The Bucket
Mrs Bennet, to whose apartment they all repaired, after a few minutes’ conversation together, received them exactly as might be expected; with tears and lamentations of regret, invectives against the villainous conduct of Wickham, and complaints of her own sufferings and ill-usage; blaming everybody but the person to whose ill-judging indulgence the errors of her daughter must principally be owing.
"If I had been able," said she, "to carry my point in going to Brighton, with all my family, this would not have happened; but poor dear Lydia had nobody to take care of her. Why did the Forsters ever let her go out of their sight? I am sure there was some great neglect or other on their side, for she is not the kind of girl to do such a thing if she had been well looked after. I always thought they were very unfit to have the charge of her; but I was overruled, as I always am. Poor dear child! And now here’s Mr Bennet gone away, and I know he will fight Wickham, wherever he meets him and then he will be killed, and what is to become of us all?
The Collinses will turn us out before he is cold in his grave, and if you are not kind to us, brother, I do not know what we shall do. "
~
The slamming of the back door startled Elizabeth Bennet from a light slumber.
She had been half-dozing in the sitting room, lamenting the fact that the Bennet family had once again been bitten by their own snake—while also ruminating on the cold fact that the chances of any of them making advantageous marriages had diminished from slim to none.
Lydia’s shame would put paid to whatever prospects they may once have had.
Of course, she had to admit that in one notable bout of snake-biting, the offending part of the Bennet family consisted primarily of its second daughter—but that was neither here nor there.
She had done what she must in Hunsford (or at least, all her wounded vanity and incorrect first impressions allowed).
That she had enjoyed a second chance was extraordinary, something exceedingly rare—but it was all for naught.
As promising as their reacquaintance at Pemberley had been, she would certainly never see Mr Darcy again, especially given his history with Mr Wickham and his rapid departure from the inn in Lambton after he learned of Lydia’s shame.
Now that Elizabeth had some idea what she had lost, that painful reality began to press upon her.
She was also nearly certain they had seen the last of Mr Bingley, and the best she could hope for was that he would abandon Netherfield entirely rather than return with a wife—or worse yet, return and court a lady in the neighbourhood other than Jane.
She thought if that happened, she and Jane would have to remove to London permanently (as they probably would anyway).
Elizabeth’s slumber was not born of indolence (not that there was anything to do while they waited for her father and uncle to pursue Lydia), but primarily because she had taken the nighttime duty of managing their mother on her own shoulders.
Over the week since her return to Longbourn from her aborted reconciliation in Lambton, she had tried several strategies for persuading her mother from her bed—or at least into silence.
Everything she tried, from gentle cajoling to appeals to logic, reason, motherly instincts, or her responsibilities as a gentlewoman and mistress of an estate—had no effect whatsoever.
Mrs Bennet was absolutely certain the predicament was someone else’s fault.
She was not particular about who that somebody was, so long as it was not Lydia herself, Mrs Bennet, or Jane.
Half the time she lamented that her good for nothing husband would not make any effort at all to compel the bounder to marry Lydia; and the other half she was sure he would duel the miscreant and be killed, thus advancing their inevitable starvation in the hedgerows, which Mr Collins would institute before the man was cold in the ground.
Poor Mrs Hill had exhausted herself tending to her mistress’ entirely imaginary ailments for the first week of Lydia’s disgrace, so Elizabeth assumed the burden at night to ensure that the one sane person in the house received some sleep.
That did little for her own rest, but since it was mostly filled with nightmares and regrets anyway, it was no great loss.
At least in the daytime, Kitty would kick her if she began snoring too loudly.
The noise that had roused her piqued Elizabeth's curiosity, since the servants had been walking on eggshells for weeks. None would dare slam a door, so the cause of the commotion was something of a mystery.
With a start, she sprang up and passed out to the corridor to stare in astonished consternation at her sister Mary, who was nonchalantly walking along carrying a bucket.
Not only was she carrying a bucket, but it was not the cleanest specimen Elizabeth had ever seen.
It resembled the milkmaid’s, based on its stains, and it even had a suspiciously hoof-shaped dent on the side.
The wonders continued as she noticed Mary bearing the bucket with her opposite hand outstretched wide as a counterbalance, indicating it was nearly full. Elizabeth began to wonder if Mrs Bennet was secretly dismissing servants while she slept, thus forcing her daughters into the disagreeable duty.
Full of curiosity, she asked, “Mary, what are you about?”
Whether Mary did not hear or simply ignored the question was hard to determine, as it usually was with her.
About half the time Elizabeth was convinced something was wrong with her sister’s hearing, and the other half, she thought Mary simply chose to disregard anything she did not wish to hear at that particular moment (a skill no doubt learned from her parents, who were masters of the art of not hearing).
Elizabeth followed at her ease behind as Mary strode down the front hall like a woman on a mission.
She observed that the bucket was even fuller than she had supposed, since a bit of water spilled over the side every time her sister’s stride became too energetic, and Mary uttered the occasional very unladylike grunt.
Elizabeth considered whether she ought to help, but with Mary’s determined stride, she scarcely kept pace anyway.
When they reached the second floor, Elizabeth heard Mary panting like a racehorse and was overcome with curiosity.
She at last demanded far more stridently, “Mary, what are you about?”
Her sister continued down the corridor, but from the dulcet tones of Mrs Bennet, it was obvious they were headed in that direction.
Elizabeth began to wonder if Mrs Bennet had compelled Mary into doing her bidding.
It would be quite a degradation, though to be honest, with a ruined sister it would hardly be noticeable.
