A Match for Mary Bennet (19 page)

On a frosty, late October morning, Mr. Darcy rode over to Otherfield with Mr. Oliver, and they requested to see Mary Bennet. She had repaired to Otherfield's small library after a brisk ride in the park and was just opening a strange-looking novel,
The Mysteries of Udolpho
, when Sarah summoned her. Only sorry she had chosen her comfortable pinafore instead of a more presentable gown, she hurried down. In the parlour, Darcy greeted her warmly, but then quickly grew serious. “Miss Mary, we bring a proposal which I hope will elicit your full consideration. Mr. Oliver has expressed his fear that Kympton may well have a quiet and somewhat cheerless Christmas service unless you undertake to play the organ again. It seems that many of your faithful choir girls have been turned away and the few remaining are losing heart.”

Mr. Oliver echoed Darcy's briskly businesslike tone. “Miss Bennet, I have been commissioned by the churchwardens and by Mr. Darcy to make the position of organist an official one with benefice. If you would be so good as to accept it, the gratitude of the whole parish would be yours. Unfortunately, Mrs. Clifford has resolutely refused to reinstate the girls and indeed has ousted others who voiced support when they petitioned.” At this point he paused, gazed briefly at the chocolate-coloured carpet, then met her eyes and spoke more familiarly. “Were you not bothered occasionally by their antics at a Wednesday evening practise?” Mary nodded and shrugged. “How is it that you never dismissed a chorister, Miss Bennet?”

Mary, bewildered, reflected awhile. “Why, Mr. Oliver, I never once considered them mine to dismiss. I mean to say, if they elected to praise God in song, how should I discourage them?”

Oliver looked at her intensely. “Indeed! My dear Miss Bennet, I pray you will agree to help save the Lord's choir. The church elders and Mr. Darcy allow me to offer a stipend of fifty pounds per annum for our organist and to provide a residence. I do not like to presume to ask you to take on such a chore, since you are a gentleman's daughter, yet I beseech you to do so.”

Mary hesitated. Could she accept such a task for a constancy? She had not noticed his offer of a residence, and the pittance he mentioned was hardly a sufficiency, but while her father supplied her pocket allowance and she could reside with her sisters, she calculated that it would do quite well. She required little. But still she was puzzled. She fingered the flowered pattern of the chair tidy. “Mr. Oliver, why are you so eager to preserve the choir? With your robust encouragement, your congregation sings very well.”

“Yes, and I continue to exhort them to it. However, the young girls need their special status in the church, and they have a natural devotion that I wish to foster. I hope you also wish it.” His earnest gaze caught her eyes.

Mary did rather wish it, yet the responsibility daunted her. “Perhaps I could accept the post until Christmas, and return to Longbourn afterward with my parents. I cannot expect to be forever an inconvenience to my married sisters.” In her mind, she heard again the sigh of relief when Jane was spared her lifelong guest. At that time, Mary had wavered in her own plans for a placid future.

Mr. Darcy broke in. “You are certainly no inconvenience! But of course, you need a place of your own. The church at Kympton will be renting the vacant gardener's cottage at Pemberley. And though I would gladly offer it just to have it occupied, Mr. Oliver contracts for fifty pounds yearly, so that the cottage may remain available to the church as residence for the organist. My dear sister, you are to consider it your own.”

Oliver added, “Once Mr. Darcy is fully recompensed for the living at Saint Giles, I will become full rector, and at that time I am prepared to add fifty pounds to the organist's benefice.” He leaned forward, earnestly searching her countenance.

From his chair Darcy twisted toward her as well. “Added to your inheritance, you may well find it an independency, since I perceive your wants—chiefly books and music—are simple. You may look over the cottage at any time, and if you wish any changes, I will arrange for them. And of course, you may frequent our library and music room at your leisure.” He too seemed to be pleading.

Mary, truly overwhelmed, found her mind abuzz with her new future. She tried to remember the cottage from passing it on the way from Pemberley to Kympton. She did remember the rainy evening she had stooped for cover beneath one bow window during a stinging downpour. All she knew was that it seemed a comfortable and clean place, and large for a cottage. “You are surely too generous, Mr. Darcy.”

