The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet Read online

  First the family entered the carriages. In the position of honor, as children and spouses of the deceased, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, and Kitty entered the first carriage. Mr. Collins, Mr. Philips, and Mr. Gardiner entered the second. All the other guests—her father’s associates, people from the village, even a few friends from London—entered the rest of the carriages.

  The women, excepting Elizabeth and Kitty, stood on the steps and watched as the funeral procession left the house and made its way towards Meryton. The carriages travelled at a slow pace as they were led by the mute, the bearers, and the pages, who were all on foot.

  As soon as the procession was out of sight, Mary’s shoulders tensed. Maybe she should have joined Elizabeth and Kitty. She pushed the thought aside; it was not her duty, and attending the funeral would not eliminate the hollow feeling she felt inside. Besides, they had already left; it was too late to change her mind.

  The women repaired inside and instantly Mrs. Bennet began to lament. “What will I ever do without Mr. Bennet? We shall be on the streets, with nothing to sustain us.”

  “We have sufficient means, Mother,” said Mary. “Frugality is a commendable trait which will help us develop more sympathy for the less fortunate around us.”

  “No one will think of us, and our misfortunes!” said Mrs. Bennet.

  “Remember, dear sister,” said Mrs. Philips, “that you will be staying with me. You also have two well-established daughters who will surely see that no ill comes to you.”

  “Of course, Mother,” said Jane. “You are always welcome in my home. And if Elizabeth were here, she would say the same of Pemberley.”

  “But it is so very far away. I cannot possibly travel such a distance while I am in mourning. I wish you had not bought an estate, and that you still lived at Netherfield.”

  “We understand that travel would be quite difficult for you at this time,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “But when you have recovered your nerves, you are also welcome to stay with me and your brother in London at any time.”

  Mrs. Bennet nodded her acceptance of everyone’s offers, but then turned to other complaints. “I feel so alone. No one understands my sorrows.”

  Yet Mary did understand her mother’s sorrows. And while she knew she should try to comfort her mother, she mostly wanted to ask her to be silent. Everyone else was in mourning as well, everyone else was in pain. Perhaps, though, she could both comfort her mother and provide her with a better way of thinking.

  “It is important,” said Mary, “to recognize that the state of sorrow can be beneficial. Laurence Sterne speaks quite eloquently on why the house of mourning is more useful for our salvation than the house of feasting. He begins by quoting the book of Ecclesiastes, where it says—”

  “I think that at this moment your mother needs rest more than anything else,” said her aunt, Mrs. Gardiner.

  “But it is a very uplifting sermon, and it is short,” said Mary. “I have it memorized, and I think it would be beneficial for all of us.”

  “You best save it for later,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “Your mother is exhausted.”

  Mrs. Bennet let out a theatrical cry, as if to emphasize the validity of Mrs. Gardiner’s statement.

  “You must be exhausted as well,” said Jane. “You did spend all night with Father.”

  “I feel fine,” said Mary. “I do not need any rest.” She had the beginning of a headache, but that could occur even with a full night’s sleep.

  “Then perhaps you might be benefited by taking a short walk,” said Mrs. Gardiner.

  “It is such a lovely day,” said Jane. “I can take care of Mama. It will be several hours before they return from the funeral.”

  “Very well. I will leave you to it.” Mary had always been able to tell when she was not wanted, and clearly no one wanted her presence right now. She turned around and walked out of the room slowly, counting her steps and focusing on her breathing so no one would notice her irritation, or worse, how much their dismissal stung. She always seemed to be least wanted when she tried her hardest to be involved: her family often shut her out when she tried to help them or show them that she cared.

  Once outside the room, she leaned against the wall. The mourning ring felt tight around her finger. She took it off, rubbed her finger a little, and then forced the ring back on.

  She almost went up to her room, but decided, at the last moment, to leave the house. Perhaps Jane was correct, and a walk would do her good. As she stepped into the sunlight and fresh air, it felt, suddenly, as if she had left a bit of the gloom behind.

