Mary Bennet of Meryton

by Barbara Randell

  “Life is frequently unfair,” said the Doctor , with a sigh, while he helped her down from the stile. His eyes were concentrating on her feet on the steps, and she was able to take a long look into his face. She saw that his usually open face was clouded, his mouth set sternly. She guessed that he was thinking of his dead wife. Her spirits fell, but she could think of no logical reason for it. Perhaps she was just reflecting his moods.

  But when they reached the parlour at Longbourn, he had regained his smile, talking cheerfully to Mrs Bennett, and praising Mary’s efforts in assisting Mrs Smith. When they said goodbye, his deep voice was quite normal. But Mary wondered if he had clasped her hand a fraction longer than usual.

  Both Mary’s parents were pleased to have her return.

  “Indeed, I do not know how you could stay away so long, Mary, when you knew your own mother should be wanting you. Who is Louisa Smith, that you should give her so much of your time?”

  Mary did not attempt to defend herself from her mother’s complaint, only assuring her that she should not absent herself in the future. Her father’s welcome was more satisfactory.

  “Well, Mary, so you are come back to us. Now I shall have some conversation at luncheon. I have grown quite tired of talking to myself this last week!”

  “Thank you, sir,” Mary said, with a smile, “I am glad that I can give you pleasure in this small way.”

  That night, Mary opened her journal, and set down the events of the past weeks.

  How different would my life have been if I had a brother like Mr Rawlings - or indeed any brother! I would still remain here as companion to my mother, but the death of my father would not force us to give way at Longbourn to Mr Collins. But I suppose my sister-in-law would make my life very uncomfortable, so I shall not waste my tears on idle imaginings.

  I must record here how much I admire Dr Watson’s behaviour during these last days. His care for Mrs Smith has been charity itself, forever seeking ways to lighten her burdens, and to support her through them. He has been watchful of the health of both Master John’s nurses, insisting that each of us should take time to walk outdoors, to have the benefit of fresh air and exercise. Sometimes he himself sat with John to give us freedom, at others he escorted whichever of us was exercising. He gave all the time which his other duties allowed. And his efforts in locating the family of Mrs Smith were so skilfully applied. He raised no hopes, when these might prove to be false, but always acted in the best interests of Louisa Smith. I am struck by his honesty and rejection of pretence. He is a man whose good opinion I must value.

  How different are his actions from those of either Mr Collins or Mr Potter. My cousin, I am sure, would have done nothing more than offer prayers and scold John Smith into good health. Mr Potter would have been too careful of his own health to ever enter the house where Louisa Smith was lodged. Dr Watson’s actions show him to be the true Christian.

  With two such excellent examples of gentlemanly behaviour before me (I mean Mr Rawlings and Dr Watson), I am in greater charity with their sex than I have been for months past. But I have not changed my mind , or my determination. Marriage is too dangerous for me.

  Chapter 4 -- a number of farewells

  The following winter was wet and dreary. For weeks, it seemed, it was bleak and cold, with rain almost every day, and interspersed with cold winds. Travellers were discouraged from venturing out, and the family at Longbourn were left without visitors, and had only each other for company. Mary felt the want of exercise, as the paths were too muddy to attract her to walk in her usual haunts.

  Small wonder then, that the first fine day should draw her from the house. Her father found her in the porch, gathering her cloak about her, and tying a bonnet securely under her chin. He eyed her doubtfully.

  "Going out, my dear? Do you think it wise? I am sure you will find the ground very wet."

  "Do not worry, Papa," she said, "I shall avoid the worst of the wet places by staying on the paths. But I am so tired of being shut up in the house! I must walk outside to fill my lungs with fresh air, and my head with new and cheerful thoughts."

  "Very well, my dear," said Mr Bennett, as he held the door for her. "Take your exercise, and I hope that neither rain nor mud mars your enjoyment of it."

