Mary Bennet of Meryton

by Barbara Randell

  So she was surprised, when Richard Hunter visited them again the next evening. This time, he did not give a reason to explain his visit. Mary could only conclude that he was tired of the company of the family party at Netherfield, where both his sisters were deeply involved in preparations for the new baby.

  Whatever the reason for his visit, Mary welcomed him cheerfully. It was a pleasure to have intelligent company and conversation in the evenings. Mrs Bennett greeted him fretfully, but dropped asleep in front of the fire. Then Mr Hunter talked at length about the wonders of the colonies of New South Wales; not forgetting his own contributions to the success of the voyage. When Mrs Bennett woke, he took his leave. Mary helped her mother to bed, and then shut herself up in her own room, recording in her journal all the new ideas she had gathered.

  "For he will soon be gone from Netherfield" she told herself, "but at least I will have the memories of his stories to give me something to think about in the winter evenings ahead."

  The following night, Richard Hunter called again, to Mary's infinite surprise. He seemed ill at ease and disinclined for conversation, so she concentrated on her needlework until he should be more relaxed. Not until Mrs Bennett was sleeping soundly before the fire, did he take a chair near Mary, and begin to speak.

  "Do you think my sister Mrs Grange and her husband are well-matched?" he asked, turning a pair of Mary's scissors in his hands.

  Mary was surprised to hear him raise such a topic, but answered readily.

  "I think they are very happy together. And happiness, I believe is the best assessment of a successful marriage."

  "I have not thought much on the subject for many years," he continued, his eyes fixed on the scissors. "But to me also, it seems that they are happy together. I think I have never really been happy since my wife died."

  "Then you have been unfortunate," Mary murmured.

  " I have decided to be married again, and be happy," he said to the scissors.

  Mary was even more surprised at his words. It seemed an unusual approach to planning a marriage.

  "If you choose your wife wisely, I am sure you will have every chance of happiness," she said gravely.

  "I have chosen you," he told the scissors.

  Mary looked at him blankly. "I beg your pardon?"

  He looked up fleetingly.

  "You are a lady, you keep this house very comfortably, you are not engaged to any other man," he explained. "I am sure I would be happy with you as my wife." He looked back to the scissors.

  "You cannot be serious!" Mary protested. "We hardly know each other."

  "What has that to do with the matter?" he asked. "We will have the whole of the rest of our lives to get to know each other."

  "But.. but.... Where should we live? What money should we have? "

  "I have enough money, and still have my commission in the navy," he said to the scissors. "You could live in Portsmouth. Lots of the wives of my brother officers stay there while their husbands are at sea. Then I would have a comfortable house to come back to, at the end of each voyage."

  "What will our families say?"

  "Hannah and Eleanor like you, they will not object. And what business is it of your sisters?"

  "But my mother would not like to live in Portsmouth!"

  For the first time, he showed some alarm.

  "Would not your mother remain here? I am sure she would not like Portsmouth... the sea air... the noise of a seaport! She could not come. She will be very much in the way when you are looking after me!"

  "I have not said that I will marry you," said Mary tartly. "It seems to me that you want a housekeeper, not a wife."

  "No," he said decidely. "For my friend Commander Fitch had a housekeeper, and she left his house while he was at sea, and when he came home, it was dirty and there were no servants! I want a wife, so she will always be there."

  "And what benefits will your wife get from this bargain?" asked Mary dryly.

  He looked surprised.

  "I understood all women wanted to be married. That was one reason why I asked you. I thought, at your age, you would be glad to get any invitation to marry."

  Mary stood up suddenly, afraid of losing control of her temper.

  "Mr Hunter, it is time you went back to Netherfield. I am sure, when you have thought about it, you will regret the suggestion you have made tonight. Have no fear that I will hold you to it. We will forget that this conversation ever happened. Goodnight!" She held out her hand.

  He too stood up. "You are upset," he discovered, wonderingly. "What have I said to distress you? I thought you would be pleased at my offer."

