"Sinclair is a knave and a fool!" he said, as she left the room. "She is worth twenty of him. I hope that he will live to regret his share in this affair!"
Mr Sinclair's true character was now clear. Tradespeople in Meryton announced the debts that he had contracted, using Mr Phillips' name to obtain loans. Creditors also began to appear from his previous residence, where another young lady had been deceived and deserted. His removal from the north was now explained, not as a search for experience in his profession, but as a result of pressure of increasing debt. Lord M-.. had no knowledge of Mr Sinclair or his father. Mr Sinclair had fabricated his whole history.
There were also stories from other employers of missing jewels and cash.
"And since he is gone," wailed Mrs Phillips, "we find that some of my jewels are also gone!"
Mary discussed the situation just once with Phoebe Watson, then never referred to Mr Sinclair again.
"It was my own fault," she acknowledged. "After my sister Kitty married, I was more determined than ever to find a husband. I knew that Mr Sinclair was not a man of high principles, but I shut my eyes to his faults. I thought that I could change him after we were married."
"Many women have the same idea," said Phoebe, " but I fear that few are successful!"
Mary smiled a little sadly.
"I am sure that I should not have succeeded! I would have been quite lost to my family, and I realise now that my family is by far the most important thing in my life."
Phoebe murmured her agreement.
"This last experience has cured me for ever of trying to find a husband," Mary said. "There are too many risks attached. I shall stay here at Longbourn with my parents, and never think of marriage again. The only husbands worth having are good and kind, like your brother, and where should I find another like him?"
"But what will you do when your parents die?" asked Phoebe.
"I will have a small income from my father," Mary said. "I will find a little cottage in Meryton, and take in lodgers, or teach music, or whatever else I can find to bring in a few shillings. At least I will still be respectable, however small my income!"
Phoebe only smiled sadly. She knew only too well the future that Mary intended to embrace.
The following months and years passed quietly for Mary. Her life followed its usual round. She attended her mother through illnesses real and imagined. She spent hours reading and talking with her father. She walked in all the lanes and woods near her home, alone or in company with Phoebe Watson. She was always busy, with an endless stream of unimportant duties and occupations. She was bored, but resigned to the dullness of her village life.
On a spring day, the sunshine drew her to Meryton, to visit her aunt Phillips. As she set out for home, closing the door of her aunt's house behind her, she saw Dr Watson descending the stairs of the house next door. His face was preoccupied, but he returned Mary's friendly greeting, and lifted his hat as he stepped aside to let her pass. He watched her departing back absently for a moment, then suddenly seemed to become aware of her identity. He took a few steps after her.
"Miss Bennett, may I disturb you?"
Mary turned back immediately, and looked up at him inquiringly. His tall figure always lent him an air of dignity, which was belied by the gentle smile on his face.
"Miss Bennett, may I beg your charity towards a poor widow?"
"Why certainly, sir," she replied.
He indicated the door he had just left.
"This you know, is the home of Mrs and Miss Barnes, who sometimes offer the shelter of their roof to paying guests." Mary nodded.
"Miss Barnes sent a message to the parsonage this morning, requesting that I call. She has a guest in the house, Mrs Smith, a widow with a small son just three years old. The boy is very ill, they greatly fear his life is in danger."
"Poor woman!" Mary cried, her sympathy stirred. Dr Watson continued.
"I was asked to call, to offer whatever assistance I might. But the child is so ill, that there is little I can do. What is chiefly required is help with nursing the boy, as the mother is almost worn out with care. I would offer my sister's help, but you know she is kept at home by the illness of my own children."
"You must not think of Phoebe," Mary interrupted quickly. "I know how busy she is at present. But I am not so busy. Let me be the one to offer assistance to Mrs Smith."
"Are you in earnest? Would your parents permit this?"
" I am sure my father would encourage me to help. And my mother can certainly manage without me for a few days. Will you introduce me to Mrs Smith?"
