A Most Affectionate Mother

by Maria Grace

  She squeezed her eyes shut and clutched her forehead.

  How dreadfully unfair! Mr. Johnstone was an excellent, caring schoolmaster, born to teach. As much as a man could be born to a specific task, he was. He might lose it all, and it could easily be her fault.

  A soft scratching at the door caught her attention. What was little Nate doing there? Poor child, his eyes were wide and his face a little pale.

  She rushed to him and grabbed his hand. “What is wrong?”

  “His parents are here. He told us he would say horrible things about you and make sure you were sent away.” Nate’s eyes brimmed with tears. “He cannot do that, can he?”

  She crouched beside him. “I am not here at his parents’ behest, but at Mrs. Johnstone’s. She is the only one who can ask me to leave.”

  “But Charlie’s parents, he says they are very rich and can do anything they please. He said he could even see that our school is closed because he is treated like a servant and made to chop wood.” He clutched her fingers. “I like it here. I do not want to go to another school. Please, do something. You can do anything. I know you can.” His eyes pleaded.

  “It is not my place. I cannot barge into a conversation among people to whom I have not been introduced. It is just not done. It would look even worse than anything Charlie might have said. It would prove any negative thing he says about us.”

  “But it is not fair that he should be able to say whatever he wants even if it is not true.”

  “Untrue things are said all the time. That is why one’s conduct and character must be able to stand and speak for itself even when one cannot.” She straightened the lapels of his jacket.

  “Is that why you are always going on and on about gentlemanly behavior?”

  This was not the time to laugh. “That is one of the reasons.”

  His features formed into a dear, thoughtful little expression as he stared at his hands. “I shall have to think about that.”

  “When you have, do come and talk to me about what you have thought.”

  He peeked up at her. “Are you certain you cannot do something?”

  “Very certain. Pray do not fret; it will all be well.” She patted his back. “Now, I am sure you will be wanted back in the school room. Go on before you get yourself into trouble.”

  “Yes, miss.” He nodded sadly and dragged his feet as he trudged to the schoolroom.

  She glanced toward the parlor. It was tempting to go to the door and try to listen to what was being said. But no, it went against everything she was trying to teach the boys. If she could not be an example to them, she had no place trying to tell them how to behave in the first place.

  Perhaps she should get ready to call upon Mr. Johnstone’s patron this morning. She and Mrs. Johnstone had been invited to the manor for refreshments with Mrs. Lawson. It would not do to be late. If nothing else, it would be a fitting distraction from what was going on in the parlor. The knots in her stomach tightened as she forced herself upstairs.

  Following Mrs. Johnstone’s lead, she walked two miles to Leighton Manor. Why did the weather have to be so disagreeably cheery when she felt so turbulent? Worse still, Mrs. Johnstone refused to comment on what had taken place in the parlor. It was as if the whole thing had never happened. In the face of such denial, Mary could not even muster the wherewithal to make any other conversation. They traversed the pleasant fields in silence.

  The manor and the estate seemed about twice the size as Longbourn, at least, and far more picturesque. It was probably a trick of the season and favorable lighting, but the manor house resembled something out of a painting, perched on a little hill and surrounded by green fields and sheep. Perhaps, when she got back to Longbourn, she might try her hand at rendering it in watercolors.

  Mary hurried to keep up with Mrs. Johnstone. Not surprisingly, she proved quite spry when she wanted to be—and something about this engagement made her want to be very spry today. But why? Even if she asked, Mary would not likely receive an answer to that question, either. Though they had become closer over the last few weeks, Mary was in no position to demand intelligence from her hostess.

  The Johnstones had always spoken well of their patron, but hardly in the way Mr. Collins spoke of Lady Catherine. Mr. Johnstone was no sycophant. There was some sort of distant family connection between the Johnstones and the Lawsons which was only to be expected. That was usually the case when a preferment was granted. It made for a cordial, but not overly sentimental, relationship between the manor and the vicarage.

