by Don Jacobson
Chapter XV
Mary recognized a few familiar faces in the crowd flowing out of Meryton. Most were unknown to her, and with her layers of clothing topped by the stocking cap, Mary surmised that she was probably unidentifiable as well. The wind was currently blowing the smoke and swirling embers away, so she had a clear view of the crowd. But, she could not pick out the faces of either her aunt or uncle as she struggled upstream against the throng.
When the number of people escaping the village thinned after the bottleneck caused by the bridge over the Mimram, Mary caught glimpses of the random destruction wrought by the blaze. Some blocks were leveled while others were untouched.
As her feet led her onto the High Street, she looked over to where Watson’s Textiles mill had risen out of the swampy wastes adjacent to the river. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the five-story building entirely engulfed in flames. As she watched, the roof collapsed. A coruscating pillar of fire and soot shot into the pre-dawn sky with a roar that engulfed the village. A cloud of smoke stitched with streaks of angry orange raced from the crumbling pile up the road directly toward Mary.
She staggered back, trying to escape, but fell against someone who wrapped arms around her to keep her on her feet. A charge surged through her from the points where the stranger’s body touched hers. The man, she surmised from his size and strength, quickly pulled her into a squat brick building attached to the smithy mere moments before the firestorm raced over the spot where she had stood.
“Steady there, madam,” a rich male voice cautioned Mary as she wobbled in his arms.
Mary whirled in his grasp and jumped back.
“Unhand me sir. I am no ‘madam’ but rather Miss Bennet of Longbourn,” she barked, but almost immediately blushed in embarrassment at her lack of graciousness.
She sought to put the situation to rights by adding in almost the same breath, “But I am most thankful that you have arrived at this moment. Was that not the most distressing sight? And, I believe you have saved me.”
“Indeed, it was. Please forgive me for startling you, but I feared you might not be able to run to shelter or in the process fall on broken glass or some upturned nails and injure yourself,” the man replied.
Mary took his measure. Wrapped in a heavy greatcoat, well-made boots, and a fisherman’s cap, he was slightly taller than she with dark eyes widely set in a pleasant, even-featured face. He had a strong chin, not dissimilar from her father’s. She could see a lock of medium brown hair that had escaped the knit hat. Of the rest of his physique she could only guess, although his arms had seemed strong and comforting when he had grasped her. Drawing up to her full height, Mary assumed all the formality one would expect—or at least so she imagined—in a Grosvenor Square parlor.
“You have the advantage of me, sir. For I have introduced myself to you, but who, may I ask, might you be?”
He smiled back at her, appreciating the humor of two people making formal introductions while standing in an abandoned town during a disaster.
Making a formal leg that brought a small smile to Mary’s lips, he introduced himself, “Miss Bennet, I am Edward Benton of Hampshire. My father’s estate is located near Winchester adjacent to the New Forest.”
“Well, Mr. Benton, it is a pleasure to meet you. I must admit that you seem somewhat familiar to me. Have we met before?” Mary queried.
Benton gazed at her closely. His eyes entranced Mary. He shook his head. “No, I think I would have undoubtedly recalled you if we had ever been introduced,” he said, pausing before continuing, “You say you are from Longbourn. Are you related, by any chance to Mr. Thomas Bennet?”
“But, of course, Mr. Bennet is my father.
“Wait, I remember seeing you at Longbourn after the weddings of my two sisters twelve days ago. Am I correct?” Mary quizzed.
“Ah…yes. I had just arrived in the Meryton area, passing through on my way to Liverpool to embark for the Americas. My father is acquainted with yours. They were in Cambridge together. As it was Monday, I sought out Longbourn to pay my respects, never imagining that I would be thrust into the midst of a family celebration. Your father was gracious enough to speak with me, and then I went on my way,” Benton explained.
Mary made for the smithy’s exit and was followed by Mr. Benton. As soon as they were back on the lane, though, the wind shifted, and they were quickly overcome by smoke.
