Mary Bennet of Meryton Read online

  Mary Bennett of Meryton

  "Now that your sisters are safely married," said Mrs Bennett to her third daughter, " we must see what we can do for you, Mary. “At least your figure is neat, and you are tall enough so that you can always be seen. How unlucky that you are not near so handsome as Jane or Elizabeth!"

  "That is hardly my fault, Mamma!" said Mary resentfully. Mrs Bennett ignored her.

  "And you are not such good company as Lydia or Kitty. You creep about the house with a long face that quite gives me a headache!"

  "For myself, I am pleased that Mary does move quietly," interposed Mr Bennett, from his chair near the parlor fire. "Lydia and Kitty slammed doors, and laughed and shouted all day, so that I never had a moment's peace. Mary is a much more tranquil companion."

  Mary smiled at him gratefully, but her mother was not pleased.

  "If I could spend all my day reading, Mr Bennett, I am sure I would like peace as much as you! But I have no time for that. I have so many duties - directing the servants, choosing clothes for myself and Mary, making and receiving calls, and planning the dinners we must give. I must have bright company to stir me!"

  Mr Bennett never argued with his wife, though he never changed his opinions to match hers. Now he turned to his daughter.

  "Well, Mary, if you would please both your parents, your future path is clear. Near my library, you shall creep about in slippers, and make no sounds. In the rest of the house, you must be as noisy and violent as possible, to prevent your mother dropping asleep in her chair!"

  His speech did little to cheer either of his listeners. Mrs Bennett cried out that she would never sleep while there was work to be done - a fiction that amused her husband. Mary had deeper reasons for disquiet. Her father's words had described her whole future life. She would be the sole companion of her parents, required to put their needs above her own. She retreated to her own room, and came nearer to slamming the door than she had ever done before.

  Mary's room was the smallest in the house, with just enough space to accomodate her bed and closet, a small desk and an easy chair long considered too shabby for the parlour. She had occupied it alone for many years. Her older sisters, both pretty and clever, had shared many interests, and it was natural that they had shared a bedchamber. Lydia and Kitty, the two younger sisters, had also shared a room, which was filled with the dresses, hats and other toys over which they had laughed and argued every day. So it was natural that Mary, the different one, had been allowed to sleep alone.

  She loved the little room, where she had been safe, both from comparisons with her older sisters, and teasing from her spiteful younger ones. Now she sat in her chair, a shawl wrapped around her feet, and another around her shoulders against the chill of the evening. By the light of her candle, she considered her future.

  "It's not fair!" she decided. "They expect me to spend the rest of my life here at Longbourn, creeping around so that I will not disturb Papa, or entertaining my mother! Am I to have no life of my own?"

  Bitterly she looked around the tiny room.

  "All my life I have been neglected. Because Lizzie and Jane were so pretty, no young man would ever so much as cast a glance in my direction. And Lydia and Kitty were so rowdy and common that they made me ashamed to be seen in company with them. But now it should be my turn to have some pleasures."

  "The future will be different!' she decided. "I shall make Mamma buy me all the ribbons and bonnets that she used to buy for Lydia. And I shall make her take me to all the Assemblies at York. I shall get more partners without my sisters in the room. And I will have new dresses, like the ones that Lizzie used to wear. Yes, it is my turn now!"

  "I am determined that I will not be left behind at Longbourn!" Mary repeated, as she blew out her candle. "Mamma shall not have me as her companion for life!"

  The very next day, Mary began to put her plan into action. She found a willing accomplice in Maria Lucas, who found it great fun to transform her staid friend Mary into a frivolous fashionable young lady like herself. Together the two girls would walk to Meryton, to stroll the street, examining the clothes of every woman they met, admiring those they would like to copy. They inspected all the bonnets on display at the milliner's, then retired to the parlour of Mrs Phillips, Mary's aunt, to discuss the looks of all the young men passing on the street below.

  They began to read novels from the circulating library, and shiver delightedly over the perils confronting the helpless heroine locked up in a gloomy castle with her evil guardian.