  A butler met them at the carved oak front door, and he led them directly to Mrs. Lawson’s parlor. Mrs. Johnstone called it the “ladies’ parlor” as, apparently, Mrs. Lawson used it exclusively to entertain her personal guests.

  If the room reflected their hostess, then she was light, bright, sparkling, and a bit frivolous and flighty. Her choice in furnishings seemed a might impractical—a few too many shelves bearing bric-a-brac that appeared to have come from the continent. No books were to be seen in the room at all. The chairs bore intricate carvings but hardly looked comfortable, and were set at awkward angles which showed off their artistry but would make conversation more difficult. Odd what furnishings could suggest about a person.

  “Mrs. Johnstone, it is so good of you to come. Pray introduce me to your young friend.” Mrs. Lawson rose from her seat in the middle of the couch backlit by the large window facing a flower garden.

  Her voice was kind and sweet, maybe a little too much, but just a little. Blonde curls peeked from beneath a lovely lace mobcap with many ribbons and much embroidery to decorate it. Her blue eyes were a fraction too wide-set to give her a look of intelligence. She did not look stupid, by any means, but a mite vacant, perhaps. Was that a trick of her appearance or an actual reflection of her intellect? Perhaps their conversation would reveal that.

  Mrs. Johnstone curtsied and gestured toward Mary. “We appreciate your gracious invitation. This is my friend, Miss Bennet. Her father holds Longbourn estate near Meryton.”

  Mary curtsied.

  Mrs. Lawson paused a moment as though she were trying to look up Longbourn on a map. Finally she nodded. “I believe we have ridden past there on the way into town. Yes, yes, I believe we have. You have a pretty wilderness to the side of the house?”

  It seemed Mrs. Lawson was a modicum more clever—or at least had a better memory—than she looked. “It has been called that at times, I think. I am rather fond of it as an excellent place to walk.”

  “One should always have a good place for a walk nearby. I think it is an essential thing for one’s soul. Pray, sit down.” Mrs. Lawson pointed at several empty chairs near the couch.

  The chairs were every bit as uncomfortable as Mary had expected.

  “So, Miss Bennet, how do you like our little part of the county?” Mrs. Lawson poured some sort of water containing a sprig of green from a crystal pitcher. It smelt fresh and herbal. Chervil perhaps?

  “Very well, indeed. I do not mean to sound overly romantical or sentimental, but it is entirely picturesque. Every time I look out the windows, I wonder if I am gazing on a painting.” It was pleasant to gush so honestly.

  “I must agree. Roses in particular seem fond of our soil. They seem to grow with almost no attention at all.” Mrs. Lawson handed her a crystal glass and appeared quite satisfied with Mary’s sentiments.

  “My mother is known for her roses. She has a way with them, I am told. I think she would find the village here pleasing indeed. It might inspire a new garden if I know her as well as I think I do.” Mary sipped the refreshing, lightly-sweet beverage. It was something Lizzy would have liked.

  “It is hard to find a flower that is more regal, more fair than a rose, I think.” Mrs. Lawson sighed a little absently.

  “The newest issue of A Lady’s Magazine has the loveliest pattern for roses on an evening dress, stitched right around the bottom of the skirt, with ribbons and puffs. Have you seen it?” It was a little odd for Mrs. Joh
nstone to reference something that was clearly not to her tastes. She preferred everything simple and unadorned. Let the materials and workmanship show for themselves, she said, not covered up with fancy bits and bobs.

  “I have not. I will definitely—”

  The parlor door sailed open, and a brown-haired bundle of spite and fury flew in, her rust-colored skirts swished wildly. “The audacity! The gall! I am utterly beside myself; I cannot imagine.”

  Mrs. Mullen. It had to be.

  She stopped short and stared at Mrs. Johnstone. “What is she doing here?” Was that foam forming at the corner of her mouth?

  “Whatever do you mean, cousin? Calm yourself. Please sit down.” Mrs. Lawson beckoned her in as though nothing noteworthy were transpiring.

