A Most Affectionate Mother

by Maria Grace

  “Perhaps you and I have not read the same invitation, Mama. It does not seem she wants me as a guest but as some sort of governess for the students they have taken in.” One more demand placed upon her because, since she was unmarried, clearly she had nothing better to do with her time. Not even one-and-twenty and already people treated her as a spinster.

  “Yes, yes, I saw that, but it hardly signifies. What are a few children around the place?” Mama brushed the notion aside. “What matters is that it will put you in good stead to see and be seen by Mr. Johnstone. What is more, you will be able to show him how clever you are at managing a house and the children. What better way—”

  Yes, yes, to get herself a husband …. “Pray stop, Mama, just stop.” Mary stood and planted her hands hard on the table. “I hardly know what to think, or what I wish to do. I need time to consider—”

  Mama’s eyes bulged like an angry pug’s. “Why do you think there is any question? You will go to Hetherington as soon as you are packed and the carriage readied. There is no decision to be made.”

  Mary’s shoulders knotted. “Just like when you sent Jane out in the rain to visit Netherfield.”

  “You see how well that turned out for everyone. A most agreeable outcome. I do not understand why you would object.” Mama tossed her head and snorted.

  “She was dreadfully ill—can you not recognize how dangerous—” Mary clutched her forehead.

  “But she did get Mr. Bingley,” Kitty mumbled, picking at her fingernails.

  “I am not sending you out on horseback in the rain, child. Stop complaining. Your papa will see to the coach, and you will have an easy and pleasant journey. It should only take what, two hours to get there?”

  “But I do not know if I even want to go.” Mary pumped her fists at her sides.

  “You are going, and that is the final word on the matter. Now go upstairs and pack, or I will send Kitty and Hill to do it for you.” Mama pointed at the door.

  Mary planted her feet, trembling.

  Papa stood, sighing. “I suppose that is my cue to inform the groom of the plans. Come Mary, I will have your trunk brought down from the attic.” He extended a hand toward her.

  Just as well, another moment in the morning room and she would say something most untoward especially as Kitty was now muttering about wishing to accompany her.

  Papa tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and led her through the shadowy corridor toward the stairs. “Do not let your mother upset you. We all know she only wants to see the best for you.”

  “Should I not have some say in what that might look like?” Mary dragged her feet along the old carpet. Why was Papa taking such an interest in this?

  “Of course you should. But I think it would do you some good to spend time with your friends, out of the reach of your mother’s—”

  “Interference?”

  “Her concern for your welfare.”

  “Do you know the terms I have been invited for?” She handed him the missive.

  He stopped, adjusted his glasses, and read the letter. “Unruly children? Ah, I see your reluctance now. But tell me, how did you find the Gardiner children when last they visited?”

  She shrugged. “They were quite well behaved though a bit energetic at times.”

  “How did your mother describe them?”

  Mary paused, her jaw dropping slightly.

  “I believe her words were unruly and nigh on intolerable except for the efforts you girls made in reining them in. Or do I recall the matter incorrectly?” His eyebrows rose high over his glasses.

  “I think I enjoyed their visit so much that I did not remember Mama’s discomfort.”

  “Perhaps that is worth consideration.” He nudged her toward the stairs and turned toward the front door.

  She climbed the creaky stairs slowly, deliberately. There was, of course, no guarantee that Mrs. Johnstone’s tolerance—or rather intolerance—of childishness was the same as Mama’s, but it was not unreasonable to assume it might be.

  On the other hand, so much about this felt like one more demand placed upon her because she might have nothing better to do. Mr. Johnstone had shown her how sorely tired she was of that.

  But … Mama did have a point. It could put her in the way of Mr. Johnstone. And that … that was a pleasant possibility, indeed.

  At the worst, even if Miss Johnstone were delayed, it would be what, three weeks, perhaps a month, that Mrs. Johnstone would need her assistance? Truly, that was not so very long. And if she brought money for a stage coach ticket in case it truly was intolerable, it might be nice to be away from Longbourn for a few weeks.

