A Match for Mary Bennet (28 page)

No manner of coaxing could dissuade Lydia from remaining hidden. She did, however, ply Mary with questions about Georgiana and the Exbridges, and at first, Mary answered readily enough. She described the visitors in detail and recounted Georgiana's delight in her new-found childhood friend. Mary mentioned the title accorded to Colonel Fitzwilliam, omitting the remote reason for it, but Lydia's only reaction to that was “Would it not be wonderful if Wickham could be knighted?” Mary did not think so, and she excused Lydia's lack of interest in the Colonel, recalling that Lydia had not attended her sisters' weddings and could not really know him.

The following day at breakfast, it seemed that Lydia wished to reopen the news about Pemberley's fashionable new neighbours. “How splendid it would be to live as they do: fashionable, happy, and merry! Did they have much lace on their gowns?” Mary detected the envy in Lydia's tone, and she again feared that Lydia may be comparing her own present situation with that of her more fortunate older sisters. Wishing to distract Lydia, Mary related some of her reading from
The Odyssey
, but Lydia soon dismissed that with, “Oh, books!” in a distinct tone of disgust. It served, however, to remind Mary that her reading had been curtailed on the previous day, and she determined to visit Pemberley early to read for awhile.

The day being stifling; she did not think she could remain long on the balcony, so she assured Lydia that she did not mean to stay away long. At Pemberley, she looked for Elizabeth in her sitting room before going to the ballroom for access to the balcony. Delia, adjusting fresh flowers in a vase on the mantel, greeted Mary. “The mistress returned to her bedchamber, Miss Bennet. She was uncommonly discomforted this morning.”

Mary hesitated to disturb her sister if she wished to sleep, but she tiptoed to the chamber meaning to look in and, if Lizzy was awake, let her know where she would be. When she neared the door, she heard gasping and rustling movements of the bed. She stood still, listening, unsure as to whether she ought to open the door, when a shriek from within decided for her. She tapped on it and peeked in.

Elizabeth thrashed fitfully, twisting the bedclothes and teetering dangerously close to the edge of the bed as she reached for the bell rope. Mary flew to her side and stood holding her to the bed with her knees. She pulled the rope Lizzy could not reach. “Lizzy, what is the matter?” Mary noticed the damp linens as Elizabeth tore at her nightgown moaning in pain. “Callie!” Mary called toward the nursery as Delia rushed in.

“Yes, miss?” Callie came in, saw Lizzy, and understood better than Mary did. “Oh Lord, the baby's coming!”

Delia took hold of Elizabeth's hands and said to Callie, “Find Mrs. Kaye, can you? The surgeon-midwife is not even expected until tomorrow, but his room is ready. Miss Bennet, can you stay with Mistress while I see if the doctor may be fetched?”

Fearful as she was to be left in such a situation, Mary took hold of Lizzy's hands as Delia had done, feeling their powerful jerking, and she held on tight. Delia reached the door, almost running into Mrs. Reynolds. Relieved that she would not be alone with her distressed sister, Mary looked at that competent lady. “Does Lizzy need the surgeon, ma'am?”

Mrs. Reynolds looked, nodded, and sent Delia running to the stairway. When the door opened, Darcy could be heard from the lower stairway. “The Bennets have arrived. Where is Mrs. Reynolds?”

Mrs. Reynolds stepped to the open chamber door and called out, “Please send Mrs. Bennet up right away, and help Delia fetch the surgeon. Mistress needs him today!”

Darcy reached the top of the stairway, sent Delia to summon Mrs. Bennet, and said he would go for the surgeon immediately. Meanwhile, Mary struggled to keep Elizabeth on the bed, pushing with her knees while holding her writhing sister's hands. Lizzy's fitful jerking seemed always to hurl her to the bed's edge, her hands clenching harder with each jerk. As intermittent shrieks escaped through Lizzy's clenched teeth, Mary felt tears rising, and she fought them off. Lizzy's face, bathed in sweat and contorted in pain, made Mary long to bathe it with a cool, damp cloth, but she had neither cloth nor a free hand to hold it. Mrs. Reynolds tried to still Elizabeth's legs, saying, “There, there, Mrs. Darcy,” and she held one foot down while raising the thin gown covering her mistress's legs. Mary, seeing blood, turned away and could not look more. She concentrated on her sister's pain-wracked face and fought her own panic. What could she do to relieve her? All the while a terror within her warned: if this is childbirth, she should have no part of it. She would certainly tell her father she had no wish to marry, not ever. She was sure of that now.

