A Match for Mary Bennet (12 page)

In the days that followed, Mary found Catherine less giggly and less tearful than formerly, when Lydia had been her favoured companion. While Kitty remained at Longbourn preparing for her journey north, Mrs. Bennet concerned herself with those preparations as well. Though Mary wished to do anything which would further Kitty's desire to wed well, she often found herself at a loss. Thus, she pursued her own interests, devoting herself to books and music as she used to do, while yet deliberately keeping alert to the others, even helping Kitty from time to time with suggestions for which gowns she may wish to have at Pemberley. Catherine was blossoming into a winsome and gracious young lady who may well profit from lengthy visits to sisters whose judicious marriages enhanced Kitty's prospects for a good marriage.

Mary spent some hours with her fine music book that Tom and Mr. Oliver had made for her, and she set about memorising the motets and most of the lively diversion pieces included in it. She often found herself turning to the much-fingered pages of “Mansion of Peace,” and she wondered whether Georgiana's influence or her own preference drew her.

After Kitty and Mr. Bennet departed for Derbyshire, Mary's days followed her mother's schedule more often than her own, and reading and music both suffered. She resolved not to mind this, telling herself that her new study of people around her must be increased. The first day without Kitty found Mary accompanying her mother to see Lady Lucas. “She is tiresome enough, I know, Mary, but she will want to know all about how Lizzy's baby is progressing, and you are just the one who can tell her.” Mrs. Bennet handed Mary her bonnet, making Mary wonder at such haste. She tried to recall incidents when she had noticed Charles and his progress, but the only one that came to mind she felt was unmentionable. She wondered at Lizzy's telling even her that the baby had bit her while nursing. Well, she might at least report that he was teething.

In the event, Lady Lucas found more obvious pleasure in recounting, when Mrs. Bennet allowed her the time, all the exploits of Lucas and Louisa Collins, who, as Lady Lucas said “were of much more interesting ages” than the Darcy baby. At the Lucas home, Maria Lucas was summoned to entertain them at the pianoforte, giving a creditable performance. Other than congratulating her, Mary found little time or opportunity to speak at all.

Another day they had to visit Mrs. Philips for a lively exchange of Meryton and Longbourn news. There, after listening for a while and finding it a repeat of the news recited at Lucas Lodge, Mary politely requested of Mrs. Philips to try her pianoforte, as it was in another room and would not disturb her mother and aunt. Happy for the surprise practise session, she discovered—when she found it irksome to flatten the music constantly while playing—that already no book but her own pleased her.

Most evenings, however, Mary could pursue a shorter form of her chosen regimen, especially as the days lengthened. And she resumed her needlework also, since Lizzy had pressed upon her some fine linen to cut, hem, and embroider so she may have linens like Pemberley's. Certainly Mary, considering her chosen future, had no need for such things, but she enjoyed some satisfaction in the accomplishment. Perhaps she may offer them as a gift on the occasion of Kitty's wedding, should that take place soon. Fingers that played organ and pianoforte were now as educated in plying the needle, and Mary gloried in her new achievement, which she hoped always to use to benefit her hostesses.

One June morning shortly after Mr. Bennet returned from Pemberley and the daily routine settled in, Mary looked for a welcome stay-home day, as most of the country families would be deep in preparation for the Meryton midsummer assembly. She worked the edging on a pillow cover in a pattern Lizzy had taught her and found, as she smoothed the embroidery, that she quite liked it. She reached for its mate as Mrs. Bennet bustled into the morning room carrying Mary's Sunday bonnet. “Mrs. Philips has brought the most wonderful news! Put your things away, Mary. We must visit Mrs. Long.”

“But, Mama, I have this pillow sham to finish, and we hardly ever visit Mrs. Long except at church.” Even as she said it, Mary realized she was going against her resolve to please, even if her hostess was her mother.

“To be sure, child, but this is a special case. You can do your work another day. Come, come.”

Mary feared that the next day's free time was in doubt, though as yet her mother had not mentioned the assembly. She reluctantly put her things away, already feeling the loss of her plan for the morrow, which was to copy notes on Blake and Cowper, and work on a new étude. Mary knew her regret went against her deeper resolve to interest herself in people around her, but her old ways bid fair to return.

Mrs. Bennet would not be put off. “Come, hurry! You cannot find a husband by staying at home with all your planned work.”

Mary smiled. “I cannot find a husband at Mrs. Long's house either.” But that she did not regret, as she finished putting her sewing things away in her reticule. “Why is Mrs. Long so important today?” She fixed her bonnet on her head.

“Why, because she has a
nephew
to visit—such a welcome change! Mrs. Philips says he is a fine, fashionable young man of about twenty, with four thousand a year from a nice little property in Nottingham.” Mrs. Bennet grinned smugly.