When they finally arrived at her mother’s door, Elizabeth noticed Kitty peering out fearfully from her own room to see what all the fuss might mean.
They had apparently been noticed, because she began to hear the familiar litany, “… for nobody is on my side, nobody takes part with me. I am cruelly used, nobody feels for my poor nerves."
The refrain had grown more strident over time, and Mrs Bennet tended to mumble the commencement of her complaint, so the last was frequently all they heard. That said, they were so repetitious there was no point in hearing the entire diatribe.
Mary set the bucket on the floor, spilling a bit of water in the process.
“Mary?” Elizabeth asked, more curious than alarmed.
Her sister gave her a very peculiar look, and naturally said something that made not the slightest sense. “Proverbs 27:5. Better is open rebuke than hidden love.”
Elizabeth wrinkled her brow in utter confusion. She had no idea what Mary was talking about (as usual), but at least she was quoting the Bible itself instead of Fordyce, so that was an improvement.
“Could you… elaborate?” she at last inquired.
“Watch and learn,” was all Mary had to say.
As Elizabeth and Kitty looked on in continued confusion, Mary took a deep breath, seized the bucket, opened her mother’s bedchamber door, and marched in.
Elizabeth followed curiously and was not at all surprised that her mother’s wailing rose to a fever pitch, although at that point she at least began asking relevant questions as she was as full of curiosity about Mary’s bucket as Elizabeth was—though to be honest, her replies strongly favoured words such as filthy, vermin-infested, diseased, and the like.
Elizabeth took that to mean the matron was not impressed with Mary’s bucket.
She had no idea whether the mistress was upset by its presence or its quality.
A moment later, Mrs Bennet was even less impressed! With a very unladylike scream, Mary hoisted the bucket to her shoulders and dumped the whole thing on her mother’s head.
To add insult to injury, Mary then began screaming at her mother at the top of her lungs.
“You… you… you… you spoilt child! I have had enough! Jane has had enough. Lizzy has had enough! Even Kitty has had more than enough. The only thing we are accomplishing right now is learning the skills we will almost certainly need when Lydia returns unmarried and increasing, as now seems almost inevitable. Who will take care of the baby—We shall! Who will keep Lydia from starving—we shall! We are nearly certain to have an actual baby here in Longbourn within the year, but I for one am satisfied to wait for the unhappy occurrence. You need to begin acting like the mistress of an estate… Nay, you need to begin acting like a grown woman… Nay, you need at least to begin acting like someone who has been out in society for a month or more. We are in this predicament because of you! Lydia has been greedy, selfish, and ungovernable for years! Jane attempted to correct her with gentle instruction. I endeavoured to do so with moral lessons. Lizzy strove with every tool at her disposal, and she has more than most. Yet, you indulged her… nay, encouraged her bad behaviour. This is on you! As you sow, so shall you reap!”
By then, Elizabeth was considering the wisdom of interceding but frankly thought it unwise to place herself between Mary and her mother, unless she could send Kitty to fetch an axe.
“Why, I never… Why you… I will not be spoken to in this way!” Mrs Bennet began lamenting, but Mary dashed the bucket onto the floor with a clatter.
Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw Mrs Hill stick her head in the door and quickly signalled her to get as far from the debacle as she could. That lady showed her good sense by disappearing like a ghost.
Mary continued, “As I said, I have had it! You will get yourself out of bed and assist to try to repair this debacle—or at least cease making it worse. NOW, you will get your whinging self out of bed and start acting responsibly or you may have your mouth washed out with soap, get a caning, wear a dunce’s cap, or stand in the corner.
It is your choice how you handle this disaster of your making, and so far, your choice seems to be punishing your daughters for your deficiencies.
I will not stand for it. Not now, not ever again! ”
Mary's face inspired something like awe in Elizabeth. Tears were pouring from her eyes while they also thundered anger. She was certainly happy to be witnessing it from a distance.
“I shall not be spoken to in this manner, Miss High and Mighty Mary. I am still your mother, and if your father had but listened to me, we would all have gone to Brighton and none of this would have happened, but he has a will of iron and never listens to anybody. I am your mother and the mistress of this estate, and you will give me the respect I am due!”
Mary punctuated her final point by lifting the pail a couple of inches and slamming it back on the floor, apparently to be certain everyone in the county was listening.
“Then act like it,” Mary shouted. She then continued blithely as if she must finish before she did something truly awful.
“No servant shall cross this door until I allow it, and I shall not do so anytime soon. You had best get out of bed like an ordinary person, get dressed, even if it is only in a dressing gown, and set to work cleaning this mess. I will allow Sarah to leave you rags and a mop outside the door. The alternative is, I suppose, for you to sleep in a wet mattress for a couple of weeks and hope the water eventually evaporates before it grows too mouldy. That would not be my choice, but you may do as you please, as I will not allow anybody save myself to enter this room until you finish.”
With a final stare around at everyone who was listening, Mary took up the bucket and marched out the door like Odin’s Maiden seeking another hapless victim to unleash her mayhem on.
Elizabeth was more impressed than she had ever been in her life.
It was one thing for rich men with all the power in the world to attempt to bring about change.
It was quite another for the previously quietest and most timid sister to do so at considerable risk to her own reputation and position in the family.
Her father would be well within his rights to cast her from the house unceremoniously.
Yes, Elizabeth Bennet was mightily impressed, and her good opinion was not the slightest bit dimmed when Mary screamed, “OOF!” and began falling backwards, after running headlong at nearly a run into a brick wall in a red uniform.