Mrs. Bennet arrived breathless, unpinning her bonnet and dropping it on the low bench just beside the door. “Oh my! Lizzy, do not make such a clamour! Think of my poor nerves!” She stepped forward with practised competence, however, and took Lizzy's hands from Mary. “Good girl, Mary. Oh, she is squeezing hard; it is surely her time.” She stopped Mary from escaping by saying, “See if you can find a damp cloth to bathe your sister's face.” Then she turned to Elizabeth. “Be strong now, Lizzy.” Mary looked around for some cloth. Mrs. Reynolds was using the bed linens to wipe Elizabeth's legs, and Mrs. Bennet said, “God bless you, Mrs. Reynolds.”

Delia came in with a basin and towels, and Callie followed with Mrs. Kaye, who took one of the ewers of water Callie carried and poured it into the basin Delia had placed on the night stand. She then sent Callie to enquire after a wet nurse. Delia stood wringing her hands, saying, “Oh I do hope Mr. Darcy finds the surgeon in time!” Mrs. Reynolds asked her to bring more water, and she picked up the empty ewer and left. Mary grabbed a towel and plunged it into the basin, wringing it out while Callie stood at the door watching the proceedings.

Finally, as Mary moved to Elizabeth's face with her towel, Callie shrugged and said, “I will go ask my mum. She might know someone.”

Mrs. Kaye, without looking up from Elizabeth or removing her hands from where Mary supposed the baby was, called, “Callie, try Carrie Langtry. She recently gave birth again.” The midwife continued to feel for the baby's position, frowning slightly, which frightened Mary. Callie nodded, seeming to know where to go, and she left. The midwife still frowned, Mary still worried, and Lizzy still clenched her mother's hands tightly. As Mary wiped her sister's face with the soft towel, she felt that Lizzy clenched her face in fitfulness as well. Mary thought her screams had less volume, and she began to pray fervently that Elizabeth's strength would hold up. Before she left to refresh the towel, she whispered, “Mama, is Lizzy going to die?”

Mrs. Bennet, seeming to squeeze her tormented daughter's hands in a regular rhythm, burst out, “La, child. Lizzy will be all right. This is just the way it is. You should have seen me with Jane—and with Lizzy it was worse. My poor nerves have never been the same since, though it's little Mr. Bennet ever cared.”

Mary took heart and returned to her task with a will. Mrs. Reynolds remained with the midwife, using a towel to wipe away fluids Mary refused to look at. She turned all her attention to Lizzy's tense face. “Dear, brave Lizzy.” Elizabeth responded to her mother's urging to inhale deeply and in steady rhythm. Occasionally, though, she still gasped and groaned.

Suddenly, Elizabeth called, “Mama!” in a hoarse voice.

Mrs. Bennet's gentle “Hush, child, inhale deeply” seemed to ease her somewhat. Mary realized with surprise that her mother, despite her “poor nerves,” remained calmly encouraging in this stressful situation.

Mrs. Kaye, probing with skillful fingers, frowned and said, “It is a boy,” but still no baby emerged. How did she know that? Mary wondered while she continued trying to cool Lizzy's face and arms, hardly noting her own sweaty face and arms until she saw drips from her chin stain the bed linens. She determined not to fear the worst, with so many experienced women showing no alarm. But her prayers continued. “Lord, please do not let Lizzy die!”

After what seemed another age, with still no progress that Mary could see and Lizzy's wails again more frequent, Darcy appeared with the surgeon. Mrs. Reynolds admitted the doctor and begged Darcy to leave, but he refused to do so. He plunged down onto the bench, narrowly missing the bonnet, his eyes on the doctor. The surgeon washed his hands and took over for Mrs. Kaye, who stood nearby. He deftly felt the child, commended Mrs. Kaye, and asked for fresh water. Mary saw the basin as Mrs. Kaye took it out and she paled at its crimson hue. She wondered if she could freshen her towel when the clean water came, but she hesitated to do so, sure that the doctor wanted that water for his own reasons. As soon as it came, however, Mrs. Reynolds rinsed her towels in it, changing its colour. Mary was shocked at such a flow of blood, and Darcy seemed to notice as well, for he averted his eyes and turned ghastly pale. Mrs. Reynolds looked at him with what an astonished Mary noted was amusement. She looked at her mother and saw Mrs. Bennet share the joke, shaking her head as she caught Mrs. Reynolds's eyes. Mary ventured to look at the doctor again, who handed a blotchy bundle to Mrs. Kaye. That lady methodically cleaned the babe and wrapped it in a clean, soft cloth.

