by Don Jacobson
I could not here abide by even this convention. I needed to use your Christian name, to let those beautiful words fill the page as I write this letter.
I have asked your father to read this before he passes it on to your hands. He knows my feelings as I have spoken them to him this afternoon on the parade grounds where My Lady of the Field worked her magic just yesterday. Now I will write them to you, as I must journey to Liverpool to embark for the Americas.
There are so many things I can tell you now and so many more I must tell you but later. As I said to you, it is not yet time for you to know all. Your father will explain more when it is. Please trust in me, in him, and in us that it is nothing dark and fearful, but rather ‘something wonderful.’[xxvii]
At this moment, you need to know that you have struck me in a manner unlike any other woman. Your soul is a beautiful flower, only now beginning to bloom. I know a bit of your history, the sadness of your childhood and upbringing. What I can suggest is that those years of trial have tempered you to face this new world with confidence supported by your faith.
You may have surmised that I, too, have dedicated my life to following His path. The nature of my existence at this moment requires me to keep this hidden until I can work out in the open. There is nothing sinister here. On my honor as a gentleman, there is no worldly barrier, but rather a temporal one. My current journey is my way of resolving that question.
All this is a way of telling you why we cannot be together right now. This is the truth I will have to live with and only pray that you, too, will be able to abide with it for the next span.
I did request from your father that you and I could formally court. Thusly, we could exchange letters without any impropriety attached. If you do not agree with this, please tell your father. You need not read any further and can stop knowing that I bless you and wish you a life of happiness.
She smiled at this line…oh foolish, gentle, loving man…and turned the page.
My heart floats over Hertfordshire’s fields since you are reading this knowing that my happiness is yours, dear Mary. Once I am settled I will forward my direction to you, but I am sailing to Boston to meet with a friend of your father’s who can offer advice and patronage. I recognize that it could be six months before you will be able to receive a current missive. I will write to you before I embark.
Now, allow me to address the small keepsake I have enclosed for you. This cross is made from the finest Indian ebony. My Great-great Grandfather who worked with the East India Company brought the wood back to England. The cross was my mother’s—a wedding gift from my father who had it made in Town. I am told that she treasured it. It came to my hands from my father who kept it on his person always from the moment of her death on the day of my birth. This was made in love. Given in love. And held in love. I pass it now to you as a token of the same. Please remember me when you look upon it.
I wish to mention one other item. My familiarity with Meryton, Longbourn and other people and places in the neighborhood may have puzzled you. My antecedents in the South are what the secret service calls a ‘cover story.” I truly come from Hertfordshire itself. Again, though, I cannot say more.
You have the most wonderful middle name. You may know that you were named after one of the Lucas family…Miss Amelia Lucas. Amelia was also beloved by my mother, much as your sister Lizzy adores Jane. Her death from fever when she was just a young maiden nearly broke my mother’s spirit. You have been given her name by your mama and papa to honor her. I cannot write more about this but know that the Bennets and the Lucas family have long been intertwined.
My words grow long, but the candle is short. Unlike some, I know when I first began to love you. It was the moment I looked upon you that December morning in front of Longbourn. You have captured my heart, so please, I beg you, be gentle with it. I will return to you. We will share our love and, I pray, our lives forever.
I am yours always,
Edward B
Mary’s heart swelled, and tears of joy began to flow as Georgina flawlessly led the family into the final chorus.
All glory be to
God on high
And to the earth be peace;
Goodwill henceforth
From heaven to men
Begin and never cease
Begin and never cease!
On the London-Coventry Turnpike, Twilight, December 25, 1811
Edward leaned his head back against the squabs of the rented carriage. How decent it was of Thomas to foot the bill for private travel from Meryton all the way to Liverpool. Certainly, the accommodations on board ship would be anything but private or comfortable. So, he enjoyed the moment.
His hand slid into his waistcoat’s pocket and touched another gift from Thomas. Pulling out a miniature of a young woman with medium colored hair and light brown eyes, he gazed at it closely, Christmas’ fading light flickering into the coach. There was a solemnity in her expression, but he could see everything he knew her to be. This was without a doubt Mary Amelia Bennet—the woman of his life to be, the one he had yet to create in the future that the Wardrobe had so blessedly bestowed upon him.
Book Three
Leaving Longbourn
January 1812 – January 1815
The Ravel Portfolio and Letters
Chapter XXIII
Meryton, Hertfordshire, January 17, 1812
Mary Bennet tightly clasped the arms of Georgiana Darcy and Maria Lucas as they escorted her past the end of Longbourn Lane and entered the badly treated village of Meryton. With her new literary bent being honed by sessions with her Papa, Mary searched for an appropriate simile to describe the town. She had it!
Meryton looks like an explorer in the American Louisiana Territories who has been set upon by grizzly bear. The town is torn up and badly hurt, but still alive and trying to crawl across the upturned ranges to reach safety.[xxviii]
Less than a month after the fire, the aroma of smoke yet permeated her nostrils especially after rain had soaked the rubble. Many partially destroyed structures had already been cleared away for safety’s sake. Other burned-out shops on the High Street stood out like missing teeth in a pugilist’s smile. Some luckier merchants had quickly resumed business as soon as the streets were safe to travel. Several enterprising outsiders had brought their market fair wagons and tents and set up impromptu stores higgledy-piggledy. Much had yet to be done, but the village was beginning to recover some of its old form.
