Mary had protested quietly. “While he has his sister, Mamma, he cannot need a mother for his children.”
Mrs Bennett pouted. “Little you know about gentlemen, my dear. There are things that he wants from a wife that a sister cannot provide. And she may very likely marry herself, and then what should he do?”
It was pointless to argue with Mrs Bennett in this mood, but Mary did not encourage her to make plans.
Nevertheless she did take pleasure in the company of Dr Watson. He was a true gentleman, with a deep velvety voice, with very different ideas from both Mr Collins and Mr Potter. Mr Bennett spoke favourably of his intelligence, and all the villagers remarked on his kindness, and welcomed his visits among them. Phoebe too had a great affection for him, and described him as the best of fathers, loving yet not afraid of providing guidance to his children. She described his marriage as a love match, and how he still grieved for his lost wife.
He shows not the slightest inclination in my direction, Mary wrote, so that Phoebe and I are the easiest possible friends, and Mamma is in a fret about nothing.
Mrs Phillips made her regular visit to Longbourn a few weeks after Kitty's marriage, and found both her sister and Mary in the parlour.
"Stay for a moment, Mary, before you take your walk," she said. "I have such news, and it is of the greatest importance for you!"
"For me, aunt? Whatever can you mean?" asked Mary, putting aside her bonnet for a moment, and resuming her seat.
"What are you talking about , sister?" demanded Mrs Bennett. "What can you have to tell that is of more interest to Mary than to me?"
"Just this, my dears," said Mrs Phillips complacently, "a young man will soon be joining our establishment. Mr Phillips has engaged an apprentice to assist him in his occupation, as he has so much business to attend to, that his health is suffering."
"A young man!' Mrs Bennett exclaimed. "Who is he? Is he married? Does he have any money?"
"He is not married," Mrs Phillips assured her, "For you must know that I told Mr Phillips, when he was choosing an apprentice, to have an eye to the young man's eligibility. 'Remember Mary Bennett!' I told him. 'We must do what we can for her.'" She beamed at Mary, then swept on.
"His name is Mr Robert Sinclair, and his home is in the north. His father is an attorney like Mr Phillips, and he is sent to this part of the country to gain experience. His father makes him an extensive allowance, and his expectations for the future are very rosy. He tells Mr Phillips that Lord M-. is his patron, and uses Mr Sinclair senior for all his business affairs."
"Oh sister, that sounds very fine! How much I should like it if Mary should be able to claim Lord M-. as her patron! That would stop Lady Lucas forever talking of Lady Catherine de Burgh, and her gifts to the Collinses. I long to meet this wonderful young man!"
Mr Sinclair would arrive within the week, and as soon as he came, Mr and Mrs Bennett and Mary would all be invited to dine at Meryton. Both Mrs Bennett and Mrs Phillips were very insistent on Mary's 'best appearance' on this occasion. She must wear the green dress, and allow Sarah to dress her hair in long curls.
"For you know, Mary," said Mrs Bennett, "just how impressed Mr Potter was, when you wore that dress. Perhaps Mr Sinclair will be likewise."
"Yes indeed!" said Mrs Phillips.
Mary expressed her thanks to her aunt and uncle for their thoughts of her. Like her mother, she admitted a keen interest to meet the young man, and as she took her delayed walk, thought of little else. When she returned, to find that Mrs Phillips had gone home to her dinner, her mother could talk of nothing but the young man destined to be her brother's apprentice.
"I am sure he will be an admirable young man," Mrs Bennett said to Phoebe Watson the next evening, "who will be a great help to Mr Phillips." The ladies were seated in the parlour, waiting for the gentlemen to join them after dinner. "He will very likely become a partner in the business. Then when my brother retires, or if he should die, Mr Sinclair will be the sole owner of the business. So he will be well able to support a wife. It would be just the thing for Mary!"
However little Mary liked to hear such a discussion of her marriage to an unknown young man, she admitted privately to Phoebe that she was anxious to meet Mr Sinclair.
"There were so few eligible gentlemen in the neighbourhood," she said, "that I must be grateful to any of my acquaintances who increase their number. If it were left to my mother and father, I should never meet any of them."
