Chapter 36
“Mr. Bennet has asked to see us, Amelia”—Mr. Yarby entered the sitting room, holding a piece of paper—“as soon as possible.”
“What reason does he have; does he say?”
“He does not. His note is short and to the point. It merely reads: ‘Please come to Longbourn House as soon as you can, we have important business to discuss.’”
“What business could it be?” Amelia set her needlework down. “Perhaps Mary has confessed her lies, and he wants to assure us that all is fine?”
“Perhaps. But you and he have already settled things between you, thanks to Mrs. Darcy’s letter.”
“Then why should he ask to see us both?”
Yarby paused, considering. Then he smiled and nodded, confident of his answer. “I believe I know. I have a feeling Mary may have told him of our engagement even though we agreed I would speak to him first. He likely wants to congratulate us and give us his blessing.”
Amelia smiled. “Of course, that must be it. Let me get my pelisse, and we can go right over.”
“Where is Phillip?”
“Hmm, he walked into Meryton, I believe. I shall tell Ellen to let him know where we have gone.”
***
Mr. Yarby and Mrs. Withers arrived at Longbourn and were shown into the formal sitting room, where not only Mr. Bennet waited but Mary as well, who kept her eyes fixed on her hands in her lap.
After exchanging greetings, everyone took their seats and waited for Mr. Bennet to begin.
“Thank you for responding so quickly, Mr. Yarby,” he began. “I asked you here because I am the recipient of some information that has confounded me greatly.”
“I do apologize for not speaking to you myself,” Yarby jumped in. “I did not anticipate Mary breaking this news to you so soon.”
Mr. Bennet stopped a moment, trying to process the reverend’s meaning. He shook his head and continued. “Mary has nothing to do with this news; I do not know to what you refer. I speak of a letter from your former employer, the reverend Mr. Smethurst.”
“Why should he need to write to you? I don’t understand. Is he unwell?” Yarby asked. He and Amelia exchanged worried glances.
“No, that is not the issue. Rather…well, as you know, you were the least qualified of the candidates for the living here at Longbourn. You had scant experience, but Mr. Smethurst wrote so highly of you, and we got along so well in your interview that I was persuaded to hire you without any further investigation into your past.”
“No doubt the news of your wife’s unexpected passing played a part in that.
” Amelia spoke for the first time. “Everything was in such a state of confusion, and Robert took charge of matters in such a capable manner that you could see at once he was the man for the job. Why do you bring this up now, Eugene?”
“Because I have information that leads me to think you made up your entire story of being a curate in Dorset—that you never worked there at all.”
For a moment, Mr. Yarby could only stare blankly at his employer in surprise. “I am quite astonished at your pronouncement, Mr. Bennet. Why on earth would you think that?”
“This letter from the reverend Mr. Smethurst is why.” He pulled a folded paper from his vest pocket and held it aloft as he continued.
“He claims you never worked there and, in fact, claims not even to know you! So, I ask you now, Mr. Yarby: Did you fabricate a story of working there, thinking it so far away that I would not bother to seek out more details?”
“But…this is preposterous!” exclaimed Yarby. “I worked there fifteen months, gave many sermons, performed baptisms, made parish calls. Amelia kept house for me. Whoever wrote you this letter is grossly misinformed!”
“Or an outright liar. You must write to Mr. Smethurst at once, Eugene,” urged Amelia, “and get him to clarify this letter. I cannot understand why he or anyone would say such a thing! Or is it a forgery?”
“I do not think the response would say anything other than what I hold here in my hands, Amelia,” Mr. Bennet said sadly. “And the postmark confirms it is from that parish.”
There was a long pause. Mary gave a little sniff and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.
After thinking a moment, Mr. Yarby said, “Mr. Bennet, may I please see that letter?”
After Mr. Bennet handed it to him, and he unfolded it and read it carefully. When he got to the signature, a small smile of relief came across his face. “I thought so. Mr. Bennet, this was not written by the reverend Mr. Smethurst.”
“I knew it!” exclaimed Mary. “It is a fabrication by that dreadful Mr. Collins to force you to fire Mr. Yarby, Papa.”
