Chapter 3
“A Mr. Yarby is here, sir,” Mrs. Hill said after receiving admittance to Mr. Bennet’s study.
“Ah, very good. Please show him into the drawing room, Hill. I shall join him directly.”
The housekeeper nodded but did not depart. “There is a second person, sir—a lady who arrived with Mr. Yarby.”
Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow. A lady? As far as he understood, Mr. Yarby was unmarried. He shrugged. “Very well then. Show them both in, please, and bring tea.”
After Mrs. Hill departed, the master took a minute to collect himself, then taking the pages of Mr. Yarby’s sermons to discuss with the applicant, went to greet his guests.
He entered to find Mr. Yarby standing by the fireplace while the lady accompanying him perched gingerly on the settee nearby.
The two turned expectant faces to him as he entered.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Yarby,” Mr. Bennet said with a slight bow of the head. “I do appreciate your coming all this way. Very pleased to meet you.”
Mr. Yarby bowed. “It is I who am pleased and honored by your invitation, Mr. Bennet.” He turned to the woman who rose from the settee. “Sir, may I present my sister, Mrs. Withers? She was widowed two years ago and now lives with me.”
Mr. Bennet turned his attention to the woman.
Well groomed and handsome, if a bit on the plain side—certainly no one would call her a great beauty—she was dressed in a muslin day dress of light blue with a rust-colored spencer jacket that complemented both her complexion and thick, auburn hair styled simply under a modest, pale-blue bonnet. She curtseyed.
“Welcome to Longbourn, Mrs. Withers,” he said with a bow.
“Forgive me for arriving unannounced, sir,” she said in a warm, well-modulated voice.
“It is unpardonable, I know, but I have never been to this part of the country before. Any new place is always a welcome diversion to me, so I begged Robert to allow me to join him. Do not fear, however, that I shall interfere or insert myself into your business with my brother. I thought to avail myself of a walk around your property while you two speak if that would be acceptable.” She smiled, and Mr. Bennet noted how that simple act lifted her from plain to moderately attractive.
He put her age at perhaps early or mid-thirties. Was she an older sister?
“No imposition at all, I assure you.” At that moment, Mr. Bennet heard footsteps behind him and glanced over his shoulder to see his daughter Mary walking past, holding some music.
Oh Lord, was she about to murder another piece on the piano?
That would never do. He called to her, and she stopped and entered the room.
“Yes, Papa?” Although Mary addressed her father, her eyes were firmly fixed on the unknown gentleman.
Mr. Bennet’s eyes turned from his daughter to Mr. Yarby, who was now standing.
Noting the direction of Mary’s gaze, he cleared his throat to return her attention to him.
Her face colored as she lowered her eyes.
“Did you need something, Papa?” she stammered.
“I wish to introduce you to our guests. Mr. Yarby, Mrs. Withers, this is Mary, the third of my five daughters. Mary, Mr. Yarby has come to interview for the vacant rector position. His sister, Mrs. Withers, has joined him. Would you be so kind as to take her for a tour of our park while he and I conduct our business?”
Mary curtseyed to the couple. “Very pleased to meet you both. I am happy to escort her, Papa. If you will come with me, Mrs. Withers, I shall get my jacket.”
The two ladies began to depart as Mrs. Hill entered the room with a tray of tea and cakes.
Mr. Bennet offered some refreshment to Mrs. Withers, but she said that, after the long ride, she would much prefer a walk.
As she and Mary exited the library, Mrs. Hill poured for both men, and at last, the gentlemen could discuss their business.
***
Mary and Mrs. Withers walked in silence for a time.
Mary did not wish to be rude, but her mind was still on the handsome rector she had just met—wavy, dark-brown hair with dark eyes to match.
And when he smiled, Mary was sure she had seen two dimples.
She could only hope he would get the job.
Oh, to gaze upon such a face in the pulpit every week!
But she broke away from her daydreaming and realized she must make some effort at conversation with her walking companion.
“How long has your brother been with the church, Mrs. Withers?” she asked tentatively. Was it proper to ask such a thing? She did not wish to appear rude or overly inquisitive. But Mary saw no sign that her guest noticed her nervousness as they continued along the garden path.
“He has been the curate at a parish in Dorset for less than two years, Miss Bennet, which is why we were quite frankly surprised to receive your father’s letter inviting him to a personal interview. We assumed Mr. Bennet would seek out someone with far more experience.”
Mary pondered this a moment before replying earnestly. “But…every rector must start somewhere, must he not? A minister is not born fully formed as it were. Every experienced rector was once a novice curate.”
Mrs. Withers let out a delighted laugh. “Indeed, you are correct! It would be lovely if your father also feels that way and is inclined to give him the living. But if not, we shall return to Dorset and continue as we were. Robert’s time for his own parish will come, I am certain.
Although, if we had better connections, it would likely be settled sooner. ”
Mary nodded sagely. “I have heard it said that the surest way to acquire a benefice is to be related to the bestower. It does not seem fair that connections should play such an important part in receiving a living. Talent, compassion for the poor, and love of God should be paramount in my view.” Mary glanced at her companion, hoping she was not speaking out of turn.
“Not that I have much knowledge in these matters, of course,” she added.
Her companion laughed lightly. “I see we have the same frame of mind when it comes to acquiring a parish. But as I said, I believe Robert’s time will come.”
