Chapter 9
The day after the card party at Longbourn, John went out to the forest as usual.
He took his sketchbook and some spare pencils, telling himself that he wished to look for newly sprouted plants he had not seen before.
He did not wish to admit, even to himself, that he was hoping to see Miss Bennet.
After partnering her at whist last night, she was beginning to be a little too fascinating to him.
He reminded himself that he was married, even though his marriage was completely loveless.
Despite not receiving any love or affection from his wife in three years, ever since they had discovered she was barren, he had never even contemplated breaking his marriage vows, not even with the professional ladies so ubiquitous in London.
He wasn’t about to start now. What thoughts he had about Miss Bennet were simply idle curiosity, nothing more. She was a complex person, behaving in two very different ways, and he was curious as to why that might be.
He heard her voice before he saw her that morning.
She was singing The Water is Wide, sometimes known as O Waly, Waly.
He had heard the song sung many times, usually by a young lady who wished to show off the control she had over her voice.
Occasionally, it was sung by someone who wished to appear sentimental.
This was nothing like anything he had ever heard.
Miss Bennet was clearly mourning the loss of a love. Every phrase was expressed with sincerity. Every note was sung with sadness so deep it was close to despair. There were even a few moments when her voice cracked slightly with suppressed tears.
John was baffled. She had seemed so happy the night before. She had smiled slightly several times as they played whist together. It was more expression that he had ever seen on her face.
Now, only twelve hours later, she was singing as if her heart would break.
Had she received a letter? Was the man she loved far away and she learned of his death? Had he married someone else? Or perhaps she had learned that he had betrayed her in some way.
An instinct to comfort the peculiar lady arose in John’s chest. He even took a step around the tree he was hiding behind so he could go toward her. Then he stopped himself.
He was a stranger here. His presence would not in any way be a comfort to Miss Bennet. He would simply make her feel awkward in her sorrow.
He stepped back out of sight and contented himself with merely listening. When she was out of earshot, he headed back to Netherfield. He was no longer in the mood for rambling in the woods.
That night, he played cards at the Red Lion. He was far more reckless than usual, but the local gentlemen did not complain, since they won a total of thirty pounds off of him.
~~~~~
Mary felt a bit relieved after her emotional sojourn through the forest. Though she could not seem to lessen Mr. Porter’s hold on her mind or her heart, she was more resigned to the knowledge that it would be a temporary situation.
He would leave at the end of April, and that would be the end of it.
She stopped writing letters to him and burning them in the fireplace. She had learned that it was pointless. She decided to simply wait it out, and she would deal with the heartbreak when it came. In the meantime, she enjoyed his company as often as she could.
As the month of March passed, the weather began to warm. There were more social engagements in the neighborhood, and Mary’s evenings became more full.
March and April were Mary’s favorite time of year.
The temperature fluctuated quite a bit, sometimes from one day to the next, making life a little more exciting and unpredictable.
At the same time, it was fascinating to watch the woods slowly awaken from their slumber as if they were coming back to life.
When it wasn’t rainy or threatening to storm, Mary spent as much time as possible beneath the trees, sketching and cataloguing every new plant she could find.
She also began implementing her plans for the greenhouse.
It was still too early to plant outside, but the greenhouse was just warm enough that she could keep her plants alive.
With more social engagements, she saw Mr. Porter more often.
As the month progressed, she gradually became used to his presence.
She could not help the fact that he drew her gaze to him, and she could not prevent her curiosity about the man, but she managed to prevent herself from doing anything embarrassing in his presence.
There were no more card parties that month, for which Mary was grateful. She didn’t think she could have managed to partner him again without giving away some hint of her feelings.
Towards the end of the month, on a day that was the warmest yet, Mary once again headed for the woods with her sketch pad in hand and several pencils in her pocket. As she walked, she was focused mainly on the ground, noticing the various types of new growth on the forest floor.
