by Don Jacobson
“Mary, you need to stand on your own now. You cannot hide any longer behind Lydie’s noise, Jane’s looks, Kitty’s coughs, my witticisms, or even those useless glasses. Mama will probably settle down now that she does not have to worry about being cast into the hedgerows by Mr. Collins.
“And do not think I am unaware of the toll taken by living as the middle child in this house. Your life has been unfair. You were never allowed to be you. You became physically ill with anger, frustration and sadness.
“We ignored you except to criticize you. You so desperately wanted to be noticed. You played the pianoforte because neither Kitty nor Lydia did. Jane and I were indifferent at best. But sadly, without a master to guide you, you became the butt of everybody’s jokes.
“You also tried to be exceptional by reading the densest tomes you could find in the hopes of impressing Papa. Your moralizing on that antique Fordyce[xiv] was your way of condemning Lydia’s behavior by inference.
“And, as we now know, you were right to do so, little good that it did.
“Put all of that aside. Now is the time for you. Heal now. Future only, my dearest sister. Remember that I choose to remember the past only so much as it brings me pleasure. And, there is a whole chapter of my life…my relationship with you…that brings me pain.
“Mary, I apologize for all that I ever said that hurt you; all that I ever did that made you feel less than the beloved sister you are. I cannot go into my new life knowing that you are still trapped in your old one by my words and deeds.
“Mary Amelia Bennet, you will be a remarkable woman. Put your energy to work making yourself a better person, one who is open to others, one who will ease suffering. You need to unlock the chains that have been wrapped around your feet. You are nine-and- ten…a full-grown woman in every way, ready to assert herself. Take this opportunity to blossom. As the Bard wrote, the world is your oyster.[xv] Break the pot that has been constricting your roots, and you will change the world,” Lizzy counseled.
Darcy called Lizzy to their carriage. Bingley had already joined Jane in theirs.
Mary stood with her father, mother and Kitty at the front of the crowd as the wedded couples pulled away. All waved except Miss Bingley who was restrained from doing anything with her arms by her family. All stood in a cluster until the sound of the carriage wheels had faded into the sharp-edged air of the Hertfordshire December afternoon.
The rest of the day passed in a quiet haze. The remaining Bennets chose their own pursuits to recover from the weeks-long hurly-burly. Papa retreated, as usual, to his library, but left the door open for the first time in years. Mama contented herself to walk from room to room supervising the servants—and complimenting them for all their labors—as they cleaned up after the wedding breakfast. Kitty, hopefully seeking to avoid Papa’s instruction now that the focus of the house had shifted from wedding preparations, occupied herself in the parlor sketching scenes from the wedding and meal. And Mary?
Mary grabbed an extra-thick woolen cloak and fur muff. Warmly wrapped, she slipped out the front door and around the house out past the library’s French windows into the garden. She planted herself on a wooden bench in a sheltered alcove. She needed solitude to consider what she had started to feel. But the first thing she needed was silence, something so rare at Longbourn as to be nearly as valuable as emeralds. The garden was an appropriately remote location, but still within reach of Mama’s piercing summons.
Looking out over Longbourn’s lovingly tended, although bare, rose beds and shrubbery, Mary contemplated a clear view of Oakham Mount rising from the piedmont that encompassed Longbourn’s lands. Today was the first time she understood why Lizzy claimed that height as her own. With the exception of when Papa would ride the estate or when Lizzy dragged Jane up there (although that only seemed to happen when Darcy and Bingley were in residence at Netherfield), no other Bennet ever had the inclination to tackle the winding path leading to the top. Kitty would only go as far as the cutoff to the Lucas’ house. Lydia would never even consider the idea, especially if there were redcoats in Meryton. Mary had never been asked. It was Lizzy’s and Lizzy’s alone. As much as Papa’s library or Mama’s rooms were their special places, so, too, was Oakham reserved for Lizzy: until now. Lizzy was gone.
