Mary Bennet and the Substitute Vicar

by Carrie Mollenkopf

  “Did you see Mary?” Charlotte asked cautiously. Charlotte’s heart had sank when her husband had announced their immediate return to Rosings. While she loved the house and grounds, especially the private lady’s parlor, it was miserable being under the constant censure of Lady Catherine. For that reason alone, she had told herself that William’s treatment of the new vicar was justified. Now, with a heavy heart, dread filled her as the prospect of years at Rosings loomed in the future. She only hoped that the parting with Mary had gone amiably. As a plain woman who married long after obtaining the title of spinster, Charlotte had been pleased to see love find Mary in the form of Atlas Sutton.

  “I did see Miss Bennet. She was made very aware of her faults in this situation.”

  “What fault is Mary’s?” Charlotte inquired incredulously. In the years of her marriage, she had lost count of the numerous times in which her husband had created embarrassing situations. What had he said to the sister of her dearest friend?

  “Oh all of it… I should have been selected for this post from the beginning. However, a connection to Lady Catherine must take precedence. Surely you see that!” he snapped and left her to finish packing.

  Charlotte set her mouth to a grim line and fought back tears that threatened to fall. Indeed, she did see… far too much for her liking. Unfortunately, Charlotte was powerless to change a thing.

  ******

  By early evening, the carriage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh arrived back at Rosins Park. Mr. and Mrs. Collins soon stood awkwardly in the main hall as the butler bid them wait while he announced their presence. Charlotte could hear muffled outrage through the parlor doors and fidgeted nervously with her handkerchief. Something was clearly amiss. Were they not expected? Oblivious in his delight, Mr. Collins gazed about the large entry, commenting favorably to himself upon the décor as they waited. It was not long before the stern visage of Mr. Hawkins returned and led them to her ladyship’s presence.

  Entering the over furnished room, they found Lady Catherine in her usual place, a throne like chair positioned to take advantage of both fire and entry as to miss nothing about the chamber. The old woman did not immediately speak, but banged her silver tipped cane heavily upon the polished wood floors with such a force that made Charlotte wince. Going forward, Mr. Collins bowed respectfully before lifting his chin with an air of arrogance not unnoticed by Lady Catherine.

  “What brings you to my home uninvited?” the old lady snapped.

  Mr. Collins, caught off-guard by the question, immediately forgot the speech he had rehearsed in his mind for their meeting. Sputtering, he mumbled inaudibly as he handed the letter bearing the de Bourgh seal to Lady Catherine.

  Snatching the paper with a lace gloved hand, Lady Catherine peered through her lorgnette at the spidery script filling the pages. Her face alternately turned pale, then red, with a final shade of purple as her hand shook with rage. Throwing the letter back at Mr. Collins, she reached for the bell pull and yanked furiously, calling the butler to her demand.

  “Hawkins! Find my daughter IMMEDIATELY!” she shouted and glared at the Collinses.

  Above stairs, Anne de Bourgh heard the commotion and laughed aloud as she prepared to face her mother. Tonight was certainly not going to be filled with boredom.

  ~Nineteen~

  Two hours later…

  With a letter of offer to one Percival Rogers, vicar, dispatched upon a swift rider, Mary relaxed and tried to focus upon the myriad of mundane tasks required of a person to whom an estate belonged. While she longed to have accompanied Atlas to the surgery, accounts needed to be paid, servant disputes settled and most of all, her mother’s chamber needed to be searched for any correspondence from Lydia. Despite the demands upon her, Mary had not forgotten that the murdered remains of Reverend Morton lay in the churchyard with culprit at large. Something about the disappearance of Lydia at the same time as Reverend Morton’s death sat ill with Mary. While she could not ever believe that Lydia was capable of such violence, and Atlas’ examination had proved that it had been done by a much larger person, Lydia did have a way of attracting trouble. In the end, it was her mother’s lack of concern when Lydia was mentioned that was most alarming. Mary still shuddered at the memory of when her youngest sister had run off with George Wickham. The entire house had borne the brunt of Mrs. Bennet’s hysterics. However, now she only smiled and shrugged as if she had been asked her choice of dessert rather than about the disappearance of a favorite daughter. Pushing open the door to her mother’s chamber, Mary was relieved that she would not have to practice any sort of subterfuge. Mama was busy down at the new dower house, supervising the instillation of wallcoverings. Mary sent up a silent prayer for the patience of the workmen and began a thorough search of the clutter that filled the room. Little clouds of scented talcum powder mixed with dust rose into the air with every item Mary moved. The room did not appear to have had a good cleaning in months. Suppressing a sneeze, Mary gently probed all of the expected places that one would hide a letter, but found none. Under cushions, the bottom of the wardrobe and between the feather mattresses all bore no fruit of her search. As the chamber was not overly large, Mary’s sisters shared much greater accommodations, it was not long before she had exhausted the obvious and stood with arms akimbo, pondering her next move.