  "Mr Hunter," said Mary decidedly. "I cannot leave my mother without someone to care for her. So it is pointless for us to discuss the question of marriage."

  "I will call tomorrow,"he said, as if she had not spoken, "when you are less distressed. Then I am sure we will come to agreement. I want to be married before I leave on my next voyage, in February of next year."

  "Goodnight, Mr Hunter!' said Mary in exasperation, as she almost pushed him from the house.

  I cannot believe what has happened! Mary confided in her journal. Mr Hunter has chosen me as worthy to be his wife! Well, I do not want to marry Mr Hunter. He is selfish, and silly. All he wants is someone to manage his house, and look after him when he is tired or ill. He certainly does not expect his wife to be his friend, or to travel with him. If I marry him, I will be exchanging my duties here, caring for my mother, with duties caring for a husband, who shows all the signs of being as difficult to please as she is! And he will probably live far longer than she. So I would be exchanging one prison for another. And what would I gain by the change? The right to call upon my husband’s money to support me. But I suspect that Mr Hunter is as reluctant to open his purse as is Mr Collins.

  His family, I am sure , would not object. Hannah Hunter approves of me, and would like her brother to have whatever he wants. There is no barrier on that side. But what a barrier on mine! I cannot desert my mother, and Richard Hunter will not accept her into his household. I do not blame him for that, for she is no easy burden. But I will not, as he asks, simply find someone to take my place with her! He has gone back to Netherfield, convinced that when he returns tomorrow, he will persuade me to fall in with his wishes. But I shall not do so.

  I do not like Mr Hunter. I know he is a gentleman, who would not mistreat me. And on almost every hand, I see women who have married without a thought for affection for their bridegroom. Their marriages are secure. Am I right to ak for more? I am no longer the romantic girl of fifteen years ago, who fancied herself in love with the local curate. In my mature years, I have loved only one man, and that love was never spoken. I cared too much for him to ever think of shattering the serenity of his family. Mr Hunter I do not love. I do not like him. I cannot even respect him. Why should I marry him?

  I cannot do it. And I will not!

  Chapter 6--A marriage is planned

  It is done. I have agreed to become the wife of Richard Hunter. We marry in the last week before Christmas.

  In those few terse words, Mary Bennett recorded her capitulation. But she did not record the weeks of pressure that had eventually become too much to be bourne.

  Mr Hunter she was easily able to withstand.

  "I will not leave my mother," she said, whenever he renewed the topic of their marriage. And Mr Hunter was so determined that his household should not include Mrs Bennett, that he was defeated.

  She found it harder to answer Hannah Hunter when they were alone together.

  "I know that my brother is not an ideal husband," said Hannah. "In fact, I know that he is sometimes remarkably stupid, especially when his own comfort is involved. But you and I both know the hazards of being unmarried when we reach the age of 35. What future do we have? And both Eleanor and I, as Richard's family, would make you very welcome."

  "I cannnot leave my mother," said Mary stubbornly.

  "Nonsense!" said Hannah
. "If that were the only reason you had decided against marriage, you would easily find a solution."

  "Do not press me!" Mary begged. "I value our friendship so much. We may damage it if we continue this conversation!" Tears filled her eyes, and Hannah desisted. But she raised the topic again, at every opportunity.

  "I am so disappointed that you have not agreed to marry Richard," she said another day. "As a friend, you are dear to me. How much dearer would you be as a sister! I am almost angry that you should deprive Eleanor and me of such happiness."

  Mary only shook her head, indicating that she would not discuss the subject. But she began to wonder if it was selfish to follow her own heart in rejecting Mr Hunter's offer. This doubt was reinforced, when a letter arrived from her sister Kitty.

  I hear that you have an offer of marriage from Mr Hunter, Kitty wrote. I must congratulate you on the chance to have your own home, when we had all begun to think it impossible. The knowledge that you will not in the future become a pensioner of one or other of your brothers must increase your satisfaction as you make the change. It will be a relief to them to know that your future is thus provided for. You must know that Mr K. and I would find it very difficult to assist you when our mother dies. And both Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley have growing families to consider.

