Mary B

by Katherine J. Chen

“Mary, don’t be angry with me.”

  “I’m not so much angry with you, Lizzy, as I am disappointed.”

  She mistook my meaning. “Well, of course you are,” Lizzy replied. “You have, as I said, no experience in these matters, but you mustn’t take it too personally. It is natural enough for a woman to misjudge a gentleman’s attentions for greater interest, and perfectly acceptable, too, so long as no one is aware of it but herself.”

  Ignoring this remark, I stepped swiftly towards the door. I had already reached for the handle when Lizzy asked me to wait. Her tone was apologetic.

  “Mary, please stay a moment. I didn’t intend to be so harsh with you. It’s just all those days I spent in bed, I kept thinking of what you had said to me in the library when I was still pregnant. Do you remember?”

  Shaking my head, I exerted more weight on the handle, and the door clicked open.

  “No, of course you wouldn’t remember,” Lizzy continued. “You said…” She hesitated. “You said you would be governess to my child, and you promised me that everything would be fine.” She laughed. The sound of it reached me, hollow and alarming. “I know you meant only to comfort me—what else could you possibly have said when I was so unhappy? But afterwards, I realized, sitting in bed…I realized how little you actually know, how naïve you are. I suppose, as unreasonable as it may seem, I resented you for it…Mary?”

  My hand anchored itself in the solidity of the door, and I stared at a spot of blue in the carpet. I thought I would cry, but I didn’t.

  “All I wanted was a comfortable life,” I heard Lizzy say. “When I married Darcy, I was so happy. It was the attainment of an impossible dream. I felt…I felt I’d done something unprecedented. Me, mistress of this place—could you imagine it? But I didn’t realize that it came with a price, and that the price would be my life. If I had known what danger awaited me…the risk I undertook in marrying him, in marrying at all.”

  At the mention of risk, I thought of the colonel and myself. From the beginning, he had sworn on pain of death that he would be careful. There had been only the one time when I was forced to push him off me before it was too late, and that incident had never repeated itself. He had been extra cautious since, knowing full well the disgrace which would await us both should I find myself unmarried and with child.

  “If I had died but the baby had lived,” Lizzy said suddenly, her eyes shining, “I suppose the sacrifice would have been well worth it. I would have fulfilled my purpose, as countless wives have done before me. And once an acceptable interval had passed, Darcy would choose a new wife, and she would begin the process over again and repeat it until he had enough heirs to ensure that Pemberley passed to his children and his children’s children. All this”—she glanced around herself—“the spacious rooms, the comforts both great and small—don’t let these fool you, Mary. I see them now for what they are: temptations. I cannot be blamed, for I didn’t know. I, too, was naïve and couldn’t predict what expectations would be made of my body when I entered this place. Yet here I am. By some miracle, I am still alive and much wiser than I was before. I will no longer be so careless with my life.”

  “What happened, Lizzy, was a tragedy,” I answered angrily, “but Darcy loves you. You know this to be true. He values you more than anything else.”

  Again, she laughed. Nodding to herself, she said, “This is exactly why I didn’t want you by my side. Thank you for proving my point, Mary. Now you may take your soppy platitudes elsewhere and go work on your novel. Have you finished it yet?”

  The sting of her words only made me more furious. I imagined how her eyes would pop out of their sockets when she learned of my engagement to the colonel. She would no longer underestimate me then. I, too, could be full of surprises.

  But the course of my thoughts was interrupted. Mrs. Reynolds appeared in the doorway with a tray and, looking askance at me, said it was time for Mrs. Darcy to take her medicine. I was only too glad to leave.

  A lively party made up dinner that evening, with many exclamations of joy uttered at the sight of Pemberley’s mistress. Caroline Bingley professed that she had nearly succumbed to illness herself worrying over my sister’s health, and Louisa Hurst, who supported her younger sibling in everything, claimed to have borne witness to Caroline’s feverish suffering. Mr. Hurst said nothing, though he ate his soup most heartily.

