A Match for Mary Bennet (17 page)

Sunshine brightened the following Sunday, and Catherine pressed Elizabeth to walk to Kympton Saint Giles for services, but Elizabeth declined. Catherine's pouting had been little in evidence at Pemberley, but shades of her petulance followed this denial. “Why is it always Lambton? It is farther.”

“Darcy prefers a parish whose pastor is not beholden to him. He wishes neither to be tempted to critique the preacher nor to be judged as if doing so. He says he wants to keep his mind on God.” Elizabeth left no doubt that Darcy's way was hers as well.

“Then how does he find out? As patron, he ought to know.” Catherine was not to be satisfied, and her father frowned at her boldness.

Elizabeth laughed good-naturedly. “Oh, people who are upset waste no time letting him hear it. Darcy has had many complaints concerning Mr. Oliver, and they serve only to confirm him in his choice of vicar.”

Catherine stared, wide-eyed. “They do not
like
Mr. Oliver?”

“At first he heard the new vicar was too loud by half. Singing or preaching, his exuberance filled the little church so as to drown out any birdsong or lowing of cattle outside. For a while, Darcy sent carriages for any church members who wished to try Lambton instead, and there were takers for some weeks. Then the discontent died down, and by six weeks' time, the last carriage remained empty. When Mr. Darcy enquired, the same people told him services elsewhere were ‘sleepy' by comparison. They became content to stay awake during services. Now, he only hears that the vicar lavishes his attention on the very young, the very old, and the very poor. And the complainants”—she patted Kitty's hand—“are often young ladies like you who would wish to attract his attention to themselves.”

Seeing Catherine blush, and sorry to hear her come so close to whining, Mary offered to walk to Kympton with her. “Kitty is right. It is a lovely morning for a stroll.”

It was settled that the others would attend Lambton's later service in a single carriage, and Mary and Catherine set off. Mary enjoyed the walk through the pine woods on so fine a day, and Catherine's spirits revived as they walked.

At the service, Mary frowned to see Emmaline Langley in a pew ahead of them, apparently with her parents, though the choir sang. Afterward, Catherine hurried to greet Mr. Oliver, and Mary intercepted Emmaline, who introduced her to Mrs. Langley. She recognized Mr. Langley as the driver of the team that had pulled the carollers around to several farms the previous Christmas. Mary questioned Emmaline's deserting the choir.

Emmaline, crestfallen, explained, “Mrs. Clifford says I cannot behave well enough.”

“Nonsense, you can behave well enough. You just save that behaviour for Sundays.” Mary smiled. “If I remember rightly, it was only practise that brought out your foolery.”

“Yes, and I told her I would be better at service, but she dismissed me before she ever found that out.”

“Then she weakened the choir by one very fine voice, and I am sorry for it.”

“Three voices; Lucy and Dorothy had to leave too, and it was my fault.” Emmaline looked and sounded as if she might cry, and Mary again saw a fleeting glimpse of Lydia in her.

“I did find today's choir number a bit thin, even faltering. Surely Mrs. Clifford would not wish so thin a sound for Christmas. If I were you, I would apply for readmittance in a week or two.” Mary noticed Catherine looking around for her and so took leave of the Langleys to join her sister. “Kitty, how did you think the choir sounded?”

“I hardly noticed. Mr. Oliver sounded wonderful. Did not you think so?”

Mary smiled. “I hardly noticed.” But as they walked home admiring the crisp, bright day, Mary found she could indeed recall the lesson on the good shepherd who approaches his flock sometimes to feed them, sometimes to shelter them from harm, and sometimes just to talk to and pet them. She tried to imagine Christ taking such special care of her. Yes, Mr. Oliver could preach from—and to—the heart.

Reaching Pemberley before the Lambton worshipers returned, Mary left Catherine to await them while she went to her room to try on the gown Letty had finished. She took it off again immediately and quickly put on an old pinner instead, returning the gown to Letty's workroom with a note.

In the parlour, Catherine greeted the returning party, now enhanced by the Bingleys and a dapper stranger. Elizabeth asked Polly to summon Miss Mary to the parlour while Jane introduced James Stilton to Catherine. “Mrs. Long's nephew, you know, but he lives just five miles from us. It seems he brings an invitation for us all, to the harvest ball at Nottingham Castle.”

Stilton bowed stiffly, coughed, and surveyed his grand surroundings with misgivings approaching awe. He murmured, “A general invitation… posted. Just a few miles from Long Eaton… all gentry included.”

Catherine, all delight at the prospect, beamed at this fine fellow. “Oh! I love a ball! And at Nottingham Castle! What could be greater? Is it to be soon, sir?”

Stilton accepted the high back chair indicated by Elizabeth but sat rigidly at the end of it, both hands gripping a fashionable walking stick with a burnished lion head. “Next Tuesday, miss, when the moon is full.”

Mr. Bennet, amused at the young man's discomfort, chided him. “You were never so in awe at Longbourn. Should I be offended?”

“Oh no, sir.” But he did not unbend. Elizabeth bade him relax, and he shook his head. “I fully expected to be impressed, but this”—he gestured timidly at his surroundings—“why, it could be Sudbury or Chatham. I did not know another so grand even existed!”

