by Don Jacobson
Swinging through the gate, she nearly sprinted across the garden and skipped into the kitchen. Passing her emptied sack to Cook, she thanked her for the provisions and then raced through the hallway to the stairwell to run upstairs to change her clothes.
As she passed the closed door to the Library, she overheard sharp words being exchanged. While the actual meaning was unclear, she discerned Papa’s lower voice providing the bass line while Kitty’s angry soprano soared above, periodically spiking in outrage.
Oh, this is going to be a set-to for the ages. Little does my sister know that she cannot complain her way out of being sent to school. Papa may be indolent, but, when roused, he can be a fearsome creature indeed. Oh, I will wait until later and then see if I can help Kitty see the advantages of a seminary. She will be out from under Mama’s thumb and be able to meet other girls her age and form friendships with them. I could help her pack.
With that thought hanging behind her, Mary ran upstairs to her room.
Once she had stepped into a fresh gown and had exchanged her boots for more suitable at-home slippers, Mary looked again in her mirror. Oddly, she did not really look different, but, oh, how changed she felt.
I wonder how I would appear with a bit more color in my cheeks? I know that Kitty and Lydia had some rouge hidden away in their room. Perhaps I could ask Kitty to share a bit with me…
As she had started down this path, Miss Bennet also realized that she had been calling attention to herself with her severe hairstyle, spectacles and dowdy dress. This might have been acceptable if she had been the only daughter and that was her unique style. But, she now understood just how pathetic the attempt was—as bad as Lydia’s lower-cut gowns—to draw eyes to herself. Certainly, a red carnation stood out in a bouquet of white. But Mary had been a thistle in a bunch of roses: exceptional, true, but also impossible to approach and touch.
Mary stifled a yawn. She had risen quite early this morning. Perhaps she would benefit from a brief nap to restore her energy. She settled on top of the down comforter and pulled a quilt over her. Drowsy and warm, Mary dozed off quickly.
Awakening in the early afternoon, Mary remarked at just how quiet the house had become. Perhaps Mama was out on calls to allow her to wax poetic about the glories of the double wedding. She was surprised not to have been interrupted earlier by Kitty.
She left her room and walked slowly down the hall to the landing at the top of the stairs. The library door opened, and Papa escorted a sensibly dressed elegant older woman with graying blond hair to the front door. She was clutching what appeared to be a large, paper-wrapped package to her chest. Mary overheard part of their conversation from her perch on high.
“…and I wish to thank you for coming all of this way in response to my advertisement for a companion for my daughter Catherine. I regret that I was unable to stop you from making your journey once I had made the decision to send her to school. I have hired a private carriage to carry her to the seminary in Cornwall. I do appreciate your willingness to escort her. This solves many problems,” Papa said to the lady.
“Oh, Mr. Bennet, it is of no consequence. The weather has been very mild this past week, and so my passage to Dover was accomplished quickly and in comfort. The walk from Meryton was pleasant and the air invigorating. As for accompanying Miss Kitty, I am more than happy to do that. The trip West will be inspiring, and I will contact you when I return to the area,” she replied, her voice betraying a modest French lilt as if her English was a bit out of use.
“Well, my daughter will benefit from spending time with someone who demonstrates such refined qualities. She may arrive at the seminary more cultivated than when she left here. I have sent expresses ahead to arrange accommodations for both of you along the way. And, please take this purse for your troubles and any expenses on the journey,” Mr. Bennet continued.
The lady did try to demur, but Mr. Bennet finally wore her down. The conversation ended with the sound of the carriage pulling up to the front portico. The gentleman helped her with her cloak which, to Mary’s eye, seemed a bit last year’s style.
Mr. Bennet concluded by saying, “Tell Kitty that her luggage will follow her. Although I did tell her of my love, please remind her every day. I hope that you will send an express when you reach your destination.”
Mary started to move down the stairs to rush outside and bid her sister goodbye, but something in the older woman’s nature froze her in place, Mary’s words of farewell left unsaid.