As soon as Mr Sinclair arrived at Meryton, the Longbourn party were invited to dinner, and made the acquaintance of the young man. Mary found him quite agreeable, more of Jane's age than her own. His figure was slender, and he was not tall - barely reaching her shoulder. His pale golden hair was swept back from his brow in smooth waves, as he bowed deeply over her hand.
"I am very honoured to make the acquaintance of someone so nearly related to my employer, the respected Mr Phillips." He lips smiled, but his eyes were watchful. "Especially when the relative is such a beautiful young lady." He bowed again. "I am sure that we shall become the very best of friends."
"Thank you, sir, " Mary said a little repressively, as she withdrew her hand. "I too look forward to our friendship."
They were placed together at dinner, and Mary learned much about her companion. He talked of his patron, and the fine house and grounds where, it seemed, Mr Sinclair had spent many hours.
"Are you acquainted with Lord M-..?" he asked. When Mary shook her head, he continued.
"I have been fortunate to know him since my childhood. Indeed, his son is a particular friend of mine, and I have been in the habit of spending many days each year shooting and fishing on the estate. I shall miss the sport sadly this year."
"Is Lord M-. married?" asked Mary.
"Indeed he is, and a more beautiful and cultivated young lady you could never meet. I saw her just a few days before I left my home for this place. 'Mr Sinclair,' she said, 'how am I to survive the next season without your jests and gossip to entertain me?' "
"And how did you reply?"
"I promised to travel to her relief immediately, if she writes to tell me of her distress. And so I shall, if your uncle will give me leave!"
"Were you speaking to her ladyship at dinner?" Mary inquired.
"Indeed no!" Mr Sinclair assured her. "We were in her own private boudoir. She had sent for me to visit her, when she heard that I was to leave the district. She was so distressed that the tears filled her eyes, and I am not sure that one or two did not overflow onto her delicate cheeks." He smiled at the memory.
"You must have been very important to the lady," said Mary dryly.
"Indeed I was," he acknowledged complacently. "But I hope to be just as important to the ladies of Meryton within a few weeks." And he smiled meaningfully at Mary.
On their return to Longbourn, Mrs Bennett talked of nothing but Mr Sinclair. She praised his elegant speech, his fine coat, and his long white hands.
"They are so fine," she said, "and with such long slender fingers! I am sure he must be connected with some noble family." When Mrs Bennett was determined to believe something, no words of her family could dissuade her.
Mr and Mrs Phillips and Mr Sinclair are to visit Longbourn tomorrow night for a return of hospitality, Mary wrote. I am not sure that I wholly approve of Mr S. He speaks glowingly of his connections with Lord M.. but his remarks about the Lady showed little respect for her. It is certainly a pleasure to listen to his speeches, but I am uneasy. At times it seems that he speaks to impress his listeners, not to reflect the thoughts of his heart. But all this shall not deter me from getting to know him better. I cannot afford to be too particular in my choice of a husband, I must take the best I can get. I must be content with respectability and a reliable income, and hope that affection may grow in the future. I console myself with the memory of Charlotte Lucas. She found no perfection or affection in her marriage with Mr Collins. Despite that, her marriage is at least as happy as that of most women I h
ave observed.
In the following months, the two families spent much time together, and the young people were given every opportunity to become better acquainted. Whenever they dined in company, Mr Sinclair must always escort Mary. When they walked home from church, he must be there to give her his arm. Mrs Bennett continued to praise his fine coat, his white skin and long fingers, and to prophesy a great future in her brother’s employment.
“I am so pleased for you, Mary,” she said. “How lucky we are that Mr Phillips should have chosen Mr Sinclair as his apprentice. But has he spoken yet of marriage?”
But Mary could not give her an encouraging answer here.
Mr Bennett observed the young man from under lowered brows, and would not join his praise.
“I hope I am wrong,” he said to Mary, “but I fear his principles are not sound.”
When Mr Sinclair did propose to Mary, it was a very unromantic situation. They were walking home from church, with Mr and Mrs Phillips strolling just behind them.