Elizabeth recalled her own introductory tour with Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. As she spied Mary coming she teased, “Perhaps one day you will become immune to Pemberley's power to intimidate, as I begin to do.” Observing Mary's plain attire, she voiced her disappointment. “Did you not try on your new gown as I suggested? I hoped you would let us see you in it.”

Mary blushed and whispered to her, “I mean to beg Letty to raise the neckline. I wish to be less fashionably and less nakedly dressed. Else I would have to wear my spencer indoors as well as out.” She turned to greet Stilton, and Catherine broke the exciting news he brought.

“And you are sure to go, while Papa says if Mr. Darcy returns, we may be on our way to Longbourn before that.” She sighed. “And you even have a new gown for it.” Elizabeth reminded her of the lovely ice blue gown Letty had made for her at midsummer. “But I wore that twice already.” Mary, sorry to hear Catherine again lapse into ways she had all but conquered, assured her she had looked like an angel in her lovely gown at the Norwich wedding.

Stilton returned to the object of his visit. “Then I can expect to see you at the ball, Miss Bennet?”

Mary hesitated. “If Mama and Papa and Kitty attend, I would go of course. Or if I am at Otherfield and Jane and Bingley wish to go, I shall accompany them. But I do not like such lavish entertainments in general.'

Stilton forgot his awe of Pemberley in a flash. “But Miss Bennet, we had such a fine time at the Hertfordshire assemblies! Surely the notables of Ilkestone and Long Eaton can be no different.” His sharp blue eyes sought hers, but she looked down as she sat near Jane.

“At Meryton and at Lucas Lodge, of course, all was friendly, and all the folks familiar. But even last year's Christmas ball here was no temptation for me to dance. I am not so keen on dancing as Kitty is.”

Mr. Bennet addressed the young man about to urge Mary further, “And will your parents be at this ball?”

“Oh yes, sir. They mean to be. They always are.”

“Then perhaps Lizzy will allow us to stay until then, even if Mr. Darcy returns. Then Kitty and Mrs. Bennet will enjoy a ball, and the event will serve to delight at least two. And I would like to meet your parents.”

Elizabeth readily agreed to this, Kitty was ecstatic, Stilton satisfied, and Mary resigned. But she feared that her father attached more importance to Stilton's interest in her than a casual invitation to a strange castle indicated.

After refreshments that Elizabeth ordered and Stilton picked at, Mary undertook to show him around Pemberley. The library impressed him not at all. “It's just books.” The small oratory on the ground floor with its lovely stained glass window made him shudder with distaste. “A church in one's home! Bizarre.” His grimace reflected his disgust. She thought the music room with Georgiana's Broadwood grand would elicit some enthusiasm, but he merely nodded from the doorway. None of her own favourite rooms pleased him, so they ventured outside, where she meant to show him her bower on the hill, her favourite tree, and the gardens. However, his eyes sought the far buildings beyond the park, and he pointed enthusiastically. “Oh! Show me the stables!”

Never had she been there before, but he led her straight to where Mr. Watts attended the large carriage house and the horse barns where they saw many clean stalls, all in a row, a name above each. “Do you ride, Miss Bennet?”

“No, not at all.”

“But you must indeed. The exercise is beneficial, and you would find it as delightful as a dance once you are comfortable on a horse.”

Watts enthusiastically agreed, though Mary knew no expression so contradictory as “comfortable on a horse.” Watts led them to the stall of a grey mare, the only stall with no name above it. “She's gentle as a kitten. I could saddle her up now, and the gentleman and I could help you mount. The sooner you learn, the better, I say.”

Mary, who had picked her way carefully over the stable yard, disagreed. She rarely had found dancing delightful, and she wondered if climbing upon such a monstrous animal could ever be found so. They prevailed upon her then in concert, offering to lead the animal so slowly that she would have nothing to fear. She looked down at her old pinafore and realized she could not use preservation of her clothing as excuse, and at length, she relented. Once seated gingerly on the gentle mare, she was led around the paddock. After what seemed ten minutes but was actually thirty, Mary was able to direct the creature around the paddock unaided. She had to agree that the experience suited her far more than she had anticipated. As she slid unceremoniously off the horse, braced by the helpful arms of Stilton and Watts, she pleaded, “Please do not tell Mr. Darcy.”

“Why ever not, miss? He bought that mare for you at the Lambton fair apurpose. He was planning to teach you, same as the missus, so's you'd feel free to ride with Mrs. Darcy or Mrs. Bingley.”

Mary, astonished that Mr. Darcy could have thought of such a thing, pounced upon a likelier explanation. “He must have meant my sister Kitty. She is the lively one.”

“Oh no, miss. Miss Mary Bennet, he says. I don't doubt Mr. Darcy feared as Miss Kitty would be unsafe on any horse.” He lowered his tone, speaking confidentially. “She's a bit of a tear, that one. No, he said ‘Miss Mary will name her and ride her,' and he will be well pleased as it's begun.”