“Not at all. Mr. Oliver has reminded me of the precarious situation of unmarried ladies who might be constrained to marry against their wishes, and we hope to forestall that in your case.” He sat back, relaxing as Mary seemed to convey agreement in her smile.

Mary, pleasantly bewildered by this turn of events, mentally tallied the problems and benefits of her changing status. “May I remain here awhile, riding to Kympton until the heavy snow comes?” She thought of Beth's progress at the pianoforte, two keys used unerringly and another inserted with less accuracy. Why, she might even be training a future organist for Kympton! Darcy saw Bingley with his hunting dog from the parlour window, and he hurriedly took Mary's hand, thanked her, and excused himself to join Bingley and Mr. Hurst.

Mary felt a momentary awkwardness with Mr. Oliver, and then smiled at her own embarrassment. After all, she had already travelled with him. It was not like being alone with Stilton.

Oliver took her hand in a similar gesture of gratitude. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you accept the post. I know that, with two sisters well married, you have no need to earn your living.” He looked down and assumed an apologetic tone. “I did not like urging you into a place so unthinkable for a gentleman's daughter.”

Mary smiled wryly, again recalling Jane's liberation moment. “Oh, I have discovered certain disadvantages to being always a guest—for me as well as for my sisters. I felt truly comfortable only at Longbourn. I welcome the cottage, and I may even grow to like the responsibility of the post, I assure you.”

“You have had your ride today already? I would like to show you the road to Kympton.”

“Oh, but Mr. Bingley showed it to me some days ago. Still, sometime next month I will return to Pemberley. Will you want me before then?”

“Right away, please. Come Sunday, if you will. Then I may announce that all are welcome in the choir. Will Wednesday evenings be convenient again for practise?”

Mary thought about that. “I do not take Grey Dawn out in the dark. Could a carriage be sent for me until I remove to the cottage?”

“Of course.” Oliver made it sound as if no trouble at all would occur with the transport. Mary knew otherwise, and she mentally pushed forward her move to Pemberley and the cottage.

Suddenly she wondered if she, an interloper in the parish, should accept such a fine post. “Mr. Oliver, will not Mrs. Clifford desire the position? I do not like to interfere…”

“I understand. However, Mrs. Clifford has agreed to work with many ladies of Kympton who clean and decorate the Church, and she asks only to be relieved of the organist's duties.”

Mary thanked him then, and her mind turned to an insistent two notes dinging from the music room. “Would you excuse me? I believe my niece calls me.”

Mr. Oliver smiled and nodded. “May I await Mr. Darcy in the music room, or do you prefer to play without audience?”

“You are most welcome. Jane is usually there to observe her daughter. She will be glad for company.”

By the time they reached the music room, Beth had slipped from the bench to squat on the carpet and play with the foot pedals. On seeing Mary, she scrambled back up. Mr. Oliver greeted Mrs. Bingley, accepted the chair she indicated, and prepared to listen.

Beth tested her two keys. Mary placed her little finger on a third. Then she put her left arm behind the child to command the bass notes, and started their familiar dances—tunes she could play without much thought while her mind teemed with notions of a future all new to her. She did not direct the child's fingers, yet as far as she could notice, they seldom missed. Mr. Oliver added an appreciative note to the audience, loud in applause and fulsome in compliments.

As they finished, Jane remarked, “Beth has three notes to play now, because she is three years old. Just think,” she laughed, “she will command almost four octaves when she is thirty.”

Oliver joined her in laughter. “At that rate, I do not expect to be present to hear her use the full keyboard!”

The little one skipped off holding Annie's hand, bound for the nursery where nuncheon and a nap awaited. After tea and buns provided by Sarah, Mr. Oliver pointed to the hedgerow in the distance and asked Mary to show him the grounds. She led him to the reading bench in the small meadow by the larches, which was her favoured warm-weather place, and they wandered the footpath. Oliver started off with a healthy stride, and then slowed his pace. “How is your reading coming, now that you are away from Pemberley's library?”

Mary smiled ruefully. “I must admit that Mr. Bingley's books are less to my taste. I try to enjoy Mrs. Radcliffe's novels as so many claim to do, but I find no joy in terrors for excitement that in the end come to nothing.”