As the lady left, Mr. Bennet waved to the carriage and called out, “Take care, daughter. Have a safe journey.”
Mary was puzzled as she watched her father close the door, heave a deep sigh and reach up to wipe his eyes. Then he retreated into the bookroom and closed the door.
Chapter XIII
Longbourn Estate, Hertfordshire, December 22, 1811
The pounding on the thick oaken front door roused the residents of Longbourn House in the early hours of the first day of winter. The clamor woke them, to be sure, but it was the words shouted in accompaniment that launched everyone from their beds.
“Fire…Fire...Fire in Meryton. The village is ablaze. Everybody…Come quickly.”
As soon as Mr. Hill pulled the bolts and opened the entry, the young man, face and clothes covered in soot and grime, raced back to his horse, preparing to mount the shuddering beast, its flanks streaked with sweat and muzzle covered in foam.
Thomas Bennet had struggled downstairs by this time and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Hill. He shouted at the rider, “Hold there, Harry Dyson. What has happened, and what is needed?”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet, sir. The whole village is afire from the Mimram all the way up to the High Street. The blaze started in the factory workers’ shanties down by the river and, with this wind, we could lose the entire village. The fire could spread through the woods all the way out to Longbourn, Netherfield and even Oakham Mount.
“Sir Lucas says that horses and tackle are needed as we may have to pull some buildings down to create firebreaks. And he called for every able-bodied person to come,” Dyson panted. Then he swung his leg over the saddle and pulled his horse around before galloping down Longbourn’s drive.
Mr. Bennet paused for a moment to digest the circumstances and then turned to the somewhat reduced Longbourn crowd of Mrs. Bennet, Mary Bennet, and the Hills. He squared his shoulders, ran his hand through his hair and said,
“Right then. We may be few, but Longbourn is one of the closest estates to town. Our quick reaction may mean the difference between controlling the blaze and disaster.
“Hill, turn out all of the farm hands and stable boys. Send three of them to alert our tenants. They must tell them to bring horses and freight wagons as well as ropes and pulleys to the militia training grounds. That’s the flattest area around that can handle a large number of people. Then send the rest of the staff straight to town. Have young Jeremy find Sir William and put all the Longbourn men at his disposal.
“Keep one wagon and team here, and we will follow. Mrs. Hill, we will need to get every bit of food we have as well as any large pots and kettles for boiling water and soup. Load everything into that last wagon. There are going to be many hungry and cold people tonight.”
When Mr. Bennet paused long enough to take a breath, the Hills, knowing that they had their marching orders, flew off leaving only the two female Bennets looking up at Longbourn’s patriarch. Mary was astonished at the forceful nature of her Papa. Fanny Bennet’s mouth hung slightly open, as she could not recall when her husband had been so commanding. She found it very appealing. Why, if he had acted like that these last ten years we might have one or two strapping boys in addition to the five girls…
“Fanny, Mary—,” Mr. Bennet barked, “Get dressed in your oldest and warmest gowns. Put double stockings on and anything else you may have that will keep you warm. It is freezing already and will only get colder. Stout boots, too. Bring the work gloves you use when pruning rose bushes. We have
no idea what you may need to handle—and the smallest wound could quickly become a problem.”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet, why shouldn’t we stay here?” Mrs. Bennet wailed, “There have been fires before, and besides, these are just laborers and other dregs of society. It is not our problem”
Mary started at that outrageous statement, but before she could say anything, her father slammed the front door and turned on his heel and loomed over his wife.
“Hear-me-very-clearly,” he intoned, “Fanny Bennet, you have lived off the backs of these people all your life. Their sweat washes your clothing, makes your kitchenware, loads and unloads your finery brought in from London. This calamity is Meryton’s problem and that makes it Longbourn’s problem. As long as you are the Mistress of Longbourn, you will attend to your duties, Christian and otherwise. Now, be off, both of you. We leave in 15 minutes.”
