The Keeper- Mary Bennet's Extraordinary Journey

by Don Jacobson

  “Lydia? Was she injured? How is she? Please take me to her NOW!” Mary tried to rise, but the piercing pain that scorched from her side and across her back sucked away any thoughts of movement. Edward grabbed her hand and began rubbing it soothingly as he looked directly into her frantic eyes.

  “Dearest, you had already been injured and had fainted away when Lydia was hurt in the cavalry charge. Like you, she is much better now. Recall that she is a very healthy young woman. Like all the Bennet sisters, she heals quickly.

  “I am sure she will visit you as soon as Richard lets her rise.”

  At Mary’s raised eyebrows, Edward shrugged and said, “Like Martha, Richard has hardly left her side. He has thrown propriety out the window. Darcy was quite beside himself and summoned the Earl and Countess.

  “Aunt Eleanor simply looked at the way the General hovered over Lydia, shook her head and turned to Darcy simply saying ‘Stranger things have happened. Bennet women seem to have a way with Fitzwilliam men.’ I wonder what she meant by that?”

  Mary digested this news for a moment and then commented, “Ask Lizzy. Poor, proper Fitzwilliam. His prejudices about Lydia have certainly taken a beating these past few years. I am certain that Lizzy will have a time talking him in from the ledge.”

  Then she flipped mental pages back to St. Peter’s Field.

  “What happened? The last thing I remember was being on the field holding the banner with Lydia and watching Richard as the horsemen came toward us.”

  “You recall nothing more than that? Well, probably just as well.

  “Mary, you were shot in the side. It was Collins. He escaped from Bedlam and found us in Manchester. Thankfully he aimed at your midriff. And, Richard says that the powder charge was old and probably damp. That meant that the bullet had less penetrating power.”

  “I understand the idea about the gunpowder. But why are you happy he shot me in the body?”

  Edward slowly grinned, knowing that he had found the perfect opportunity to make Mary smile with his upcoming jape. He considered her with mock seriousness.

  “My most proper wife…a woman who would never be seen in public without her full feminine regalia…is a woman who would not forgo wearing full stays even on the hottest day of the year. Your corset saved your life. The bullet deflected off one of the whalebone strips. Instead of entering your body cavity, it plowed a furrow across your back.”

  Mary chuckled and then grimaced in pain. “So, this woman was delivered by her vanity. That will make an interesting sermon, I should think.”

  Edward’s hand left her face and slid to her chest where her ebony cross lay rising and falling with every breath. He laid his fingers on the cross and spoke.

  “I was so frightened I would lose you. I know I am being selfish, but I cannot, could not, go on without you. I’m sorry, my love, but I prayed for God to take me if only he would leave you here to brighten the parlors of Kympton and make our children laugh with happiness.”

  He bowed his head and let the tears of the past week flow freely.

  Mary caressed his shaggy locks and stroked his lurching shoulders. How wonderful that this man out of time would be so possessed of her to be willing to trade his life. Her heart swelled with joy much as it had every day since she had met Edward Benton.

  Edward reached up by the headboard and dragged on the bell pull. An unfamiliar maid came in. Edward gave her the news of the Mistress’ awakening to spread to the family. Mary looked at Edward with curiosity. He read her mind.

  “Our staff spent so much time and energy caring for you that I ordered them all to bed yesterday morning once your crisis had passed. Then I gave them the day today. Mrs. Reynolds sent cooks, maids, and footmen here from Pemberley.”

  A discrete knock and an opened door led to a flooding of joyful faces into the chamber. Lizzy and Darcy, Jane and Bingley, and even Georgiana, obviously returned from her new establishment in Deauville, crowded around the bed. Suddenly two ginger heads burst between the assembled adult legs.

  “Mama, Mama! Ares you waked?” Bridget asked, her four-year old face full of concern.

  “Of course Mama is up, Bwidgie,” her brother assured her, “Is ‘most time for tea. I heard Nurse saying just that!”

  Mary looked up, tears glistening on her lashes. Edward smiled and stood to bend over and hoist first one and then the other of the warmest huggers in all of Derbyshire onto the bed with their mother.