“You would prefer real terrors?” He feigned shock.

Mary shrugged. “One supposes that real terrors would threaten loss of life or soul and may at least cause me to amend my behaviour.”

He laughed as if he found that funny, but she had been quite serious. He shook his head thoughtfully. “Did you ever complete your study of the works on the balcony at Pemberley?”

“No. I read
Pilgrim's Progress
and the books of poems by Blake and Cowper. But poems require many readings, and I would hardly call my reading of those complete. There are many other books that I have not even opened.”

“When you do, I hope you will apprise me of any that need rebinding. I have still two sides of the main stacks to examine, and I do not know when I may get to the balcony.”

“But that means you have covered half of them!” Mary was impressed. “It is good of you to take such pains with them.”

He stared off toward the gardens. “I owe the Darcys a great deal more than I could ever repay. And I do enjoy the work almost as much as I enjoy use of the books.” The path ended at the orchard, now almost denuded of leaves but with some fruit still to be gleaned. With interest, Oliver touched some carefully protected grafts on three of the young trees. “Sometimes the best apple trees are not the sturdiest, and when the strain can be improved on these poorer quality but sturdier trees, the finest orchard results.” He tenderly turned the supple branch of one and examined the graft. “Your brother has an exceptional gardener. He has a surgeon's touch.”

“I shall relay your approval to Mr. Webster. You seem to know gardening.”

Mary looked at the branch he held and knew she would never have recognized what looked to her like a bandage.

Mr. Oliver pointed out several more such grafts. “My father did a bit of this on our fruit trees, but I never learned the art myself.” Off in the distance, they could see Bingley, Darcy, and Mr. Hurst crossing a field. They were carrying guns, and Ben followed, carrying a number of birds.

Mary pointed to the hunters. “Do you not hunt, sir?”

Oliver showed his crooked half-smile. “About as well as I climb trees. The birds are safe from me, but God help the other hunters if I had a gun in my hands.” He remarked on the large number of birds. “These fields are well stocked. You will not lack for game pies.”

“Mr. Oliver, when I am here or at Pemberley I lack for nothing.” But suddenly Mary saw what she would willingly lack: James Stilton strode toward them from the stable.

As he neared, he exclaimed loudly, and with some consternation, “Miss Bennet, I perceive you do indeed walk out alone with a gentleman when the fancy takes you.”

Mary introduced Mr. Oliver as her pastor and employer, seeming to deny his being a gentleman, which startled both young men. Stilton she called a neighbour of Jane's. Oliver excused himself then to join the returning hunters. The other two stood quietly as Darcy and Oliver took leave of Bingley and Hurst. Then Mary begged to return to the house, explaining that she had already had her ride, her reading, her music, and her walk, and she was tired. She did not mean to be reprimanding Stilton for tardiness, as she had been glad of that; however, his reply indicated that he took it so, and he promised to come earlier on the morrow. She was not glad of that.

The following morning Mary woke early to the unusual sound of excited voices below stairs. She dressed hurriedly for her ride around the park, hoping that it was not Stilton causing a stir. Upon descending the broad, east stairway, she heard from the breakfast room the unmistakable voice of Caroline Bingley, now Fitzwilliam. “But my brother told me that the east room would always be considered mine.”

Mary retreated quietly back up the stairs, noting that Caroline's voice rang with heightened self-importance, and she wished for no confrontation over anything as trivial as a room. She did not hear Jane's soft reply. She found Sarah entering her room to tidy up, and she begged her, “Help me change linens, please, and move these with my things to the small guest room. Miss—rather, Mrs. Fitzwilliam desires this room.”

Sarah tried to object, but Mary swiftly collected her things, and so Sarah reluctantly helped her. To Sarah's continued objections, Mary only replied, “It means nothing to me, you know, and I may be moving soon at any rate. I have committed myself to Kympton.” They moved her spare belongings quickly, and Mary refused to let Sarah talk her into fresh sheets. She may decide to move to the cottage even sooner than she had planned. Then Mary went down again to the breakfast room, kissed Jane, and whispered to her. Jane looked both sorry and relieved.

“But this is so like you, Mary.” To Caroline she said, “Mary defers to you. The room is yours.”

