively choir members were a handful she might well wish to relinquish, but all she did was nod to Mr. Darcy's question.

One early spring practise finished with a truly stirring version of Neander's “He Is Risen.” Mary complimented the girls, wished them good evening, and slipped from the organ bench quickly. Just as quickly, Oliver dropped the bellows and moved before her to the loft staircase. “Miss Bennet, I would like to talk to you. May I walk you home?”

Mary noted the stricken face of Emmaline and actually pitied the child. She firmly declined such an offer, hoping Emmaline heard that too. “Mr. Darcy's steward, Mr. Shepard, waits in the churchyard with a carriage.”

She was annoyed to find that Oliver, preceding her as usual, looked back, smiling. “Good. I need to talk to you. If I may ride with you, I will walk back.”

Mary hoped her tired feeling of annoyance did not show too greatly. How she looked forward to Easter and her return to Longbourn! Let Catherine visit Pemberley. She would be welcome to it. Mary realized she would actually enjoy being Mrs. Bennet's excuse for summer visits and assembly attendance. Inconveniences she could predict displeased her far less than did surprising ones. She descended the narrow stairs with the vicar still looking back occasionally as if he feared she would fall. Well, if she must have his company in the carriage, perhaps she might approach him about repairing the volume she had ruined so long ago. She had not found an opportunity to do so as yet.

As they reached the lower church, Oliver said, “Don't be hard on Emmaline Langley, Miss Bennet. She tries, I believe.”

Mary smiled. If only the young girl could have heard! “Oh, yes. And she sings well, but she lacks concentration. How distressing to see such capable girls grow careless about praising God in song!” Mentally she urged him to defend the girl further, because she now saw the child lingering at the foot of the stairwell.

Instead, Oliver opened the church door for her, followed after, and offered his arm as Mary stepped over a muddy patch in the churchyard. He lowered his voice. “I think you might find a special patience for Miss Langley. She puts me in mind of your younger sister.”

“Oh Kitty is not that bad!” Mary rushed to her sister's defense.

“I referred to your other sister—Mrs. Wickham.”

“Kitty is my younger sister.” Mary spoke firmly, as to close the subject.

Mr. Oliver, perplexed, frowned at her. “But Miss Catherine introduced me to
her
younger sister at the Christmas ball. And, if I am not mistaken, you avoided Mrs. Wickham on that occasion.” He latched the churchyard gate with a decisive twist and regarded her sternly.