  “Hello darlings. Mama feels so much better now. Thank you, Rory, for Robbie. He was very brave and kept me safe. And Bridgie, those pictures you drew for me were wonderful. I imagine you will be traveling to France with Aunt Georgie for art lessons before long.”

  Pain or no, she lay back. Her arms around her children, Mary gazed out at the loving smiles of her family. As always, the warmth of their love, the comfort of their noisy happiness meant that she would never, ever be “Mary Alone.”

  Book Five

  An Epilogue of Sorts

  London

  Dear Reader: The following link will take you to a recreation of George Gershwin’s actual performance of Rhapsody in Blue as transcribed and arranged for piano. Gershwin performed the Rhapsody for a company that produced paper rolls for player pianos. That “recording” of his performance has now been recreated.

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_kIpr6nSvjI

  Chapter XLVI

  Darcy House, London, Friday, April 23, 1852

  “Mrs. Benton? Ma’am? Mrs. Benton? Are you ready to dress for the evening?” The young maid’s voice, Lucy it was, cut through Mary’s thoughts as she sat at her dressing table. Interestingly, the older she got, the younger everyone else seemed to become. How she missed Sarah, who had passed away three years ago leaving her husband, Hastings, and three children behind.

  The way of the world, I suppose. It is difficult to think of all those who have come and gone. Cannot get too maudlin. After all I do have a birthday to celebrate. And, all the family, well, almost all, with two gaping holes, will be here. But, oh Lizzy! Oh Kitty!

  Tonight, Darcy House was putting on a grand ball in her honor—her 60th birthday. Mary’s niece Maddie, who resided with her husband Thomas Johnson and their two children at Darcy House, was hosting the event. Madelyn’s older brother, George William Darcy, who lived in Derbyshire, managed the family’s agricultural holdings as well as being the de facto Master of Pemberley and head of the family. His brother-in-law Thomas oversaw the broader family business empire from the concern’s London offices. The joint-stock company, Darcy-Bingley Enterprises, had diversified holdings in mining, shipping, manufacturing, railways, telegraphy, and real estate. The firm was a central part of the commercial explosion known as The Industrial Revolution.

  Maddie’s father, Fitzwilliam, now aged 69, rarely ventured far from Pemberley, quietly mourning his lost love, Elizabeth, these past 16 years. He was not alone in the sense that those who held him close to their hearts surrounded him. George William and his wife, Melanie, and their four adolescent children all lived at Pemberley. The Bingleys still resided at Thornhill, a scant four miles from the great estate. While Jane and Charles’ three sons and four daughters had scattered around the world, there had been one notable addition to the household since 1837, Charles’ next older sister, Mrs. Johnson, Thomas’ mother.

  Caroline Johnson, had shared the grief of her own losses with Mr. Darcy. Once their children had discovered each other, the two remaining parents had, over the span of years, developed a quiet and mutual appreciation of each other’s companionship. She was more often to be found in Pemberley’s sitting room or on the terrace sharing tea with her old friend than in any of Thornhill’s precincts, her official home. There was never any indication that the relationship between the widower and widow was anything more than a final understanding between two complex and rich personalities that had rubbed against one another for over 45 years. Yet, those who watched them interact recognized that they had come to terms with their individual demon
s and together were comforted by the memories of Lizzy’s undying love for one and forgiving friendship for the other.

  Tonight was singular because Fitzwilliam himself had traveled south along with his son’s family as well as Rory Benton and Lady Bridget Rochet, both living now in Manchester along with their spouses and assorted Benton and Rochet grandchildren. Other celebrants from the North included the Bingleys, Mrs. Johnson, and the Fitzwilliams. A special train of three private cars (Darcy, Bingley, and Matlock) had been commissioned at the Derby station to speed over 30 persons—old and young alike—to London. All the great London townhouses were packed with excited family members. Mary’s birthday fête had rapidly turned into a reunion, not only for the combined Bennet, Darcy, Bingley, Gardiner, and Fitzwilliam clans—coming to be known as The Five Families—but also for the remaining members of the Regency era ton.

  Mary and Edward had arrived from Windsor earlier in the day taking the Great Western Railway directly to Paddington Station. As always when they traveled, Mary had thoroughly enjoyed Edward’s quiet company and the varying views of the countryside, villages and towns that grew into the outer environs of the giant metropolis. Edward’s duties as Canon of the Queen’s Chapel at Windsor Castle had delayed their departure until the day of the ball itself.