  “You, you are responsible for this outrage!” Mrs. Mullen stood rooted where she was and pointed at Mrs. Johnstone.

  “Excuse me, I do not know of what you speak.” Mrs. Johnstone pressed her hand to her bosom, eyes wide. She might have been mistaken for astonished, but Mary knew better.

  “My son! We sent our son to your school under good authority that he would be well-looked after and educated. You have turned him into nothing but a servant!” She threw her hands in the air and stormed closer.

  “I do not know what you are talking about.” Mrs. Johnstone frowned and huffed, her chest puffed out a mite.

  The two women resembled nothing so much as two hens about to do battle. It might be laughable if those encounters were not potentially deadly.

  “You mean you are not aware that he has been chopping wood outside instead of attending to the lessons we have paid for him to have?” Mrs. Mullen perched her hands on her fists, becoming as “big” as possible. A rusty-colored hen for sure.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Mullen,” Mary sucked in a deep breath as she stood. “But that is hardly the case. He is in the schoolroom whenever the students are being taught. He has missed no opportunity for instruction except due to his own inattention.”

  “Are you suggesting my son is stupid?” Mrs. Mullen’s face turned red. Pray she did not suffer an apoplexy in her cousin’s parlor!

  “Not at all. I am saying he is not an attentive student. Those are hardly the same thing.” Inattentive was far less forgivable than stupid, but that probably was not appropriate to bring up just now.

  “How would you know? You are not the schoolmaster. What have you to do with any of this?”

  “The other boys have all complained he provokes them during their lessons, prevents them from doing their work, and bullies them whenever he has the chance.” Mary kept her voice clear and level which only seemed to further inflame Mrs. Mullen. Rather the same effect it had on her son.

  “How dare you criticize him! You have no place, no right.”

  “It is I who set him to chopping wood in order to improve his attitude and actions toward the other boys. Hard work is said to instill character—”

  “Who are you to disapprove of his character? I should know my own son’s character. We have raised him to be a proper gentleman.” Mrs. Mullen tossed her head, setting the feathers on her hat quivering.

  “The alternative is the liberal application of the cane which I would think would be even more undesirable to you than a bit of honest work.”

  Mrs. Mullen stomped several steps closer, a few feet from Mary. “You take too much upon yourself, young woman. I am shocked at you, Mrs. Johnstone, allowing her so much liberty in a task you should be administering yourself.”

  Mrs. Johnstone’s eyes narrowed and she stood. Not an omen of good tidings. “I asked her to come specifically to assist me. I have full confidence—”

  “Do you mean to say you are not capable of maintaining the boys in your home? I was assured this would be a good situation for him, one in which he would be well-cared for.”

  Mrs. Lawson jumped to her feet and rushed to Mrs. Mullen. “Calm yourself, cousin. I have every faith in the Johnstones—”

  “Well clearly, you have been utterly mistaken and have led me astray. We shall have our son out of that horrible academy this very afternoon, mark my words. And know this. I shall let it be known far and wide the nature of this school. Mr. Johnstone will never, never have any more students. I will see to that.” She tossed her head and stormed from the room.

  Chapter 7

  Mrs. Lawson shut the parlor door, wringing her hands and tut-tutting under her breath. “Pray do not take my cousin’s statements too much to heart. She is high-strung, especially regarding her child. You must appreciate her unique situation.”

  “And exactly what special circumstance is that?” Mrs. Johnstone’s voice honed to a fine edge.

  “The boy, Charles I think is his name. He is her only son, her only child. She has had six others, but none survived more than two years, I think. She herself became seriously ill after birthing him, and they both almost died. She is incredibly protective of him as I am sure you can understand. It is what any mother would do under the circumstances, I think.” Mrs. Lawson wandered back to her couch.

  “She is not the only woman to have lost a child or even several of them. Many of us have been through that and not turned our sons into—well, in any case, she does the boy no good with such coddling. How will he ever survive in the society of men that way?” Mrs. Johnstone lowered herself back into her seat and drummed her fingers along the arm of her chair.