  The clouds began to lighten and part, and the sun showed his face through the gaps. Raindrops sparkled on the leaves, birds bustled and called from the bushes. Mary lifted her face to the sun, and walked briskly down the carriageway linking the house to the road, where the path was firm, and puddles easily avoided. The wind cut her cheeks, and brought tears to her eyes. She revelled in the freshness of the air.

  .But when she had traversed the length of the carriageway three times, she began to wish for a greater challenge to her energies. She paused at the side of the road, looking first to the right, then the left. On either hand, the road stretched away, empty and apparently firm, to the nearest corner. It seemed no-one else was abroad today.

  "The surface is firm," she decided, "and no vehicles are about. The rain should hold off for another hour at least. I can safely walk on the road, just to the first corner. Then I will go back to the house."

  She set off briskly in the direction she had chosen. The views were delightful, and she was soon lost in admiration of the flowers growing in the roadside hedges, and the busy birds in the fields. As she walked, she noted the many changes since her last outing, planning to record them in her journal. She was recalled to a sense of her surroundings by a rumble of thunder, and looked up in dismay. During her absence of mind, she had completely ignored a heavy cloud rapidly approaching from the direction in which she walked. There was no doubt that it contained heavy rain.

  It was so close that she had no hope of returning to the house before it reached her. Her only chance of escaping a thorough wetting was to reach shelter under the trees ahead, where the road curved out of sight. She gathered up her skirts and began to run.

  She might have reached the shelter of the trees, but suddenly heard the sound of a carriage on the road behind. A glance showed the driver as intent on reaching shelter as she was herself. She stepped aside onto the grassy verge to let the carriage pass.

  It was very unfortunate that the spot where she left the road was more than usually muddy. As she turned, she felt first one foot, then the other, slip from under her. She sat down suddenly on the grass, and slid feet first into the bottom of the ditch. She fetched up at the bottom of the slope, her feet and ankles deep in water, her bonnet knocked awry over one eye, and her gloves stiff with mud. She was not hurt, though rather breathless.

  Behind her, she heard the abrupt halting of the carriage. A male voice shouted.

  "Ma'am! I am coming. Are you hurt?"

  He reached her swiftly, and offered his hands to lift her dripping from the ditch.

  "You are hurt! Let me carry you to the carriage!"

  "I thank you, sir, but I am not hurt. Or at least, only in my dignity. Though I fear my shoes and cloak may have suffered irreparable harm." When she lifted her foot, water trickled from the bottom of her shoe. The back of her gown was stiff with mud. "I have not taken such a tumble since I was a child."

  "I am very relieved to find you safe," he said. Heavy raindrops fell around them. "But we must get to shelter. Can you walk to those trees?"

  "Indeed I can, sir. But you must get your carriage to shelter also."

  By the time they reached the trees, they were both thoroughly wet. The gentleman insisted on fetching his greatcoat from the carriage, for Mary had begun to shiver. He drew his horse off the road, and joined her under the shelter of the thickest leaves.

  They began by introducing ourselves.

  "My name is Martin Forbes," he said, with a small bow, "newly come to this area, to act as steward to Sir William Lucas." He flashed a very attractive smile, which lit up his face and made one forget how plain it really was. "May I have the pleasure of knowing whom I forced off the road?"

  She laughed.
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  "My name is Mary, sir. I live with my father, Mr Bennett, and my mother, in the house whose outline you may just percieve through the raindrops. Sir William Lucas is almost our nearest neighbour."

  "Your parents will be very worried to know you are out in all this rain."

  She owned that her father would probably be feeling some concern.

  "But he warned me of the ill conditions before ever I set out. He will be pleased to know his forecast was accurate."

  The rain fell for only a few more minutes. When the sun broke through the clouds, Mr Forbes insisted on driving her back to Longbourn.

  "But the mud on my clothes!" she protested. "It will damage the seats of your carriage!"

  "Nonsense, I insist. Your health is of more importance that the state of the carriage. You must return home, to change into dry clothes as soon as may be."

  So he delivered her back to Longbourn. Her father received him courteously, with thanks for her rescue. Mrs Bennett thought only of hot water, and dry clothes.

