Mary Bennet of Meryton

by Barbara Randell

  "Do not worry about Miss Bennett," said Mr Forbes gaily. "I can promise you that I shall see she has no time to regret absent friends." With his hand under her elbow, he guided Mary away. She had only time for one backward glance. But Dr Watson's attention had been claimed by Mrs Phillips, and he did not look to see where she had gone.

  In the weeks that followed, Mr Forbes continued to seek out Mary Bennett to escort her home from Church. Mary was irritated by his presence, and his sarcastic comments on her Meryton friends. She would have avoided him if she could have done so without giving offence, but she did not know how to manage it. Her aunt Phillips hinted that their neighbours were beginning to comment on their friendship, and to laugh at her for encouraging a farmer's son. Mary found reasons to excuse herself from attending church on Sunday.

  Nevertheless, she was not prepared for the way in which the solution to her problem was provided.

  Mr Collins. That odious Mr Collins! she wrote in her journal. How dare he interfere in affairs that are of no concern to him. How dare he come to Meryton, to compel Sir William to change his busines arrangements in this fashion? For Mr Collins has been to Lucas Lodge. Someone has written him of the friendship between Mr Forbes and myself. He immediately flew into a passion, assuming that our friendship must inevitably lead to our marriage.

  "Am I to live at Longbourn, as owner of the estate, with Mary Bennett wife of the steward of Lucas Lodge? That is not acceptable. It would be too much to ask of my dear Charlotte, that her cousin should be steward to her own brother. Indeed, it cannot be!"

  Mr Collins talked so long in this way, that Sir William was forced to give way. So Mr Forbes has lost his place at Lucas Lodge. I bid him farewell at Church this morning. We shook hands, and he held my hand firmly.

  "I was so distressed to hear of your ill fortune," I said, as I drew my hand away, "and hope that you will soon be placed in an even better situation than the one you have lost here."

  "If my fortune does improve, may I return to acquaint you with it?" he asked, looking earnestly at me. I was a little shocked to find that my answer was of such importance to him.

  "I shall certainly be pleased to hear of it, but there can be no purpose in your returning here," I said, shaking my head. " A note would serve the purpose well enough."

  He bowed, but his eyes did not leave mine. I knew by the pain in his face that he had taken my meaning.

  "In that case, it is wise for me to leave here immediately," he said quietly. "Your friendship is dear to me, but I will not disguise from you that I had hoped for more." His shoulders drooped a little. "I am aware that I have been considered pretentious in my aspiration to make you my wife. Nevertheless, I did have that aspiration. But what could I ever hope to offer you?" he asked bitterly. " You already have more than I can ever hope to own. I will you leave now, with my best wishes for your future happiness." He bowed and left me. I watched him walk away with conflicting emotions. I am not proud to be the reason for his loss of position, but confess that I am relieved to see him go.

  It seems that Mr Collins and my neighbours were right in suspecting that Mr Forbes had hopes of our marriage. I had certainly never considered it a possibility - I could not have forgotten my family and upbringing, and accepted marriage with a farmer's son, however agreeable he might seem!. Perhaps my willingness to be friendly gave him some reason to misunderstand me. But I am sure that I never encouraged him to think I would accept an offer of marriage! Mr Forbes should have known that his hopes were baseless.

  It is obvious that I have become careless. I have so long accepted that I will never marry, that I forgot this is less evident to others than it is to me. To outsiders, I am not yet so old or so plain that I can avoid the rules that control the behaviour of an unmarried female. It will be less painful for my friends, and for myself, if in future, I abide by all all.

  Nevertheless, it was no concern of Mr Collins!. Officious, interfering, selfish Mr Collins has no right to oversee my behaviour!

  Hardly had the Mr Forbes left Meryton, than a visitor arrived at Longbourn. Elizabeth Darcy called to break her journey between Rosings, the home of Lady Catherine de Burgh, and Derbyshire. And she had a history to relate.

