“Yes, I bound them for you. They needed to be protected and well looked after, don’t you think?”
“It is wonderful,” his voice was thick with emotion. He flicked over page after page. “Look how you have put them in alphabetical order.” He twisted in the chair and stared at her. “Mary, this is truly a remarkable work.”
Mary’s grin spread from her face through to her heart.
“Thank you.” Walter held the book to his chest. “But I would like you to keep it in your safekeeping. I will do more for you, if you like.”
Mary nodded that she would indeed like that when the voices of the others in the room began to break through to her ears. They were asking what it was. She scowled. Why can’t they all go away?
Walter cleared his throat. “Mary has collected all the illustrations I gave her and bound them in this remarkable book.” His eyes were still fixed upon hers. His heart was displayed for all to see.
“May I?”
Mary jumped at the sound of Mr Bingley’s voice so close to her. She had not noticed his approach. Walter nodded and handed the volume to him. Instantly he was rapt by what he saw within its pages.
“This is truly remarkable work. I am astonished!”
Out of the corner of Mary’s eye, she could see Mr Bingley showing the book around the room. All she wanted to do was to reach out and touch Walter’s hand to show him how full her heart was. The pair of them sat red-faced as the illustrations were scrutinised by those in the room, people who truly had no idea what they were looking at for the most part. Mary knew that Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley would have an inkling as to what they saw. Finally, and satisfyingly for her, Walter was receiving some recognition and praise. Mary believed it was long overdue.
When the general hubbub had died down and the book was returned to Walter and Mary, the pair of them sat and talked about each and every page it contained, remembering with fondness the occasion on which each illustration was given to Mary.
The card tables were set up and games began. Mary and Walter did not join in. They remained where they were, with their eyes transfixed on the pages before them, oblivious to all around them.
Chapter Thirty-Two
No one really noticed Mr Bingley, Mr Darcy, and Mr Bennet exit the drawing room and make their way to the book room. The card games were in full swing, and everyone was enjoying a very happy Christmas Day.
It was some time later, when Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy had returned that Mary heard a sound coming from the doorway. “Psst. Mary!”
She looked up and saw her father hissing at her. “What is it?” she whispered back.
Mr Bennet beckoned her with his hand and pointed to Walter. “Him too,” he hissed and hastily retreated to the book room
Mary and Walter slipped unseen from the drawing room and followed Mr Bennet to his private sanctuary, where he closed the door on them and waved them to the two seats before his desk. Hurriedly, he moved to his own chair and sat down, sighing as though it was a great relief to tired limbs to do so.
“Now then,” he surveyed them over the rim of his spectacles as he always did when he was being serious. “It seems to me that this affection between the pair of you is serious. Is that not so?”
Mary and Walter looked at each other and nodded. “Yes, it is, sir.”
“Right you are.” Mr Bennet steepled his hands and thought for a moment or two before continuing to speak. “My refusal of your marriage proposal to my daughter has done nothing to quash the sentiments between you?”
“No, sir,” they both replied.
“Then I have no recourse, have I?”
Mary’s stomach lurched, dreading what her father’s next words would be. She feared he would banish them from ever being in each other’s company again.
“It has come to my attention that you have a talent for more than one thing. Is that not correct, Mr Hodgson?”
Mary heard Walter swallow hard and he nodded as he answered. “Yes, sir, it is.”
“From what I hear from my brother-in-law, Mr Phillips, you are an accomplished clerk in his office and he would be loath to lose you. I, for one, cannot see how well he would function if you were to leave.”
Mary stole a quick sideways glance at Walter, fearing the worst.
“I am more than impressed with your skills with the medicine cabinet, which you displayed in full force last night. I am not alone in that sentiment. My wife is another who agrees with me, as it was her health you restored.” Mr Bennet watched the pair of them, and Mary was convinced that he was enjoying them squirming in their seats. “However, it was not until the discovery of your, I must admit, remarkable illustrations that Mr Bingley was so moved as to make you an offer.”