Benton sized up the situation.
“We need to get off this street immediately! Best path will be to cut through one of these shops. They all have back doors. It will save us a lot of steps.”
He reached for Mary’s arm as she began to cough from the filthy air choking her. Dragging her to the entry of the milliner’s shop frequented by both Kitty and Lydia, Edward first tried the knob that turned easily enough, but the door would not budge.
“Bolted. Well, if not the easy way, then the hard one,” he muttered.
As he turned his body sideways to the door, Mary realized that he was about to break into the store by smashing the glass with his elbow.
She gasped, “Wait. What are you doing? You cannot just break a window and enter someone’s business without her knowledge. You could hang for that and me with you!”
Edward looked at her with patience.
“There is every chance in the world that this place will be reduced to ashes in the next few hours. We need to move away from the fire that, if you care to glance over your shoulder, is fast approaching.
“We could certainly avoid breaking and entering and keep to the street. But then we run the chance of being overtaken and roasted. Or we could put this row of shops between the blaze and us.
“Are you going to stop and select a new bonnet as we pass through? Or will you, like me, run for your life?
“Honestly Miss Bennet, might this be a time to lay aside propriety and manners? Is this not a situation where it would be better to ask forgiveness than permission?” Benton uttered with some exasperation.
With that, he focused his energies on their escape. He shattered the glass and reached through the gap and pulled the bolt free. Opening the door, Edward and Mary stepped into the shop.
Quickly adapting to her role as trespasser, Mary advised, “This way. I have been here before. Mrs. Johnson keeps a parlor in the rear of the shop for her preferred customers. The back door is behind that room.”
The duo thus passed into open area behind the store. The smoke was thinner here. The sound of the fire also seemed less threatening. Both paused to get their bearings. Edward was the first to speak.
“If I may be so bold, Miss Bennet, just what did you think you were doing wandering the streets of a town which is in the process of being razed to its very foundation stones?”
Mary glared at him. “One might ask the same of you, Mr. Benton. But, since you asked, I was looking to the safety of my Aunt and Uncle Philips who live near here just off the High Street.”
Edward started, “Philips—you mean Gardiner’s clerk?”
Mary’s eyes snapped to his face, “Mr. Philips was his clerk, but then he married Mr. Gardiner’s daughter, my mother’s sister. Grandfather Gardiner has long since passed away. Now why were you in the streets?”
Edward looked away for a moment and then replied, “My father had cause to do some business with your grandfather many years ago, but he never mentioned his death. I am so sorry,” he said in a quiet voice.
He continued with, “As for why I was in the streets, I could say that I was hoping to rescue misguided young gentlewomen from grisly deaths, but that would only be a fortunate…
At this point Mary began blushing fiercely.
…side effect of my real intent. I wanted to be assured that everybody had escaped the advancing fire. Are you telling me that your aunt and uncle are unaccounted for?”
All Mary could utter was a strangled, “Yes” so captivated was she by his manner.
“Then, lead on, my fair lady,” he said with no small
degree of impertinence, “Off we go to the Philips house.”
Chapter XVI
The section of Meryton they now passed through was quite deserted. Untouched by the fire, it had, however, suffered from the poorer aspects of human nature. A few doors hung open, dangling off broken hinges, the contents of parlors, sitting rooms, and kitchens scattered on entry stairs, left by looters seeking treasure. Other homes seemed secure as Mary and Benton hurried toward their destination.
Arriving at the snug box-framed Philips house adjacent to the High Street district, the two seekers could see a folded sheet of foolscap jammed between the stout walnut-stained door and frame. Mary reached up and pulled it loose to read an eminently sensible note that detailed both the writer’s connections and assurance that little of value would be found behind the heavy panel.
We have removed to Longbourn House with our strongbox.