A powerful resolve took hold of Mary’s mind. She would lay claim to the Bennetless Oakham as her own. She would discover the power of that primeval hump; she would find what gave her sister her strength. Tomorrow.
Chapter X
Instead of dreading human contact and lingering in her room, Mary felt energized beyond her experience. The excitement of conquering Oakham captured her imagination and left her feeling as giddy as a little girl. And, that was something she had not known for a long, long time. She felt like a window from which the hoar frost had just been scraped—crystalline and clear.
Dressing quickly, she selected clothing that was warm and sensible. Not knowing just how cold she might become, Mary rolled on not one, but two pairs of woolen stockings. Then she pulled on a long-sleeved woolen gown. Last of all she added a pair of sturdy half boots that Lizzy, in one of her moments when she tolerated Mary’s presence, had suggested that she use when walking into Meryton.
Pausing to assess her appearance in the mirror mounted on the door to her tiny chamber—and that was something Miss Bennet planned to change with two newly vacant bedrooms on the front of the house—she saw a young woman of medium build, neither too tall nor too short, pleasantly rounded. Her medium brown hair had a silky sheen from regular attention but was plainly organized into a serviceable bun at the back of her head. There was something in that reflection that made her smile…and that smile illuminated her countenance. She looked quite pleasant. No scowl…no frown…no stern narrowing of her light brown eyes in judgment. And, no glasses! Those were an affectation favored by the old Mary. Today was to be a fresh start, a break from the past.
Softly working her way downstairs, she paused at the door to the library. Since she had been a small girl, the passage into Papa’s bookroom marked the end of the family’s territory and the beginning of his. Through words spoken and unspoken, every Bennet female knew that a closed door (as it was most hours of the day) meant Do Not Disturb Under Pain of…
Papa never really became angry in the vein-bulging, red-faced shouting manner of Sir William when the neighborhood children romped through his treasured strawberry beds. No, her father had a more painful way of putting a trespasser in her place. His look of disappointment coupled with a piercing glare always struck Mary dumb. In fact, only Lizzy had ever been invited to attend her father in the library. The rest weighed the importance of the matter that they wanted their father to adjudicate before timidly knocking.
Today, though, early as it was, Mr. Bennet was at his desk with the door open. Mary gently tapped on the doorframe and peered around the corner. Her father looked up, blinking his eyes as he took in a sight rarely seen. He seemed pre-occupied, but not upset at the interruption.
“Good morning, Papa. I am sorry to disturb you, but since it was quite early, and the household is only just starting to stir, I wanted to advise you that I was going for a walk,” Mary informed him.
He paused, seeming to digest what she had said. Then his face changed from thought to care.
“Mary. Good of you to be so responsible. Please, do come in and sit down. Tell me your plans for the day. Now that you are the senior daughter in our home, that which you would do has importance to all. I would speak with you on another topic as well.” Mr. Bennet motioned her to the leather-upholstered seat opposite the worktable.
To say that Mary was surprised would be an understatement. Most of her interactions with her father usually involved her talking to the top of his head as he attended to his newspaper or read a book. When he lifted his head, his countenance often featured a mocking roll of his eyes as he reacted to one of her pompous pronouncements. To have him make the effort to speak with her face-to-face broke new ground in thei
r adult relationship. Mary squared her shoulders and confidently crossed the threshold into undiscovered country.[xvi]
“And where are you planning to walk unaccompanied?” Mr. Bennet quizzed, leaning back into his chair, gazing at Mary over the rim of his spectacles.
Mary understood the point he was making, yet also realized that her older sisters had frequently moved about the area without a chaperone. Why, over a year ago, Jane had ridden by herself all the way to Netherfield. And, Lizzy rambled around the countryside without a word from her father. The less she thought about Lydia’s solitary jaunts, the better. Now was the time for the new Mary to make herself known.
Adjusting herself in her seat, Mary pulled herself up to her full height and looked her father straight in the eye, preparing to make a speech of a lifetime. “Well, Papa, I have decided on a course of self-improvement. I find that I am lacking much that will prepare me to lead a life in this world. At nine-and-ten, I now understand that I may always be on the shelf and should look closely at what I would have to offer as either a maiden aunt or even a governess.
