by Don Jacobson
Mary instinctively looked at Darcy in time to see his face stiffen in memory and then soften in love for his boisterous sister-in-law.
Slipping through the door behind Lydia and the girls were Doctor Sir Angus Campbell CB and his wife Martha (Smithvale) Campbell. The Doctor and Martha were installed at Matlock in Derbyshire. He served as the personal physician to the Darcy, Bingley, and Fitzwilliam families when they were on the estates. He also attended the Royal Family when they were at Balmoral. Childless, Martha remained Lydia’s closest friend and had been active in lobbying both Cambridge and Oxford to establish women’s colleges.
With Lydia representing the last of the family, the orchestra began softly playing as Madelyn Darcy started to organize the dancing. Edward looked to Mary and reached out for the first dance, a waltz.
“I do love the waltz, Edward, it is elegant, but all of these other modern styles, the mazurka, gallop, and even the polka, seem so undignified. Maddie tells me that the orchestra plans a mixed program,” Mary opened.
“Yes, the country dances were so much more refined,” Edward commented back, “but there was a sort of forced formality. These newer steps exhibit a lot more joy.”
Mary quietly caressed his shoulder, glancing over it to see Jane spinning in Bingley’s arms.
Always such a handsome couple. Both have improved so much with age. Charles and Caroline stayed tall and slim unlike poor Louisa. And his ginger hair, though thinner still has that glint. Janie has aged beautifully as blonde women do—her hair a stunning white that the Duchess of Devonshire could have only hoped to attain with massive amounts of powder.
Edward looked down at her. “Are you excited, dearest? Sixty is such a milestone.”
“Millstone more like, Edward,” her lips curled upward in a happy smile, “but I do love my hairpins so. There is something about ebony that makes me feel totally steeped in Bennet family tradition when I wear it.”
Both realized that Mary’s birthday was a true gateway. In an age where even the well to do often passed away after their fiftieth birthdays, every year past sixty was a gift. Men like Darcy, Bingley, the Duke, and Richard were the exception. A passing like Elizabeth’s at forty-five was more common than rare. They held each other a little closer as they danced.
Throughout the early part of the evening, the crowd ebbed and flowed across the parquet floor that had hosted so many family events over the years. The doors had been thrown open to allow the cooler, garden-perfumed air of the early-blooming roses to flood the room. Revelers flowed in an out creating an undulating movement of color and light that swept back and forth across the room.
Maddie and Thomas called for dinner, telling the audience that the second half of the evening would follow a less traditional course as befit the guest of honor. All repaired to the other formal rooms, allowing the ballroom’s doors to be closed.
Chapter XLVII
After the dinner break, the guests returned to discover that the dance floor had been converted into concert-style seating with one of Herr Bösendorfer’s great pianos on a riser. The front two rows of seats were clearly reserved for the family. Thomas and Maddie held Mary and Edward back, so they could escort the couple in at the end. The four entered to resounding applause and a standing ovation. Even the Iron Duke struggled to his feet and was heard to utter “Hear-here” when Mary was introduced.
Once all were seated, Jane, Lydia, and Maddie stood at the front. Jane spoke for the group, “Here we are, family and friends, gathered once again. The longer we go, the smaller the room seems. It seems incredible how far our roots and branches reach. The Bennet-Darcy-Bingley-Fitzwilliam-Gardiner clan stretches from Australia to South Africa, from America to Aberdeen with very special enclaves in Hertfordshire, Kent, and Derbyshire.
“Tonight, we honor our beloved Mary as she reaches her sixtieth year. You may know her as sister, mother, aunt, or friend. What we all know her to be is loyal and the single most caring woman who walks the earth. Others know that her attention can take the form of tough love. If Mary Benton believes in something, she will fight tirelessly to see it accomplished.
“Or need I remind some of our noble friends of her crusades for equal rights for all men…and women…be they gentle or common.