  Typically, she only walked if there were a particular purpose or an errand she needed to complete. It was not often that she walked for the sake of walking. There were always so many more important things to do.

  Out of habit, she walked towards Meryton. The funeral procession had taken this same path, and if she continued through town, she would pass by the church. Despite her regrets at not joining, she would not, of course, interrupt. It might be permissible for a woman to ride in a funeral procession and to attend a funeral service, but an interruption would be grievous indeed.

  As she walked, she considered the events of the previous night. Lady Trafford’s visit had been as strange as a dream. She was surprised that no one had asked her about it this morning. She was certain all the servants had heard word of it from Sarah. But perhaps, because of the funeral, none of the servants had mentioned it to any members of the household.

  Mary entered Meryton, nodding to people as she passed. She held her arms tight against her body. She felt vulnerable, walking here, without Kitty or someone else to accompany her. Instead of people’s eyes turning to her sisters or her mother, they turned to her, and she was not accustomed to their focused attention.

  Down the road she spotted an elegant carriage, brown with an ornamental mahogany trim. There was a man behind the carriage, unlatching one of the cases that was attached to it.

  The carriage was parked in front of a shop. Out of the shop exited Lady Trafford and Mr. Withrow. How peculiar. They had specifically stated that they would not be in Meryton today.

  Mary was not prepared for another conversation with Lady Trafford, so she paused at a nearby shop, pretending to consider the hats on display. It was the sort of action Lydia took when she saw someone she did not want to meet. She shifted her head slightly so she could see the man tampering with the back of the carriage. He removed something from the case and put it in his pocket. His build and his height looked familiar, though not his clothes. Unable to stop herself, she abandoned the display of hats and took a few steps closer. The man’s face turned to the side, and she recognized him as the man who had been in Longbourn the day before, the one who attempted to steal the mourning rings.

  Distress filled her entire body. With the angle the carriage was parked, as they exited the shop and entered the carriage, Lady Trafford and her nephew must not be able to see the man. Because of his quality clothing, the townspeople must believe he was working for Lady Trafford instead of stealing from her.

  He had almost managed to steal the mourning rings, and, as unusual as Lady Trafford was, Mary would not let him rob the woman. Like the mourning rings, she could solve this problem herself.

  “Thief!” she cried. “It is a thief!”

  The thief looked at her with a ferocity she found frightening.

  Some of the townsfolk also turned to her, but a few headed towards the man and started shouting. The thief took off at a run.

  She pointed again. “That man is a thief!”

  Mr. Withrow jumped out of the carriage. “You rascal!” he shouted at the thief, and then ran after him at a great speed. Several other men followed but were quickly outpaced by the thief and Withrow. The thief turned down a side street and soon they were both out of sight.

  The townsfolk surrounded both Mary and the carriage. There were cries of, “Miss Bennet, are you all right?” and endless questions which blurred together as they pounded
into Mary’s head. She could not say a thing as the people pressed closer and closer to her. The only time she liked the attention of large groups of people was when she performed on the pianoforte or demonstrated another accomplishment, but that was a planned, practiced, and controlled situation. She felt small under the people’s stares.

  Lady Trafford exited the carriage. She spoke loudly and with such poise that the crowd instantly quieted. “Thank you, everyone, for your concern. Miss Bennet has performed a great service for me today, and now you may all go back to your business.” She gestured for Mary to follow her into the carriage.

  Mary obeyed her without question. She would rather be in a carriage with Lady Trafford than surrounded by the people of Meryton. There would be talk of this incident, and people wondering why she was not at home during the funeral. She should have walked in a different direction or stayed back at the house.