“Oh Mr Phillips,” said his wife, “did you notice that Lady Lucas had her youngest daughter in church today? The young lady is just become betrothed. Is that not pleasant news for the family?”
Her husband agreed quietly, but Mrs Phillips had not finished.
“Betrothals are such exciting things!” she declared. “I wish this family had one!”
Mr Sinclair turned to Mary, with a curl on his lip.
“Well, Miss Bennett,” he said, “your aunt is keen to have a betrothal in the family. Shall we give them one?”
Mary raised her eyes to his face. “Are you speaking seriously, sir?”
“Indeed I am!” he said. “Your mother and Mrs Phillips have been pushing us for weeks past. I am quite tired of it all, and am ready to give them what they want.”
Still Mary hesitated. She did not admire Mr Sinclair, and at times his behaviour did not allow her to respect him. She knew also that he did not love her. But still he would be her husband, and she would have a home of her own.
“Very well,” she said in a low voice. “I will become your wife.”
Mr Sinclair swung around to face his employers.
“Mrs Phillips,” he said with a condescending air, “I have good news for you. Miss Bennett and I have this moment established our betrothal. Now you will be equal to Lady Lucas in almost every way.”
“I am so pleased!” declared Mrs Phillips, as she took Mary’s hands and kissed both her cheeks, while the gentlemen shook hands. “I knew how it would be, when I first set eyes on Mr Sinclair. He is so handsome that I knew you would not be able to help coming to love him! And you are just the girl to make him love you!”
Mary sighed to think that her aunt had so little understanding of human nature.
Mrs Bennett was just as pleased at the news of the betrothal as her sister had been. Mr Bennett was grave, but gave his consent when he understood that Mary was determined to marry Mr Sinclair despite her own knowledge of his character. The wedding date was fixed for the New Year, to allow Mr Sinclair to visit his family, and to acquaint his patron with his plans. But until that time, the young people continued their friendship as before. Mary found that Mr Sinclair would not make plans for their married life.
“It is too soon to make plans,” he said. “Who knows what may have changed when the New Year comes?”
“But we must give some thoughts to these things,” she insisted. “Where are we to live? Shall we have enough money to pay servants? Will you continue with my uncle Phillips?”
“Do not trouble yourself, Mary. I will answer all these questions when the time is right.”
Late in December, Mary walked into Meryton, to accomplish some small shopping tasks for her mother, and to call upon her aunt Phillips. She planned to be with them to drink tea, knowing that her uncle would release Mr Sinclair from his duties while she was in the house. She knew also that Mr Sinclair had become less attentive to her interests in the last weeks. His casualness had begun to cause her concern.
Mr and Mrs Phillips were both in the parlour when Mary entered the room. They looked up in dismay.
"Mary!" exclaimed her aunt. "Oh, how unlucky that you should call. We meant to have visited you at Longbourn!"
Mary hesitated at the door. "Is the time unfortunate? Should I go away now?" she asked. Her uncle came forward.
"No, no," he said, as he took her hand to lead her to a chair. "That is not what your aunt meant to imply. But I am afraid we have bad news for you." His face was grave.
"Mr Sinclair is gone!" Mrs Phillips said. The tears flowed down her face. "I am so afflicted!"
"Gone?" Mary asked in amazement. "But when will he return?"
"Never!" wept Mrs Phillips, as she sank into her chair. "You will never see him again!"
5100 words
Chapter 3-- A single woman (4900)
Mary groped for the back of a chair. The floor seemed to move beneath her feet.
"Never?" she whispered. "But how can this be? Whatever has happened?"
Mrs Phillips sniffed into her handkerchief. Mr Phillips walked to the window, and stood gazing into the street.
"I have been aware that money was missing from the strong box in my office. It has happened several times these last weeks," he said. "I did not wish to think ill of the young man. But he had the only other key." His voice showed his distress. "This morning I was forced to accuse him of the theft."
Mrs Phillips wept again.
"Theft!" breathed Mary, white-faced. She remembered her father's doubts of the young man's character. "How did Mr Sinclair defend himself from this charge?"