  Mama would find it appalling if she had to ride the stagecoach back home, probably alone, without a servant to accompany her. But hopefully, it would not come to that. And if it did, she would deal with it when it happened.

  Mary trotted up the last few steps. She would need several aprons and a warm shawl….

  All told, it was a good thing Mary was able to pack quickly and act decisively even amidst Mama’s flurries and Kitty’s jealous whining. How she stomped around Mary’s room proclaiming that she should be allowed to go as well—after all, it was not proper for Mary to travel alone. Besides, it was not fair that she never got asked to go anywhere ….

  Mary dragged her hand down her face. The effort required not to respond to that latter remark should have earned her a knighthood. She patiently explained not once, but three times that since Kitty had never even met Mrs. Johnstone, she had little business imposing on the Johnstones with a visit. She might as well not have tried to be patient for all the good it produced.

  Kitty fell onto Mary’s bed in a paroxysm of tears. Not that any of them appeared to be real, to be sure. She stormed up and down the corridor outside their rooms, declaring the unfairness of life, especially her own.

  Lydia would have been impressed with the amount of chaos that ensued. Mama was on the verge of insisting that Kitty be allowed to go when Papa stepped in to announce the carriage was ready. He noted if there were any delay, the driver would not be able to return before dark tonight, and Mama’s plans to use the coach for calls tomorrow would be for naught.

  Had he intended to thwart Kitty and Mama, or had the timing been coincidental? With Papa, it was difficult to tell. But for now, she would assume he was trying to help her in his own peculiar sort of way. It felt better to think thusly.

  The carriage was loaded, and Papa handed her aboard, all without distracting Mama or Kitty as they comforted one another over Kitty’s loss.

  And no one seemed to notice.

  When Jane and Lizzy and Lydia had departed, there was great crying and flurries at how they would be missed. Even when Lizzy left to visit Charlotte, Mama had made the most of the opportunity to dote and be attentive to her departing daughter. In some ways, it was nice to avoid all that uncomfortable attention. But on the other hand, it was cold and lonely and sad.

  If she dwelt on her departure, she would put herself in such a state that she would be no fit company when she arrived at Ashlea Cottage, the vicarage at Hetherington Parish. Since Mrs. Johnstone’s disposition was uncertain at best, and there was no telling the true nature of the students, she needed all her faculties in proper order. Best set all that aside and concentrate on her destination.

  After several minutes of trial and error, she found the most comfortable spot in the carriage—on the far seat, near the right hand side glass, where she never got to sit when she rode with her family—and settled in for the duration. The leather that covered the lumpy squabs was cracked in places now, and the coach springs were definitely worn, but all in all, the luxury of space and quiet proved quite tolerable indeed.

  Ten miles of good road provided a surprisingly restful sort of journey. So much so, the driver’s call that they were approaching the cottage startled her from her repose. She leaned against the side wall and peeked through the side glass.

  Usually, the vicarage of a small country parish
was smallish and unpretentious. Draped in vines and roses, Ashlea Cottage was much larger than she had expected. Not pretentious, but certainly noticeable against the backdrop of green fields. There was something peaceful and sweet about the place, like the scent of roses in the sun; picturesque and serene.

  Four, no six boys, probably between the ages of eight and eleven, ran back and forth across the front of the house, screaming and laughing. At least for now, it was the happy sort of sound that good natured children made, not the shrill one that tended to accompany undesirable mischief. Odd, even they did not disturb the serenity of the scene; if anything, they added a touch of whimsy.

  Mrs. Johnstone trundled out of the house to meet the coach as it stopped near the front door. The apron tied tight around her middle was stained and limp. Even her mobcap looked tired. The lines in her face seemed deeper than before, and her sharp edges dulled.

  The boys ran toward her, circling around her as though she were an obstacle in their game of tag, not unlike the Gardiner boys did when absorbed in their games. She dodged and winced with each shout.