  “Where would Mama put something she did not want found?” Mary asked the empty room to no avail. As it had been a relatively mild autumn thus far, no fire had been necessary so the fear of destruction was a small relief. It was not until her eyes rested on a small pile of books, stacked carefully in a basket filled with mending that Mary felt promise. Mrs. Bennet, while never a great reader, favored novels in contrast to the three tomes whose spines bore titles in Latin text.

  “Mama Dearest, when did you take up reading about the Punic Wars?” Mary mused as she removed the torn chemise and stockings from the books. Lifting them up one by one, Mary paged through each, hoping to discover anything tucked between the pages. The first two were empty, save for a tattered playing card depicting the queen of hearts. Presuming it a book mark, Mary let it be and reached for the largest book. Oddly, it was unusually light. Bearing a leather band that kept the pages secure it its binding, she unbuckled the clasp to reveal a hollowed enclosure where the pages should have been.

  “Hmm… it’s a Sephora… not a book at all, just a box made to appear as one. I must applaud your secrecy Mama.”

  Filling the space was a thin, ribbon bound packet of letters bearing Lydia’s sloppy scrawl and one that was unfamiliar. None of the letters had return addresses. Feeling slightly guilty at the prospect of reading post that was not addressed to her, Mary hesitated to unfold the letters and considered replacing what she had discovered when Kitty poked her head through the open door.

  “Oh there you are, I have been looking everywhere for…” she began and then stopped midsentence as her gaze dropped to the letters in Mary’s hands.

  “Did you find something? Do tell me!”

  “I have not read them… supposing they are private or of some matter that is not our business?” Mary reasoned, but did not prevent Kitty from snatching the packet and eagerly unfolding the topmost letter.

  “This one is dated less than two days ago, check the postmarks on the others, we should probably go in order,” Kitty suggested.

  Mary scanned the rest of the packet. Out of the nearly dozen letters, only two were recent and both bore a postal stamp from Bristol. The rest must have been from Lydia’s time in Newcastle. Discarding them, and prompted by Kitty’s utter disregard for Mama’s privacy, she handed the letter Lydia first sent after her disappearance.

  Dear Mama,

  I know that you have probably been wondering as to the circumstance of my leaving, but as is my nature, I wanted it to be a surprise. Bertie has asked me to marry him and I have consented. Oh, I know I should have told you and Papa, but being widowed so recently, I feared it would only delay our happiness. As it is, we already must wai
t longer than first hoped. It was truly terrible of Reverend Morton to refuse to perform the ceremony, but I have forgiven him completely and will put the money he gave us towards setting up my household. Bertie believes we can even manage to buy a house of our own. Once we are settled, I shall invite you all to visit.

  Lydia

  “Well! What do you say to that? Old Reverend Morton giving Lydia money? I should not have thought that Spartan man had a single penny.” Kitty asked as she removed the second, much longer letter from its separate envelope.

  Mary’s mouth had dropped in shock at the mention of Reverend Morton. The stoic old priest would definitely never have agreed to any rushed wedding, especially one instigated by Lydia. As for money, only those involved in the elderly priest’s death investigation knew that the church coffer had gone missing. Albert Bullen, at well over six feet and burly, was well capable of strangling a man of Reverend Morton’s size. With a frightening realization dawning, Mary snatched the remaining letter from Kitty and quickly scanned it before reading.