  Mrs Bennett was delighted with the change in Mary. She had never been comfortable wih a studious priggish daughter who censored everything around her. The new Mary had thrown away all her serious books, and seemed to find new ways of wasting time every day.

  Mr Bennett was less pleased.

  "Where are you going today?" he asked one morning. Standing near the front door, tying a new straw bonnett over her curls, Mary answered him carelessly.

  "I am visiting Maria Lucas. Her brother Thomas has a young man from London visiting him, and we mean to walk together to my aunt's, to play at cards, and see who else is visiting in Meryton."

  His face grew grave.

  "Can you find no more rewarding use of your time? Maria Lucas is a silly chit of a girl, and Thomas Lucas is a thoughtless idle man who drinks far too much wine. Not very long ago, you would have been very critical of them both. What has caused this change in you?"

  Mary flushed.

  "I mean to enjoy myself as much as my sisters have done. You did not prevent them, so you should not prevent me now!"

  Mr Bennett shook his head.

  "Take care that your enjoyment does not lead you into the sort of mischief and pain that has trapped your sister Lydia. If I see you in that type of danger, you can be assured that I will prevent you continuing!"

  Mary turned away.

  "I shall take care of that, Papa. When I find a rich young man, I mean to marry him so fast, there will be no time for me to be in any danger! But my friends will abuse me for being late. I must go now." She set off across the garden, oblivious of the anxious way her father watched her departure.

  Mr Thomas Lucas's friend did not pass inspection by either Maria or Mary, and he was allowed to return to London. But a new resident of the town was considerably more interesting to them both.

  Dr Charles Watson had been rector of Meryton for several years past. With his pretty wife and several growing children, he lived in a large cottage quite near the church. But the increasing illhealth of his wife now caused Dr Watson to seek assistance with his responsibilities. The congregation heard that a Mr Potter would soon arrive to take up the position of Curate.

  The news caused considerable excitement among the young ladies of the district. For Mr Potter was both young and unmarried. Without breathing a word to each other, both Maria and Mary determined to make a conquest of this interesting young man. From the time of his arrival, they changed the route of their daily walks to take them past his lodgings. What could be more likely than that Mr Potter would decide to take his own exercise at the same time, and in the same direction, as these two bright young ladies?

  So indeed it proved. Whenever their steps took them through the village, he overtook them, and joined their exercise. Maria Lucas talked of her sister Charlotte Collins at the parsonage at Huntsford, and her father’s estate. Mary described the joys of having two older sisters married, to rich men like Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley. When Mr Potter spoke, it was to tell them of the rich people whose patronage had provided for his education, and the fine houses he was used to visiting. How Mary longed to visit the fine houses he spoke of, and to meet his rich patrons and their friends!.

  It was obvious that
he considered the houses around Meryton rather poor. But the girls were flattered to find that he considered both Lucas Lodge and Longbourn rather better than the other houses in the neighbourhood. He gave fulsome compliments to Mrs Bennett on the excellence of her dinners, and to Lady Lucas on the furnishings of her parlour.

  During the first weeks of their acquaintance, neither Mary nor Maria could be confident that she alone was the object of Mr Potter’s interest. Every week, he escorted the young ladies to Lucas Lodge, and then returned to Meryton. But there came a time when, after Maria had entered Lucas Lodge, he continued on, to escort Mary to Longbourn. The first time this happened, she was careful not to lift her hopes, and set it down to mere good manners. But after the third time, she began to hope that more was intended. Perhaps Mr Potter would be her escape from the destiny of the family spinster, left at home to tend her parents' final years. She began to dream of a future as mistress of a parsonage somewhere beyond Meryton.

  Mr Potter continued to seek Mary’s company for several weeks. She had to endure sly remarks from Maria, who was by no means impressed by Mr Potter - at least so she gave Mary to understand. She commented on the thick soles of his boots, and the livid pimples that would regularly burst out on his pale cheeks. But Mary would not join her in criticising him. Her thoughts were concentrated on his rich friends and rosy future.

