A Most Affectionate Mother

by Maria Grace

  “There is a great deal to be said for a quiet country existence.” Papa leaned back and pressed his elbows into the padded arms of his wingchair. “But one does feel the limits, at times, like the lack of a proper library?” He cocked his head and lifted his eyebrow.

  “Indeed, that is a bit of civilization that we sorely miss.” Mr. Johnstone chanced a quick glance at Mary.

  “I could not agree more.” Mama folded her hands in her lap. “It is such an agreeable place for young people to be able to enjoy company. I think the officers of the militia spent many an hour there when they were stationed with us.”

  Mary covered her eyes with her hand and squeezed her temples. No, she would not comment to that remark. There was no good in it. No, none at all.

  “Indeed they did!” Kitty brought her hands together just short of a clap. “They were so handsome in their uniforms. They made Clarke’s ever so much more interesting. I am sure you agree, Mary.”

  Hill arrived with the news that dinner was ready. Was it wrong to be relieved that particular line of discussion was at an end? Mama ushered them to the dining room.

  For all her other foibles, Mama did set an excellent table and dining room to match. Flowers, mirrors, and crystal all combined to create an atmosphere of comfortable warmth and ease. She could make the room formal when the occasion demanded it, but today, it was cozy and encouraging of conversation.

  Mama announced the dishes, and Hill brought around plates of soup. Cauliflower. Made from the leftovers of the vegetable from dinner last night. It was good household management and made for a tasty dish but was not the sort of thing one mentioned in front of guests.

  “So what did you think of Clarke’s Library?” Kitty asked, smoothing her napkin over her lap.

  Mary winced. Apparently that topic was not concluded.

  To his credit, Mr. Johnstone did not even blink. “I think it is a well-stocked establishment and a pleasant one. I can see why many enjoy spending time there.”

  “When the militia was in Meryton, we went there regularly to see the officers and play cards with them. We all found it most agreeable.” Kitty seemed so pleased with herself.

  Mr. Johnstone paused as though at a loss for words.

  Kitty could have that effect on sensible people.

  “Of course, you did, why should you not? Their presence added so much to the appeal of the place. It is a well-known fact that a library cannot survive on books alone. It must have some other form of attraction to bring patrons in to spend their coin. How sad it is that the militia had to move on to Brighton to continue with their training and things. We all miss their company sorely. My youngest daughter, you know, married one of their officers.”

  The creases beside Mr. Johnston’s eyes tightened. “I had heard something of that nature.”

  No doubt he had heard a great deal from Lady Lucas on the matter. She was known to bring it up whenever she could. Charlotte’s successes were all the brighter when compared to a story like Lydia’s.

  “It is a lovely thing to have three daughters married, all in one year, you know. We are blessed.” Mama flashed a smile at Papa who kept his expression quite neutral.

  “So it would appear, madam. My younger sister is unmarried and is a constant source of concern to my mother.” Mr. Johnstone sipped his wine, perhaps basking in his cleverness in changing the topic.

  “Does your sister live with you?”

  “No, my mother is gracious enough to keep house for me. My sister divides her time between my elder brothers’ homes. The eldest holds the estate in Sussex. My second brother is a barrister in London.”

  Mama clasped her hands before her. “Oh, a barrister! That seems like rather a smart career, especially as it keeps him in town.”

  “He finds it quite agreeable. It appears to suit his temperament well.” Mr. Johnstone pushed a piece of mutton around his plate. What was it about his brother that made him do that?

  “And you find the clergy suits yours?” Papa dabbed a drop of soup from his chin with his napkin.

  The question seemed to cheer him. “I do, sir. I have been accused more than once of being a bookish sort. It seems a proclivity to study is socially acceptable when one is a clergyman.”

  “Oh, that does sound disagreeable, to be constantly stuck in a room with books.” Kitty sniffed.