Strangely, this did not sweeten Caroline's tone, and Mary wondered if some great strain was on her. Had she left her husband? Why? While Caroline supervised the disposition of her considerable number of boxes and a trunk, Jane told Mary the shocking news. “Viscount Henry Fitzwilliam never returned from Lady Catherine's funeral. Yesterday, his horse reached Norwich Mills, bearing a full wallet, an empty pannier, and no blanket. The Colonel and a servant set out immediately to search for Sir Henry. Caroline did not wish to remain in a home not yet familiar to her without her husband, and she chose rather to come here.”

It now occurred to Mary that Caroline wore severe black. “Oh dear. How the family must worry.” She thought of that sweet Lady Helena who seemed to depend greatly on her husband. “Poor Lady Fitzwilliam! How frantic she must be.” She saw the pity in Jane's gentle eyes. Then she thought of another wife who diminished when her husband left her. “Will they ask Darcy's help?” She dearly hoped Lizzy would not have to part with Darcy again so soon.

“The Colonel means to ask where Darcy last saw Henry, and he believes Darcy will go along at least to point that out. Mr. Bingley offered to accompany them as well, but Fitzwilliam begged him to stay, knowing Caroline would wish it. I understand the Colonel and his servant will scour the Duxford road and every other route to Norwich Mills. Darcy may choose to help them.”

Caroline returned, stiffly smiling. “Please order a fire in my room. The grate is cold.”

Mary took upon herself the obvious rebuke. “I am sorry. I sleep best in a cool room, and my morning ride warms me.” She fingered her crop and glanced out the window, spying Bingley setting Beth before him on his large bay.

Mrs. Fitzwilliam surveyed Mary in her riding habit and shuddered. “Horseback riding may be suitable for men and hoydens.”

This puzzled Mary, who wondered why, in that case, saddles were made expressly for ladies. She knew that Jane, the most ladylike person she knew, had long been accustomed to ride, even on Nellie at Longbourn. Surely Caroline must be mistaken. She excused herself and reached the door as Jane said firmly, “Ben will be in to make a fire after he has saddled Grey Dawn.”

At the stables, Mary told Ben as she mounted that Mrs. Fitzwilliam had need of him in the house. “Mr. Bingley and Beth will join me, and we will ride the Ilkestone Park path today.”

Inside, Caroline looked beyond the breakfast room to the small parlour. Her eyes grew wide. “Where is Charles? Did he go with the others to Duxford?”

Jane placed her empty plate on the oak sideboard for the scullery maid. “No. He offered, but the Colonel would not have it so, saying he left his wife in her brother's protective care.”

Caroline's stance relaxed, but her rejoinder retained her bristly tone: “My husband, the
Honourable
Darcy Fitzwilliam, is all thoughtfulness.” Her tight smile warned Jane, who in future refrained from referring to Fitzwilliam as the Colonel.

Jane approached the window and drew aside the curtain. “Bingley and Beth are riding this morning. You can observe them from here.” Across the garden, Mary rode Grey Dawn to meet Bingley and Beth on Shadow. “Beth likes to do whatever Aunt Mary does.” Jane smiled proudly, totally unaware that her observation further ruffled Mrs. Fitzwilliam.

Caroline pointedly repeated that riding horses did not become a lady, muttering, as if to herself, “But then, Miss Bennet will not become a lady.”

Jane heard the strange remark, along with an accompanying simper, and she wondered much but did not enquire, as she did not feel she had been addressed. Soon she told Caroline that a cosy fire warmed her room, hoping this stately, black-clad woman could unbend as she had sometimes done formerly. “Please do not worry so. I am sure they will find the Viscount. Darcy may well know the exact road he meant to take.”

Caroline seemed little heartened by this, and Jane searched her mind in vain for some comforting word. In a while, Bingley came in smiling, his daughter on his shoulders. “Beth likes to ride high.” Caroline sat down again to breakfast, ignoring her room with its newly built fire, and Bingley set Beth before her to greet her aunt. She did this with the semblance of a curtsy, which almost upended her. Bingley kissed his sister. “Mary will be in from the stables soon for breakfast,” he told Jane. “After that, the duets may begin in the music room.”