  At first, Mrs Bennett barely noticed his more frequent visits, which she put down to his increasing friendship with Mary’s father. Mr Bennett, with a sly smile, began to complain when his library was used to entertain guests instead of for reading. But Mary believed that he was pleased at the prospect of her happiness.

  At length, even Mrs Bennett became aware of the whispers of neighbours like the Lucases. Mrs Phillips even asked about her wedding plans for Mary. Then she could not flatter Mr Potter enough, admiring his taste in clothes, his figure, and his manner in sermonising, in equal parts. For herself, apart from the pimples which so offended Maria, Mary was reasonably happy. He was not a clever man, but Mary thought his intellect was not beyond improving. She had grown tired of listening to his stories of his rich patrons, and she wished he would complain a little less about the meals his landlady provided. But all that would change when they married.

  So matters stood on a fine Saturday afternoon, when the three friends returned from strolling in the countryside. When they left Maria at Lucas Lodge, Mr Potter walked on with Mary. But when they were shielded from view by the trees in the lane, he spoke.

  “Miss Bennett,” he said, earnestly. “Miss Bennett, I cannot go on in this fashion,”

  Mary’s heart began beating fast, and her cheeks burned. She fixed her eyes on the buttons of her gloves. She could not find words to answer him.

  “Miss Bennett, there is a question I particularly wish to ask you.”

  “There is?”

  "Miss Bennett -- Mary-- my future happiness depends on the answer you will give to this question. Will you look at me?”

  She did look up. She saw his glowing, eager face. She could no longer doubt his purpose.

  “Sir,” she said softly, “you know you should not approach me with this question. You must ask it of my father.”

  “But if he agrees, will you permit me to be happy?”

  For a moment, she did not know how to answer. At length, she found her voice.

  “I would never wish to blight the happiness of any person, especially not that of a friend as dear as yourself.”

  “I am satisfied,” he declared, beaming. “Let us return to Longbourn at once, so that I may speak to your father!”

  They walked on, with Mr Potter talking proudly of the new position he had been offered in the village of Bilton, and Mary glowing with a mixture of excitement and satisfaction. But Mr Bennett was not at home when they arrived. They went instead to the parlour, where Mrs Phillips was visiting her sister.

  Mrs Bennett was indulging in fit of rage, alternately weeping and talking loudly, making no attempt to restrain her emotions in front of her visitors.

  “Oh Mary, thank goodness you are come!” she wept as she threw herself into Mary’s arms. “Your father is so cruel there is no bearing it! “

  Mary attempted to quieten her. She saw Mr Potter fidget uncomfortably.

  “Whatever is the matter, Mamma?”

  “A letter has come from Lydia. Wickham has gone off and left the poor child. And she only two months from her confinement! Of course, I told her father that Lydia must come home at once. But he will have none of it!”

  She began to wail again. A glance showed Mary that Mr Potter was alarmed, retreating.

  “Mamma, I am sure you make too much of this. My father will never desert his daughter so!”

  “Little you know about it, Miss,” Mrs Bennett said angrily. “He has gone out to send an express, to tell her that she may not come here, that since she chose to run off with Wickham, she deserves her fate! Oh, how shall I bear it?”

  Mr Potter was now definitely alarmed.

  “Mamma please,” Mary begged, “remember we are not alone!”

  “What do I care for that?” she demanded. “My sister Phillips knows all the pain I have borne in the past. And if Mr Potter desires to join this family, he had as best learn its history now as in the future!”

  “Mamma!”

  But it was too late. When Mary turned to Mr Potter, he would not meet her eyes. He bowed quickly, murmured something about “his apologies”, then almost fled from the room.

  Mary saw him go with dismay. He would soon extract the full story of Lydia’s disgrace from some of the neighbours. After that, he would not come visiting either Mary or her father. Mary was almost too angry for speech.

  "Mamma! How could you speak so!" She beat her hands together in frustration. "Now see he has gone! I will never see him again!"