Already Mary could hear the noise level increasing as the staff began assembling supplies and sending equipment toward the village. While her mother did not move, her mouth opening and closing like a fish struggling to breathe, Mary ran upstairs to her room and began grabbing apparel from her wardrobe. Shedding her night rail, she began pulling on layers of clothes to ward off the Hertfordshire winter chill. Hearing footsteps in the hall, Mary opened her door and saw one of the housemaids dashing toward her mother’s rooms.
“Molly, I need you to gather all the old bed linens and any spare blankets and quilts we may have around the house and carry them downstairs. I will be out in a minute as soon as I finish dressing. I will help you then,” Mary ordered.
“Oh. Miss Mary, your mother has demanded that I assist her in dressing.”
Leave it to Mama to act like they were preparing for an outing to see Lady Lucas. Mary sighed, and closed her eyes, fighting a surge of anger and disgust at the self-centered nature of her mother. The old Mary would have recited three Bible verses and felt morally superior. Now, she realized that the older woman would never change, and that knowledge saddened her. She understood why both Lizzy and Jane ignored Mama as much as they could. It took too much energy to do otherwise.
Shrugging away her thoughts about her mother, Mary rummaged in her cupboard for the thick woolen muffler Aunt Madelyn had given her in anticipation of her planned visit to Lizzy at Pemberley. When I was a girl in Lambton, winter could freeze you until Easter. Your Hertfordshire blood is too thin to long survive in Derbyshire. Tonight was a night that could chill to the bone even amid warm work.
Her outfit completed, Mary hurried downstairs to join her father, her spectacles left behind on her dressing table.
Thomas Bennet was already wrapped in his great coat and had pulled on a woolen uhlan cap that protected his head and neck, but also made him look like a knight in chain mail awaiting his squire to affix his helmet. Knit as it was from a mustard color yarn accented the comedic mein it gave Mr. Bennet. Mary bit her knuckles to stifle an utterly inappropriate giggle that would have done Kitty proud if she had taken in the scene.
“Excellent choice of clothing, daughter. This will be a long night, and if the fire in ‘84 is any measure, we could be occupied through Christmas Day or later,” he stated. “Luckily the Mimram has not yet frozen over so that Hadley-Simkin pumper the twenty-four families purchased may speed the process.
“I am glad we replaced those canvas hoses two years ago. The old ones were five-and-ten years old and nearly rotted through.”
He suddenly stopped and shook himself. “Listen to me. I sound like Diderot’s Encyclopedia, spouting useless information. Too much time in my book room and not enough time in the outside world. Same thing for you, too, eh, Mary?”
Mary paused for a moment. Papa was right about how she used to be. But, the past sen’night had seen many changes. She and Papa had spent a few pleasant sessions together exploring the differences between Mrs. Wollstonecraft and M. Rousseau. She had also realized that spouting quotes from 50-year-old out-of-fashion sermons by a dour Scot would only make her more like her pompous cousin Collins.
Then she replied, “Papa, you are so right. I have spent all my time with my nose buried in books because they did not force me to deal with people. Books lay there never arguing back. There is no threat, but also no humanity.”
“True enough, child. Books will not help you understand the misery you will see tonight. I fear that you are woefully unprepared for the harsh reality of wailing mothers lamenting lost babes or the reverse. Not that at nine-and-ten you should be like a hardened veteran in Wellesley’s army as is Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“But, there is nothing for it. We must be off. Now, where is your mother?”
At that moment Mrs. Bennet bustled down the staircase looking like the Queen of the May. A massive bonnet set off flounces and lace. Mary and her father took one look at her, glanced at each other and shrugged with Mary raising her eyebrows as if to say She is your wife. You will have to find a way to keep her from embarrassing the family.
Mr. Bennet collected his thoughts behind a long pause during which he fiddled with his gloves. Finally,
“Ahhh…Fanny dear. Thank you so much for attending as quickly as you have. I…uh…have been thinking. If all of us go to the village, there will be nobody left here to organize responses to any further needs. In fact, I feel that you should begin working with Mrs. Hill and Cook to prepare as much hot food and drink as the Longbourn kitchens can manage. Bread. Soup or stew. Even porridge. Whatever is hot and filling. There will be many mouths that will need feeding.
