Mrs Gardiner then suggested that Mary should spend Christmas with her family in London. Mary was delighted to receive the invitation, but Mrs Bennett was not.
"So you think Mary would enjoy herself in London, sister!" she exclaimed. "I do not think she could bear to see the theatre or the play. How should she enjoy it, knowing that her mother is left alone at home to suffer?"
Mr Bennett interrupted mildly to reassure her of his continued presence.
"Oh, pooh, Mr Bennett, what use are you to me? I want Mary a dozen times a day, to dress my hair, or fetch my shawl, or to speak to the servants on my behalf. You know that I find anything of that kind too fatiguing for my poor nerves. How I should suffer without her!" She threw herself into a chair, and began to weep. "But none of you care for my feelings. Mary must have her pleasure, however much pain her mother suffers!"
"Now my dear, it will only be for a few days," Mr Bennett said, "and then she will be home again."
Mrs Bennett would not be mollified.
"A few days!" she answered. "Yes, and in those few days, I shall probably die, and then Mary will be punished for seeking pleasure while her mother ails!"
Mrs Gardiner and Mr Bennett cried out at this, but Mary had heard enough.
"Calm yourself, Mamma, " she said. "If my presence is so important to you, then of course I will not go to London. There is no need to distress yourself in this fashion."
Mr Bennett was distressed, and continued to urge Mary's holiday. But Mary shook her head.
"It will not do, Papa. We both know that my mother is perfectly able to manage without me. But I am convinced that she would fret and weep until she made herself ill, if we persist with the plan. Perhaps another year, I may go."
But Mary wondered if this would ever happen. She was disheartened. The Bingleys were doing everything in their power to introduce Kitty to elegible young men. Mary, on the other hand, feared that no-one would help her to find a suitable husband. And if an acceptable candidate should be found, would her mother agree to her leaving Longbourn? Would it be before her fading youth made her unattractive as a partner?
She feared the future. Her prospects were bleak.
Chapter 2- Husbands for the Bennetts
Mary Bennett sat in her bedroom, writing in her journal.
I have been in such distress. Father caught a heavy chill during the worst of the winter, and for some days his life was in great danger. Mamma was quite useless as a nurse, spending her days in loud expectation of becoming a widow. I managed alone, until Mr and Mrs Darcy arrived, when Lizzie took her share of the labours. Mr Darcy went on to visit his aunt, Lady Catherine de Burgh, doubtless to avoid spending time under the same roof with Mamma. I was in the greatest dread that Papa would not survive. I do not know how Mamma and I will manage when that catastrophe strikes. I know that neither Mr Darcy not Mr Bingley will offer Mamma a home with their families. The best I can hope is that one or both of them will provide her with enough money to buy a cottage in Meryton, and provide for her needs each year.
And I will be expected to live with her for the rest of her life. A distressing prospect.
However, this disaster has not yet has come upon me. Whether due to his own strength, or to our nursing, Papa rallied. He now sits before the fire in his library, spending his hours reading or writing letters to Jane or Elizabeth. I hope he is quite recovered, or at least that his health will give no further cause for alarm, during the coming months.
My mother is unchanged. Her whole life is quite devoted to her illnesses; she complains of them to anyone who will listen, my aunt Phillips, the servants, my father, but chiefly to me. I do wish she could find some other topics to discuss. I am tired of listening to her. If I ignore her, she accuses me of having no sympathy. If I do not sympathesise, she says I do not love her. I can never please her.
I must find a way to become independent. The thought of spending another fifteen or twenty years alone with my mother is quite impossible. But there are so few avenues of escape available. None but my sisters would employ me as a governess. I must find a solution before my father dies.
We have news too, that Mrs Watson, the parson’s wife, is now confined to bed by her illness. Phoebe Watson has been released by her father and has come back to Meryton to nurse her sister, run the house, and to care for her brother and his children. I long to see her again, but she is very busy with the family. We communicate through notes, delivered by the gardener on his way back to the village at night.