  “This one is from just a few days ago.”

  Dearest Mama,

  There has been a bit of a delay until I can sign my name as Lydia Bullen, but of the most exciting cause. We are to sail to the West Indies upon the morrow. Bertie has arranged for passage to Antigua and we will be married by the captain of the ship. Oh I know it won’t be a church wedding, but that is so old fashioned. Besides, I shall need an entirely new wardrobe to deal with the tropical heat. Bertie says we will find a sugar plantation to buy. Imagine! Me! Mistress of a plantation! It is so romantic. I wonder of the natives are as mysterious as they sound. All of that dark naked skin and strange speech is so exotic. Do tell my sisters of our plans, I am sure they will dream about such a voyage, but be stuck in gloomy old England….

  Mary stopped reading, the rest of the two page missive was filled with Lydia’s typical childish ramblings. There was no more mention of Reverend Morton or any money.

  “We must show this to Sir Philip immediately.”

  “Why? What does a magistrate have to do with our Lydia’s antics? He can’t go after her, especially if she has gone… where is it again?”

  “Antigua… an island in the Caribbean, near America. I fear that Mr. Morton did not offer Lydia money willingly… I believe that Albert Bullen is responsible for the death of our vicar… and now Lydia is going to marry him.”

  Kitty’s eyes grew round as saucers at the possibility of such reasoning being true. Lydia did have the habit of choosing the worst possible men. How would anyone save her? Did she even know?

  “It does seem hopeless, perhaps your Mr. Amesbury would be of better assistance?” Mary inquired with as much reserve as she could muster.

  Kitty blushed at the mention of her fiancé. She could still hardly believe he was real, let alone a titled gentleman in the King’s service as a special police investigator. Nodding in agreement, Kitty gave Mary the letter she held.

  “Yes, of course… he is invited to dinner this evening. I suppose it can wait as there is nothing to be done in the present moment. I shall send a messenger to ask Sir Philip as well. Until then, tell no one of what we have discovered. We shall find a way to have Mama absent from our conversation.”

  “I know just the distraction… leave her to me,” Kitty promised as Mary pocketed the letters she now viewed as evidence and replaced the rest where they had been found. It was going to be a very distressing few hours until dinner.

  ******

  Just after the dessert course had finished, Kitty Bennet announced to those present that she required her mother’s opinion on a very important personal matter regarding to her future wedding.

  “Kitty… that is not for nearly a year. What can possibly be so important that it cannot wait?” her mother replied with a touch of boredom.

  “It’s just that I had Bridget take down your old dress this morning and I thought….”

  Kitty had no need to finish her rationale behind removing her Mother from the dining room. When each sister had previously married, Mrs. Bennet had tried to persuade one of them to wear her wedding gown. Besides being hopelessly out of fashion, the silk and lace monstrosity was nearly three sizes too large for any of the Bennet girls. However, the prospect of Kitty wanting to consider the now tattered gown, Mrs. Bennet was immediately on her feet, ushering Kitty from the room.

  “This is definitely a most urgent matter for the mother of a prospective bride… do excuse us.” Mrs. Bennet cooed and left the rest of the party in confused silence.

  Breaking the momentary calm, Mary announced the necessity for the ruse.

  “I apologize for that… unfortunately Kitty will be forced to tell tremendous lies for the next hour, but it was important that Mama not be present. Kitty and I have discovered some most disturbing news about Lydia concerning Reverend Morton… and I fear that Mama was aware of it.” Mary explained hastily as she withdrew the purloined letters from her pocket and passed them first to Sir Philip out of respect for his station. Having already spoken with Atlas on the matter before the arrival of their guests, she was comforted by the feel of his hand as it grasped hers under the table cloth. While Mary had felt a twinge of guilt over keeping the secret from her father, it was a calculated risk she had been willing to take. Lately, Mr. Bennet had appeared unusually tired. Mary feared that new stress over the disappearance of his youngest child would result in damage to his health. The counsel of Sir Philip and Franklin Amesbury would alleviate the impact of any severe implications. Anxiously, she waited as the two letters were passed between the gentlemen. Each wore grim faces as they assessed the information before carefully refolding the documents.