  "I have had such trouble!' she told her sister, when they had escaped from their mother's room. "When Lady Catherine first fell ill, nothing would please her, but that Darcy and I should travel to stay with her. Then her daughter, Lady Anne, would have me stay on, when it was obvious that her mother would not recover. So I have been fixed at Rosings these last weeks, while I had much rather have gone back to Pemberly with Darcy when he returned a month ago."

  "Did you see our cousins during you stay?" asked Mary.

  "Indeed I did," said Elizabeth. " Mr Collins was in the house at all hours, almost evey day, forever wanting to help us. But of course there was nothing he could do in a sick-room. I saw Charlotte from time to time, and she was of much more assistance than her husband could ever be. Lady Catherine had always kept the management of her tenants in her own hands, and Lady Anne was quite unable to manage in her mother's absence. Mrs Collins was of the greatest assistance in guiding the steward in all his decisions. She knows all the tenants and dependants of the estate. The steward, Col. Fitzwilliam and Mrs Collins between them, settle everything that used to be left to the judgement of Lady Catherine."

  "Colonel Fitzwilliam? That is your husband's cousin?"

  "Yes. He has been the greatest comfort to us in Darcy's absence. I do not know how we should have managed without him, especially after Lady Catherine's death. And I know that Lady Anne feels the same. So much so, in fact, that she has decided to marry him! They are to be married in three months time, and then Rosings will have a new master."

  "Had you expected the match?" Mary asked.

  Elizabeth laughed, and shook her head.

  "Years ago, Lady Catherine planned that Lady Anne should marry Mr Darcy, and thought their near relationship an argument in favour of the match. But neither of the parties were at all interested in helping her design. However, when Anne began to be interested in Col. Fitzwilliam, the relationship, exactly equal to that with Mr Darcy, was considered an insuperable barrier! Lady Catherine flew into a rage whenever the idea was mentionened in her presence. I knew that Lady Anne would never have the courage to defy her living parent. I am rather surprised that she has dared to defy her after her death!"

  So Lady Anne and her lover had been forced to wait for her mother's death to reach their happiness. Her great possessions, and high birth, were not sufficient to allow her to escape her duty to her family. In that regard, she and Mary Bennett had suffered equally.

  "But how much better-loved the memory of the old lady would be," thought Mary, as she considered the news after Elizabeth had departed, "if she had allowed the young people to be happy during her lifetime!"

  The family at Longbourn delighted in the presence of Mrs Darcy. Mr Bennett enjoyed many long conversations with his favourite daughter. Mrs Bennett had the great delight of visiting all her neighbours, carrying her daughter, the rich Mrs Darcy, with her. Mary took great pleasure of talking to her sister, someone so much closer in age and interests than her usual companions.

  Elizabeth seemed unaware of the extra work her visit created for her sister. She no longer took her share in all the household duties. Now she was the rich Mrs Darcy, accustomed to having servants waiting upon her. Here at Longbourn, there were few servants. There was only Mary, who must fill all roles at once.

  But still Mary was sorry to see her sister drive away. Her visit had brightened the flatness of their usual lives. Now she and her parents were thrown back on each other for company. She heaved a deep sigh, and went back into the parlour to write invitations for her mother's next dinner party.

  Chapter 5--Farewell to Longbourn

  Mary Bennet sat writing her journal. Her pale face and black gown told of troubles past. Her eyes lifted from the page from time to time, to examine the unfamiliar scene, outsi
de her bedroom window.

  I have not opened my journal these three weeks or more. So much has befallen that I am quite distracted in my thoughts. I hope that setting them down in these pages will help to bring order within my head. First I must record the death of my dear father, two weeks since. Since his illness in the winter some years past, his health has not been strong. Latterly, he passed the greater part of his days in a big armchair before the fire in his library, with his beloved books always within reach. It was my chief desire during these months, to see him comfortable. We spent many hours together, every morning before my mother left her bedchamber. I learnt to understand his particular humour, and to honour his learning and wisdom. I hope his last months were content. The memory of them shall always be precious to me. On the last night, while I sat beside his bed, he took my hand. A gleam of mischief lurked in his eye when he said:

  "Well Mary, and you will be free to leave Longbourn at last. I know you have long been wishing it! Just beware that Mr Collins does not drive you into living with Mrs Phillips. I think you would rather live with my ways than hers."