Soon after Mr Bennett was well enough to return to his library, Lady Lucas called at Longbourn to tell the Bennetts of her latest grandchildren... a boy at Huntsford, and another at Bilton. Mrs Collins was herself again within a very few days, but Mrs Potter had a more difficult time.
“Mr Potter was in the greatest distress,” Lady Lucas said. “He sent an express, asking that Sir William and I should leave immediately, as he feared for Maria’s life. Our whole house was in a bustle, with the need to pack, and arrange for the care of the younger children during our absence.” She shook her head at the memory. “But then, before we could leave,” she continued, “another express arrived, to say that the babe was safely born, and Maria out of danger. The relief you cannot imagine.”
“It must have been very great,” Mrs Bennett agreed.
“Of course, we went to visit them, quite soon,” Lady Lucas continued. “The baby is a healthy boy, very like his father. And Maria is gaining strength every day. We brought them both home with us.”
Mary barely listened as Lady Lucas rambled on. Her attention seemed to be given to her embroidery; in reality, she was worrying away at the perennial problem. How could she establish her independence? Then her attention was recalled as Lady Lucas addressed her.
“Miss Bennet, Maria has particularly asked if you would be kind enough to visit her at Lucas Lodge. She misses her friends at Bilton, and as she is not yet well enough to make visits, will be lonely shut up home. Please say you will visit her.”
There could be no escape. Mary agreed to call upon Maria Potter the next day. There was almost nothing she would not prefer to do, but she was committed. At least she had some hours to prepare for the meeting.
Lying awake that night, Mary pondered why she wished to have no further contact with Maria Potter.
"It's because I am ashamed of how I behaved," she realised. "Maria is still the frivolous silly girl she always was. But I only pretended to be like her. Meeting her will remind me of something I do not wish to remember."
"Some people whispered that I acted that way to trap Mr Potter. I am so glad I failed! If I had succeeded, I would now be married to a sharp-chinned, small-minded, coward. Mamma and Lydia saved me from that fate. And I should be grateful to Maria, for she helped in a way. I suppose I am grateful. But I can never tell her that I am pleased Mr Potter decided to marry her instead of me."
"That is another reason why I do not wish to see her," she thought, pounding her pillow. "I shall be uncomfortable, knowing that I should be grateful, but hating the idea of that gratitude. I do not want to be grateful to her. "
Maria Potter greeted Mary politely, but was not interested in anything that had happened to her former friend since they last met. She wished only to indulge in a little boasting, and talked of nothing but the glories of being mistress of the parsonage at Bilton; and the attentions of the people in the surrounding districts.
"It is such exceedingly pretty country," she said, "that I am sure you would find it enchanting, Mary. The cottages are so quaint, with the little gardens full of bright flowers. And the people are so attentive, bowing and nodding whenever I drive through in my carriage. Do let me show it you. Will you come to spend a few weeks with me?"
The suggestion was not welcome to Mary, but she wanted to refuse the invitation without giving offence.
"It is kind of you to think of me," she said, "but Mamma’s health does not permit me to leave her alone; and my father too could scarcely manage in my absence. I
must beg you to excuse me this time."
For the first time, Mary felt something approaching gratitude for her mother’s imagined illhealth. This time at least, it had enabled her to avoid doing something she would find very painful.
Mary met Mrs Potter's small son, when the nurse brought him into the parlour. Mrs Potter received the baby proudly, holding him for Mary to admire. But when the baby began to cry, Maria was angry.
"Nurse, whatever have you done? I am sure that something is wrong! Take him directly, and do not bring him again when he is likely to cry!" Maria Potter held him away from her. "And I am sure that his clothes are wet! My dress is stained, and I shall have to change it. It is too bad of you!"
The nurse swiftly retrieved her charge, soothing him gently. His mother continued to complain about the nurse, while the baby continued to cry, loudly announcing his ills to anyone within earshot. At last, the nurse bore him away, and peace returned to the parlour. Mary soon took her departure, for she knew that Mrs Potter was anxious to change her gown.