True to the promises made to Mr. Darcy, the Government had sent two regiments of militia to provide security and labor as rebuilding began. Mary was astonished to observe that the site of Watson’s factory had been completely cleared and the skeleton of a new facility was already taking shape with an army of red-coated and buff-jerseyed ants manhandling timbers and stone. Textile mills were a vital national resource needed to clothe the Peninsular Army.
What a contrast from when last I saw it the night of the blaze, Mary thought.
The voyage into the village was the result of a bored Maria’s badgering of Mary to simply do something. Not a single Twelfth Night Ball had been held at any of the estates surrounding Meryton. The entire region had been shaken to its very core. Mary herself continued to be rattled by her experiences of the 22nd. The nightmares and mood swings were most unsettling. The truth of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s observations about the impact of her trauma being akin to that experienced by soldiers in the aftermath of battle still impressed her. Given that, Mary sought to apply his prescriptions for recovery. She hoped they would help.
And, Mary was trying to stop using her own sensibilities as a measure for others. She understood that Maria was a youngster who already had moved on from the disaster. Maria had a new year to anticipate, a new life to enjoy as a vivacious girl of six-and-ten. If anything, Mary was the only steadying influence in her life. Charlotte was away in Kent. Lady Lucas was more interested in tea and gossip. The walk to Meryton was the least Mary could do
for a new friend of long acquaintance.
Lizzy, Jane, and their husbands remained in the area, but had removed to Netherfield. The Colonel had returned to Town to report in at Horse Guards. Georgiana, on the other hand, wishing to keep company with someone nearer her age, had remained at Longbourn. Mary, as Miss Bennet, had moved into Jane’s old room and Georgiana promptly appropriated Lizzy’s former chamber.
Both young women enjoyed being next door to each other. An added benefit was found in the fact that Miss Darcy was a light sleeper. Several times over the past fortnight, Mary’s cries in the early morning hours had disturbed her neighbor who then, as Jane had done with Lizzy, crept into the adjoining room and climbed into bed to soothe Mary until the demons went away.
Georgiana in both conscious and unconscious ways had quietly begun to cultivate the woman who was Mary Bennet. Always aware of the latest in fashion, the young heiress worked to improve the older girl’s wardrobe and appearance. Mary was known within the family for never spending her allowance and gifts. While she had contributed a portion of it to the Church and various other charitable appeals, the unused coins and notes had accumulated into a rather tidy sum that was stored in the small enameled box hidden in the lower drawer of her wardrobe. Today’s trip to Meryton was part of Miss Darcy’s plan to use Mary’s nest egg to bring Miss Bennet to the attention of Hertfordshire and London society. A new ensemble using better quality fabrics would be just the ticket!
Of course, while she did not object when Georgie would gush with enthusiasm, Mary understood that her refinement was not aimed at attracting a husband. Edward’s letter had settled that. She knew that while they were only courting at this point, both were persons who would not express feelings unless those emotions were already profound. The courtship was for form. Mary’s heart was fully involved, as she knew Edward’s to be. When he returned, they would marry; of that she was certain.
But, she would not begrudge Georgiana’s ministrations either. Edward deserved a woman who took as much pride in her appearance as in her intellect. No, she would never be a beauty in the sense of her other sisters, but she knew that, even as the least beautiful of the five beautiful Bennet sisters, she was an attractive woman in her own right. As far as she was concerned, she would rather be like the wardrobe in Papa’s book room; decorated with a remarkable marquetry design that showed the care the artist—her father said that it was built personally by Gibbons—had invested in its entire construction. By comparison, her bedchamber’s wardrobe was clean but plain. Her gowns were well stored, but the lower drawer stuck from time-to-time. She doubted if anything was out of alignment in Papa’s wardrobe.
A well-cared for appearance made a better first impression when meeting people. They would be more inclined to treat you and your opinions fairly. All she had to do was remember her cousin Collins. Certainly, his fawning demeanor reminded her of a simpering dog, but his greasy hair, repulsive body odor, nauseating breath, and slippery palms inspired nothing more than a desire to run from the room. And, even though his pompous spiritual pronouncements were ridiculous on their face, it was even more impossible to consider them seriously when they issued from such an odious physical specimen.
Now, Mary mused, Edward Benton was a different story. Yes, he was a pious, serious man. But, he had a dry sense of humor that lightened the mood of those around him without diminishing anyone. He reminded her of Papa in many ways, although her father’s jests often had a sharp edge. Edward also carried himself as a gentleman who had been taught that a quiet dignity gave a man not just an entrée into polite society, but also inclusion amongst the circle of those who set the direction for all classes.