“What a pity Catherine is not here to meet him!” As she carefully tied the ribbons of her bonnet, Mary groaned inwardly. How tiresome that her mother could not relinquish her urge to marry off her daughters! “Mama, could you not wait until Kitty returns? She wishes to marry.”

“Of course she does. It is the duty of every girl to wish to marry. And mind you, do not own to your full twenty-two years before young Mr. Stilton. If you smile more, you will look quite as marriageable as either of Mrs. Long's nieces, and they both have fiancés.”

Mary felt herself enlightened as to Mrs. Long's sudden desirability. Having found someone for the nieces, does Mrs. Long now mean to service the nephew? It would be a strange nephew indeed who allows that. Mary glanced wistfully at her unfinished work and dutifully accompanied her mother out the door. On the walk to Mrs. Long's house, she firmly resolved to discourage any interest the poor, unsuspecting young man might muster for her. She knew she could not convince her mother that unmarried girls could indeed thrive as well as their married sisters, but Mary would not change her mind for all her mother's pleading.

Mrs. Long smiled brightly as Mary and Mrs. Bennet entered her parlour, and her welcome for Mary was if anything even more warm than that for Mrs. Bennet. “My dear, we began to despair of your return to Hertfordshire after comforts such as your mother described at Pemberley.” Her teeth clicked in a way Mary always found so distracting.

“Oh, Mrs. Long, you must know that luxuries are never so comfortable as are the familiar, ordinary things of home.” Mary curtsied and sat in the chair indicated by Mrs. Long's knobby outstretched finger.

“You hear that, Mrs. Bennet? That is just the kind of good sense Mary is known for, and that is the very reason I am so glad to see her.”

Mrs. Bennet, who had remained standing while she examined the room to see if any additions had been made since last she saw it, nodded with satisfaction. Not only had no changes been made in the plain room, but her daughter had pleased this loving aunt, so perhaps she would also please the nephew. She sat down comfortably in a straight chair, her back erect. “Such a lovely room this is, so warm and bright.”

Mary frowned as she looked at the faded walls and frayed curtains. What could her mother mean?

Mrs. Bennet went on. “You do well to keep it just as it is. How I envy you these spacious windows.”

Mrs. Long dipped her head slightly. “And in high summer, I am grateful for the larches which shade them.” She cast a knowing look at Mrs. Bennet. “You heard, I trust, that my nieces from Devonshire have engaged to marry their neighbours, the Davis brothers. They often visited me in hopes of meeting someone more exciting, but perhaps, like Mary, they learned that home comforts are best.”

“Why yes, Nellie, your sister did tell me your news, and I am delighted for them. Their mother is fortunate to find them settling so near home. I am forever telling Mr. Bennet that sad was the day when Jane and Bingley moved from Netherfield. What fine visits we had when they were so close. Not that I resent Mr. Grantley's coming here, mind you, especially as he has shown such favours to Mary. But to have my daughters settling so far from Hertfordshire is a great inconvenience to me.”

“Of course, though my sister would not dislike a bit of a journey to visit them now and again.” The click of her teeth made it sound as if she disapproved of something, but Mary was unsure what it was. “But now my brother,” went on Mrs. Long, “sends me his son from Nottingham, a dear boy, James Stilton. I am at a loss to know what he means to do here or how I am to entertain him. He talks of hunting and horses, and I can offer him little enough of either. Of course, he has his own horse on which he made the journey. And he speaks of returning to Nottingham in plenty of time for the goose fair in early autumn.”

Mrs. Bennet looked a trifle alarmed. “But surely he means to attend the midsummer assembly at Meryton?”

“I do not know. He may enjoy cards, and for all I know he dances.” Mrs. Long touched the gnarly fingers of her two hands together. “Of course, he does play the pianoforte—a strange thing in a young man—so possibly he also dances.” She sounded unsure, or else it may have been her manner of speech which again reflected disfavour. She turned to Mary. “I have asked my Lottie to send him in here. Perhaps you would request to see the pianoforte. You know so much about music, and you could tell if he plays well or not.”

As if on cue, the young man himself appeared at the door. Mary wondered in fact if he had not been listening some time in the hall, waiting to make a splendid appearance at the opportune time. Splendour marked his attire, certainly. He was dressed in a white linen shirt, grey vest and tights, and tall boots; and his wide smile beneath sharp blue sparkling eyes lighted first on his aunt, then on Mrs. Bennet, and finally on Mary, who did not return the smile.

“Good morning, Aunt. You wished to see me?”