“An offer?” Walter’s breathing came fast and heavy.
Mary wanted the earth to open up and swallow her. She feared Walter was going to be sent away.
“Yes. I have a proposal for you. I believe you should take it.”
Mary’s mouth was dry. She flicked her tongue out to wet her lips but it was to no avail.
“Mr Bingley would like to sponsor you to go back to university and finish your education.” Mr Bennet sat back satisfied.
“F…finish my education?” Walter laughed in disbelief, and looked at Mary to divine if Mr Bennet was pulling a colossal prank or not.
Mary was just as confused as he. “Why would Mr Bingley do such a thing, Papa?”
“Well, I am glad you asked that.” Mr Bennet leant forward. “He and Mr Darcy are of the mind that three of my daughters, your sisters,” he pointed at Mary, “have made fortuitous matches.”
“Yes,” Mary quickly agreed.
“Mr Darcy pointed out that not all five of my daughters are likely to be as fortunate.” He chuckled. “He said there are just not enough rich bachelors to go around.”
“Yes,” Mary repeated herself, willing her father to get to the point.
“They both intimated that it was cruel to separate two people who are in love because of social and class status.” He pursed his lips. “I confess to having been a little humbled by their speech and remember how much higher Jane and Lizzy, indeed, married when they wed Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy.”
“Yes.” Mary was beginning to wonder if she would ever have a different response to her father’s words.
“Mr Bingley has offered to pay for you to finish your studies,” he stared fixedly at Walter, “in order that you might set yourself up as a reputable apothecary—with a shop and all—and that you might, as soon as you are finished with your studies, marry my daughter Mary.”
Mary let out a squeal of delight. “Truly, Papa?”
“Truly, child. Mr Bingley is a true philanthropist. He believes in the betterment of his fellow man, or some such high and mighty notion as that.”
Walter turned to Mary and clasped her hands. “We can be wed!”
Mary’s tears spoke all the words her throat was too clamped up to express.
“I give my consent under the condition that my daughter marries an apothecary, not a lowly clerk. Is that clear, young man?” Again Mr Bennet gazed over the top of his glasses, his voice stern and hard.
“Yes, sir. I shall distinguish myself and come back to claim Mary’s hand.” Walter could not keep the smile from his face.
“You will make enquiries, and in January, I hope, you will begin your studying.” He nodded as though it was all settled and turned to Mary. “Mary, are you in agreement with all this?”
“Oh, yes, Papa.” She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. “I wholeheartedly agree to this. There is nothing I want more in the world than to be Walter’s wife.”
“Good, good. Then that’s settled.” Mr Bennet stood, indicating the conference was over. “You, Walter, ought to see Mr Bingley in private, and you ought to kiss your mother-in-law-to-be, who stated to me last night that you had saved her life and perhaps we had judged you harshly.” He nodded. “Go on. Off with you. I wish to speak to Mary alone n
ow.”
“Thank you, sir.” Walter squeezed Mary’s hands as he rushed past her and exited the room.
Once the door was closed, Mr Bennet sat in Walter’s vacated chair and took both his daughter’s hands in his. “Are you certain this is what you want?”
“Yes, it is, Papa.”
“You have always been a very serious child, but I see a completely different side of you when you are in Walter’s presence, I must own.”
Mary smiled.
“You will not be rich like your sisters, you know?”
She nodded. “I know, Papa.”
“It is vital that you understand this. Lizzy’s wealth is…”
“Is unusual, as was her luck with Mr Darcy.” Mary leant forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I have never been like my sisters. I am not overly materialistic. I want for very little.”
“Books and music mostly,” her father chuckled.
“Indeed. Our needs will be few, Papa.” She looked down at her hands. “But what I want, what I have always wanted, Papa, is to be loved and appreciated for the person I am. I do not want to fit into someone else’s ideal or pattern of what a lady should be. I am Mary; there is no other like me.”