  And so I should, dear Papa. How I miss your company, and your advice. Now I must travel on alone.

  Despite her father's fears, Mrs Bennett and Mary were not living with Mrs Phillips. Instead they were established in the gatehouse of Netherfield, a cottage barely large enough to house all the furniture Mrs Bennett had brought from Longbourn. Here they were settled, just the two women, the housekeeper Hill, one maid, and a single man to manage the garden. They had Mr Darcy to thank for their situation. Mrs Bennett was displeased at the move, and complained of the small rooms, and the distance from the neighbours.

  "I do not know what Mr Darcy was about," she protested. "He should have asked my advice before he chose this house. I am sure I could have found half a dozen that would have suited me better!"

  Mary did not try to convince her mother that their situation was quite suitable for an elderly widow of little means, and her spinster daughter. She was content to retain their independence, and determined that her housekeeping expenses should not exceed their combined income.

  There was good reason for their rapid removal from Longbourn. Mr Bennett died on the Tuesday night. The next morning, Mary sent the news by the most rapid means to her sisters and their families, expecting to see at least some of them before Saturday evening. During the interval, she had little time for reflection, being wholly occupied with her mother, who had taken to her bed, in great distress at the loss of her husband.

  "Whatever will become of me?" she wailed. "I am homeless and penniless. Mr Collins will turn me out of the house, I am sure. Where shall I find shelter, a poor friendless widow?"

  She fretted so that she really became ill.

  When Mary heard the sound of a carriage on Friday evening, she was both surprised and relieved. Sympathy and support had arrived before she had thought it possible, and she wondered who it would be, her uncle Gardiner, or her brothers Darcy or Bingley. She hurried to the parlour to greet the visitor. But there she was dismayed to find Mr Collins, who had been made aware of the news by his father-in-law, Sir William Lucas. He had come with all haste to claim his inheritance.

  "For" said he, "I wish to be sure that no object that pertains to the estate -- no book in the library, no carpet in the morning-room, no dish in the kitchen -- is mistakenly packed up in your mother's belongings."

  Mary felt her cheeks grow hot. When she answered, her voice trembled, but she assured him that nothing such would be taken.

  "My cousin Mary will forgive me, I know," he continued as if she had not spoken, "if I assure her that such things have happened despite the protestations of all the family. I mean to be sure that it does not happen here."

  She signified her understanding silently, as she could not trust her voice.

  "And can you, cousin, inform me of when you and your mother will quit my house?" he asked.

  Mary could no longer control her anger.

  "Sir, you ask too much. My father's body is not yet laid in the churchyard; my mother is prostrate with grief; my sisters have had no chance to return to this, their home. And you contemplate turning us from it immediately. It is too much to ask!"

  He was apologetic.

  "Cousin, compose yourself! I did not mean to distress you so. I merely meant to enquire what arrangements have been made for your removal from this house. For surely both you and your mother must have realised that you cannot remain here. It is now the home of my dear Charlotte and all five of our excellent children!"

  Mary could argue no further, her thoughts ran in circles, trying to escape his persistent questions. She rose, and said,

  "I cannot discuss this tonight. Prey excuse me from offering you hospitality under this roof - I am sure you will find a welcome at Lucas Lodge. I will speak to you again in the morning. But now I must go to my mother."

  She left him looking greatly displeased. He had no alternative but to take himself off to the Lodge. Of course, he returned early the next morning, but she was fully occupied with her mother, and made no attempt to go downstairs. Mr Darcy arrived early, and spoke to Mr Collins on Mary's behalf, to her great pleasure. She soon saw Mr Collins stride off down the driveway, with a heightened colour, slapping his hat petulantly against his knee.

  "Poor Mary," said Mr Darcy, when he returned from seeing Mr Collins on his way. He smiled sympathetically, as he took her hand. "To have such a vulture descend upon you so soon! But you need not worry. I convinced him that he cannot take possession until the lawyers have collected quantities of signatures. And that may take several weeks."