  Mary’s hands shook from the second encounter with the thief, and she wondered that Lady Trafford could be so composed. She climbed into the carriage, stooping awkwardly as she considered the available seating. She could sit at Lady Trafford’s side, but it would be rather cramped with the woman’s full skirts, so she sat in the middle of the seat opposite. She could not still her hands, so she tucked them under her legs. The theft yesterday had been discreet, but today was very public. It was a touch too much excitement for her. Lady Trafford watched Mary, but thankfully did not say anything, which gave Mary a moment to compose herself.

  Mr. Withrow climbed into the carriage. His face was sweaty, and he was out of breath. “I chased him all the way to the edge of the village, but then I lost him.” Withrow lowered himself onto the same seat as Mary. She shifted farther down the seat to put some distance between them.

  Mary smoothed out her dress. This morning, she had put on a new, black dress. It was of quality material, but a plain design, which Mary always preferred, and in her opinion was more appropriate for mourning than the more stylish gowns of her sisters.

  “Did you know that man?” asked Lady Trafford.

  “No,” said Mary. “But yesterday he tried to steal all of the mourning rings.”

  “How dreadful!” Lady Trafford said. “The audacity of such an act.” She rubbed her pearl necklace with her fingers. “Are you certain it was the same individual?”

  “I would not make such an accusation if I were not certain,” said Mary. “It is essential to never judge in haste, lest that judgment come back upon you.”

  “That is wise,” said Mr. Withrow. “How could you tell it was the thief?” He asked the same way he had last night when he was questioning her, as if her answers were the most important thing in the world.

  “I have a skill for remembering faces.”

  “Well, Miss Bennet, I find myself beholden to you,” said Lady Trafford.

  Mary wondered what that meant. Some people took a debt like that very seriously. Lydia had always managed to extract a gift or trinket in situations like this, but Mary had no interest in such trifles.

  Both Mr. Withrow and Lady Trafford considered her, and so Mary tried to fill the silence. “I thought you were travelling farther, for business.”

  “My business was cut short, so we attempted to return in time for my nephew to join the funeral service. I regret that we were too late.” She leaned forward. “I had hoped to meet your mother.”

  “If you had come during the day to view my father’s body, you would have received the opportunity.”

  “What my aunt really wants,” said Mr. Withrow dryly, “is to know if she can visit Longbourn right now.”

  Mr. Withrow said it as if Mary should obviously have come to that conclusion, but Lady Trafford had not been direct in her communication. Mary did not appreciate Withrow’s attitude: charming one moment when he wanted information, and almost disdainful the next. But it did not matter how Withrow treated her, so she pushed thoughts of him aside and considered Lady Trafford’s request. There would be plenty of people at Longbourn after the funeral, and Lady Trafford was a relation—albeit a distant one—so she could see no harm in it.

  “We are having a funeral meal for family and friends. I believe everyone would view it as acceptable for you to join us.”

  “That would be lovely.” Lady Trafford tapped the side of the carriage and said, “Thomas, if you would do us the kindness of taking us to Longbourn.”

  The carriage turned around, and Mary thought it was a very good thing that she had been walking for the sake of walking, rather than for a purpose. If she had possessed a true reason for visiting Meryton, Lady Trafford’s overwhelming sense of purpose would have left no room for it. Mary did regret that the carriage had not gone a bit farther, to the other side of Meryton, for then she would have seen the exterior of the church where they were holding her father’s funeral.

  She gazed out the window, and then pulled herself back so she would be less visible from the outside. There was no point in having the rest of the villagers wonder what a young Miss Bennet was doing in the company of her ladyship.

  “It would have been terrible if you had not arrived at that moment and spared us from that thief,” said Lady Trafford. “Do you not agree, Henry?”

  “Of course,” said Withrow. “Your assistance was invaluable. The thief even dropped the handkerchief he had taken.” He withdrew it from his pocket, so Mary could see. He glanced at his aunt and then added, “I do hope you will let us find a way to show our appreciation.”