“Indeed, child. That is true. And he does seem to be smitten with you, I’ll say that for him.”
“He is. He is a gentle and kind man. How many men do you know who would give up their chance of a good life simply to buy medicine for their dying mother?”
“They knew she was dying when he quit his studies then?” Mr Bennet raised his eyebrows.
“From the first diagnosis, Papa,” she nodded.
“Then he is a far greater young man that I took him for. I apologise, Mary. I jumped to conclusions based upon only what I saw and what was evident by his social standing. He’ll be one hundred times the worth of that wastrel Lydia married the first time.”
Mary had not spared a thought for Lydia or her late husband for a while now. “I hope she is doing well.”
“I can assure you, my dear, Lydia is in her element. She is being spoilt and is being as demanding as she cares to be. I believe Sir Percival met his match in her. They are both as fickle and flighty as each other!”
Mary stared open-eyed at her father. “I did not know you thought that way about Sir Percival.”
“Indeed I do. But what could I do when he proposed? She was a widow and could marry whomever she chose. She did not need my blessing or approval.” He nodded and sighed. “I think they are well suited and well out of my hair!” He patted Mary on the hand again. “Now back to you. Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley have both stated that they will never see you want for anything—material, food, or otherwise. They will both invite you once a year to visit with them, so a nice holiday in Pemberley and another at Netherfield, most likely Christmas with all of us for that one, eh?” He grinned happily. “Yes, all in all, my daughters will be happily married.” He took hold of Mary’s hand, stood, and led her back to the drawing room. As he helped her to her seat he whispered, “I do not think it will be long before even your sister Kitty will be happily situated either.”
Mary snapped her head round to seek Kitty out. She found her at the card table sitting beside Reverend Summers. The two of them had their heads locked together and were chatting away conspiratorially. Mary smiled, Now that would be a pleasant match for her.
Chapter Thirty-Three
As evening fell, the fires were stoked and the candles lit. The odours from the kitchen wafted up to the drawing room, and all gathered could tell that the goose was almost ready for the feast to begin.
“I know!” Kitty called out. She knew she had too much sherry and was more than a little merry, but she did not care. “Let’s play truth or not at dinner tonight!”
Lizzy chuckled. “It is a fun game. Why not?”
“Well, I like a good game as well as the next person,” Mrs Bennet chortled from beneath her blankets. “I say let’s play it. We have had much fun today; let’s not let it wane.”
Kitty laughed and clapped her hands. “Wonderful! Dinner smells as though it is almost ready.” She looked around the room. “Mr Collins, would you assist Mr Hodgson and Reverend Summers with taking the chairs back to the dining room, please?”
“It would be my utmost pleasure, dear cousin.” He stood and knocked his own chair backwards. In the end, it was Walter and Reverend Summers who did most of the work and Mr Collins who provided most of the amusement, to the embarrassment of his wife, Charlotte.
Once they were all seated around the table, the food was brought in. There were more vegetables than the Bennet’s table had seen in a long time, thanks to Reverend Summers and his famous vegetable garden whose winter cabbages and roots had so recently been rescued from the snow. Beef suet pies and mincemeat pies were brought in, as well as blancmanges, trifles, and the pièce de résistance itself, the goose, with one goose and a side of beef the Bennets were saving for Boxing Day.
The cacophony of sound hit fever pitch with all the chatter as everyone helped themselves and passed plates of goodies to each other up and down the table. The conversation dulled and all fell silent as they bowed their heads to pray grace over their Christmas meal.
Mr Bennet cleared his throat. “As our minister, Reverend Summers, would you like to lead us in prayer?”
Kitty smiled up at the reverend, bowed her head, and closed her eyes. She was acutely aware of him sitting beside her, and when his baritone voice rang out loud and clear for all to hear, a frisson of excitement ran down the length of her spine. She caught her breath mid-prayer, wondering at the sensation.