All wonderment, Mary thanked him, and she took Stilton's arm because her legs felt too rubbery to walk without it. They made their way back to the great house, Stilton with his puckish smile painted on his face. “What a fine horsewoman you will be. And I will ride over some day on my great bay Willie. Then you can show me all around Ilkestone Park on horseback!”

Slowly Mary regained the feeling in her legs, and she let go Stilton's arm. She looked around for field workers, but it was Sunday so none were nearby. Stilton took to overturning stones in the path with the tip of his walking stick. They passed a neat row of beehives, the pride of Mr. Shepard. Stilton paused. “Watch this!” He grinned. With his walking stick, he prodded a small green inchworm until it clung to the tip of the stick. Then he shook the worm free just at the opening of one hive.

Mary was aghast. “No! Mr. Shepard would hate his hive to be contaminated!” All her hostess-like politeness fell from her, and her obligation as guest of Pemberley fired her anger.

“Oh, you need have no fear of that.” Stilton's eager eyes were on the worm. Even as he spoke, Mary watched with revulsion as bees swarmed from the hive, all stinging the hapless worm as they carried it from the hive. The worm, now a puffy white mass two or three times its former width, dropped lifeless to the grass from which it had come. Stilton laughed uproariously. “You see? Bees know how to protect their hives.”

Mary leaned against a tree trunk, not recognizing her linden at first. A line from Psalm 118 came to her with a new image: “They compassed me about like bees.” She felt again a sick weakness, much worse than her wobbly legs. Disgusted with Stilton's fascinated amusement and ashamed at having witnessed a torturous death, she turned eyes wide with horror on the thoughtless mirth of her companion. She had no words to speak her disapproval, but she felt that if any came to her, they would only increase his derision. Dulled by the incident and distanced by Stilton's unfeeling response, she clung to the linden—something she could still admire. James urged her on and even walked back to offer his arm, but she could not touch him. “Thou hast thrust sore at me that I might fall: but the Lord helped me.” The further line from her favourite psalm encouraged her. She felt strength enough to return to the house but not to speak another word to her companion.

Darcy returned on Monday while the family assembled at tea. He embraced Elizabeth and Georgiana, declared he was tired but not discouraged, and fell into a chair. “Once I received your letter, Lizzy, I knew how my errand had failed, and I did what seemed best. Anne could not be disturbed at her time of mourning, so I spoke rather with Mrs. Collins about Wickham's involvement. She must decide whether, how, or when to open it to Anne, to Collins, or directly to Witherspoon. What happens at Hunsford is in their hands now.”

As he greeted the others, Mrs. Bennet asked, “Was Lady Catherine in great pain? Were you with her at the end?”

Darcy moved nearer to Elizabeth but spoke to the whole group. “My aunt faced death like Shakespeare's thane of Cawdor: nothing in her life became her like the leaving it. After two days' watch with her, I remarked that I had not seen her attending physician. She said, ‘Oh, he pops in daily to see if I'm dead yet.' A little after that, we heard him speaking to Anne in the next room, and she said, ‘A long illness wearies the doctor. Anne's complaints are his bread and butter now.' The day before she died, her left eye remained closed. I asked if it pained her. She said, ‘No. Like my feet, it has died on ahead of me.' And I must give my aunt her due”—he leaned over and put his arm around Elizabeth—“she praised my lively Lizzy as a better choice than hers for my wife. She called Anne a ‘languid soul without will, who lets herself be a dead weight, bridling her spirit as she does.'”

Elizabeth wiped away a tear. “No languid soul she! Forthright to the end. She will be much missed, even by her inattentive physician.”

Mrs. Bennet interposed sternly, “It was not a very motherly description of poor Miss de Bourgh.”

“But fairly accurate, I daresay.” Elizabeth, eyes on Darcy, had gained in spirit with the arrival of her husband.

Darcy added that he had asked Lady Catherine if she wished him to urge against Anne's marrying Witherspoon, but she turned her face from him, saying, “I wish for nothing but death.”

The fresh hot tea, apple tart, and grapes put before him by Mrs. Reynolds took his attention, and he revived a bit after partaking of it liberally. Soon all were in better spirits. Elizabeth took Mary by the hand and drew her over to him. “You may commend the spirit of our dear Mary, who has named her mare Grey Dawn and has taken three lessons on her.”

“Good work, Miss Bennet. Did Watts take you out?”

“Yes, sir. Thanks to you, sir.” Mary, always in awe of her brother-in-law, went no further.

Elizabeth smiled meaningfully. “Watts had assistance.” She said no more, nor did Mary.

But at the veiled reference to Stilton, Catherine perked up. “And we are all to go to a ball tomorrow at Nottingham Castle.”

Darcy groaned. “Of course.” He closed his eyes as if calculating. “Harvest moon.”

Elizabeth sensed his reluctance. “Oh, we do not have to go. Mama and Papa can take the girls. You are tired, and like Mary, I have grown beyond the degrading thirst after outrageous stimulation.” Then she grinned. “However, after so long without you, a quiet evening together may be outrageous stimulation indeed!”

Mary blushed and Darcy laughed, pulling Elizabeth closer. “Dearest Lizzy, we will talk of this tomorrow.”