  “What delicate constitutions ladies must have,” the colonel said, addressing Miss Bingley. “You have only to hear of a friend’s ailment before taking to bed yourself. Well, I am glad that men are not built this way. I would have a hard time on the battlefield if the sight of one wounded soldier made the rest of my troops swoon.”

  This sent all three women reeling with laughter. I confess my own mouth twitched less in humor than jealousy. Against my will, Lizzy’s words had landed. The green-eyed monster had reared its head.

  “Women have a hard time of it, though, I grant you,” the colonel added in more serious tones, perhaps sensing my displeasure.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Caroline Bingley jumped in, touching the corners of her lips with her napkin. “And, speaking for myself, I am quite convinced there must be a paucity of good, single men to be found in the world. No sooner do I meet with any well-spoken gentleman at a party than I learn from one or other of my friends that he is also an incurable drunkard and gambler. It makes a dire situation for any woman.”

  “Yes, we good men of the world know our worth well, being so few in number,” the colonel replied, grinning, “which is also why we behave so conceitedly when introduced to fine ladies such as yourself and Mrs. Hurst.”

  I discreetly rolled my eyes, while the rest of the table erupted in feminine giggles. My silence must have provoked Miss Bingley, however, for after she had recovered herself and dabbed her lips again, she turned to me, her mouth set in a malicious smile.

  “And do you, Miss Bennet, agree that it is hard for a woman to find herself a good husband? I’m sure you have many opinions on the matter, being as well-learned as you are.” To my left, Mrs. Hurst snickered.

  I took a sip of wine before answering. “I believe that, as a general rule, everyone ends up with who they deserve.”

  Mr. Hurst, who ordinarily contributed only his hunger at gatherings, crooked an eyebrow and surprised everyone by expressing interest in hearing more.

  “Mine is the simplistic view that one’s faults and virtues will be mirrored in that of a partner,” I said. “If one is charitable and kind, then that person, whether man or woman, will almost certainly find someone suited to him or her in character. And the same goes for those whose vices and faults outweigh their goodness.”

  “And if one never marries for lack of suitors?” Miss Bingley asked sweetly, though her cheeks had turned practically crimson.

  “As you say, Miss Bingley, with good men scarcely to be found in society, surely it would be better to never marry than to wed an incurable drunkard or gambler,” I answered.

  “You are most confident in your opinions, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Hurst contributed. He pointed a fork at me. “But your argument is flawed, for I have seen not a few mild-mannered women marry absolute brutes. And while a small fraction of these marriages did fail, the rest were remarkable successes. In fact, one lady of our acquaintance was virtually unrecognizable after the first six months. Do you remember, Louisa,” he said, addressing his wife, “young Grace Hall, who always used to dress in demure grays and browns as a young woman? I even remarked one time that I thought she’d enter a nunnery when she came of age. Well, she made a well-matched, if not utterly unexpected, marriage. The man was rich as Croesus but had a reputation for womanizing, and a short temper besides. As there are ladies present, I won’t go into too much detail, but suffice it to say that the few times Louisa and I came across her after she married, we never saw her in grays or browns again. I’d never seen a woman so changed.”<
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  “I do not think that disproves my argument at all,” I said practically. “Surely there are latent qualities in our character which we ourselves are unaware of until we identify these same traits as attractive in another individual. In the case of Grace Hall, I would propose that her husband only brought out those aspects of her personality which were, up until the moment of their acquaintance, subdued.”

  At this, I happened to meet the colonel’s eye, and he winked at me, which, fortunately, no one else around us noticed.

  Mr. Hurst only chuckled at my response before draining the contents of his glass. From the head of the table, Darcy suddenly spoke.

  “I’m sure we’d all be curious, Mary, to hear what qualities you would find admirable in a prospective husband,” he said.

  “That is like being asked to explain the components which make a sunset glorious,” I replied. “Why should one man triumph over another in winning a woman’s heart? The answer could not be that he is, by default, superior. Rather, there must be more than meets the eye—a spiritual connection, a meeting of complementary minds. And there can exist no formula for this. A man may be handsome, of good stock, and rich, yet a woman may still fall in love with one half his worth. Speaking for myself, I believe that to pursue a predetermined set of qualities in a husband would be a mistake. Surely it is the quality of time spent in each other’s company which characterizes a truly meaningful union.”