Mary was pulled back to reality when both of her younger companions stopped walking simultaneously. As she stumbled to a halt, she saw what had arrested them. Approaching them were three militia officers, puffed up in their scarlet uniforms and full of self-importance. The young men were clearly enjoying themselves and maybe were buoyed by liquid courage; at least that is what Mary supposed when she later reflected upon the incident. Aware as she was of the potential trouble coming toward them, she also had to contend with the reactions of her companions. On her left arm, she felt Maria strain forward like a leashed beagle sighting a squirrel. But, on Mary’s right, Georgiana tensed and sought refuge behind Mary’s shoulder.
Such different reactions from two like-aged girls. Curious.
Mary recalled the delicacy with which everyone had handled Miss Darcy after Lydia and Wickham had married. Moralizing Mary had not really cared about it at the time. She wore her outrage at Lydia’s brazen behavior like a badge of honor. But now, Miss Bennet sensed that there was a deeper untold story. Maria, on the other hand, was like an open book. All she saw were red coats!
However, at the moment, none of that mattered. History told Mary that encounters between militia “gentlemen” and local girls rarely turned out to the advantage of the distaff participants. She was the elder here. And, although inexperienced with men herself, she had a new toughness that had been forged in the fire and tempered by the love and respect of a good man. She had two much more innocent young women under her protection. And, protect Georgiana and Maria—be it from the officers or themselves—she would!
“Lay-dies…lay-dies…lay-dies,” a tall, slender officer, obviously the leader of this pack of wolves, nasally addressed the three girls from under raised eyebrows. “What brings you out onto the streets of this benighted corner of the earth? I doubt if there can be much entertainment available to keep you occupied, although,” he slurred, “we may be able to assist in that regard.” He leaned toward them, chest puffing out his uniform jacket.
Maria started to reply, but Mary elbowed her in the ribs, shutting her down. Georgie gulped behind her gloved hand and buried her bonnet in Mary’s shoulder. Mary took a moment to collect her thoughts before replying archly.
“It is difficult for me to consider that an officer in His Majesty’s militia would be so ill-informed of proper behavior as to openly address young gentlewomen—escorted or not—on a street without having been properly introduced beforehand. To my mind, there is only one type of woman to which an unknown soldier would speak to unbidden while walking the street, and, if I am not mistaken, that would also require some degree of negotiation as to price.”
Her words hung in the frosty air—although the climate was nowhere near as cold as the sound of her speech. Long Nose’s eyes flew wide open at the knifelike rebuke. His two supporters suddenly found the goods in the modiste’s display window to be very interesting. Georgiana and Maria gasped. But, Mary was not finished with her set-down.
“Who are you to believe that because you have been sent here by London to assist in Meryton’s recovery, you are intrinsically better than those you help? Let me offer you some instruction about the persons with whom you are mixing.
“Our town is now under the protection of the Earl of Matlock and his friends. He has an interest because his new niece resided here until last month. Ask your superiors where the relief funds were raised and see if they can list the names of the highest levels of the ton who saw fit to contribute to help Meryton.
“As you pass through this village, you may cross paths with one of the richest men in Great Britain who is personally interested in all the people you may see, particularly the three in front of you. I imagine he could buy and sell ten of your precious little militia commissions with the leftovers after one month’s expenses on his estates. Oh, yes, and he is the one who asked the government to send assistance. I wonder what he would make of the likes of you?
“If he could successfully approach a King’s minister for a mercy mission, something the Government in wartime would be justified in ignoring, would it be outside of his power to suggest a transfer to the regulars and then a swift dispatch to the Fever Islands for a deserving young officer?
“Then again, you may meet one of His Majesty’s heroes: a cavalry colonel recovering from w
ounds earned with Wellesley. I have seen his working sword. It is not shiny and bright like that little toad-sticker you wear. His is a man’s weapon, heavy to cut through bone and gristle, hued like pewter and with a blade longer than your arm. It is nicked and scarred and so worn from constant sharpening that it is more rapier than saber. But its edge has sent more of Napoleon’s horde to Hell than you will ever fight as you parade around the Hertfordshire’s lanes.”
Her light brown eyes boring a hole through his ashen face, Mary warmed to her task.
“You presume to be God’s gift to humanity. You are a pampered popinjay, all puffed up in your regimentals. I am sure you can turn the heads of impressionable young women with your off-hand manners and air of maturity. But, know this, sir; we are weary of dealing with the blowbacks of militia wastrels who cannot keep their drop-fronts fastened.
“Whether we are working people, tradespersons, or gentlefolk, the residents of Meryton have passed through a fiery vale. We left many behind—did you note that barrow at the edge of your parade ground? But we are together in this. We will recover. We will not be treated like playthings by the likes of you who cannot ignore your baser needs long enough to conduct your mission with honor.
“I would earnestly suggest that you turn around and return from whence you came. We three have neither the desire nor the need for your company.” And then she stared at his face for a moment before her focus shifted and she looked through him in the most powerful cut direct one could deliver.
Those three vanished as quickly as if Merlin the Magnificent and not Miss Mary Bennet had been standing before them.
The air fairly radiated around Mary, enveloping the other two girls in her cocoon of wrath. Calming down, she released a loud sigh, almost a woof, puffing her cheeks out as she came to terms with her speech.