“My accomplishments are few.
“I play the pianoforte…
At this, Mr. Bennet winced, a gesture not unnoticed by his daughter.
“And I realize that I will never be any more than a passable player for family entertainment or country dances unless I receive instruction from a master. Whether that can be or not is in your province.
At this, the corners of Mr. Bennet’s eyes turned downward in sad recognition of his neglect.
“As for intellectual pursuits…thankfully I can read, write and compute. But, I never understood that these skills were just a foundation for a broader appreciation of the world around me. There has been no guidance to help me sample the varying flavors of the written word. I tremble when I think about what I have missed.
At this, Mr. Bennet settled deeper in his chair, leaning back from the onslaught of his failures.
“Thus, I have determined to broaden my selection of reading material. Ancient sermons do not form the mind but rather shackle it. I will apply to you for direction but know that I have already purchased copies of M. Rousseau’s Emile and Mrs. Wollstonecraft’s Vindication of the Rights of Women.
“I have found their differing views on the education of women disconcerting, especially when I realize that M. Rousseau is considered a hero of the French Revolution. While he does not advocate for women to be illiterate, he does seem to settle on the idea that a women’s education must naturally revolve around pleasing her husband. That seems terribly old-fashioned, especially when you consider how clever women can be.
“I believe that Mrs. Wollstonecraft is correct in her assertion that a woman should be judged upon her intellect and not her appearance. With time, beauty fades, but the mind becomes richer the more it is fed. And, rather than being an attractive servant to her husband, she can become his partner in all they do for their family.
At this, Mr. Bennet sat up straighter and began to look intensely at Mary.
“I also find that, while Mama has worked with each of us to help us become ready to manage our own establishment, the idea of running a household seems tedious. Planning dinners for the four-and-twenty Families may be appropriate for the mistress of an estate, but I doubt if that will be my destiny. These skills are important for some, but not necessarily for me.
“I would rather become a headmistress of a school, work in Uncle Edward’s offices, or even write books like A Lady[xvii] to earn my keep. But, without a better foundation, a more complete forming of my mind, I fear that I will always be dependent upon my relations who could come to resent my presence. I have no wish to be a pilgrim wandering from the Bingleys to the Darcys to the Wickhams and back again to the Bingleys.
At this, Mr. Bennet rose from his chair and walked around his desk to sit in the other leather chair facing Mary’s. He pushed Lizzy’s footstool to one side.
“This is all a long way of my getting to the point that I have to undertake a considerable amount of thinking to try to chart my path from where I stand. And that, Papa, is why I am going to walk to the top of Oakham Mount today.
“That was where Lizzy would go when she needed to escape from Longbourn’s turmoil, and it was where she would go to think. I know that she spent a great deal of time up there over the last six months—especially when she was sorting her feelings about Mr. Darcy,” Mary said as she concluded the longest single speech she had ever addressed to her father.[xviii]
Thomas Bennet was by now hunched deeply in his seat, rubbing his chin with his left forefinger and thumb. Where had Mary the Mouse gone? In the past, she could be dependably counted upon to huddle in a corner, eyes down, saying nothing. At worst, she would spout a couple of easily ignored lines from a musty sermon. But, here was someone who knew she needed improvement, someone who was begging for his help. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, bringing his silvered head closer to her light brunette locks. She was breathing quickly. Her brown eyes those of an apt pupil waiting for the answer to everything. Bennet realized that his next words were crucial, as they would shape her as well as his family’s future.
He quietly replied in a serious, measured tone.
“Mary, I certainly have no objection to you modeling yourself after Elizabeth. Feel free to scramble, wander, or otherwise explore our neighborhood. The exercise will help your body while enabling you to concentrate your mind. But, please always tell someone where you plan to go and when you will be expected to return. Meryton is generally a safe area, but with the influx of people seeking work at the mills, more unsavory elements may be around.