  “I’m afraid we are not all as philosophical as you, Miss Bennet,” Miss Bingley chimed in eagerly. “I rather believe that the qualities which make up a good husband are universally acknowledged among women. Who would not wish to marry a man of fortune and of respectable family, provided he was also of a sociable and even-tempered disposition?”

  “Agreed,” Lizzy said, and all eyes turned to her. “But you do not account for one thing, Caroline, which is that the success of a marriage is not commensurate with the accomplishments and virtues of the individual man or woman. Every single one of us is subject to the whims of circumstance. The course of one’s feelings can change. Fortunes can be gained and lost. People may alter in fundamental ways over time.”

  “Yet we may also strive to overcome circumstance,” Darcy said, staring directly at Lizzy. “We may, if we permit ourselves, emerge stronger from the blows that Providence deals us.”

  Lizzy smiled sweetly enough, though she gave no reply.

  “How perceptive of you, Mrs. Darcy, Mr. Darcy,” the colonel said, his face flushing from the amount of wine he’d consumed. “And speaking of model marriages, we need search no further than our hosts for a paragon of either sex.” He smiled first at Darcy, then at my sister. “I propose a toast.” He raised his glass. “To the finest couple in England! May we aspire to half their worth, though we shall never be as rich as Darcy or as beautiful as his wife.”

  Everyone laughed and raised their glasses. They were too occupied with their merriment to notice, as I did, that Lizzy and Darcy did not look once at each other. Lizzy uttered a few pleasantries, but Darcy seemed engrossed in his thoughts, his mind far removed from the rest of the company.

  The remainder of the dinner proved as commonplace and uneventful as any other. Soon after its conclusion, Darcy and the colonel left to play a game of billiards, and Mr. Hurst reluctantly followed. I trailed my female compatriots into a neighboring drawing room, and we all seated ourselves on plush settees, sighing contentedly into Pemberley’s antiquated air.

  “What an admirable man that gentleman is,” Miss Bingley said after a period of silence.

  “Darcy has always been the best of men,” I replied, still thinking of how quiet he’d been at dinner.

  “Darcy?” Miss Bingley repeated, coloring. “Yes, of course, Darcy, but I didn’t mean him. I meant his cousin, the colonel. What a lively man.”

  It was my turn to redden. “Oh, I see.”

  “He has a fine sense of humor, don’t you think, Louisa?” Miss Bingley asked, ignoring me, and her sister enthusiastically supplied her assent.

  Though I was too tired to acknowledge it, I felt another pang of jealousy. I heard Mrs. Hurst yawn and Miss Bingley complain that she had eaten too much at dinner. They made light conversation with Lizzy for another quarter of an hour, and then they, too, retired.

  At last, Lizzy and I were alone. The night was warm, and I rested my head against a cushion. I might have fallen asleep, except I suddenly heard my sister’s voice. She was sitting across from me, and her right hand absently fingered the long string of pearls which hung, like a rosary, from her neck.

  “Cook prepared a fine meal this evening,” she said. “I’ll have to thank him later for it.”

  “I thought the fish was a bit overdone.”

  Lizzy did not answer. I thought we’d settled again into a comfortable silence when she said, “We never had a chance to finish our conversation.”

  “No…” I stirred, adjusting the cushion at a different angle beneath my head. “No, we didn’t.”