Of course, many of the tiny plants were ones she had seen before. Most were ones she had sketched before. Any time she saw something new, she drew as accurate a picture of it as she could and compared her drawing to the ones in her book of common plants to identify it.
Most of them were found within the pages of that book, but there were a few that she had not been able to identify. Still, the effort was worthwhile. Knowing the names of the plants around her made her feel more familiar and more comfortable in their presence.
As she strolled along, she was required to look around her occasionally to take note of which direction she was traveling in. As she did so, she happened to notice a gentleman crouching next to a clump of plants. She assumed he was studying them.
Then, to her great distress, he began to reach out to them as if he would pick them up. “Stop!” she cried as loud as she could while she picked up her skirts and began running toward him. “Stop!” she shouted again.
The gentleman stopped the progression of his hand just before he touched the plants. He looked up at her in surprise.
Even in her distressed state, Mary could only sigh in frustration when she realized that the gentleman was Mr. Porter.
Of all the men she might meet alone in such a place, he was the worst possible one.
Not because she disliked his company, but rather because the idea of being alone with him was all too appealing.
“Is something the matter?” he asked, standing as she approached.
She stopped in front of him and paused to catch her breath. When she could, she said, “Though those leaves there look perfectly plain right now, they are in fact lords and ladies.”
She was relieved when he readily understood, acknowledging her warning by saying, “Ah.” Lords and ladies is a rather flamboyant weed.
In its early stages, it grows a leaf and stamen that looks almost like a lily, though it is green instead of white.
It eventually grows a cluster of red berries on a tall stalk.
It is eye-catching and unmistakable once it begins to grow, but the leaves on the forest floor in front of Mr. Porter were still in their infancy. It had taken some time for Mary to discover their identity.
The reason for her distress, however, was that all parts of the plant are slightly poisonous to humans. Simply touching them can result in a painful rash that can last for days.
“You have saved me from a very uncomfortable situation, Miss Bennet,” he said. “I am entirely grateful.”
“You are most welcome,” she said.
There was an awkward pause as they each seemed to study the other’s face. Eventually, he nodded toward the sketchbook she was carrying and said, “I take it you are a studier of nature?”
“I suppose one could phrase it that way,” said Mary. “For myself, I prefer to think of it as learning more about the inhabitants of this wood.”
“Ah, then you are a studier of this area and not so much all of nature,” he replied.
Mary wanted to agree, since that was almost exactly what she had said, however it wasn’t entirely true.
She smiled a tiny little rueful smile. “I suppose you have caught me in a falsehood, sir. In my efforts to learn more of the plants that surround me, I have in fact taken an interest in plants from other places. I still would not call myself a studier of nature. Rather, I just like learning about plants.”
“Then you are a botanist,” he said.
“I do not know whether to agree or disagree. Agreeing feels like self-aggrandizement for the title sounds far too grand for me. Disagreeing, however, feels somehow false. A botanist is one who learns about plants, and that is indeed one of my hobbies.”
“And what are your other hobbies, Miss Bennet?” asked Mr. Porter.
Mary hesitated. Not many knew of her real hobbies. Since this man seemed quite capable of keeping quiet when it was necessary, and since he would be leaving the neighborhood soon, she decided to be honest.
“I love gardening, and I enjoy strolling through these woods,” she said. “I do play piano, though never in public. I suppose I draw a little, though that was a skill I learned simply so I could sketch the plants I see. My favorite hobby, however, is archery.”
As she listed off her hobbies, his eyebrows rose steadily. When she was finished, he said, “There is much to be curious about in that list,” he said. “I suppose the most obvious question is why do you not play in public. I am certain I would have enjoyed listening to you.”
“I am afraid my playing is not as accurate as I would like, and the effort involved in making it so is beyond me. So, I do not play for others, only for myself,” she replied.
Though the statement was true, she deliberately obfuscated the situation to make it appear that she was simply not skilled enough.