  How remarkable is this world in which we live! Our sense of time has become so compressed. When I was a girl, the 17-odd miles would have taken several hours even on good roads. Now, we barely have time to get settled before we are disembarking! Gentlemen have started traveling by rail to work in the City while living in the countryside of Windsor!

  Mary smiled as Lucy fussed over her corset. The young girl had not served her before and so was unfamiliar with the puckered scar that scored across Mary’s back.

  Gently Mary chided her, “Lucy, do not worry. I will not break in half, much as it may look like I will. It is an old war wound. I have spent the last thirty-odd years hoisting children and working in the wards with no ill effect. You pulling on the laces will not damage me. Besides, I have always found that tight stays bring me good luck. And, any woman who is turning sixty needs all the luck she can get!”

  Lucy gently blushed and chuckled along with Mary. Finishing her knot with vigor, she lowered Mary’s petticoats over her head. Again, Mary was overcome with nostalgia.

  The styles today! Crinolines and petticoats, petticoats, petticoats! Remember how we girls looked in those beautifully cut gowns at the Netherfield Ball? They were so formfitting. Jane and Lizzy were show-stopping beauties. Lydia almost stopped the show herself when she nearly popped out of her gown. And Mama marshaling all her daughters to assault Meryton’s male population as if she were Napoleon at Marengo. Darcy and Bingley never had a chance!

  Her sapphire-blue silk gown dropped into place. Looking at herself in the pier glass, Mary saw a reflection of a mature woman with steel grey hair, coifed in smaller curls held in place by a set of ebony hair pins, Edward’s birthday gift to her. She had kept her figure all these years. Not having borne children may be credited she mused. Lucy strung Mary’s ebony cross, on a new gold chain—a gift from Jane and Charles—around her neck, resting it on the clear creamy skin above the slightest hint of décolletage. Still modest, Mary had modified her style of dress to a degree, but only to the limit she saw as fitting for the wife of the Queen’s Chaplain!

  Fully dressed, she took one last look in the mirror. All in true Bristol fashion as Will Rochet would say! She thanked Lucy and dismissed the girl to get on with her next task. With such an event, every servant would be doing double and triple duty! Mary stepped to the connecting door to her husband’s dressing room and knocked.

  Hastings, no longer a young man himself, opened the door and smiled when he saw his mistress. “Oh, my lady, if I may say so, you do look stunning. God bless you on your birthday.” Her husband, hearing his valet’s admiring tones seconded the emotions.

  “Mary, my sweetest, you look ravishing. Something about that sort of blue has always suited you. Are you certain that you would not prefer taking a tray up here? I do seem to recall that Darcy installed one of those bath tubs here shortly after he perfected the one at Kympton.”

  Mary playfully swatted her husband’s arm. “Edward, careful or poor Hastings will think you quite the rake—and you the Canon of Windsor Chapel!”

  She took in her husband’s appearance as well. Not bad for a man of three-and-ninety. She smiled at her inside joke. Well, maybe I should say “for a man born in 1759, he has held up well.” Tonight, Edward had left his clerical garb behind and had dressed formally. A gold watch chain looped across his still-trim middle. His silver hair was thinning a bit on top, but still offered plenty of resistance when she ran her fingers through it. He was a good-looking specimen, no doubt. She reached for his arm as they left to go downstairs.

  

  Mary was thankful that Maddie had dispensed with the receiving line for tonight. After all, this was a gathering of friends and family. Few strangers would need to be introduced as most folks in the room had crossed paths dozens of times over the years. Mary wondered at Maddie’s moves surrounding the ball’s organization. She had been secretive and particularly intense in insisting that certain family members make an appearance.

  For instance, her father, Fitzwilliam Darcy, probably would have preferred to stay at Pemberley, but Maddie had used every trick in her book from cajoling to tears to get him to come to Mary’s birthday ball. He stood stoically at the back of the room, just inside of the doors. Wearing his traditional black suit and cravat, he gazed around the room, perhaps remembering the evenings his dark-eyed Lizzy spun across this particular floor, her lilting laugh tinkling off the crystalline decorations. Charles Bingley, knowing Darcy’s discomfort, stood next to him nursing a glass of champagne.