  To her credit, Mama glowered at Kitty. Mr. Johnstone sneaked a long-suffering look toward Mary. Good, he was not offended; instead, he seemed amused. Kitty’s attitudes were really not worth taking offense at.

  “I enjoy scholarship, Miss Kitty. I am looking forward to moving ahead with a plan to start taking in some boys to teach.”

  “You wish to start a school?” Kitty shuddered. “To have strange children running about underfoot and no governess to mind them? I think it sounds rather dreadful.” Her expression suggested she felt it was a great deal more than “rather dreadful.”

  “But the privilege of shaping young minds that will then in turn have the chance to profoundly impact those around them. What greater influence could a common person have in the world?” The words tumbled out before Mary could stop them.

  “I quite agree with you, Miss Bennet.”

  They locked gazes, but the intensity of the connection was too much to maintain for more than a few seconds.

  “I understand there is a particular library book in Mr. Bennet’s possession that you are using in your endeavors?” Mama’s eyebrows lifted a little conspiratorially.

  “Mary has that one rented out from the library, not I.” Papa shrugged over a large bite of potatoes.

  “I know she has made it most inconvenient to you, insisting she has first use of the tome every morning.” Mama snorted. “I do not see why you cannot use it together. I am sure she would benefit from your insight and wisdom as she studies. With all your learning, I am certain you could be of great assistance to her.”

  And there it was. Leave it to Mama; she could always find a way to meddle. No matter what, that was assured. Mary ground her teeth until they ached. There was absolutely nothing she could say right now that would be profitable. Nothing.

  Mr. Johnstone’s blush appeared quite sincere. That was some comfort. “I thank you for the compliment, madam. I could not impose upon your daughter’s good graces so much. It is enough that she has agreed to share the book with me.”

  “Nonsense. I understand you are to leave in what, a week? You must be permitted as much time as you like with the material when you have so important a task before you.” Mama folded her hands on the table near her plate. The issue, at least in her mind, was settled. The only remaining question was how long it would take everyone else to agree.

  “No, madam. Pray, do not trouble yourself.” He lifted open hands above the table.

  “I insist. We will expect you here as early as you care to come. Mary will—” What an emphasis she placed on that word! “—be happy to share the book with you and to hear your wisdom on the subjects of which she writes to Charlotte.”

  Mary’s cheeks burned. How lovely it was to be talked about as though one were not in the room.

  Mr. Johnston turned to her. “I would not insist on imposing. How do you feel about this notion?”

  It was a nice gesture—very nice—on his part to be sure, but did he know that after Mama’s declaration, they had little choice? Since he did not really know Mama, there was no way that he would know. She gritted her teeth and willed a pleasant expression on her face. “I am sure it will be fine. At least, we can make the attempt.”

  He smiled tentatively, glancing from Mary to Mama. “Then I shall accept your invitation, and as Miss Bennet suggests, we shall try and see how it works.”

  “Excellent, excellent.” Mama settled into her seat like a hen on her nest and tucked into the generous slice of meat on her plate, so very satisfied.

  Mary held her breath lest she sigh. On the positive side, though, now they would have plenty of time for conversation. That might not
be entirely bad.

  As usual, Mary arose shortly after sunrise. The rose-colored beams streaming through her window would normally have elicited at least half an hour spent contemplating the sunrise. A surprising number of good ideas seemed available to one at sunrise. But no such luxury could be enjoyed today.

  No, today she looked forward—she grumbled under her breath—to entertaining a guest at an utterly uncouth hour, all at her mother’s behest. To his credit, Mr. Johnstone had done his best to excuse himself from the invitation—though upon reflection, Mama’s invitation was hardly polite enough to be called an invitation. It was a demand, pure and simple. And no one really ever got away from one of Mama’s demands.

  It would not be fair of her to hold it against him. Really, it would not. Yet, that was precisely what she most wanted to do. If he had not presented himself daily the prior week to study from her library book, Mama would never have gotten the idea. So in actuality, it was his fault.