  "I do not wish to stay in his house a moment longer than needed!" Mary declared.

  "Very understandable, and also very wise," said her brother, "and I think I may be able to assist your aims." He sat down opposite her. "What plans has your mother made?"

  "None, sir, that I know. And I am sure, none that I do not. She leaves all to me now. But I know she will grieve to leave Meryton, where she has lived so long, and where her sister Mrs Phillips is still established."

  He nodded.

  "So I suspected. On that basis, I have a suggestion to put to you both. Some months ago, I purchased the lease of the gatehouse at Netherfield. It is little bigger than a cottage, but if you think it would serve your purpose, I would be happy to see you and Mrs Bennett installed there."

  Mary was delighted at this news.

  "Mr Darcy, you could not have pleased me more - this is acting like a brother indeed! I know the house you describe, indeed, I have visited there several times. It will serve excellently for us." She shook his hand warmly, and Mr Darcy's smile showed his pleasure at her response. But Mary did feel obliged to issue a warning.

  "Do not be surprised, brother, if my mother does not accept your offer so happily. She knows the house as well as I do myself, and is sure to compare it unfavourably with this one."

  So it proved. But Mr Darcy and Mary were determined, and ignored her tears and lamentations. Within seven days of Mr Bennett's burial, the carts were piled high with their belongings (Mr Collins having first checked that none of his were included!) and transferred to Netherfield. And as fast as theirs were removed, his were installed. As Charlotte Collins slept her first night at Longbourn, Mary slept her second at Nethergate.

  Mr Darcy was of great assistance in organising the removal. Mary had never liked him half so much before, and began to see why her sister Lizzie thought so much of him. Before he left, he dealt with the lawyers concerning her father's will, and the lease of the gatehouse. He explained it all to Mary, so that she should have no worries in the months ahead.

  "And if anything at all should concern you," he said, "just write to me,and I will solve it for you."

  On the last morning, as they waited for his carriage, Mary attempted to thank him, but he only smiled.

  "It is a pleasure, Mary, to assist you. Do not imagine that I am unaware of the pain and discomfort that your position a
s companion to your mother must entail. Only someone with endless patience, and the kindest of hearts, could bear with her endless complaints! I must do what I can to make your burden lighter."

  This compliment was so unexpected that it drew tears to Mary's eyes. Before she had composed herself, he shook her hand, mounted the carriage steps, and disappeared down the drive.

  Mrs Bennett's behaviour, during the following weeks, continued to be extreme. At one moment she was in floods of tears, for the loss of her home at Longbourn. The next she was very angry, with both Mary and Mr Darcy, for expecting her to live in a house she described as "little better than a farmhouse".

  "Hill, I am so ill, I cannot survive another day," she moaned, from her bed. "And who will mourn me when I am gone? Not Mary, who sighs impatiently whenever I open my mouth. Not that odious Mr Darcy, who thinks a gatehouse fit for me to live in. Not my daughters Mrs Bingley, and Mrs Darcy, and Mrs Kent, who are too fine to visit me in my cottage. Only Lydia will care!. She will weep when I am gone."

  For news of Lydia had come at last, through Mary's uncle Gardiner. The child Lydia bore after Wickham's departure lived no more than seven days. Not long after its death Mr Wickham reappeared, and Lydia once again lived as his wife. But after a few more months, he again vanished, leaving his wife in the company of some of his acquaintances. There she remained, until she had news of her father's death, and sought her share in his estate. She too was a widow, for Wickham had died abroad some months previously.

  The news of Wickham's death came as no surprise to the family - they had heard too much of his drinking and riotous way of life. He had died at a country inn, after getting wet and taking a chill while watching a prize-fight, where there was no medical assistance available.

  Once again Mr Darcy showed his charity. Lydia would have an allowance each month, but only if she presented herself regularly to Mr Gardiner at his place of business. In this way, Mr Gardiner and Mr Darcy hoped to prevent her behaviour from passing beyond what society found acceptable.