“Mary Benton comes from a place in her soul that few of us will ever find. Ask her dear friend Bishop Newman about their debates over Roman and Anglican dogma. Ask her husband why the spare room at their space in Windsor is always made up. It is so that if a soul needs a roof or a meal, they will have a place to lay their heads and fill their stomachs even if that spot is to be found in the castle of the Queen!
“When she picks up her scripture, it is not to hit someone with the book, but to give them the solace and peace which she believes can only be found in the Word.
“Mary, I know we are missing two of our five. But, I am sure they are looking down with smiles as they remember the days when we played in the garden behind Longbourn, tormented Sir William by running through his garden patch, and marched like Napoleon into the shops of Meryton.” Jane stopped here as she choked on the tears that began to run down her face. Lydia stepped forward.
“Sister…I know that I have driven you to distraction at times. And, really, I cannot imagine how you bore up under some of my antics. But, Mary Amelia, be aware that I have loved you every day of my life…and I know that you never stopped loving me. You were always the rock to which I could return. Even Lizzy knew that. She told me that I only needed to watch you to understand how to be in this world.
“I may not have been the best at keeping secrets, but I think we—Maddie and I—have managed to hide the next things away from you. So, Mary, sit back and enjoy: here is our birthday present to you.” The three women stepped down from the dais. Mary reached over and took Edward’s hand in hers as they focused on the piano.
A tall and willowy grey-haired lady dressed in a throwback style that eschewed petticoats entered from a side door and strode to the stage. Whispers cascaded around the room. “Georgiana Darcy!” “It is Madame Darcy herself, here!” “I thought she was committed to a season in Vienna with Herr Schumann!” “She and Madame Schumann are supposed to play duets for the Emperor himself!” The crowd began to clap and cheer as one of the great pianists of the age reached the noble instrument. She placed a long-fingered hand on it and curtseyed. Then she seated herself and kicked off her slippers leaving her barefoot.
Georgiana looked out over the gathering. Speaking English in a voice which betrayed a slight cross-Channel back tone, she addressed them, “Well, Mary, my old pianoforte mate. T’is a long road from Longbourn to London, is it not? Remember when we, as girls, would alternately soothe and aggravate my serious brother with our stylings?
“Oh, Fitzwilliam, I do hope you will not begrudge me my little teases, no? And before you start muttering propriety…propriety, I will tell you that Kings and Queens, Princes and Emperors have seen my toes.” She wriggled them playfully under the piano. “The world will not end if a nine-and-fifty-year-old spinster bares her feet. That is how I play, brother.” The audience laughed as one. Darcy smiled at his little sister and bowed from his seat in the front row.
Georgiana continued, “Well, on to why I am here tonight. My sister Lydia and my niece Madelyn conspired to give Mary a special gift. About forty years ago, I came upon her fiddling with a composition that sounded like nothing I had ever heard before. A piece of music, you see, comes to me like a painting would have to Mr. Turner or Mr. Constable. I can see the world in which it was created. I can smell it, touch it, live in it.
“This music, though, I could never grasp—at least not for years. I would hear Mary tinkering with it in Kympton or York or even here at Darcy House when she, Edward, and the children would visit. You could hear her gradually finding its heart. Phrases and sections were less disjointed. The picture became clearer as I listened.
“Mary would always hide the score when I came in, but about twenty years ago when she was
marching off on some cause—living conditions for factory workers, I think—I committed a sin for which I must now humbly beg your forgiveness, Mary. I snuck into your room and took the sheet music from your wardrobe. I had noticed you putting it in there once. I copied the music and returned the originals.
“Even with the score in front of me, I could not grasp it. That is until I took the train into London from Bournemouth. The movement of the cars, the noise of the passage over the tracks from countryside into city brought it all home to me. This was the music of our industrial age![lxxxii] I could hear the roar of furnaces; the pounding of hammers; the bustle of people in the streets; the sounds of shuttles and looms and factories!