  But, on the other hand, he could not have possibly known what it was like to give Mama an idea. No one who actually knew such things ever dared. The consequences were too dear. Mary really ought to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  She sighed and stared at her closet. Her favorite morning dress called to her. Soft and comfortable, without fuss or nearly any decoration, it was an easy and undemanding gown. That was what she wanted to wear. But no, if she appeared out of her room in that when a gentleman was to arrive, Mama would become positively unhinged. Though not nearly so comfortable, her walking dress would satisfy Mama and avoid the sort of scene Mary dreaded, so she reached for that.

  No sooner had she dressed and made her way down the stairs when a firm rap on the front door set her heart fluttering. She dashed into the parlor and sat at the tea table. He was a man of his word, but did he really have to be so punctual about it? Of course he did, for how else could he make himself vexing while appearing so proper?

  She smoothed her skirt over her knees. No, it was not a kind thought or even a fair one. Normally, she would not even have considered something so uncharitable. How out of sorts she was. She pressed her eyes with thumb and forefinger. Regardless of how improper it was to entertain company at this hour, it would behoove her to behave with civility. She adjusted her chair so the sunbeam would comfortably reach her book.

  Mrs. Hill opened the parlor door. “Mr. Johnstone, as expected, Miss.”

  Mary snickered under her breath. Hill was not happy about the irregular visitor either. Somehow that was satisfying.

  Mr. Johnstone bowed, morning dew still clinging to the lapels of his coat, and walked toward her. “Good morning, Miss Bennet. Pray forgive the earliness of my call. I thought perhaps your mother—”

  Mama burst into the room, beaming and effusive as she never was in the mornings. “Mr. Johnstone! How pleased we are to have you this morning. You are very welcome.”

  He bowed toward Mama, though something about the creases beside his eyes suggested that another, perhaps less gracious thought dwelt behind his pleasing countenance. “Your invitation has been most thoughtful, madam.”

  “We are immensely fond of guests here at Longbourn. Mary, especially, is so adept at hospitality.” Mama shot her a stern look.

  Mary tried not to chuckle. If Mr. Johnstone caught that expression, too—how appalled Mama would be, knowing her looks contradicted her words.

  “May I have some tea, or perhaps some coffee, or both, sent up to you?”

  “Do you have a preference, Miss Bennet?” he asked, turning his shoulder to Mama.

  That small attention seemed to please Mama.

  “In truth, I prefer chocolate in the morning.” It was true, but rather contrary to say so.

  “If that is not too much to ask, I do like a good cup of chocolate in the morning, too.” He braced his hands on the back of the chair next to her.

  Mama paused and blinked, mouth hanging ajar. That should not be nearly so satisfying as it was. “Why yes, certainly, did I fail to mention that? Bless my soul, I must have left that off entirely. Do forgive me. I cannot imagine what I was thinking. I am sure Cook has already started some chocolate.” Mama bustled out the door.

  Mary cocked her head at him and raised an eyebrow. “You really are fond of chocolate?”

  “In truth I am.” He almost winked and pulled the chair nearer the table. “So, may I ask, at which chapter are you in your study of A Moral Miscellany?”

  “The Natural History of Ants, sir. And you?”

  “It does not matter. I shall pick up where you are and return to the chapters I have missed at a later time.” He sat down beside her. “A Natural History of Ants, you say? I confess, I did not even notice that chapter.” He tapped the title on the page open before them.

  “You are not a fan of Natural History, sir?”

  “I am not a fan of ants, if I am to be entirely candid.” His neck twitched. “Do you have a great fondness for them?”

  It would be rather satisfying to say yes and watch the expression on his face. But even she could not manage to be quite that contrary, at least not this early in the day. “I cannot say that I do. But it seems our esteemed author has rather a fondness for them and for inflicting experiments upon them as well.”

  “I imagine he also wishes to make them an allegory for mankind as well?” His lips wrinkled in something less than approval.