The baby had not appealed to Mary. His red creased face, and hot, angry body repelled her. She was relieved when the nurse carried him out of the room.
"I do hope I never have to look after a baby!" she thought, shuddering. But she knew that someday it might become her paid duty to do just this.
The next week brought happier news. A letter arrived from Jane, announcing that Mr and Mrs Bingley would soon be travelling to London, and that they planned to call at Longbourn. They proposed that Kitty should be left with her parents during their travels. Mrs Bennett was greatly excited at the prospect of hearing all the details of Kitty’s friends, especially Mr Kent, who, Jane’s letters suggested, would soon be more than a casual suitor. In fact, Jane seriously considered delaying her departure from Derbyshire, to make his courtship more certain. Only the pressure of Mr Bingley’s business forced her to agree to travel so soon.
Mrs Bennett was in a fit of impatience for the few days until the Bingleys arrived, but Mary needed all that time to make the house ready for their guests. But she was rewarded for all the extra work their visit entailed, when they arrived. She found both Jane and Mr Bingley very pleasant companions, not least because they diverted some of her mother's attention from Mary. Mrs Bennett questioned the visitors minutely about the society around their home, and especially the young men with whom Kitty had danced at their balls.
Jane talked most of Mr Kent.
"He is the son of the local squire, a very amiable young man," she said. " Kitty finds him very pleasant company, do you not, my dear? "
Kitty blushed, and bent over her embroidery.
"These last two months, he has been superintending the renovation of a large cottage, part of his father’s estate" Jane continued..
"What sort of house is it?" asked Mrs Bennett. "I hope the rooms are not small."
"I have not seen inside, but I believe that it is a very good sort of house," said Jane. " It is very prettily placed beside a small wood. Don't you agree, Kitty? "
Kitty blushed again, and agreed that this was so.
"Mr Kent is always asking Kitty’s opinion on the arrangement of the rooms, and the planting of the garden."
Jane smiled at her sister and Mrs Bennett beamed at them both. Like everyone else, she began to hope that Kitty would be mistress of the cottage as soon as it was fit for habitation.
"Mr Kent at the moment has one thousand pounds a year," said Jane, "and when his father dies, will have a much larger property. He told me that you may expect him to visit Longbourn while we are in London. I suspect that he comes to make a formal approach to my father."
"We will be delighted to receive him!'" said Mrs Bennett, "even though he has not near so much money as Bingley or Darcy. We must just hope his father dies soon."
Kitty had changed so much during her stay in Derbyshire that Mary barely recognised her. Gone was the wild thoughtless girl who followed everywhere that her sister Lydia led. Kitty now was an elegant young woman. She moved with dignity, conversed quietly, and danced gracefully. But she would never be intelligent, and had very few interests outside her family, her clothes, and the house that Mr Kent was improving.
When Mr Bennett complimented Kitty upon her changed ways, she was very gratified.
“Thank you, sir” she said earnestly. “I have tried to improve myself. I had good models to copy. I chose Miss Darcy, for her elegance and conduct, and my sister Elizabeth for her good sense. And no-one could better dear Jane for kindness of heart. And," with another blush, "I have learned many important lessons from Mr Kent.”
“Well, well,” said Mr Bennett dryly, “do not try too hard, my dear. You must still find things to enjoy in your life.” Then he looked at Mary.
“And what do you think, Kitty, of your sister who stayed at home? Has Mary changed?”
Kitty looked at her, and smiled.
“To be sure, Father, I would hardly have known her. She looks so welI in her new clothes, and with her hair so soft and pretty. And she is always busy, taking care of so many things for my mother."
Mary blushed.
“But the greatest change is in her attitude. She used to shut herself away with her books and her music. Now she seeks company, and always tries to be cheerful, even when her tasks are boring or unpleasant. I like her so much better now!”
Mary embraced her sister. One person at least recognised the difficult tasks that had fallen to her.