  But still Mary persisted in her decision, knowing that at least Mrs Bennett supported her, if only because she could not face the future without her daughter to do everything for her. But even that support was eventually removed.

  Mary's uncle Phillips had been dead these nine months past. Her aunt now lived alone in their house in Meryton, with less money to spend that she had been accustomed to. She visited the gatehouse regularly. Mrs Bennett poured out the details of Mary's contacts with Mr Hunter.

  "It is so hard, sister," Mrs Bennett said. "Here is Mary thinking of marrying this odious Mr Hunter. She will go off with him, and never think of her mother. I will be quite alone. How can she treat me so?"

  "Mamma!" Mary protested. "You know I have told Mr Hunter that I will not leave you alone. He knows I cannot marry him."

  Mrs Phillips looked narrowly from one to the other.

  "You have actually refused him, Mary? He has gone?"

  "Yes aunt, I have told Mr Hunter that I cannot marry him. He leaves Netherfield in a few days. I believe he waits only for the birth of his sister's child."

  Mrs Phillips looked hard at Mary.

  "And would you accept him if there were no barrier?"

  Mrs Bennett interposed.

  "Sister, what are you suggesting? You know she cannot marry him! My poor nerves! Oh sister!" Mrs Phillips ignored her.

  "Well, Mary?"

  Mary hesitated.

  "I cannot desert my mother. I do not want to marry him. But perhaps I am being foolish."

  Mrs Phillips spoke decidedly.

  "Then marry him you shall!"

  Mrs Bennett cried out, but her sister swept on. "I will take your place where with your mother, and you shall marry your Mr Hunter!"

  Both Mary and her mother were struck speechless. At length, Mary found her wits.

  "Indeed, Aunt, you are kind to make this offer. But" as she glanced at her mother, "are you sure you know what you undertake?"

  She laughed.

  "Do not fear for me, Mary. A sister may manage in ways that a daughter cannot. I shall not alter any of the customs your mother expects to keep her happy. And I promise to care for her health as carefully as the fondest daughter."

  Mrs Bennett finally caught the drift of the conversation.

  "Oh sister, and will you really come and live with me? Then it shall be just as it was when we were girls, before we knew Mr Phillips and Mr Bennett. How I shall enjoy that!"

  "Will you allow me to marry Mr Hunter, and leave you?" Mary asked her.

  "Of course, Mary. If I have my sister Phillips, why should I want you in the house?"

  Her thoughtlessness brought tears to Mary's eyes. She had devoted years to the care and support of her mother. In two minutes, she had been rejected as quite unnecessary.

  "But I should have learnt by now to expect thoughtless, selfish treatment at her hands," thought Mary, as she sat alone in her room. "So now everyone thinks I should marry Richard -- his sisters, my sisters, my aunt, and now my mother. They think me selfish for wishing to follow my own instincts."

  She sighed deeply and sadly.

  "I am tired of all the arguments. I will do as they wish."

  The marriage date is set for three weeks off, long enough for my Uncle and aunt Gardiner, and my four sisters to have knowledge of its happening. Mr Hunter has only his two sisters, our neighbours at Netherfield, to consider. After the marriage, we are to move to Portsmouth. Mr Hunter leaves tomorrow to find suitable lodgings, which will be the first home of which I am truly mistress.

  She did not record the doubts which she still carried in her heart. She was not looking forward to years as the wife of Richard Hunter.

  But the chosen date passed without the celebration of a marriage. Mrs Bennett fell ill, and for some days, her life was in grave danger. Mary forgot everything except the need to care for and nurse her mother. Hannah Hunter moved to the gatehouse, to share her cares. Mary accepted her assistance gladly, and shared her bedchamber as well. On Mr Hunter's return from Portsmouth, he found that his marriage would have to wait on the health of Mrs Bennett. He was not pleased at the interruption. Mary felt his displeasure, and knew that it was just a foretaste of what she would feel whenever he was disappointed in the years ahead. But still, she would not change her determination to nurse her mother through this illness.