  “I suspect that you care less about material items than things of intellectual or moral worth,” Lady Trafford mused. “But surely there would be other demonstrations of gratitude you would not be opposed to. You seem to value knowledge and accomplishments. The very fact that you taught yourself to read French speaks highly of your intelligence and dedication. I know that you are not interested in training to become a governess. But is there anything that you would like to learn, Miss Bennet? An opportunity you would like to have?”

  Mary remembered her desire, in the night, to be able to draw.

  “I can see there is something,” said Lady Trafford. “Please, do tell us.”

  “I regret never having drawing lessons,” said Mary.

  “That is an admirable desire. Are there any masters in Meryton?”

  Mary shook her head.

  “That is regrettable. Most of the masters live in London. But I do know one, a friend who lives near my home, in Worthing. If you were to come and stay with me, I am sure he would agree to train you. I also know a French teacher who could teach you to speak as well as you read.”

  The thought did tempt Mary. She had never had a private tutor, never received instruction in anything (besides dance lessons, which Mrs. Bennet saw as an essential skill for obtaining a husband). Jane and Elizabeth had, at times, received private lessons on various subjects, but by the time it was Mary’s turn to ask for lessons, Mrs. Bennet had insisted that it was an unnecessary expense. Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth had at times given her a sentence or two of instruction on various topics, but a private tutor would do so much more.

  “I will consider your offer,” said Mary. “I will need to ask my—” She stopped herself. She had been about to say father.

  If she asked her mother, Mrs. Bennet would agree without hesitation. To find Mary a situation with a woman of wealth and influence, even for a short time, would please her very much. She would probably hope it would throw Mary into the arms of an eligible suitor.

  While a suitable suitor would be welcome, Mary’s purpose was not to find a husband. Yet staying with Lady Trafford would have certain advantages, such as being out in society without being overshadowed by any of her sisters. Each of her sisters had made trips on their own, but Mary had never done so. Before she seriously considered such a thing, it would be expedient to make inquiries about Lady Trafford and ensure she was a woman of character.

  “Take whatever time you need to consider.”

  They sat in silence the rest of the carriage ride to
Longbourn. Mary had never felt the need to fill silence with idle conversation and was grateful that her companions did not press her to do so. Yet silence gave time for contemplation, and contemplation made way for a sense of dread, a dread for how her mother might act in front of Lady Trafford.

  Chapter Four

  “The private letters from Paris, contrary to the spirit of the Journals, which would indicate a general peace, speculate diffusely on a Continental peace, under the supposition that Great Britain will not be included in the arrangement.”

  –Hereford Journal, Herefordshire, England, August 4, 1813

  Mary did not like making introductions. She felt this strongly, even though it was quite possible that she had never made an introduction before. There was always someone else who was a much more logical person to make introductions. But as she was the only one who had made Lady Trafford and Mr. Withrow’s acquaintance, it was not possible for someone else to shoulder the responsibility.

  The housekeeper led Mary, Lady Trafford, and Mr. Withrow to the drawing room where the family was gathered as they waited for the funeral party to return. As they stepped into the room, everyone quieted, immediately looking at the guests and getting to their feet. Mrs. Bennet did not stand, but she did study the guests with care.

  Mary smoothed her dress, trying to remember a passage she had once read about the most proper methods of introduction. It was a solemn day, so she spoke with solemnity.

  “On this sad day, we have been blessed with the presence of distant relatives who have come to pay their respects. This is Lady Trafford, of Sussex, and her nephew, Mr. Withrow.”

  More quickly, she pointed out everyone in the room. “This is my mother, Mrs. Bennet. And my aunt, Mrs. Philips. And my aunt, Mrs. Gardiner. And my sister, Mrs. Bingley. This is Mrs. Collins, a friend of our family who married my cousin. This is her mother, Lady Lucas. And this is Lady Lucas’s other daughter, Mrs. Blankenbeckler.”

  “What a lovely family you have,” observed Lady Trafford.