H. Philips, Esq.
She easily recognized her uncle’s even and precise solicitor’s hand and smiled as she imagined Mama and Aunt Philips nervously fluttering in the chaos that must surely have overtaken the estate as Meryton’s exiles flowed their way.
Edward read the missive over her shoulder. When Mary looked at back him, he averted his eyes, guiltily, she thought.
Who is this man who possesses some degree of knowledge of our family—and not just my father, but apparently the Gardiner side as well?
The roar of the blaze caught their attention as the wind once again shifted, banishing all questions, replacing them with the single thought of flight.
Throwing propriety to the wind, relieved that the heart of Meryton was deserted, both young people took to their heels and ran toward the parade grounds that were protected by the expanse of the gently flowing Mimram. Their path was, perforce, a looping one, to avoid the advancing fingers of the conflagration. By the time the pair reached the bridge over the river, each was gasping for breath.
“Oh my,” Mary wheezed, “…oh my. That is the first time I have run like Lizzy. Imagine what Mama would be calling me, gamboling around town, accompanied by a strange gentleman.”
Edward stopped in his tracks and turned to her with a raised eyebrow. “Is it not possible that given the life-threatening circumstances of a cataclysm having overtaken us that we could consider ourselves to at least be friends and the rules of society could be suspended, if only briefly?”
His affected offense broke the grinding tension Mary had been feeling for the last several minutes as they had dodged falling embers in their effort to get to the safety of the river and parade grounds. A huge grin cracked her face below the woolen cap her father had installed, and she let out a guffaw. Clapping her hand to her mouth beneath goggled eyes, she blushed deep crimson in embarrassment.
“Oh dear, Mr. Benton, whatever must you think of me? Apparently, you did not rescue a maiden in distress, but rather a wild hoyden.”
Edward offered Mary his arm and started their walk across the bridge before replying, “My dear Miss Bennet, there have been many great women whose mothers probably despaired of their manners. What must Queen Boadicea’s or Judith of Jerusalem’s mamas have thought of the bravery and power of their daughters who proved to be greater than the men of their times? What must Anne Boleyn’s shade imagined for her little redheaded girl who grew to be England’s greatest monarch?
“As it always has been when men regard women, each was ignored until she stepped forward and roused the people to fight their oppressors.
“Miss Bennet, I realize that I have just met you, and I may be overstepping, but I must tell you that you show a selfless courage and a mettle which, if you nurture it, will serve you well as you move through life. I predict great things for Mary Bennet.”
Benton’s words moved Mary in a way that she had not been affected since that instant on Oakham’s heights when she watched the sun rise over Hertfordshire. The glory of God’s creation had dazzled her as nothing had ever before. The scales had fallen from her eyes at the sight of the world laid at her feet. And, so it happened again, except now she saw her future life before her.
Mary looked up at the man holding her arm, warmth flooding her entire being. Edward Benton was a different sort, confident enough in his person that he could act without pretense. And, all the foolishness that went along with pretense was what Mary—both old and new—abhorred.
As they approached the edge of the parade grounds, Mary halted causing Edward to stumble for about a half a step. She waited to speak until he looked at her.
“Mr. Benton, it is clear to me that you are an unusual man with an unusual story you have yet to reveal to me. I am not going to press you for I am certain that you are withholding your tale for an honorable reason. Whether you can tell me more will be your decision. I will neither censure you nor will I think any less if you chose never to reveal what lies behind your appearance in Meryton.
“Earlier you had expressed the hope we could be friends. I have no doubt that you are indeed my friend.”
Edward closed his eyes and when they opened again, Mary could see a great clash of emotions warring deep in his soul.
“Your perception is frightening, Miss Bennet. Yes, I do have a story, one that will make it all clear to you. You can rightfully know, but it is not yet time. And, much of it is not mine to tell. You must apply in other quarters,” Benton stated.
For the moment, all speech had been exhausted as the couple gazed at one another. A silent understanding passed between them as dawn broke over the smoldering town behind them on the other side of the bridge. They passed on toward the parade grounds.