“It lived for me. And, so, my darling sister, I pray it will live for you. This is our gift to you. Your Rhapsody.”
Georgie turned to the keyboard and bowed her head. Then she lowered her hands to the keys. The two slow “F” notes below middle C led into the seventeen-note upward scale, her digits lightly tripping and floating as they flew 1/32nd note at a time. By the time she hit the trills at the end of the sixth bar, the audience realized they were experiencing something yet to be heard anywhere in any concert hall.
For the next twelve minutes, they sat at the edge of their seats as Georgiana’s hands wove a spell that would not be cast for another seventy years.
The ascending chords of the last two bars faded and echoed over the heads of Britain’s elites. What they had just heard and seen was a woman from the 18th Century play the music of a world that was only just coming into focus.
Mary exhaled as the Rhapsody ended. Hearing Georgie play it as a unified whole cast it into stark relief for her. This was what Kitty had wanted her to hear. This is why she left Monsieur Ravel’s portfolio. This was the future. T’was a world of life, of vitality, of excitement and, it seemed, violent emotion.
Dropping Edward’s hand, Mary rushed to her friend’s side and enveloped her in a great hug. The applause washed over the two women.
“Oh, Georgie, how could I ever censure you for being a burglar? This theft has given me the greatest gift. Just as you understand the Rhapsody, now so too, do I. I never knew. Oh, thank you, thank you.”
Georgiana wiped her eyes and whispered, “Music like this is meant to transport you dear Mary. I hope this gives you the courage to do what you may have to do without fear. Families are like sieves, darling sister. Lizzy told me that you are the Keeper of a great secret. I will not press you but seeing the name at the top of this score confirms her trust in me—and you. Remember that I will always be in Deauville if you should ever choose to talk about Monsieur Gershwin.”
Chapter XLVIII
The guests were surprised when they observed several burly footmen enter and remove the piano, replacing it with a rather grand armchair. Georgiana sat next to Darcy wearing a knowing smile. Maddie and Thomas stood expectantly at the front of the room. The crowd, wondering what was next, conversed with one-another in a low murmur.
The great doors opened once again and a chamberlain in full court regalia entered and slammed his staff three times on the floor. That clamped every lip.
“Her Majesty, The Queen, and His Royal Highness, The Prince Consort!” he called.
The entire audience rose and turned to face the door.
Victoria and Albert entered and began a slow stroll down the center aisle. When she reached where the Duke stood with his head bowed, the three-and-thirty-year-old monarch stopped and softly addressed Britain’s greatest hero. He nodded his thanks and she continued her procession. Reaching the front of the room, she accepted the deep curtsey of Madelyn Johnson and the bow of Thomas. The Prince then handed his wife up to the throne. Once she had seated herself, the audience sat. Victoria spoke.
“Normally we do not engage in a lot of this sort of courtly folderol. However, this is an occasion of some significance. We are here to celebrate the birthday of our country’s social conscience. Now, I must also note that we have come here to honor our friend, for the wife of our Chaplain has become a valued confidant to us.
“Her example as mother to her two children, Rory and Bridget, and grandmother to their children has been quite useful to us with our seven little ones. Her counsel as a woman offered to another woman has given us a perspective that might otherwise be colored by political considerations. Mrs. Benton offers calmness and strength where others revel in flightiness.
“Her trust in the goodness of the Lord not only does her credit but also is a beacon to those of us when we are in times of trial and question. She and Canon Benton are well matched.
“Would that we had the power to honor her more than speaking as we are now. If she were a man, we could style her an Earl or offer up a knighthood. Perhaps future monarchs of this mighty nation will be able to recognize great women such as Mrs. Benton.
“While we cannot elevate you to the title you so richly deserve, we can assure you of your place in British history. Already your name is spoken synonymously with causes like prison and education reform, abolition, and voting rights. After consulting with many of our advisors, we have decided that another way your posterity will be secured will be through an endowed chair at Balliol College, Oxford. To be known as “The Marian Chair of Social History,” its fellows will examine the social changes wrought in our nation by this new era spoken of as “The Industrial Revolution.”