  She fled from the parlour, and stumbled up the stairs to fling herself into a chair. Through her own sobs, she heard her mother’s persistent wailing. She closed her ears. Let Mrs Bennett look after herself for once, or depend on Mrs Phillips and the housemaids to wait upon her! Mary knew Mrs Phillips would whisper the story of the afternoon’s events to all their acquaintances. She was overwhelmed with anger and mortification.

  Mr Bennett come home to dinner in a quiet house. Mrs Bennett remained in her room, and Mary too would have preferred solitude. But when her father sent for her, she joined him in the dining room, though she could not eat. He seemed not to notice her pale face and red rimmed eyes.

  “Well, Mary, and so Wickham has deserted your sister,” Mr Bennett said. “Here is the best outcome that could be hoped of such a marriage.”

  “Is there nothing that can be done?” she asked, with her eyes on the glass of water in her hand.

  “Your Uncle Gardiner will see her into shelter until she is confined. We will see that she comes to no harm. But I will not have her back in this house, to damage your reputation and prospects.”

  At that Mary raised her head, and met his eyes.

  “You are already too late to prevent that, sir!” Mary told him hopelessly.

  “How is this?” he demanded. Mary looked back at the glass, turned it slowly between her fingers, while tears ran slowly down her cheeks.

  “Mr Potter returned to the house with me this afternoon. He had hoped to speak with you -- to ask your permission to ----.” Her voice cracked, she could not finish the sentence. “But instead he heard my mother’s... lamentations. He could not wait to escape from the house. I do not expect to see him here again, for I am sure he congratulates himself on his freedom.” She set the glass down.

  Her father slammed his hand on the table, so that the glass jumped and tilted. Water poured across the tablecloth. Mary watched it reach the edge of the table, and drip slowly onto the carpet below.

  “Are we never to be free of the harm that Lydia has caused?" His voice rose. "Must this family for ever bear the consequences of the pain she brought on herself?”

  He jum
ped up, and strode between the door and window. At last he stopped behind Mary’s chair, and laid a hand on her shoulder. She felt the trembling of his fingers.

  “Poor Mary,” he said, his voice soft and shaken, “that you should lose your first chance of marriage through this. That you, the most innocent and unworldly of all your sisters, should be the one to pay the highest price for your sister’s folly.” He went to lean against the mantelpiece, while she tried to control her tears.

  “I could tell you,” he said as he gazed into the fireplace, “ that any man who would be deterred by the news of your sister’s disgrace, is not worth regretting. But that would be little comfort to you now. I know of no way to soften your grief.”

  Mary did not speak.

  “We will suffer together, you and I,” he said, as he turned to face his daughter. “I with my knowledge that all of this is due to my lack of control over Lydia in her childhood. You with the knowledge that you are entirely blameless. I wonder whose pain will be the greater?”

  The weeks that followed were certainly filled with pain for Mary. She saw no more of Mr Potter, although, trying to behave as if nothing had happened, she continued her daily walks with Maria Lucas. But Maria took care to let Mary know that Mr Potter was now a frequent visitor to Lucas Lodge. Maria no longer mentioned the thick soles of his boots, or his livid pimples. Mary began to suspect that a few hours had been sufficient for him to transfer his attachment from one young lady to her friend, and that Maria was encouraging his visits. She developed serious doubts of the strength of the love Maria professed for her dear friend Mary.

  Thus it was that she was not entirely surprised when Lady Lucas came to pay a visit to Longbourn. Mrs Bennett and Mary received her in the parlour, and the ladies drank tea together. But after talking on unimportant topics for some time, Lady Lucas eventually broached the true purpose of her visit. She gave them the news of Mr Potter's betrothal to her daughter Maria.

  Mrs Bennett regarded her spitefully.

  "I am sure that I congratulate Maria on her betrothal," she said. "But we found the young man very rude and inconsiderate. Seven times he was invited to dine at Longbourn, and he congratulated me on the fine food my cook prepares! Now he hardly bows if we pass in the street! I should have thought Maria would have chosen a better-mannered young man!"