  Across the room, Mary spotted her old friend and co-conspirator la Comtesse Maria Rochet chatting with her elder sister Charlotte. Her husband, now retired, Admiral le Comte Guillame Rochet Bart. KCB hovered near where Aunt Madelyn Gardiner held court. Her son the baronet Sir Thomas and his wife Lady Anne Fitzwilliam Gardiner had trained up from Rosings for the festivities. Aunt Madelyn was the last. Uncle Edward, like all the others of that generation, has long since passed from the scene.

  “Aunt Mary?” She turned at the sound of her brother Eddie’s voice. Many always wondered why he preferred to call her “Aunt,” but he readily explained that the twenty-year age difference made it more reasonable for him to address her, Jane, and Lydia as such.

  “Eddie, thank you for coming. And Maria Rose! You both look wonderful. Hertfordshire air must agree with you. How are the children?”

  Eddie spoke first, “Michael had to miss your evening. He has exams at Harrow.”

  Maria Rose Bennet looked exasperated. “As for the girls…you would think that a day at the Crystal Palace would have slowed down even those three adolescent hoydens. Not a chance. If you went out in the hall right now, you would see Lydia Jane, Estelle, and Francine all peering through the balustrade railings.”

  As it was, so shall it always be at Longbourn—or anywhere Bennet girls are to be found.

  Just off to Mary’s right she could hear the loud voices of two elderly gentlemen swapping war stories: Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington, now 83, and General Sir Richard Fitzwilliam, KCB, the Earl of Matlock, himself in his eighth decade. Years in front of and behind the muzzle had finally caught up with their hearing.

  “Ah…Matlock…good to see you again. Been too long. I recall those days when we were stirrup to stirrup watching old Boney send his columns against our squares. Hard to believe he’s been dead these 30 years. I hear your boys are both in harness.”

  “Yes, my Lord, my eldest, the Viscount Henry, is with the Foreign Office, and his brother, George, is in the Life Guards preparing to clean up his brother’s mistakes.”

  “And your wife? I have always enjoyed her spirit.”

  “Hah…yes, she is a spitfire. Been reminding
how she ‘saved my bacon’ 30-odd years ago. Oh, she will arrive shortly. Something about a special gift for our sister Mary.”

  “Yaas—there’s another sort of woman, that Mrs. Mary Benton. Wouldn’t want to cross swords with her again. I remember back in ’32 when we were debating the Sadler Report she had every woman in my family up my back. And the Reform Act? My Lord. She was like Boadicea,” Wellington retorted.

  Richard grinned, “Yes, when my sister gets the bit in her teeth, she can be formidable. Her husband, the Canon, is equally a bulldog when it comes to social justice causes.”

  The Duke snorted, “Social justice…Pfagh. Ended up letting so many shocking bad hats into Parliament. [lxxxi] But, t’is clear that they are the coming thing. Not like the old days when land was all that mattered, what?”

  Just then the doors to the ballroom flew open with a bang.

  Richard looked over, “That sounds like my wife making her entrance.”

  Sure enough, in strode Lady Lydia Fitzwilliam, Countess of Matlock. In her wake were the three youngest Bennet women, gangling teenagers really, all in demure gowns and all wide-eyed at the glamor and glitz surrounding them at their first society ball.

  Lydia was wearing a bright red silk ball gown and was adorned with a fair sampling of the Matlock family jewels. Elbow-length gloves covered both arms. An astute observer would have noticed that the left one was fingerless, a mitten really. For tonight, she had installed her special “dancing hand,” the one carved to fit comfortably on Richard’s right shoulder as they waltzed. She mentally flexed imaginary fingers, ghosts since 1819.

  One of the tallest women in the room, she easily spied Eddie and Maria Rose and made straight for them using her best Fanny Bennet voice.

  “Edward Bennet…Maria Rose Bennet. Brother, sister…you seem to have lost something. I found these three lonely waifs glancing at closed ballroom doors with apprehensive eyes. I could do nothing less than rescue them and bring them to safety,” Lydia gleefully shouted across the room.