  "For you will very likely take a chill, Mary, and then develop consumption, and die. And I will have to nurse you. You are always too heedless to have a care for my feelings. My poor nerves!"

  Her predictions of gloom made Mary smile, but she gladly went to her room to bathe and change into dry clothes. Her walk had indeed put new thoughts into her head.

  That same evening Mr Forbes called to inquire after Mary, to assure himself that she had taken no harm from her fall and wetting. Mary thanked him for his concern.

  "But you must know that it was no fault of yours, sir. It was my own obstinacy that drove me out of doors before the weather had settled, and before the paths were dry. If I did become ill, it would be through no fault of yours."

  When Mr Forbes had gone, Mr Bennett remarked,

  "I think that is an intelligent young man. Sir William has done well in his choice of a steward."

  "He may be as intelligent, as you please, Mr Bennett," said his wife. "But he can never be accepted into polite society in this district. His told you that his father is merely a poor farmer."

  "Then polite society will be the poorer , my love," said Mr Bennett, as he returned to his library.

  Mary agreed with Mr Bennett's judgement. Mr Forbes was about her own age, thickset, with broad shoulders, and large square hands. His speech was accurate but not cultured, denoting education at some village school. But if he was to be steward to an estate the size of Sir Williams's, he must have considerable skill with numbers, as well as extenive knowledge of the management of farms and forest. On the whole, he appeared an agreeable young man. She was pleased to add him to the circle of their acquaintances.

  As Mrs Bennett foretold, Mr Forbes was not invited to any of the balls, dinners or other entertainments of the neighbourhood. But Mary met him every Sunday at Church, and felt some obligation to recognise him, to make amends for excluding him from their circle. He responded eagerly to her polite approach, and was happy to escort her home afterwards.

  She found that he was a caustic observer of the foibles of all their neighbours.

  "Did you notice Mrs Long?" he asked. "She heard barely the first sentence of the sermon, before she fell asleep. It was as well the young lady beside her had sharp elbows. Otherwise she would have snored loud enough to stir all the occupants of the churchyard."

  "You must not be so unkind to Mrs Long," Mary said, a little shocked at his remark. Mrs Long often snored during the sermon. "At her age , she finds it hard to stay awake through the service."

  "It is unfortunate that he has not learnt to restrain his candour," she said to Phoebe Watson the next day. "Such remarks can hardly be considered in the best of taste, and will certainly make people hesitate to accept him, if they are widely known. Yet he is an intelligent young man."

  "It is surely the fault of his education," Phoebe said. "Many of us are aware of the frailties of our neighbours, quite as much as is Mr Forbes. His failing is that he shares his observations too freely, without being sure that his listeners are in sympathy with his remarks. But the real question is, whether he has the right to make them. He should not say such things about his elders."

  Mary nodded her agreement.

  The following Sunday, Mary again found Mr Forbes beside her, almost as soon as she left the church. He took her hand warmly, but she drew it away at once. Once again, he spoke about their neighbours. This time, it was his own employer who drew his barbs.

  "Sir William has grown so stout," he commented, " he finds it difficult to fit into the family pew. I must remember to carry a shoe-horn, in case it should be needed to get him out."

  "Sir , you are too critical of your fellow man!" Mary told him. His words made her embarrassed, and displeased with him. She turned gladly to welcome Dr Watson, as he approached them.

  "Are you pleased with Meryton?" the doctor asked Mr Forbes, when he had greeted them both. "Do you miss your family?"

  Mr Forbes smiled slightly.

  "I find your parishioners rather proud," he said. "If it had not been for Miss Bennett, I should hardly have had a single friendly conversation since I joined you."

  Dr Watson smiled at Mary . "Miss Bennett is a good friend to all newcomers to Meryton," he said.

  "She is a very important friend to me," said Mr Forbes. "I am very pleased that I was able to rescue her in her trouble."

  Dr Watson looked surprised. "What was this? I did not know that you had needed rescue."

  Mary frowned.