He looked at her with an odd expression on his face. “I care nothing for accuracy, only honesty,” he said. “As long as the person playing or singing expresses true emotion rather than emotionless technicality, I am satisfied.”
Without knowing it, Mr. Porter had pierced right to the heart of the matter. He could not have known that it was her honesty which she could not display, could never display. Yet it was her honesty she could not hide, either. So, she did not play in public.
“You have extraordinarily high standards, sir,” she said.
“Do you think so?” he asked. “I thought I was being lenient.”
Mary shook her head. “Honesty in public is vastly more difficult, not to mention infinitely more risky, than mere technical perfection.”
Again, he seemed to study her face. Mary could not imagine what he was looking for, but the feeling that she was his primary focus caused her awareness of the world around them to shrink and fade away.
“I think I understand what you mean, Miss Bennet,” he said. “I suppose none of us are entirely honest in public.”
There was meaning behind those words that was more than Mary could follow. She supposed it likely had something to do with his own past, which he had kept very much to himself.
After a moment, Mr. Porter said, “Would you care to join me as I continue to explore these woods today? I would very much enjoy your insight into all I can see. Besides, I might need you to save me from some other unknown danger as I wander about.”
His eyes twinkled with humor as his face remained serious. Mary found the sight intoxicating, quite as much as drinking too much wine. “I would be happy to be of assistance,” she said.
She knew her reply came out coldly, but she could not have agreed more congenially without betraying how very happy she was to receive such an invitation.
He turned and held his arm out to her for her to take. Honestly, she felt it was pointless. She would have to drop it the first time they found an interesting plant. Even so, with her heart pounding in her chest from nervous anticipation, she hesitantly reached out and took his forearm in her hand.
The sensation, the experience, from such a mundane interaction was like nothing she had ever imagined. Warmth spread from her hand throughout her entire body. It shocked her, and for a moment, she could not move.
“Miss Bennet, are you well?” asked Mr. Porter.
She looked up into his face. His eyes were full of concern at her sudden stillness. She took a deep breath and said, “I am well. Shall we proceed?”
Though the concern in his eyes faded, it did not disappear completely. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned, and they began walking.
That day’s exploration was vastly different from any Mary had ever experienced. On her own, she had always enjoyed the little discoveries and was pleased to notice the new growth that appeared nearly every day.
With Mr. Porter by her side, sharing her delight in every new discovery, her enjoyment was multiplied tenfold. By the end of their ramble, she did not know if she would ever be able to enjoy a solitary ramble, one without him by her side, again.
Eventually, the time came when Mary needed to depart. “I am afraid I am needed at home soon,” she said.
She was surprised to see a look of disappointment on Mr. Porter’s face. She had assumed she was an imposition to him, as her company often was to anyone who was not family or close friends. Mr. Porter, on the other hand, looked as though he did not wish for her to leave.
“When will you be returning? Will I see you here again?” he asked.
Mary felt the danger of his questions. If she answered him honestly, she would essentially be agreeing to meet him here alone. Encountering him by accident was one thing, but agreeing to an assignation seemed far more serious.
Mary knew right from wrong. She was, in fact, an expert on the subject, as anyone in the neighborhood could verify.
She knew why it would be a bad idea to agree to meet him.
She knew she would be putting herself and her virtue in danger, much as Lydia had done nearly three years ago when she ran off with Mr. Wickham.
On the other hand, Mary had spent the last two years indulging herself in every selfish whim, and she was out of practice of denying herself pleasure or forcing herself to be content with discomfort.
“Do you know of the little footbridge that spans the stream about midway through these woods?” she asked.
“I have seen it, though I am not often in that area,” he replied.
“Well, it is likely that I will be in that vicinity around two in the afternoon most days,” said Mary. “I cannot say with certainty, since occasionally my mother will require my company for some reason or another, but if given the choice, I will be choosing to be there.”
“Then perhaps I shall find myself in that vicinity as well,” said Mr. Porter. “I look forward to seeing you there.”