"He laughed in my face, and said I could prove nothing. 'You have no evidence', he said, 'and you gave me the key of your own choice'. And the money could not be repaid, it was already lost at cards." Mr Phillip stopped abruptly.
"So your uncle told him to pack and leave the house immediately," interposed Mrs Phillips. "He was gone inside the hour."
"Did he leave any message for me?" asked Mary, in a voice she hardly recognised as her own.
Mr Phillips took a folded paper from the mantlepiece, and held it out.
"I insisted that he should write this. He was very reluctant, and I fear it is very short," he said apologetically.
Mary took the letter, and sank into a chair. Her aunt and uncle watched anxiously while she read it.
Miss Bennett, Pray tell your Uncle that I intended to leave his house this week. My wife in Scotland commands my presence, the letter said. I would apologise to you, but I am sure your affection for me was no more real than that I feigned for you. We deceived your family finely, did we not? Robert Sinclair.
“Oh,” cried Mary, staring at the paper in disbelief.
“What is it, my dear?” demanded her uncle. Mary shook her head, speechless, and handed him the letter. Mrs Phillips leaned over his shoulder, and they read it together.
“Oh what an evil young man!” Mrs Phillips wailed. “How could he treat us in this fashion?”
“I must go home!” Mary exclaimed, longing for solitude.
“Of course, my dear! I will order the carriage at once.”
Mr Phillips escorted Mary to her home, leaving Mrs Phillips prostrate with grief. The ride was silent, with Mary suffering too much for speach, and her Uncle too deeply sympathetic to interrupt her thoughts. When they reached Longbourn, Mary went immediately to her own room. Mr Phillips had the heavy task of telling her parents of the day’s events. Mrs Bennett screamed.
“Oh Mr Phillips, what are you saying? That Mr Sinclair is a thief! That Mary has been deceived by a man already married!” cried Mrs Bennett, through her tears. “He must be brought back and punished!”
Mr Bennett, though shocked and tired, shook his head decidedly.
“On the contrary, I am very glad that the man has gone. I regret that your brother has suffered financial loss through a thief’s actions, but must be glad that Mary is not tied to such a man in any permanent way.”
&
nbsp; " I am sorry that your daughter should have been decieved by a young man in my house," Mr Phillips said heavily. "But I agree that it is better that he has gone before the affair progressed any further. The financial loss I can bear more easily than the loss of my niece's good name."
When Mary opened the door, her father turned to greet her, giving her his hand to lead her to a chair.
"Mary, this is hard news indeed for you," he said, gently. Her pale face was composed, though there signs that she had shed tears.
"Oh yes, Mary! Are you not heartbroken at the news?" said her mother. "Whatever will the neighbours say!"
"You must not be distressed for me, Papa," said Mary quietly, as she reached her chair. "And I will do very well, Mamma, whatever the neighbours say. I have been reflecting on my narrow escape from disgrace. Had I persisted and gone to church with Mr Sinclair, I could never have visited my family again. That would have been the greatest possible disaster for me."
Her father squeezed her hand. "I blame myself," he said, "for allowing you to accept his proposal."
"You must not do that, sir" Mary smiled at him sadly. "You warned me that you doubted his principles, and I had doubts of my own. But I chose to ignore your warnings, and those of my own heart. For the sake of getting a husband, I was prepared to risk everything."
Mr Phillips cleared his throat noisily, and walked to the window.
"Uncle Phillips, you too must not take blame to yourself. You introduced me to Mr Sinclair for love of me, the best of all possible reasons. That is all I remember. And you too have suffered at his hands. Can we not agree to share the pain, as we shared the excitement of my betrothal?"
Her uncle came back to her chair, to grasp her hand and kiss her cheek. Then he turned away to hide the tears in his eyes.
"If you will excuse me," said Mary, "I am very tired. I shall rest until dinner." As she walked to the door, her father judged that she had aged ten years during the day. Gone was the fresh-faced girl he had seen at breakfast. Now she looked a mature, unhappy woman.
Mary Bennet of Meryton Page 4