Beth reached for a roll from the table, and Jane took it from her, broke and buttered it, and gave it to her piecemeal. Caroline put one arm around the child. “So Beth still plays whenever the pianoforte is open?” She leaned over and cooed, “Do you help Aunt Mary make music?”

Beth nodded wisely, her mouth opening for more of the roll. “And Tilton, too.” She bit the piece and giggled. Mary arrived, greeted them, and helped herself from the plentiful sideboard offerings. Beth continued to giggle as she finished her roll.

“What is so funny, little Beth?” Mary asked, attacking her food with a will.

“Tilton.”

Mary chuckled. “He is, rather.” She finished quickly and retired to change to her homely pinafore.

Mrs. Fitzwilliam, after trying to overcome her curiosity, finally asked, “What is ‘tilton'?”

Sarah entered at that moment and announced, “Mr. Stilton,” and he followed her in, his ever-present grin fading at the sight of a stranger. Bingley introduced him to his sister with a look that made her understand that he was “tilton.” To Stilton he said, “Miss Bennet rode a little late today and just went to change. Have some ham or sausage?”

Stilton, appearing nervous, politely declined. “If I may, sir, I will wait in the music room.” Bingley nodded, and Stilton left, followed by Beth.

Caroline smiled. “A music master already? Are you not over eager, Charles? Beth is barely three.”

“Oh, he is not here for Beth. He appears to be courting Miss Bennet, who attempts to ignore the fact. They are rather amusing to observe.”

Caroline rose, her spirits revived. “Wonderful! I am prepared to be amused. I will join the audience.” She attained the music room, found a chair at a remove from the pianoforte but facing it, and sat comfortably just as Mary arrived, followed by Jane, who joined Caroline. With little prelude, the two played their usual duets and included the four-hand arrangement of “Highland Laddie,” which Stilton had brought with him. The child sat between them, her fingers searching her notes, alertly prepared to sound them when one or the other of the performers touched her. At the end of each piece, they thanked Beth handsomely, Stilton for her careful performance and Mary for sitting between them, though she did not say as much. After a musical half-hour, Stilton asked Mary to walk with him in the garden.

Mary turned Beth over to Annie as she said, “Of course. Mrs. Fitzwilliam, would you care to take a turn with us?”

Smiling secretively, Caroline promptly agreed, and Stilton's face tightened as she did so. The three of them strolled to the apple orchard, which began with trees as yet too small to bear much fruit, and proceeded slowly toward the larger trees still bearing the scant remains of the autumn harvest. Mary, who had talked with the gardener since her last visit, explained that the first trees would provide fine eating, while the far orchard would be set aside for cider. When they reached the far section, she pointed out grafts designed to improve the cider strain and provide stronger trees which would eventually bear eating apples. “Mr. Oliver says Webster is an excellent gardener, Mrs. Fitzwilliam…” She turned, only to find that Caroline was nowhere to be seen. “Oh, Mr. Stilton, we had best turn back. We must have tired Mrs. Fitzwilliam.”

Stilton would not agree to it. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam surely knows her brother's park well enough to find her own way.”

Mary started off. “Really, I must return to the house.”

Stilton grabbed her hand and prevented her walking further. “Miss Bennet, Mary, surely you and all your family know that I mean to marry you.”

He seemed to find this bald statement a sufficient proposal, because he said no more. Mary replied, “I am sorry to hear it.” With her free hand, she reached for a bruised apple on the ground.

He extended his arm to allow her to stoop but frowned. “Surely you must have expected it.”

“I expected nothing of the kind. I am sorry you ever thought an acquaintance such as ours tended toward any more than neighbourly amity. Please do not mention it again.” She wrested her hand free. “Good day, sir.” She hurried back through the orchard, rubbing the apple to a burnished gleam. Stilton stared after her, more angry than perplexed. Then he stalked to the stable for Willie and rode off at a punishing pace.

Mary composed herself before entering the house. She congratulated herself that at least the unpleasant confrontation was over. She need not again be plagued with searching out a third party to defuse Stilton's feigned ardour. In fact, she may have seen the last of him, neighbour or not. She bit into her apple, reflecting. Caroline had unwittingly done her a singular favour, God bless her.