Chapter XVII
Twilight became morning—at least it brightened into a grayish world overhung with a lowering haze as the fire continued to burn on the other side of the river. Mary and Edward had split up upon returning to the encampment; Mary off to the hospital tents; Edward to the growing knot of men clustered around the wagons. Both took up duties best suited for them.
Mary hurried from pallet to pallet, offering water to those crying from thirst, laying blankets and linens over others shivering from cold or their injuries, praying with those who hovered over loved ones not long for this world. She succored those she could; prayed for those she could not. She cried when she could; soldiered on when she could not. The vision of oozing flesh soon numbed her senses, and she moved at times as if in a dream. The day aged, but the sky never cleared.
From time-to-time she spied Edward moving amongst the wounded. He would stop by an injured soul and kneel, asking questions in a low voice. In some cases, he would write something on a slip of paper, and then pin it to the blanket. Over others, maybe those who were too weak to reply, he bowed his head, his lips moving silently. Then with his right hand he would scribe the sign of the cross over their foreheads and pass on.
The burials started in the early afternoon. The bulk of the corpses draped in simple shrouds were piled adjacent to the hospital tents. Most of the dead were factory workers and their kin; families who had felt the force of the conflagration early on. As denizens of the lowest social rung, few were known to the surviving town-folk. They were too new, too rude, and too poor to be noticed in life. Now in death, many of these men and women, girls, boys, and babes were joined as one in a sad anonymity.
Mr. Wilson, Meryton’s curate, Father O’Connell, who tended the Irish workers, and Mr. Paterson, the Non-conformist speaker, stood above the large pit dug near the edge of the parade grounds as the men of Meryton, rich and poor alike, gently laid to rest the lost and the unknown. The words of salvation were spoken for those who could hear, yet in their hearts, the depths of that mass grave emphasized their greatest fear—that they, too, would pass from this world with their names known only to and only remarked upon by the Almighty.
Even as the burials and blessings proceeded, the creak of wagon wheels signaled the arrival of a few injured, but many more dead. In the brighter light of this December day, the dimensions of the catastrophe were becoming more evident
.
Thomas Bennet rubbed a grimy hand over his weary eyes. He looked across the field at the human flotsam that had washed up on this wide spot along the banks of the Mimram.
“Six-and-forty already gone, and the hospital still full. We are sure to lose at least half of those, as well,” he said in an exhausted voice to nobody in particular.
Then, subdued and quietly from his right, Mary spoke.
“Papa, it is worse than that, at least I think this may be worse. We can tend to the dead and dying. But what of the survivors? It is barely above freezing. There are families with no homes and parents coping with grief and no shelter.
“Then there are the orphans. I have personally found two live infants nestled in the arms of dead mothers,” at this her voice broke, “and I have another clutch of little ones under six years old. From what I can tell, their parents burned to death in the process of saving them. They have nobody and have no idea who their people are.
“What can we do? We cannot leave them to their own devices in this weather. Could we parcel them out onto the farms and estates in the area? Could we bring them home to Longbourn—at least until a better plan is made?”
Bennet looked at Mary with an awakening appreciation of the contours of her heart. Tears filled his eyes as he saw the true nature of his third daughter for the first time.
“My girl, that is an excellent idea. Go find Mr. Hill and ask him to round up one of our wagons. Gather your chicks and bundle them off to Longbourn. I will talk to Hill and send a message ahead for your mother to prepare the nursery. Let us get into action before the sun sets on this terrible day,” he exclaimed.
As Mary set off across the field she saw Edward, eyes downcast, aimlessly walking back from the gravesite. He had stripped off his greatcoat and was clad only in shirtsleeves and waistcoat. His hands were filthy, and he clutched a shovel as he slowly made his way toward the wagon park. Knowing that she was soon to leave with the children, Mary softly approached him.