They returned to Mrs Barnes' house, and were taken to the parlour. Miss Barnes, a stout obliging lady some fifteen years Mary's senior, with her straight greying hair drawn back into a neat knot at her neck, and capable hands folded across her ample waist, soon joined them.
"Dr Watson? I had thought you halfway home by now, what brings you back?" she asked.
"Good news, I hope," said Dr Watson, as he drew Mary forward. "Miss Bennett has offered to assist Mrs Smith with the care of her son."
Miss Barnes' face broke into a broad smile.
"That is very kind, and I am sure Mrs Smith will be very grateful. But Miss Bennett, I am afraid I cannot offer you the use of a bedchamber. Mrs Smith has the only spare room, and we may have to move her boy to this room."
"That should not concern you, Miss Barnes," Mary said. "I am sure that my aunt Mrs Phillips will provide me with a bed. As her house is so close to your own, I will always be at hand. I will confirm this with her, and return within a very few minutes."
Mrs Phillips readily agreed to accept Mary as a guest for as long as her services should be required. Mary wrote a letter to her father, describing the distress of Mrs Smith, and explaining Dr Watson's role in engaging her services. Dr Watson agreed to carry her note to Longbourn. Mary returned to Miss Barnes, and was introduced to the patient and his mother.
Mrs Smith appeared a little older than Mary, perhaps thirty years old. She had long curling golden hair, caught back in a ribbon at the base of her neck, and gentle blue eyes. She was certainly meant to be pretty, but in her black widow's gown, and with her pale tired face, her beauty was lost. Her son had his mother's fair hair, and was very thin and listless. He had been carried to a trundle bed in the parlour.
Mrs Smith took both Mary's hands in hers, and tears trembled on her eyelashes, as she thanked her for the unexpected help.
"For I am almost exhausted," she admitted. "Miss Barnes does what she can, but she has the care of all the household, and her elderly mother also. I cannot ask more of her. But if you will watch my boy for a few hours today, I will be refreshed enough to look after him tonight."
Mary readily agreed, and , with a last affectionate kiss to her child, Mrs Smith went to her own chamber. Master John was too ill to give Mary any trouble in his management. She had only to keep him warm, replacing the bedclothes whenever his movement threw them off. Miss Barnes joined her several times, to see that she had everything she needed, and to hold the boy while Mary gave him the medicine the doctor had prepared. They watched together as he slipped back into slumber.
"Poor little boy. He is so like his mother. Where did you meet her, Miss Barnes?" asked Mary softly.
"She arrived in Meryton on the stage last Friday, and sought lodgings in the inn. But there was no room, so the innkeeper directed her to my house. It was during that first night that her boy became ill, too ill to be moved since."
"Where did they come from?" Mary asked.
"I do not know, Miss Bennett. The stage came from the north. Mrs Smith only told me that her husband died just six months ago, in a town where she knew no-one."
Mary continued to watch over her patient, until his mother came back into the room in the evening, looking rested but anxious. Mary returned to Mrs Phillips' house, promising to return early the next morning. At her aunt's, she found a small bag of her nightclothes together with a note from her father, approving her
decision to aid Mrs Smith in her distress. He also included a message from Mrs Bennett - Mary was not to think of returning to Longbourn until all danger of her carrying the illness there was past. The message made her smile a little sadly .
"I am sure you need not worry, Mamma," she thought. "Both Miss Barnes and I agree that it is nothing catching that makes the little boy so pale. To us it seems that he is just fading away."
Many days passed with Mary devoting all her energy to the care of John Smith and his mother, Louisa. She told Mary a little of her history, how she married despite the disapproval of her parents ( though with a much-loved brother to support her), and was in consequence cast off by her family. That was barely five years ago, and now within six months she had lost her husband, and her child was dangerously ill. She had no family support, and her future prospects were very bleak. Dr Watson was most concerned for her future.