“No, Mr. Collins did not write this,” Yarby said.
“I recognize the hand quite well. It was written by Mr. Smethurst’s elderly father—also a reverend and now retired.
He suffers from senility, you see. However, he still sometimes thinks himself the rector there and has been known to wander into his son’s office when it is not occupied and attempt to do some work—answer letters and so on.
You see here”—he pointed to the signature—“He signed it Thomas Smethurst. The reverend Mr. Smethurst who wrote my recommendation is Charles Smethurst. Thomas did know me, of course, but as I said, his senility was becoming rather pronounced. Things from the past were still fresh in his memory, but more current situations or people—such as me and my service—seemed to fade from his mind rather quickly.”
“Wait a minute.” Mr. Bennet hurried from the sitting room and after a moment, returned, holding a bundle of papers.
“Ah! I knew I had not thrown out or burned your application. See here—the sermons you included and”—he pointed to another page—“the letter of recommendation signed by Charles Smethurst. And I can see now it is written in a very different hand than this page from his father. I cannot think why I did not consider checking these old papers at once when Mr. Collins showed me the letter.”
Everyone gave a relieved sigh.
“Well. Forgive me for having doubts yet again, Robert, Amelia. But this letter arrived, and things have been so befogged of late—I fear I was far too quick to accept the letter as authentic,” Mr. Bennet said sadly.
“What else could you think?” Yarby finished for him. “I understand your concerns, and pray do not give it any more thought. It seems our minds have been at sixes and sevens for some time now, but at last, I hope we can put any doubts to rest.”
Mr. Bennet crossed over and extended his hand to Mr. Yarby who shook it firmly.
“I think we could all do with some tea,” Mr. Bennet said, going to the bell pull.
When he returned and sat, a puzzled expression crossed his face.
“Just one more thing, Robert. When you first came in—what did you mean by your statement that you did not anticipate Mary breaking the news to me so soon. What news?”
Smiling, Mr. Yarby rose and went to Mary, taking her hand and kissing it. “That your daughter and I are engaged, sir. I asked Mary to be my wife while at Pemberley, and she has graciously accepted me.”
“Is this true, Mary?” Mr. Bennet asked.
Mary looked up at her fiancé, her face glowing with joy before answering. “Yes, Papa. Robert loves me. We love each other! Oh, can you believe things would work out in this happy way?”
Before Mr. Bennet could reply, Mrs. Hill was at the door.
“What did you need, Mr. Bennet, tea for everyone?”
“Hang the tea, Mrs. Hill. We need two bottles of our finest wine—at once! We have an engagement to celebrate!”
Whooping with excitement, Mrs. Hill congratulated Mary and Yarby, then hurried off to retrieve the wine. By now, everyone was on their feet, hugging each other, laughing, and even crying with happiness.
“What is going on?” Kitty’s voice cut through the celebration. Beside her stood Phillip Yarby. “Mr. Yarby and I were taking a walk, and when we got back to the parish, Ellen told us you were here. Is it Lydia? More bad news?”
“You have only to look at their faces, Miss Catherine, to see something quite special is taking place.” Phillip grinned as he looked at Robert and Mary, arms around each other. “I believe my little brother has just become engaged to your sister.”
Kitty screamed with delight and rushed to hug her sister just as Mrs. Hill returned with the wine. Mr. Bennet and both Mr. Yarbys helped fill the glasses.
“I was so afraid you would be upset,” whispered Mary to Kitty. “For was he not a favorite of yours at one time?”
Kitty tossed her head, and giggled. “As if I would want to be married to a stuffy preacher—even one as nice as Mr. Yarby. No. My heart is set on another now, and Mary”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“I do believe he feels the same.”
The two hugged again, then broke apart to take the proffered glasses of wine.
“A toast!” Mr. Bennet cried. “To Robert and Mary. I am glad to know that my book-loving daughter will not stray far from my library but live contentedly next door.”
“To Robert and Mary!” echoed everyone.
As they drank, Mr. Bennet and Amelia exchanged a loving glance. Words were not needed to know what they both were thinking: the time to reveal their secret love would come soon.