  " Mr Forbes drove me home after I was caught walking in the rain, but that has happened many times before, and I have taken no harm. Mr Forbes exaggerates the situation."

  "Not at all!" insisted Mr Forbes. "But in any case, I owe the rain a debt of gratitude, for it was my introduction to my best friend in Meryton!" he said, bowing gallantly.

  Dr Watson face was suddenly shadowed. He was grave as he too bowed to Mary.

  "Prey pardon me," he said hurriedly, " but I must speak to Lady Lucas." He turned away.

  "I am pleased that my getting wet made someone happy!" said Mary, crossly. She watched Dr Watson's shoulders as he moved through the corwd, disappointed to have their conversation cut short. She wished that Mr Forbes would find someone else to annoy.

  A few days later, Mary met Phoebe Watson as she took her morning exercise.

  "I have news for you, " said Phoebe, "and I fear that it will not please you. My brother has accepted a living at the Cathedral in York. We shall be leaving within the month."

  Mary stared at her friend, her face dismayed.

  "My dear! How is this? I had hoped you were all settled here for years to come!"

  Phoebe's face showed a similar disquiet.

  "Indeed, Mary, I cannot argue against the move. It is a most satisfactory change for him, with a larger stipend, and also the chance of further preferment. He cannot afford to ignore such an increase in income, as the children will be dependent upon him for many years yet."

  Mary was mistress of her feelings again.

  "That is true. And you and the children will, naturally accompany him. But I will lose the company of the dearest and truest of friends. You were right in predicting that the news does not please me, Phoebe. But I will try to remember how much you will all benefit by the change, and be happy for your sakes."

  Mary walked in silence a moment, then turned to face Miss Watson.

  "My friend, during these last years, I have drawn great benefit and happiness from our contact. We have supported each other in happy times and in sad. I cannot begin to express how much I shall miss you."

  Phoebe Watson's eyes were wet, as she clasped Mary's hand briefly. Then, she turned the conversation to a discussion of the new carriage Sir William Lucas had bought for his son. By common consent, they spoke no more of the Watson's departure.

  I can offer Phoebe no more sincere compliment, Mary recorded, than to attempt to model my behaviour on hers. I will try to bear my problems without repining; manage the house
keeping responsibly, now that Mamma has resigned more of its care to me, and to act with dignity and restraint whatever provocations arise. I do not expect to be as successful as Phoebe. But with her example always in my memory, I must make some progress towards my aim.

  I shall sadly miss her brother's company, as well. He has been a kind friend to me in these last years. I had not thought, from my knowledge of Mr Collins and Mr Potter, that I would ever claim a member of the clergy as a personal friend. But Charles Watson is so different from those gentlemen! He can maintain a conversation with my mother about her nerves, as easily and comfortably as he can debate a Greek translation with my father. His children greet him with delight and affection whenever he has been absent for more than a few hours. Phoebe he treats with respect and consideration, and always considers her comfort before making any decisions that impact upon the family. Under his and his sister's teaching, I have learned to read and understand the great authors of the past, and to understand more of politics and world affairs than formerly. I am sure that had Phoebe and Charles Watson never come among us, I would have remained a silly ignorant woman till the end of my days.

  Mary had no further opportunity to speak privately to Dr Watson. On the last Sunday, he stood in the porch of the church, farewelling each of his parishioners. When her turn came, Mary offered her hand, which he grasped warmly.

  "Goodbye," she said quietly. "I hope that this move brings only the best for all your family."

  "Thank you," he said, his dark eyes intent on her face. "And will you write to Phoebe, so that we may hear of everything that happens here in Meryton, to all our friends?"

  "It will be a pleasure," Mary assured him, her hand still in his. "I shall miss Phoebe so much. My life will be quite empty without her."

  "Then it will be up to your other friends to fill her place," said a voice at her elbow. Startled, both Mary and Dr Watson turned to find Mr Forbes had approached. As he offered his hand, Dr Watson was forced to take it. Mary retrieved her own, and hid it in her muff.