  “Miss Bennet! I am so glad you are come. Boys! Boys! Come around and meet my friend Miss Bennet. She will be staying with us. You are to listen to her and obey her.” She spoke the last few words with particular clarity and emphasis.

  “What is she, some sort of governess?” The tallest, probably the eldest boy, nearly Mary’s height, stopped in front of her and looked her straight in the eye.

  Her eldest nephew had tried the same tone with her … once.

  Mary folded her arms over her chest. “Young man, I will not be addressed in the third person when I am standing right in front of you. We have been introduced; you shall address your questions to me. I expect you to behave with proper respect and courtesy to all your elders.”

  He jerked back and blinked at her, a shock of unruly blond hair falling into sharp hazel eyes. “Why should I listen to you?”

  “Do you really want me to show you?” She planted her fists on her hips and glared at him.

  He opened his mouth, eyes fixed on hers. She narrowed hers just a mite and pulled her shoulders back. He drew a deep breath. She cocked her eyebrow high, allowing pronounced furrows to form on her forehead.

  He shrank back and bowed his head. “No, miss.”

  “Then go off and finish your game. I imagine dinner will be served soon. I expect you to be washed up and properly attired for your evening meal. If you are late, do not expect to be seated at all. Is that understood?” She looked at each youngster in turn. “At dinner you will tell me about yourself and your family so that I may get to know you better.”

  “Yes, miss.” Several of them gulped as they spoke.

  On the whole, they did not appear to be bad or unruly children. Just children with all the energy boys of that age usually possessed. “Off you go then.” She gestured a dismissal.

  The smallest boy, so blond his hair was nearly white with freckles coating his cheeks, lingered a moment and grabbed her around the knees. She patted his back gently, and he dashed off to catch up with his mates.

  “I have not gotten that child to speak three words together to me. I do not know how you managed that.” Mrs. Johnstone shook her head and clucked her tongue. “I knew it. I simply knew you would be able to take those boys in hand and set things to right.”

  Mary turned to watch the children playing. “I appreciate your invitation. I am curious, though, how you would come to that conclusion. Considering I have no young children in my home.”

  “Some things one just knows.” The wry, knowing smile she wore seemed to hide more than it revealed. “Pray, come inside. I will show you to your room.” She waved to the driver and spoke a little louder. “Your man can take your trunks up and rest a spell in the kitchen. I imagine the carriage will be wanted back at Longbourn yet tonight?”

  “That is my understanding.”

  “Tell the cook to set you up with a meal before you are off again.” Mrs. Johnstone turned back toward Mary. “Percy is in his bookroom, attending to a few matters of business. He says the boys need time to run about and gives them a free hour before dinner to do so.”

  “I am sure that makes evening lessons easier for them all.”

  Mrs. Johnstone shrugged. “If you say so. He is not the one who has to listen to the terrible racket they create.” She led Mary inside.

  The doorway was a touch short—not that it bothered Mary, but particularly on the left hand side, it might be a bit too low for Mr. Johnstone’s comfort. The rest of the house seemed to be equally off. All the walls seemed a bit off plumb, and none of the corners appeared perfectly square. Not so much as to call the structure’s soundness into question, but just enough that it had a rather fanciful quality about it. This was the sort of place fairy tales were set in—although it was silly and sentimental to think so.

  She peered down the dim hall. The staircase was barely wide enough that small pieces of furniture could be brought upstairs, but anything large would have been challenging at best. The stairs, though, were regular and even which was a good sign for Mrs. Johnstone’s health and welfare. The boys must make a terrible racket tearing up and down the staircase, though.

  A door she had not noticed before flung open, nearly into Mary’s face. She jumped back.

  “Mother, I was just thinking ….” Mr. Johnstone stumbled into the corridor and stopped short, staring.

  He looked surprised. Very, very surprised. Unexpectedly surprised. “Mother?”

  “Oh, did I fail to mention? I am sure I told you. I asked Miss Bennet to come.” She blinked up innocently.

  “As a matter of fact, you never mentioned it at all.”