Mrs Smith's thoughts were centred on her son. Mary watched in silent approval, as his mother did everything for him, bathing him, dressing him, coaxing him to eat, rocking him to sleep. She slept little herself, and became more pale and drawn as the days passed. Mary wondered how long her strength would last. She thought fleetingly of Maria Potter, who had handed back her son to the nurse when he only cried. Would she have devoted herself to the care of her child, like this?
It became obvious to them all that the child was dying, and that it could not be more than a few days delayed. He lay in the bed, pale and still, as if made of alabaster, just a little carved statue. Louisa Smith’s grief was heartbreaking to watch.
"He will soon be with his father," she, and tears streamed down her face as she watched him.
Dr Watson visited the house every day, and did all that he could to assist. His outlook was always positive. Mary drew strength from his presence, and his obvious approval of her presence in the house. He carried messages of sympathy and support from his sister, and approval from Mr Bennett, who would not allow his wife to demand Mary's presence at Longbourn. Both Mrs Smith and Mary welcomed Dr Watson's daily visits. He provided their only contact with a world outside the sickroom.
But the last night came. Miss Barnes sent for Dr Watson, when it was obvious that the boy would not wake again. Louisa Smith and Mary Bennett sat hand in hand on either side of the bed, while little John quietly slipped away. His mother’s eyes were fixed on his face, as she held one of his hands, while her lips moved in soundless prayer. Mary Bennett’s face was wet with tears, as she held the boy’s other hand. So Dr Watson found them when he entered the room half an hour later. The Doctor was himself deeply moved, the tears shone in his eyes as he gave each of the nurses an arm out of the parlour.
The next afternoon, Louisa Smith, Phoebe Watson, Miss Barnes and Mary Bennett escorted Master John Smith to his final rest in Meryton churchyard.
“It is hard to think of that tiny boy, lying cold and still forever in the graveyard,” Mary protested to Dr Watson. “He should be running about, shouting and playing, like all the other little boys in this village! Why should this happen?”
“I know that as a parson, I am supposed to know the answers to all such questions,” he replied. “But I do not pretend to have them. It is too difficult for any man”.
After the service, the group returned to Miss Barnes’ house to tea - Mrs Smith, Dr Watson and Phoebe, and Mary Bennett. They sat in the parlour, talking quietly. All were concerned for Mrs Smith’s future, but no-one felt able to open discussion of the subject. When the sound of a carriage was heard in the street, none of them remarked on it. Many such passed through Meryton during the course of every day. But this one stopped, and they soon heard the knocker rap smartly on the front door.
“Bless me,” said Miss Barnes, “I wonder who that can be?”
A man’s voice reached them from the hall. The parlour door opened , and the maid announced a visitor, Mr Rawlings.
The effect on Mrs Smith was extraordinary. She sprang to her feet, her cup and saucer falling forgotten from her hands. She spoke just one word -- “John!” -- then rushed to the newcomer, to cast herself weeping against his breast. The party at the tea table sat speechless. Mary looked from one face to another, and saw that everyone was amazed. But Dr Watson, though greatly pleased by Mr Rawlings’ arrival, was apparently less surprised than the others.
“Dr Watson!” Mary said. “You knew this would happen! You arranged this!” But he shook his head in denial, smiling mischieviously at her.
Mrs Smith had now recovered some of her composure. She took her visitor by the hand and led him forward.
“My friends, let me introduce to you my brother, John Rawlings.”
The introductions were made. Mary shook hands with a gentleman of middle height, well made, and neatly dressed for travelling. His face was open and honest. Mrs Smith made her brother sit beside her, where she could keep hold of his hand. Her eyes glowed in her pale face.
“However did you find me, John?” she asked.
“Through the good offices of your friend, Dr Watson,” he replied, with a bow to that gentleman. The widow turned her gaze wonderingly to the doctor.
“You sir? But how did you know my family?”
The doctor smiled gently as he shook his head.