The two continued to walk in silence a while. Mary again tried to think of some way to continue their conversation.
“Do you…have…” Mary fumbled to find the words. “Forgive me, I do not wish to pry. You are married?”
“Widowed. My husband passed after a long illness, and sadly, there was little left for me to live on. His business affairs had utterly collapsed. So, a year or so ago, I came to live with my brother and manage the household.”
“How sad.”
“I do not tell you this to elicit your sympathy. My brother and I have always been close, and we get along well. I am content to live with him and help him in his work.”
“Have you any children?”
“Sadly, no. My husband and I were married for eight years before he died, and we were never blessed with a child. Now, of course, at thirty-three, it seems unlikely I shall ever become a mother. But I do adore children and very much enjoy the little ones in our parish. And perhaps one day Robert will marry and make me an aunt. So that must suffice.”
“God’s will is sometimes difficult to comprehend,” Mary said seriously.
“If you will pardon me for being so forward—you seem like someone who would make a wonderful mother, yet God chooses to let you remain childless. Why should that be? I often struggle with His decisions.” She gave a small gasp, stopped short, and reached out to clutch Mrs. Withers’s sleeve.
“Oh, but pray do not think me disrespectful of our Lord. His wisdom is far greater than I can hope to comprehend.”
Mrs. Withers gently patted Mary’s arm. “Not at all, Miss Bennet. It is clear you are a most thoughtful young woman. I must say it is rather a refreshing change from some of the flibbertigibbets I have seen in Dorset. I do believe their heads are filled with nothing but ribbons, dancing, and flirting with single men. Meeting you has given me another reason to hope Robert is given the position.”
Mary’s heart soared. Such kind words. Mrs. Withers clearly favored her.
Could it be she might—at last—find a close friend?
Could this gentlewoman be a kindred spirit?
Mary had never had one before. And she had often felt at odds even within her own family—what with Kitty and Lydia always together, and Jane and Lizzy inseparable.
Mary had always been on her own, taking refuge in her books and music.
She felt lonely at times though she had learned to hide it.
“I should very much like you both to come here,” she said softly as the two continued their stroll through the park.
***
“Well, Mr. Yarby, I believe my mind is made up,” Mr. Bennet said as they concluded their discussion about Meryton, Longbourn, and other parish issues.
“If you think you could bear to move to Longbourn, and if you can survive on tithes of ￡120 a year, I should very much like to offer you the living. My estate has no glebe to offer, so you will not be able to farm land for additional income although the parsonage has enough space for your own sizeable garden, and there is a shed for chickens or pigs if you like. Those will help stretch your salary.”
Mr. Yarby let out a relieved breath, grinning widely. “I would be very pleased to accept your offer, Mr. Bennet. I cannot thank you enough for this opportunity!”
“Let us walk over to the church and you can see it for yourself, as well as the house you and your sister will share. I hope they will be acceptable.”
“Oh, I am certain they will be.”
The two men exited Longbourn House and walked up the lane to the church.
After a thorough inspection and a few moments for Mr. Yarby to kneel and give a prayer of thanksgiving, they continued on to the rector’s cottage on the other side of the church.
Mr. Bennet had never paid much attention to the house or its contents; such things had always been more under his wife’s purview.
And time spent in the company of the late reverend—outside of church services—was usually when Mrs. Bennet invited him to dine at Longbourn House.
In fact, Mr. Bennet could not recall having set foot in the parsonage more than a half dozen times in the past decade.
Now, he saw to his dismay that the furnishings were in far from top condition. The draperies appeared dingy. There was grime and wear on the arm rests of some of the chairs and—heavens!—was the carpet in the sitting room a bit threadbare? He felt embarrassed and cleared his throat.
“Of course, we shall make some upgrades and improvements for you. Mr. Dudley was with us for so long…and never complained…but I can see a bit of freshening up is clearly in order.”
“That would be very generous of you, sir, but such changes would be costly. We can take it as it is. I am sure we would be content.”
“No, no, I insist. Mr. Dudley was a widower, you see, so there was no lady of the house to keep things as fashionable as they might have been. I cannot have you and Mrs. Withers live in such a state. We shall consult with Mrs. Bennet about improvements as soon as she returns from the North.”
“I am most grateful, sir.”
“Well, let us locate your sister and my daughter and tell them the good news. I shall write the bishop at once to inform him of my decision. You were one of three names he submitted, so he can have no objection, and I own the advowson for Longbourn parish in any case, so it is ultimately my choice.”
“Again, I thank you, Mr. Bennet. Amelia—that is, Mrs. Withers—will be so very pleased.”
The two men left the vicarage and walked back towards Longbourn. As they reached the edge of the property, Mrs. Hill rushed to meet them, waving an envelope.
“Oh, there you are! An express, Mr. Bennet,” she gasped, holding an arm to her plump side. “It was delivered just moments ago.”
“Thank you, Hill.” Mr. Bennet opened the envelope and scanned it. “Good Lord,” he muttered.
“Mr. Bennet, are you well?” Mr. Yarby asked. “You have gone quite pale.”
Mr. Bennet shook his head a moment, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. “How soon do you think you can be available, Mr. Yarby? I believe I shall need your services very soon.” He studied the message again, then raised a pained face to the new rector. “It appears my wife is dead.”