“Yes, James,” she said, clicking. “Meet my neighbours, the Bennets. Mrs. Bennet has kindly brought us her musical daughter, Mary. Perhaps you will demonstrate for her the fine tone of my old pianoforte.”

Mary looked sharply at Mrs. Long, uncertain as to what that lady desired of her now that she had made the overture herself. So she turned her solemn glance to the young dandy, his lingering, impish smile pasted on his face as if covering some secret joke. After an awkward silence, Mary felt she had stared long enough on the silent boy and she rose in dutiful response to his aunt's offer. She warily followed Mr. Stilton to the pianoforte in the sitting room adjoining the parlour. He played a lively tune not at all badly, and then he pulled another stool up to the instrument and asked her to play the bass portion of some four-hand arrangements of folk songs. “I usually play these with my friend in Nottingham who likes to copy and transpose all kinds of music. He thinks one day to compose music himself, but I have seen nothing of his. I believe that, like many young men, he overestimates his talent.” Mary noted that he seemed not to include himself among those young men. She attempted the bass part which, somewhat repetitious, presented no problems, and she easily kept his sprightly pace for “The Highland Laddie.” Much of the interlude in the music room went well, despite the lingering odour of dying roses in the close parlour. James had obviously been told something of Mary's ability, and he kept up his tight smile—
Encouragement?
she wondered—as they played. When they reached the last of the duet arrangements, “The Irishman,” he sang in a thin but accurate tenor, ending with “Nobody loves like an Irishman.” She did not recognize that line, and she turned to frown at his leering smile and his arched eyebrows. “Of course, I have a good deal of Irish in me. Can you tell?” The too-familiar gleam affronted Mary, who found all his smiles more teasing than pleasant, and saying nothing, she turned away.

Mary rose from the stool. She hoped to discourage his forward manner. “I know few Irishmen, though I believe my brother-in-law, Mr. Darcy, is Irish on his mother's side.” At the same time, Mary suddenly realized that Darcy's aunt, Lady Catherine, must also be Irish, and the thought did little to dispose her happily toward that nationality. This young Stilton was certainly not at all to her taste, though his proficiency at the instrument impressed her. “I do not know any other young men who play the pianoforte.”

As if ashamed of his prowess, he said through his smile, “People do not often think of music for a sporting man. When I was but eight, I asked my father to let me drive his four-in-hand, and he handed me the reins. The horses ran away with us, and Papa grabbed back the reins as the horses wrenched them from me. He told me my fingers needed exercise, and he recommended the pianoforte. I attacked the exercise with a will, meaning to become a better horseman. By the time I could handle that carriage, I also enjoyed the music, and I am sure that is what Papa wanted.” Again he turned his suggestive grin on Mary. “Papa has a sly way of trying to change my behaviours. In fact, I suspect he sent me to Hertfordshire as part of a plan to reduce my gaming. He greatly objects to paying my debts.” He looked off, thoughtfully stroking his sharp chin. “I must find a way to run up a few while I am here, just to thwart him.” He turned again to the instrument and took up a piece that Mary particularly liked. It was so lovely that the thought of his shocking habits and of his defiance toward his father flew from her mind.

She glanced at the title over the notes, but the hand-copied page simply read, “Transcription.” He noted her interest, and he rose, bowed with a flourish, and offered to let her try it. She played it over a few times, until she could play it at the tempo she had heard.

At that point, Mrs. Bennet, weary of old stale gossip in an old stale room, came to summon Mary to walk home. “That is pretty, Mary. What is it?”

Since Mary did not know, Stilton told her. “My friend from Nottingham transcribed part of a harpsichord piece for pianoforte. The whole of the original is a second concerto of those called ‘Brandenburg' by Bach.” He turned as Mary rose to join her mother. “If you plan to attend tomorrow evening's assembly, I shall bring my music and we might play for the guests. You are planning to attend, I trust?” His grin irritated the daughter and charmed the mother.

Mrs. Bennet quickly answered, “Of course we will be there. It is our social duty to join our neighbours.” Mary had not so planned, but she knew she must go to please her mother.

When they left, Stilton's ceremonial bow annoyed Mary even as his everlasting smile ingratiated Mrs. Bennet. All along the path, Mrs. Bennet ignored the lovely white birch wood on the crystal afternoon as she pressed upon Mary the importance of cultivating “that charming young man who is to inherit a decent property in Nottingham. What a fine thing for you! You could live near Jane and Bingley!”

Only relieved that James had not repeated any words or gestures of unseemly intimacy, Mary said, “Mama,” hoping by her tone to discourage her mother's visions of such a bleak future. She could perfectly well live near Jane and Bingley one day, maybe even with them for a time each year. She did not need Mr. James Stilton for that.