All over, Mary thought, and began to relax. Elizabeth, however, winced and screamed still, and seeing Darcy in the room she yelled, “Get him out of here!”—the longest string of words Mary had heard from her that day. No one heeded her, but Darcy looked as though he would gladly have been elsewhere. Mary blessed his being there, because he seemed to be praying every bit as fervently as she was. Still, the doctor probed Lizzy, most indecently, Mary thought, until he produced a blob of something she could not look at. She had seen cows calve, and she should have expected afterbirth, but strangely, she had not expected a single thing she saw that day. Lizzy quieted a degree then, but remained tense and groaning occasionally. Dreamily, Mary continued her ministrations, wondering how long they had been at the ordeal. She glanced at the easterly window, surprised to find that the sun had moved from it. Was she hungry? No, but her stomach complained and her arms ached. She looked for weariness in the others, but she saw only pride in Mrs. Kaye's face as she presented the bawling bundle to Darcy. Darcy perked up as he held his new son. Mrs. Reynolds went on, efficient as ever, sending Delia for Mr. Shepard, ordering footmen to lift Mrs. Darcy, and bidding Callie to bring fresh linens for the bed.

Mary wondered what the doctor was still doing when she saw her mother, whose eyes were on the doctor, suddenly lurch and gasp. Automatically, Mary turned to look too, just as an alarming fountain of blood spurted up. Mary watched in a trance as regular rhythmic spurts shot forth. Lizzy kept groaning and shrieking in pain, in time with the spurts. Darcy, concerned with the howling child, mercifully missed the doctor's alarmed look as he snatched a towel and returned to his task, staunching the flow. Finally, he removed the towel, watched long and tensely, and then smiled as no more blood gushed forth. He washed his hands, and Mrs. Kaye came to clean and soothe Elizabeth's now quieter limbs. As the doctor wiped his hands, he moved into the relieved mother's view and said, “You have a boy with excellent lungs, Mrs. Darcy. And yours are not so bad either. The pain should subside soon, as things move back into place. Try to get some rest. Mrs. Reynolds may give you a sedating tisane if you wish.”

Elizabeth, her face still taut, gave him a disgusted what-does-a-man-know look and turned her face away. The doctor addressed Darcy. “Is there a wet nurse available for the child?”

Mrs. Reynolds answered, “Callie went for Mrs. Langtry.”

“Good.” The surgeon asked for the carriage to take him home. “I am sorry to have missed the pleasant vacation of waiting in one of your fine rooms this time. This baby was in a great hurry.”

Mr. Shepard arrived with two footmen who raised Elizabeth gently while Mrs. Reynolds and Delia swiftly changed the bed linens, and then just as gently, Elizabeth was lowered onto the clean bed. Shepard ushered the surgeon to the carriage, Callie presented Mrs. Langtry, who took the baby, and a strange, almost eerie silence prevailed. Elizabeth smiled wanly at her son, and Darcy approached her bed. In a hoarse whisper, she asked, “Shall he be Fitzwilliam?”

Darcy made a face. “Please, Lizzy, can we not leave that name for my cousins to perpetuate? May we not, to honour your fine and helpful family, call him Bennet?” Lizzy smiled and settled down tiredly. Mary looked around and realized that this was now like the scene she had witnessed after Charles was born, all calm and lovely. But now she knew the whole of it, and what a cruel lie that picture that was! The terrible ordeal deliberately made to look sweet would never deceive her again. Marriage must be a wonder indeed to make such suffering bearable, and even to rejoice in it! Would Stilton require even this of her? Impossible. She could never undergo anything like it. She would unsay her request as soon as she saw her father.

As if on cue, Mr. Bennet appeared at the door. “I saw the doctor leave. What a long time you have been at it!” He admired the perfect little boy, satisfied himself that Elizabeth would be fine, and fixed a stern gaze on Mary. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Mrs. Reynolds spoke up. “It was Miss Mary found her, Mr. Bennet, and most fortunate she did, or the Mistress would likely have miscarried, and God knows what would have become of her.”

Mr. Bennet wondered much, but frowned still as he beckoned Mary and bid her follow him. Mary followed meekly. She was hot, tired, and sweaty; she might also be hungry, but only an occasional rumble from her stomach told her that. She dreaded this interview for quite another reason. How could she tell her father that now more than ever she wished she had never written that letter? She most certainly never wished to marry, never wished to undergo such torture. She thought fleetingly of poor women having to give birth without any help at all, and of Mr. Bennet's conjecture that Stilton would be poor within six months. That poor woman would be herself! On the upper stairway, she took courage. Surely Papa's answer would remain a steadfast no. But how she wished she had never asked or that he had written his denial! She had no wish to face him and explain. She stood at the top step, knowing that she must disappoint one of her parents. If her father relented, he would do so only as he also lost respect for her judgement, and she would agree with him. If not, and she remained as she was, how often would her mother remind her of her obstinacy? Marriage! Why must that be a woman's lot? Mr. Bennet still said not a word, but awaited her in the middle of the stairway. Marriage! She resumed her slow descent. Oliver's sermon on Cana flitted through her mind. He had stressed the strange, strong, and confident prayer of the Lord's mother: “They have no wine.”