The prayer once finished, gave Mr Collins an opportunity to speak up. “Might I be so bold as to congratulate you on your method of praying, Reverend Summers?”
Kitty stifled a giggle with her napkin as she opened it.
“Congratulate me? I don’t understand.”
Kitty could see around the table her sisters were doing their utmost not to laugh. Mr Bennet, however, was grinning from ear to ear, enjoying the sport as he always did.
“Yes.” Mr Collins nodded and creased his forehead in thought. “I believe the accepted mode is to pray something out of the prayer book or recite something one has memorised.”
Dear Lord, he’s correcting him in front of everybody! Kitty was aghast.
“I understand what you are saying and I agree, for the most part, that is the case.” The reverend flicked his napkin and in one deft move laid it across his lap. “However, I believe that reciting something one has memorised lacks a personal element.”
Mr Collins laughed nervously. “A personal element. Whatever do you mean?”
“I mean that the Lord wishes to hear from me, not from the prayer book.”
And with that, Kitty was impressed to see Mr Collins turn the same shade as the pickled beetroot slices on his plate and was silenced. She picked up a dish of hot bread rolls and passed them to the Reverend. “Well said,” she whispered.
“Thank you, Kitty,” he replied, and she knew he was not referring to the bread.
“So who would like to go first?” she asked the room at large.
“Go first, Kitty?” Jane asked, laying her fork down.
“Yes. The game!” Kitty grinned at them all expectantly. She wanted fun and diversion, and she was determined to get it.
“Well, why do you not begin? It was your idea after all.” Jane smiled kindly at her, but Kitty knew she was working out how far around the table she was to escape. Jane was never fond of such games amongst those who were not immediate family.
“Very well.” Kitty turned towards the reverend. “Is it true or not that your first name is Horace?”
A murmur of laughter flicked around the table.
“Horace? What a name!” Mrs Bennet chuckled, her plate filled to overflowing. Kitty was glad to see her appetite had returned.
“Horace, you say?”
Kitty nodded at him.
“No, it is not true. My first name is Hen
ry.”
Kitty grinned from ear to ear. Now she knew what his name was. She wondered if they would ever be on such terms to permit her the use of it. “Your turn,” she prompted.
The reverend turned to Mrs Bennet. “Mrs Bennet, is it true or not that you are fond of fondant fancies?”
Mrs Bennet’s face turned pink. “Oh, you have been very observant, my dear reverend. I am indeed fond of fondant fancies. It is true!” She clapped her hands together, thoroughly enjoying herself. “Oh, it is my turn.” She cleared her throat, looked up at the ceiling, and then back at her husband. “Mr Bennet, is it not true that you like to put a pretty penny on the horses?”
“Ho!” Mr Bennet laughed heartily and almost choked on a roasted potato. “Mrs Bennet, you know for certain that is not true. I do not have that kind of money to fritter away, but I do like to bet on the occasional game of cards with you, my dear.”
“Oh,” she flapped her hand at him. “That does not count. We play for chocolates or for matchsticks!”
Their laughter rang out, and Kitty realised she had not heard them laugh so much together in many a year. She sat back in her chair and watched as the game progressed around the table. Finally, it came back to her.
“Miss Kitty,” Sir Lucas asked, “is it true that you like to ice-skate in the winter?”
“I cannot tell you, Sir Lucas. I do not believe the pond on the green has ever been frozen enough to skate on in my lifetime. Perhaps this year it is, and then I can tell you if your question is true or not!”
“Good answer.” Sir Lucas chuckled and winked at her. “Perhaps when the snow stops, we can go and see, eh?”
The laughter died down, and everyone concentrated on eating. Small conversations sprang up.
“Reverend Summers,” Mr Darcy asked from across the table, “forgive me if it is presumptuous to ask, but was the church your intended profession? I have noticed that you are an eloquent speaker.”
Christmas at Longbourn Page 15