  “It has been done before. Did not Aesop do so in his fables?”

  “One might argue that Aesop is far livelier reading than that.” He looked down at the book.

  She must not snicker, although it did not seem that he would mind. “You do not find the text engaging?”

  He caught her gaze and held it, hard. “Do you?”

  “There are portions of it that I find entirely engaging.”

  “I suppose, then, I asked the wrong question.” He propped his elbow on the table and looked directly at her. “Do you expect it will be useful for the purpose for which you are reading it?”

  She sighed, not that she meant to, but it was rather impossible to subdue it. “That I find rather more questionable.”

  “Indeed. I am not completely certain all that is within these covers would be entirely … ah ….”

  “Interesting? Understandable? Instructive?” She offered each option with a raised eyebrow. The words rolled off her tongue easily. She had been considering that same thought for quite some time. But Charlotte had been absolutely specific that no other book be considered for the purpose.

  “Yes, in all those cases. At my students’ age, I was rather more interested in fairy stories and myths than some of what is described here.” He thumbed the pages, letting them fall slowly under his fingers. “Some of these chapters are really quite beyond the understanding of the young, I think.”

  The pages fell open to the next chapter: Learning: A Proper Ingredient in the Education of a Woman of Quality of Fortune.

  Her eyes widened, and she stared at him. What was he about?

  “Have you read this chapter?” His voice sounded so innocent—too innocent.

  “Indeed I have. Many times to be honest.” She ducked her head, her face burning like a child caught in mischief.

  “And what was your opinion?”

  She pressed her lips. A politic answer would be difficult to achieve. “I would agree that it is not the sort of material one ought to be presenting to young children. It is beyond their understanding, I think.”

  “On that I would agree.” He lifted the book. “The text does espouse some rather surprising notions.” He cleared his throat and read, “‘There is another reason why those especially who are women of quality, should apply themselves to letters, namely, because their husbands are generally strangers to them. It is a great pity there should be no knowledge in a family.’ It seems he believes that a woman should have learning in case her husband does not.”

  What was he implying? Mary pressed the back of her hand to her lips and mumbled, “It is indeed an unusual
sentiment, sir.”

  “One I have heard very little of. And listen to this: ‘If we look into the histories of famous women, we find many eminent philosophers of this sex.… Learning and knowledge are perfections in us, not as we are men, but, as we are reasonable creatures, in which order of beings the female world is upon the same level with the male.’ What an incredibly bold statement he makes here.”

  She swallowed hard. “Indeed sir, he does.”

  “Have you written to your friend of it yet?”

  She looked away. Surely there was something worth looking at through the window—as long as she kept her eyes away from his it would be well. “No, I have not.”

  “Why might that be?”

  She rose and stalked away, her limbs unable to remain still another moment. “I do not believe her husband and master would find the concepts at all appealing. I rather think he would disagree quite strongly.” She turned her back on him, facing the far corner.

  There were few who would openly and readily agree it seemed. Even Papa, who enjoyed Elizabeth’s reading and occasionally approved of Mary’s bookishness, often muttered about the silliness of the female sex in general and how not one in a hundred could keep a sensible thought in her head.

  Heavy footsteps approached as a long shadow covered her. He stood close behind her, too close, far too close. “And you? What is your opinion?”

  “I hardly think my opinion matters.”

  “I think it does.” The words hung thick in the air, like mist over the morning fields.

  The audacity! To bait her like that, only for the opportunity to lecture why she was wrong. She whirled at him. “If you really must know, I find his position and proposal refreshing and sensible. To be considered rational and reasonable and as capable as a man is an exceptional notion, rarely heard in polite company. I think society at large would be better for it, and it is high time more of our learned folk would take time to consider the reasonability of the proposition. There, now you have heard me, so censor me as you will. I am not afraid of your rebuke.” Her heart slammed against her ribs, shaking her hands and leaving her short of breath.