  “Well gentlemen? What has my daughter done now?” Mr. Bennet inquired with a sigh.

  “Lydia’s letters to your wife give clear evidence that she and the former Lt. Albert Bullen had an encounter with Reverend Morton just before his death. While I cannot prove without a doubt that Mr. Bullen murdered the man, it does suggest a grave possibility,” replied Sir Philip with equal sadness. As godfather to more than one Bennet daughter, and longtime friend to Will Bennet, he felt a familial connection that pained his heart.

  “I see,” Mr. Bennet replied as he closed his eyes momentarily as if to erase the idea from his mind. Waving his had away at the proffered letters. He chose to keep silent. It was best he did not know the exact details

  “Please bear in mind, that without being able to question either of them it is nearly impossible to make any conclusions. However, as an agent of the crown, I am bound to make inquiries. The authorities in Antigua will be notified,” added Franklin Amesbury.

  “As for Mrs. Bennet, I cannot hold her accountable in any way for the presumed actions of either Mr. Bullen or Lydia. It is unlikely that Mrs. Bennet made any connection to Reverend Morton’s death. I suggest we keep the matter between us,” Sir Philip declared to the agreement of all present.

  The relief that flooded Mary was immeasurable, it was as if a great weight had suddenly been lifted. The only thing that remained was finding a vicar to perform her wedding. It would be an anxious wait to see if the offer to Mr. Percival Rogers had been accepted. Until then, she must keep her thoughts positive.

  ~Twenty~

  Some twelve miles away…..

  The esteemed butler of Regan’s Chase nearly broke his stoic countenance at the arrival of a messenger bearing an urgent letter addressed to the youngest son of his employer. For years, the family had despaired of finding a place in the world for Mr. Percival Rogers. Only recently, they had a private discussion as to what his role in the household would become should they be burdened with him indefinitely. Oh it was not that their child was unwelcome, on the contrary, Percy… as his siblings called him, was a wonderfully friendly young man. His sense of humor, combined with a genuine goodness of spirit made him a most amiable companion. Unfortunately, significant flaws in his person rendered much public participation in society awkward. It was with considerable rel
ief that his application to study for the priesthood had been accepted and the three years away at seminary, in addition to another two as a curate had turned Percy’s considerable stutter and clumsiness into a fond memory. Unfortunately, with his return to the family home some months ago, it was apparent that no one would offer the young priest a permanent post as he stammered through his sermons and dropped countless church relics… until now. It had been with the greatest of pleasure that Boggs had interrupted luncheon and presented the silver tray bearing the letter to his young master.

  “The messenger is taking some refreshment in the servant’s dining hall… he was bid to await your reply as the matter is of some immediate importance,” the butler informed with a bow before exiting the room.

  “What is it Percy? What can be of such urgency and addressed to you?” the sassy voice of fifteen year old Eleanor Rogers inquired before she returned her attention to the meal before her.

  “Indeed my son, this is quite an irregular occurrence,” Mavis Rogers added while her son awkwardly broke the seal with a flail of his hand, sending his teacup crashing to the floor.

  “S...s...sorry m…m…mother, I am a bit s...s...surprised m...m…myself,” he apologized with a stammer and scraped his chair loudly as he moved out of the way of the footman assigned to clean up the messes he regularly left in his wake. Wincing at not only the sight of the broken china, but also the deep gouge left in the polished wood floor, Mrs. Rogers forced a smile and urged her son to continue. That was the fourth cup in as many weeks. Soon she would be forced to purchase an entirely new set.

  After a few moments of reading, Percival Rogers’ hands began to shake uncontrollably, nearly resulting in the letter falling into his half-finished soup. It was only a timely intervention by the footman that saved the letter from ruin. Grabbing the letter from the servant, young Eleanor Rogers announced her brother’s news.