“Now, speaking as a woman and a mother and not as a Queen, I offer you this gilt broch, a miniature of my profile, as an emblem of the value with which I treasure your companionship in my daily life. Thank you, Mrs. Benton and best wishes, on your Birthday.”
Mary approached and curtseyed to receive the jewelry from the Queen’s hand. She quietly thanked her and curtseyed again before returning to her station beside Edward.
The Queen looked up again. “There is one other piece of unerledigte Aufgabe as our dear husband would say, unfinished business.” She looked directly at Darcy.
“Our Prime Ministers have been telling us that one man has refused every honor ever offered to him. Whether he believed it to be unseemly or to appear grasping for place and position, we do not know.
“What we do know is that he richly deserves the recognition of a grateful nation. As that nation’s monarch, it is our responsibility to take that popular will and execute it in a tangible manner.
“Now, the Prince has suggested to us that our uncles never found the right formula to convince him to accept. However, His Royal Highness thinks, and we agree, that this man is too much of a gentleman to refuse a lady when she suggests something. So,
“Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, please rise and approach us.” Once the silver-maned six-footer stood in front of his Queen, she spoke again.
“We remember the support your beloved wife Elizabeth gave us when we were the Princess of Wales during the Thirties. We deeply regret not having been able to enjoy her friendship for longer. Her presence and wit have been sorely missed at Court.
“Your loss was deeply personal. We believe that the loss to all our people when Mrs. Darcy passed away was also profound. Like her surviving sisters, she made the blood of England redder and richer.
“Yet, we also recollect how important Pemberley has been as an anchor to Derbyshire. The nature of the country is changing. You and, we imagine, your wife, amongst all the great landowners recognized and embraced the significant alterations that industrialization has brought. Your efforts to make the lot of your tenants and employees better and more congenial have not gone unnoticed.
“That our great nation has not suffered the revolutionary trials of 1830 and 1848 is, we believe, testament to your progressive views. Your wisdom is something we would hope to utilize over the coming years.
“As such, we have decided to name you, Fitzwilliam George Darcy, a Knight of the Garter and Privy Counselor.” Darcy’s expression remained its usual inscrutable self. But, when the footmen brought out a prie dieu and placed it in front of him, he bowed his head in a sign of gracious
defeat. Then he knelt.
“Lord Matlock, may I borrow your sword?” Richard hastily unbuckled his belt and walked up to the Queen. Placing the scabbard on his left arm, he extended the hilt for Her Majesty to pull the blade. She did so and tapped Darcy’s shoulders.
“Rise Sir Fitzwilliam, Knight of the Garter. Thank you for allowing us to honor you so. We anticipate hearing your thoughts on matters of State. Thank you, Lord Matlock, for the use of your blade. I will keep it for a moment.
“Our last order of business is to ask George William Darcy to approach.
“George William Darcy, our uncles and grandfather all sought to ennoble your family with no success. Your grandfather and father all refused…graciously, I admit…but refused. We will brook no more demurrals from the Darcy family. Three centuries are long enough. Please kneel before your Queen.
“George William Darcy, we choose to name you First Earl of Pemberley and your first-born successors either male or female will enjoy all the rights and privileges due to our Earls and Countesses. Rise Lord Pemberley.”
After that, the rest of Mary’s birthday was anti-climax.
Chapter XLIX
Matlock House, London, February 11, 1856
She felt as though she was drowning. Every breath she struggled to pull in felt as though she was sipping it through a straw. Fluid gurgled in her lungs and a great weight pressed against her chest. Her will to live, though, was too strong. She refused to stop trying to breathe. Her body cried out for air. The effort was so great she kept her eyes screwed shut.
So this is how death comes. They call pneumonia the old man’s friend. Rubbish! It is no friend. It is vicious, mean, and torture.