  “I will let you in on a secret, Mary,” she began. “When I first came to Pemberley after my marriage, I arrived in the midst of a little drama then taking place among the servants. One of the laundry maids was heavily pregnant. She knew who the father was but wouldn’t tell, and Darcy hadn’t the heart to dismiss her. A month after I’d settled, she gave birth to an exceptionally large baby, a boy—so large, in fact, that Mrs. Reynolds told me everyone belowstairs called the child Hercules. But there were complications, and a physician was summoned; he recommended that mother and baby should be isolated in a private room with all the windows and doors sealed, and that a fire should be kept burning in the hearth every hour. Additionally, the mother should be wrapped in large blankets in order to sweat out her malady and ward off any colds and fevers. On the third morning, Mrs. Reynolds went herself to deliver breakfast to the mother and child, and found them both dead. She said the air in that room had become unfit to breathe, and I promised myself that day, as I promised myself for every day afterwards, that I would never die the way of the poor laundry maid.” Lizzy looked up at me, and the pearls slid out of her hand. “No, Mary, I am determined to live, not only to live but also to live comfortably, as was my intention in entering this marriage with Darcy. I am not the first wife in this nation’s fine history to fail her husband in the production of an heir, and I won’t be the last. There, I have said it, and it is more real for saying it out loud to another.”

  For a long time, I did not respond, and when I met my sister’s gaze, it was as though I were looking into the face of a stranger.

  “But will you be happy?” I asked. “Will fortune and comfort be enough? I do not believe it. You are no Caroline Bingley, Lizzy. You have much more spirit than she does.”

  “I, too, have changed, Mary.” She took from my lap one of my hands and held it in her own. “And I must continue to change, or I shall be a victim again. Next time, I will surely die. I won’t let myself go through it again. I won’t.”

  “And what of Darcy?” I asked.

  Lizzy shrugged. “Darcy has cousins enough and Georgiana may also have children. Pemberley could very well pass to his own nephew.” She squeezed my wrist. “I didn’t leave Longbourn so that I could be sacrificed for the honor and the heritage of these stone walls. As my sister, tell me you understand.”

  “I think I understand,” I whispered. I wanted to tell Lizzy I didn’t agree with her views of her marriage, of Darcy. But there was no time, and something in my expression must have betrayed my misgivings, for Lizzy released my hand and reminded me that the Gardiners were due to arrive the next morning. I went upstairs to pack, grateful for any excuse to leave her side.

  Misery festooned the tight alleyways, the gutter-like courtyards, and the ramshackle buildings of the section of London to which we traveled. No poetic metaphor could dwell in these cloudy windows, no existentialist secret in the movements of
bent and broken men whose notions of strength last as long as a bottle of Old Tom. This world demands to be taken literally. The air billows a peculiar fragrance of smoky defecation. The carriage rocks one’s insides like the torturous churn of a heavy soup.

  At last, Mr. Gardiner, leaning forward in the carriage, tapped the roof with his cane and announced with appropriate morbidity that we had arrived. He was, I think, getting tired of Lydia’s antics. Charity is a game of convenience, after all; if our purses do not feel significantly lighter and our meals continue to fill our stomachs to brimming, then we are glad to appear benevolent in the eyes of God. But we refuse to suffer even the faintest pinprick at its hands. If it gives us pain, then it is no longer Charity that begs at our door but Exploitation, and, in her numerous plights, Lydia was fast becoming less pitiable than contemptible.

  A dirty maid with yellow skin and yellow eyes led us up the wide-gapped stairs to Lydia’s rooms. “Mind where you step,” she said sharply. “The floorboards are none too stable,” she added, explaining also that there’d been a recent influx of new vermin.

  “How do you know they’re new?” I asked, clenching my skirts.

  She stopped to consider me. “Well! If Miss will ask, I’ll gladly tell Miss a’ I know. The coats of the old ones are dusty-like, and the coats of the new ones are still shiny, aren’t they? And when you live with them all your life, you knows each one of them by sight, don’t you, after a while?”

  “I suppose so,” I replied, more muddled than ever.

  When we reached the top of the stairs, the maid kindly battered the door for us.

  A fragment of a moving eye appeared in a crack in the door before it opened. But it wasn’t Lydia who greeted us, as the maid was quick to point out.

  “ ’Ere! Wot are you doin’ ’ere! You’re supposed ter be tidyin’ the rooms downstairs.”

  “Lady was sick, wasn’t she? And vomitin’ for ’alf the day. I had to empty the pots, didn’t I? Else you know what she’s like: she’ll be fussin’ until suppertime about how there’s none to take care of ’er since ’er ’usband’s left.”