“As for your efforts with the pianoforte…it seems that you and I are in accord. You have made remarkable progress for one who self-taught. A master could refine your technique. While I do not imagine you will suddenly play well enough to be asked for a command performance at the Palace, I see you becoming much more proficient. With that, you may discover greater enjoyment when you play. Perhaps you might ask Miss Darcy for the names of some who may be willing to come to Longbourn to teach you.
“Finally, I heartily agree with your plan to improve yourself by expanding your reading. I regret that I did not spend time with you as I did with your sister. Maybe her personality and mine suited better. That is no excuse. My responsibility as your father is to have you ready to face whatever future may be your lot. Let us look ahead, then.
“I am surprised that you mention that book written by A Lady. I know that my contact in Town has planned to send me a copy after it was published six weeks ago. I thought he had yet to do so. Am I to understand that it did arrive and that you intercepted it?”
At this, Mary blushed and bowed her head, saying nothing, but gave a quick nod.
“Hmmmm,” Mr. Bennet tried to assume a look of patriarchal outrage, but a wry smile played around the corners of his mouth, “While I do not condone your absconding with the book—you could have asked me, oh, perhaps not, given the way I have acted toward you in the past—I am willing to let it pass. All I request is that you will allow me to read it before we sit here to discuss how well or how poorly the author accomplished her task. Sense and Sensibility was the title, was it not?”
Mary looked up in astonishment that her father would actually want to discuss a book with her. In a small voice, she replied, “Yes, Papa.”
“Well better you take one of my books than be all a-flutter about ribbons or lace.
“Back to my point. I think Monsieur Rousseau and Mrs. Wollstonecraft are excellent beginnings. Take your time, though. You should, however, broaden your horizons to experience not just the ideas that language is used to express, but also the beauty of the language itself.
“Savor the sound of Mr. Blake’s words as he wrote what I think expresses what you have come to realize in the past few weeks.
''The man who never alters his opinion is like standing water,
and breeds reptiles of the mind.''[xix]
> “You need to test your closely-held notions against others. So, I will also prescribe some Shakespeare, maybe Midsummer Night’s Dream; Mr. Milton, Mr. Pope, and Mr. Blake for poetry. Later we can look to Mr. Hobbes’ Leviathan and even Mr. Jefferson’s Notes on the State of Virginia for politics. You may find Mr. John Adams a bit abrupt, but I do have a copy of his Discourses on Davila should you wish to swim in his revolutionary waters.
“A word of advice, though. Just because something has been printed only means that someone has determined that there is a willing audience. In many cases, wealthy men will write something and then, to fuel their vanity, pay for the printing and distribution. You have to be able to discriminate and use your judgment when you consider any book or tract.” With that he subsided back into his chair and was momentarily silent.
At this, Mary made to rise…but settled back when Mr. Bennet raised his hand. He had a more pressing need resting in the heart of the Bennet household…Kitty. He continued gravely.
“I do have another matter to discuss with you. As you are the senior unmarried daughter, I believe that it is right that you know that I am planning to send Kitty to a seminary that will help her regulate her behavior. She has spent too much time in the orbit of Lydia, and I do hold myself responsible for not being more involved. That she also concealed Lydia’s behavior with the militia troubles me greatly.
“I never expected that her silly manners would also include outright complicity in the near-destruction of our family’s reputation. The Bennets have weathered many storms in the 120 years that we have owned Longbourn. But, this was beyond the Pale,” Mr. Bennet asserted.
Mary was intrigued that her father would consider dispatching Kitty to school but not her. Her expression betrayed her. And, her father saw it.
“Child, I am loath to send your sister away, but I cannot see her maturing while in the same house as your mother. I am not disrespecting the woman who has spent over twenty years at my side. But, I do understand her nature. That I left Mrs. Bennet to shape our daughters is a regret I will carry all my days. Your sister cannot profit any further from your mother’s unique form of instruction. A third party, more interested in molding comportment rather than garnering social points in the matrimonial stakes, may be the saving of Kitty.