  “You must appreciate her feelings, then. You have three sons, do you not?” Had Mrs. Lawson listened at all?

  “I do indeed. I also buried as many as she has. Neither of those facts has any bearing on the realities of a man’s world. I am well aware of what is demanded from young men in public school—all my boys did their time there. It is far more rigorous than our little academy. She is doing her son no favors.”

  “You are too harsh. He is her only child.” Mrs. Lawson sat down, looking very sad. Was that great sensibility on her part or actual ignorance? It was difficult to distinguish. “It will all sort itself out. I am sure you can see that and take a little pity on the child. It would be a shame and most unpleasant for everyone if he should be taken from your care.”

  “Pray forgive me, but I am not sure you have heard what I am saying.” Mrs. Johnstone clutched the arm of her chair. The air between them crackled with some sort of uneasy energy.

  Mary jumped to her feet. “Excuse me. I have suddenly been struck with a dreadful headache. I must return to the vicarage. You need not leave on my account though, Mrs. Johnstone. I do not wish to ruin your call.” She fled the room and the house.

  Yes, it was rude. It was probably uncalled for. In all likelihood she was making a terrible impression on Mrs. Lawson and would face quite the well-earned tongue lashing from Mrs. Johnstone later. But none of that mattered now.

  She ran down the path they had followed to Leighton Manor, veering off at the fork, into the woods. On the main trail, someone might see her, ask her questions, and that she could not bear. No, a little quiet and privacy in the shelter of the trees was what definitely what she needed.

  Certainly there would be none of that when she arrived at the house. The maid and the cook would all have questions; even the man servant often looked to her. Could not the household manage itself without her for even a little while? And the children, all those little boys. They would be asking her, demanding of her, where she had been and what she had done. They would want to tell her of their morning, probably including the visit from the Mullens, and their impressions of that as well.

  She jammed her fists to her temples. No, just no! She could not take it. Not before she had an opportunity to put her thoughts in order. Not before she had an opportunity to refine her mask and fix it in place. She had let it drop at bit since she had been here, away from the intrusions of Longbourn, but now, it would be necessary here as well. She wrapped her arms around her waist, rocking slightly and breathing hard.

  That was a shame, but not surprising. It had been pleasing to let her guard slip and l
augh and even joke without wondering when the criticism would begin. How tempting it had been to think this place might be different. It had seemed so. She had wished it so.

  But it was not.

  The Johnstones had placed their faith in her to assist with the school, and she had made a cake of things. It was worse than that. It could be the downfall of the school itself. To lose all his students would be a difficult blow, one from which he might never recover. It was true, he had a good living, but to provide for the wife and children he might someday have and for his mother, maybe even his sister, it would help to have more. And she had just taken that away from him. She forced her feet to move into the cover of the trees.

  Why did she ever think she had it in her to manage young boys? Papa had been completely wrong when he implied because she had taken care of the Gardiner children, she might be able to handle these as well. Why had he done that to her? Why had he set her up to fail?

  She stumbled across a log in her path. When had that gotten there? Surely she should have seen it? Even the paths seemed set against her now. What an utterly foolish thought. Grounds did not turn hostile. But maybe they should. Such a mess she had made of things. She paused and sat down on the log, face in her hands.

  The Mullen boy had been unruly, out of control, and disrespectful. None of those traits served anyone well. At least not if they were the middling sort of gentry.

  But, in truth, she had no idea of what sort of family Charles Mullen had come from. She had not considered the matter, and it might have been a great mistake. She had assumed since he was being sent to a country parson’s school, he was of the same class she came from. But if there were family connections through the Lawsons, then it was possible his family was far wealthier than that.

  Sons of very wealthy families were known to live quite wild lifestyles. His behavior might be entirely expected and tolerated in his class. It seemed odd to think so, but not impossible. It was not as though she had anyone in her circle of acquaintance whom she could ask if it were true.