  “I am such a goose. You know how my memory can be at my age.” She brushed away his concern with a flick of her hand.

  He frowned and tapped his foot. “You never forget anything, Mother.”

  “Do not exaggerate, Son.” Her voice took on the barest edge.

  “Unless it is convenient that you should.”

  “You are being rude.” Mrs. Johnstone crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot in time with his. “And forgetful.”

  It was never a good sign when any woman, particularly one’s mother, did that.

  He seemed undaunted. “And I have been uninformed. Do you not think it would have behooved both of us for you to at least inform me, if not consult me, as to your plans?”

  “This is not something one discusses in front of a guest.” She pointed into the open study door and stomped through. “Come, now.”

  Even Mary cringed at the order. They disappeared into the room.

  At least they were speaking in hushed tones that she could not make out. That was something. As awkward as this was, hearing it all would be much more so.

  A lonely hall chair, one that seemed positioned to say “we have hall chairs” rather than to be decorative or useful, beckoned to her. She sank into it since she had not actually been invited into the parlor or any other part of the house.

  Yes, that was silly and a technicality, but it felt less obtrusive sitting in the shadowy hall waiting for them, especially after the sort of greeting as Mr. Johnstone had offered. The carved wooden chair lacked any sort of upholstery, rendering it hard and uneasy. Moreover, it proved several inches too short for her to sit comfortably. The dark corridor all but whispered she was unwelcome.

  Was he really so surprised at her arrival? Every expression of his face suggested that he was. Totally and completely surprised. But why?

  Why would Mrs. Johnstone not have told him of her invitation? Heavens, why would she not have consulted with him first? It would only have been proper. Was she afraid that Mr. Johnstone would not have approved of Mary’s company?

  Her face grew cold, and a familiar knot tightened in her belly. Was it possible that he did not like her as much as she had thought?

  She swallowed a sour taste at the back of her tongue. Really, it would not be so surprising if that we
re the case. It seemed to happen often enough—people never liked her as much as they did the rest of her family. It was not as though she were like Jane or Lizzy or Lydia—she had never been the particularly likeable sort. People usually tolerated her but did not go out of their way to invite her, except as a necessary courtesy when they did not want to appear uncivil. Even Charlotte, who was ostensibly her friend, only acted truly friendly when she wanted a favor.

  Mary wrapped her hands around her waist and pulled them in tight. Was that what all this was about? It seemed Mrs. Johnstone was in need of a favor, and Mary was just the most convenient person to ask. The ruse of hospitality was only a means by which the favor might appear more civil to ask?

  It was not too late to leave now, for the coach was still here, and she could be back at home yet tonight. It would be awful to explain to Mama, but perhaps—yes, that was the best thing. It would not do to impose upon Mr. Johnstone. And she did not want to be imposed upon herself. She rose and dusted off her skirt. It should not be too difficult to find the kitchen ….

  The door flew open and slapped the wall behind it. Mrs. Johnstone led her son out. She appeared as though nothing untoward had happened. On the other hand, if anything, he appeared a little sheepish and a great deal uncomfortable and awkward.

  Mary looked away. She was right. He did not like her and was discomposed by her presence. She bit her lip and swallowed hard.

  “Pray, forgive me, Miss Bennet. I have been a little absentminded recently. Perhaps my mother is right. The children have addled my brain. I think I may have underestimated the demands of being a schoolmaster.” He rubbed his chin and glanced at his mother who elbowed him in the ribs. “She was so kind as to show me in my own journal this was the day she had expected you to arrive. The mistake is entirely mine. I am most heartily sorry. The boys have provided me so many surprises in the last fortnight. I fear that I am not responding well to the unexpected.” He bowed from the shoulders.

  She studied him. He was decidedly uneasy, but that did not necessarily mean he was lying. Embarrassment could produce the same effect, and if he were embarrassed, then it suggested he had indeed been mistaken. It did not guarantee it by any means, but the possibility was there. Perhaps she should ask to see his journal ….