  Mary left the entertainment of Mr Hunter to her sister, Lydia. Lydia Wickham had invited herself to spend the winter with her mother, both to lighten her own domestic expenses, and to find out what sort of man has chosen to marry her sister Mary. She arrived in time to speak to her mother, but would take no share in the nursing.

  "For you know I should not do it half so well as you, Mary. I would drop things, or make noise. You and Hannah are far better nurses than I."

  Mrs Bennett did not mend quickly. Mary was forced to request another delay in her marriage date. Mr Hunter protested, but this time, both his sisters supported Mary's request. He agreed, with ill grace.

  Both Hannah and Lydia remained at the gatehouse with Mary. Hannah shared the nursing duties, and became a favourite with Mrs Bennett. She was Mary's strong support, and became more dear to her every hour. Lydia was unchanged, still interested only in herself. Shut up with her mother as Mary was for most of the day, she did not know how Lydia spent her time. Hannah assured her that Mr Grange had no interest in anyone except his wife and new son, so that she had no fears for the family at Netherfield. Thomas Lucas she must leave to the care of his mother and his new wife Penelope.

  At length, Mrs Bennett began to improve. One morning, she sat up in bed for an hour. The next, she moved to a sofa near the window. Then the next day, she ate her lunch before returning to her bed. Mary began to feel that it would not be long before Mrs Phillips could take responsibility for affairs at the gatehouse. Then she must again think of her own marriage.

  It was only then that she realised she had not seen Richard Hunter for several days. He had not called at the gatehouse during her hours of freedom, either in the morning or after dinner. Their last meeting had been stiff and uncomfortable, with Mary too worried about her mother to give proper attention to Richard's concerns. He had been affronted, and she unable to reassure him.

  Now, with Mrs Phillips sitting with her sister, and Hannah visiting Mrs Grange and the new baby, Mary set out to find Richard Hunter. But the Netherfield servants were unable to locate him, and Mary did not meet him though she walked in the grounds for more than an hour. Tired at last, she returned to the gatehouse, to find that her aunt had departed, and Mrs Bennett was calling for Lydia to visit her.

  Searching for her sister, Mary went to the bedroom. It was empty. All Lydia's clothes, her
boots, her jewels -- all were gone. Mary was perplexed. Where was her sister? Why had she left in such haste? Only some awful happening would be explanation enough for this behaviour!

  Mary retreated to her own bedroom, to think. But there, she found a letter on her bed. She recognised Lydia's untidy handwriting in the direction, and knew a dreadful premonition. She snatched up the letter with shaking hands. Her knees trembled so that she was forced into her chair as she tore it open. It was an age before she could begin to read a single word.

  My dear Mary, I would have apologised for not attending your wedding; but then I remembered that you will not be having one. Richard and I are off this morning to Portsmouth, to the little house he has taken there. We will be married next week. My need for Richard is greater than yours. You cannot miss the husband you never had, I am just getting back something I had lost for a short while. Lydia.

  P.s . I promised Sarah a shilling for mending my satin petticoat. But I find I have nothing left from my allowance. You will have to pay her for me.

  Mary sat frozen, gazing at the sheet in her hand, while the minutes ticked away. At length, she was roused by tapping at the door. It was her maid.

  "If you please, Miss, your mother has been asking for you this last hour."

  Her body felt wooden. She moved rigid lips.

  "Thank you, Sarah. I'll come at once."

  She moved stiffly to the door. Sarah watched her anxiously.

  "Beg pardon, miss, but are you ill?"

  She forced a smile.

  "Nothing to alarm you, Sarah, thank you." Somehow she walked down the passage to her mother's room. Mrs Bennett was lying in her big chair, with the housekeeper, Hill, in attendance. She greeted Mary querulously.

  "Where have you been this age, Mary? I wanted you particularly an hour ago, and you could not be found. You are never here when I want you!"

  "I am sorry Mamma," she responded mechanically.

  "And where is Lydia? She has not been to see me at all today. See, Hill, how badly my daughters treat me. Where is Lydia?"