“In my experience, I have never seen anyone but you feed a large number of hungry people,” Bennet flattered her.
“Oh, Mr. Bennet, but of course you are correct. We will divide and conquer as some general or another said. You and Miss Mary here should go to Meryton. And, I will take charge here at the manor house. Once the food is prepared, I will send a boy, and he can return with a wagon to cart it all into town.” And with that last pronouncement delivered with gusto, Mrs. Bennet marched toward the back of the house shouting for Mrs. Hill.
Chapter XIV
Mary clutched the hard bench seat on the last of the Longbourn wagons heading toward the angry orange smudge blooming on the horizon. But, this was no sunrise. Rather it seemed as if they were taking one last ride toward the open gates of Hades. Even from more than a mile away, she could hear the sinister booming and cracking which accompanied the pulsating glow. Her heart was pounding as she leaned into her father’s form while he carefully guided the dray horses down the rutted lane.
Other carts and carriages joined them to form a motley caravan heading toward the stricken town. It was slow going as the road was centuries old and in need of grading. Even with Mr. Bennet’s steady but slow pace, the wagon rocked precariously from side-to-side, nearly pitching Mary from her seat several times.
By the time they reached the parade grounds on the heights above the Mimram River across from Meryton over a dozen other wagons were already there. Several had already pulled their sideboards, their uneven beds serving as makeshift tables filled with food, past which lines of the displaced were already filing. Some of the larger merchants had pitched their market day tents on one side of the field to provide shelter for the evacuees as well as to form a rudimentary hospital. Mary observed a large crowd of people clustered around the tents. She never realized just how large Meryton had grown in recent years. For the moment she was too distant to see them distinctly. But, she could hear them. And what she heard was akin to cattle lowing with a scream or cry punctuating the murmur every once in a while. People were hurting, and they were frightened.
As they pulled nearer to a cluster of refugees, Mary’s left hand shot out and gripped her father’s arm. She had never seen burned flesh, at least not like this. A smell like overcooked meat filled her sinuses. A man cradling a small girl sat on the ground like an Indian fakir, rocking back and forth, sobbing. Another supported a middle-aged woman whose scorched gown had split across her shoulders revealing huge blisters. Two women
desperately checked every small child wandering the field. Many more stared vacantly across the river back toward the burning town, perhaps willing the appearance of loved ones who might never be seen again.
Mr. Bennet pulled the wagon into the park with the others. He turned to Mary; his stricken look a mirror of hers.
“T’is worse than I imagined. Half of these people may be dead before this is over. Burns this severe never turn out well. I pray to God that we have enough laudanum to ease their pain, or they will go through a horrible passage before they blessedly succumb.
“The men of the area have much work to do. You, I am afraid, will be on your own. You are sensible, though. You will assist where you are needed. I suggest you start at the hospital and seek out Mr. Jones. I assume that is where you will find him. I only hope his home has not been caught up in this. We would be in an even worse position without him,” Bennet opined.
He dismounted from his seat and came around the wagon to hand Mary down to the ground. Showing just how unsettled he was, the father enveloped his middle child in a deep embrace. Stepping back, he reached into a deep pocket and produced a large knit cap that he pulled down over Mary’s ears over her protests. He buffed at his eyes with his gloved hands, but not before Mary noticed glistening tears illuminated by the flickering light of bonfires across the parade ground. He clapped her shoulder, propelling her toward the hospital tent. He strode in the other direction and approached the group of landowners clustered around Sir William.
Mr. Bennet’s comment about Apothecary Jones’ house concerned Mary greatly: not just for Mr. Jones and his family, but also because her Aunt and Uncle Philips lived just two doors away. Without a second thought, Mary steered herself away from the hospital and began the brief march into town.