“I did not know your family,” he said, “ but you once mentioned attending the church in Washpool in Suffolk. It happens that a good friend of mine holds the living in that village. I wrote to him with your history as far as I knew it, and charged him with two tasks. The first, to identify whether you had any family still living in the district. The second, to ascertain whether any of that family would aid you in your distress.”
John Rawlings now took up the story.
“Your friend carried out both his tasks, Dr Watson. He spoke to his older parishioners, and identified me as Mary’s brother. Then he approached me in person. I assured him that I would not allow Louisa to continue without my support. I left for this place the morning after I spoke to him. And I will take Louisa back with me as soon as she is ready to depart.”
He glanced around the room, and continued hesitantly.
“I assume from your clothes that .....I am too late to meet my nephew?”
Louisa Smith’s tears flowed again as Dr Watson retold the history of the last few days. When it was complete, Mr Rawlings again embraced his sister.
“Poor Louisa, to bear all this alone.”
“Not alone,” she reminded him, smiling through her tears, “but with these dear friends to assist me.”
At that Mr Rawlings stood up, and shook each of them by the hand again, warmly expressing his appreciation.
At last, someone raised the question, “What next?” Mr Rawlings returned to his sister, and took her hand.
“Tomorrow morning, Louisa and I set out for Suffolk,” he said.
“Oh John, but what will our parents say when I return with you?” Mrs Smith asked doubtfully. He smiled kindly at her.
“You know Mamma never agreed that you should be cast off from the family - she is very eager to see you . And our father has softened his ideas during these last years. I told him of my plans, before I left Suffolk, of bringing you back with me. He began by being reluctant, but when he had heard all your sad history, agreed that his home would again be yours.”
Once more Mrs Smith smiled through her tears.
“A woman never had a brother half so good as you, John. Indeed I am blessed to have you.”
The very next morning, Mr Rawlings and Mrs Smith left Meryton. Dr Watson and Mary Bennett joined Miss Barnes to wish them farewell. Louisa Smith embraced her friends, and promised to write. Mary Bennett promised to tend the small grave of John Smith as carefully as would his mother herself. Mr Rawlings shook all their hands, then the steps of the carriage were withdrawn, and they drove away.
Dr Watson then escorted Mary as she walked back to Longbourn.
“I have not thanked you for your efforts to help Mrs Smith,” he said.
“I offered to he
lp because I was bored - any novelty was welcome,” said Mary honestly. “I know it was the wrong reason. I hope you will overlook that.”
“I know you better than you know yourself.” Dr Watson smiled. “You offered because of the kindness of your heart.”
Mary blushed a little. “Indeed sir, it is kind of you to think so.”
“In any case,” he continued firmly, “I am sure that any novelty in the situation was soon past. But you continued your efforts for more than two weeks. I do not believe it was all to avoid boredom.”
“No,” said Mary. “But then I had become acquainted with Louisa Smith. I could not think of leaving her to face her trouble alone. She is a dear soul, so gentle and kind. It would have been cruel indeed to desert her.”
“And I know, Miss Bennett, that no-one could ever accuse you of cruelty!”
Dr Watson’s eyes held approval, and a hint of something else that brought the colour rushing to Mary’s cheeks. For the first time, she became conscious of how handsome he was, with his strong square chin below a generous mouth, now smiling in a way that sent a quiver through her shoulders. His dark hair, brushed smoothly back from his brow, glinted in the sun, and his white teeth gleamed. She dropped her eyes, and hurried into speech.
“Miss Barnes and I were speaking yesterday of your own actions,” she said. “We decided that you too have been kind these last weeks. It was so clever of you to have found Mrs Smith’s brother. And we all appreciated your visits to us. You reminded us of the normal world outside our sickroom.”
“I was happy to do what little I could, to assist. I was frustrated that I could not do more. But nursing is not one of my strongest skills.”
“It is a skill that Louisa Smith has had to learn,” said Mary softly, as they approached the stile leading to the meadow. “For she nursed her dying husband just a few months ago. Life has not been kind to her.”
Mary Bennet of Meryton Page 5