"I too, have taken a model for my behaviour," she said. "Phoebe Watson has given up all thought of her own pleasure, firstly to care for her father, and now for her brother and his family. They are always short of money, and she does not have all the servants she needs to help her. But she never complains, and is always cheerful, looking forward toward a bright future. I model myself on her, but I do not hope to be half the woman she is!"
Mr Bennett smiled at her.
"Do not distress yourself, Mary. I would far rather have Mary Bennett to live with me than Phoebe Watson, whatever her good qualities. My daughter is always more acceptable than someone from another family."
The next day brought Mr Kent to Longbourn. As Jane had foretold, he immediately followed Mr Bennett into his study, to express his desire to marry Kitty. Mr Bennett gave his permission, and Kitty her acceptance. Mrs Bennett was in raptures about her new son-in-law, placing him beside her at the dinner table, and talking of him in detail in the drawing room, when the Lucases came to drink tea.
“This will be four of my five daughters happily established,” she said to Lady Lucas. “If only I could get Mary married, then I would have nothing further to worry me.”
Lady Lucas, wondering if Lydia Wickham could be considered happily established, murmured her agreement.
“But I do not know how I should manage without Mary,” Mrs Bennett continued,” for you know I rely on her to deal with the servants, and to see to her father’s comfort. My poor nerves would not stand the strain of all those decisions.”
Mary listened silently. Mrs Bennett had finally spoken what she had begun to fear. Even were an eligible man to offer to marry Mary, she might not be allowed to escape. Her mother hoped to keep Mary as her companion for the rest of her life.
Three weeks later the Bingleys and Mr Kent departed, but would soon return for Kitty’s marriage. Mrs Bennett was greatly excited, talking of new clothes, and linen, and servants and wedding presents. Now that she had something pleasing to share, she visited all her friends and neighbours, to tell them of her delight. Kitty and Mary sat at home, busy with their preparations.
Mamma visits us from time to time, Mary wrote in her journal, giving orders that conflict with those she gave on the last visit. Kitty and I look at each other, then answer together “Yes Mamma,” and carry on with the work we have already determined. I shall miss Kitty when she leaves us after her wedding. She has given me such pleasure with her company, and we have been so busy during these last weeks that I have had no time to think of my own pro
blems.
The sisters had barely completed their preparations when Mr and Mrs Bingley returned from Derbyshire. A few days later, Mr Kent joined them. The weather was showery on Kitty’s wedding day, but the sun shone briefly as the family walked to church, and Mary stored up memories of it lighting her sister's happy face. Her smiles were bright enough to put the darkest clouds to flight. Lucky Kitty! to marry a man she found so agreeable, and leave the cares of Longbourn behind her.
The marriage was conducted by Dr Watson, the first time the Bennetts had seen him since the death of his wife. Mrs Phillips whispered that Phoebe Watson would stay on at the parsonage, as housekeeper for her brother, and mother for the three children, the youngest just 7 years old. Mary grieved for Phoebe, as she took up her new duties. She had given up one set of family responsibilities - the care of her father. In exchange, she had taken up another - the care of her brother and his children. By the transfer she had virtually given up any hope of her own marriage, becoming mistress of her own home. Mary had little hope of avoiding her example. But she clung to their friendship, and hoped they could spend a few hours together each week.
Mrs Bennett looked thoughtfully at Mary when she heard that Mrs Watson had died. She could consider marriage for Mary, if she moved no further than Meryton parsonage. But Mary refused to be interested in men of the church. Mr Collins and Mr Potter, she felt, were enough in the experience of any family. And she had further cause for reluctance. What would become of Phoebe if her brother were to marry again? At least while he remained a widower, Phoebe was sure of having a roof over her head.
Mrs Bennett invited both Phoebe and her brother to dinner frequently.
“It is so that he may have a chance to know you better, Mary. With those three great children, he must be in want of a wife. And who is better suited than yourself?”
Mary Bennet of Meryton Page 3