Chapter Twenty-Nine
M ary had not been excited by the prospect of attending Miss Hatterchet's Select Seminary for Young Ladies, but Lydia had wailed her objections so very loudly that it was necessary to conceal her own dismay. She preferred, after all, to appear more sensible than the youngest Miss Bennet. .
It would have been better, certainly, to travel. Sir William Lucas had provided her, along with a kindly smile and a courtly bow, a selection of travellers’ guides to various parts of the world. Paris did not interest her, although she read that guide book, but places further afield such as Italy and Austria-Hungary sounded fascinating. Papa had informed her, alas, that she had much better defer her wanderings until she had done with the school of which her elder sisters had written .
“For I fear that there is a troublesome little French fellow causing difficulty to the Austria-Hungarian monarchy at present.”
“Very well, Papa,” said Mary, hiding her concern that he might think her a simpleton. She had not known that Napoleon had got so far in Europe .
He was disposed to talk that afternoon. It would not last — of course it would not. Lizzy would soon return home and then the door to Mr. Bennet's sanctuary would once again close behind the two of them, and only their father's rare laughter would be audible through it.
“You do not present me with a list of dire necessities for your sojourn to Bath, Mary, as your younger sisters do. Half a dozen dresses, at least, are needed, if I am to listen to Lydia. Are you too wizened in years to desire fripperies and frills?”
“You will note I am wearing the shawl that Jane and Lizzy sent from London, sir.”
“Ah,” he sounded amused for some reason, “so you are not immune to the finer things in life.”
Mary considered what her response ought to be. “This,” said she, stroking the soft material and drawing it further about her, “is serviceable before it is pretty, and Mama is correct when she says that there are some things that are worth the money if good quality. I cannot see that we will require so many new dresses. We are to be parlour boarders after all — I daresay we will not be in society.”
“I should hope you are right, but your sisters will likely climb through their bedroom windows to seek out dancing in the Pump Room. Such a thought makes me feel an overwhelming relief that they will not be my direct responsibility when they do so.”
Privately, Mary wondered if a father's responsibility ended with geographical distance, but said only, “I hope they will not be so lost to decency, Father. I certainly would not behave so.”
“You hardly need to assure me of that, my dear. I shall astound you with my benevolence and acquit you, even before it happens, of any responsibility for the antics of Lydia. There now, you may journey to Bath free from concern and enjoy your studies.”
Mary smiled. “I would like to look at languages, sir — Lizzy wrote that Miss Hatterchet is conversant in French, Italian, and German.”
“Thus your strange mania for foreign lands will continue. Your mother hopes the seminary will fashion you into a quite unrecognisable creature — all refinement and romance.”
“I hope not.”
“Do you know, Mary, I share that hope. We have quite enough talk of weddings in this house as it is.”
“Jane will be home soon. Mama will direct most of her plans toward her then, surely.”
“So long as I am not forced to endure inane babblings over silk and lace at breakfast, they may do so with my hearty blessing. I invite you to consider an elopement, Mary, should a young man ever take your fancy. It would save me no end of irritation.”
“I think you would be shocked if I even considered it, sir,” Mary replied solemnly. It seemed Papa often said things he did not mean, in an airy fashion, and then derided those as fools who could not immediately discern his insincerity. “I am sorry that usual feminine conversation is so irksome for you.”
“You can hardly help it,” he said shortly, and then with a touch more grace, “and at least you do not try to talk so much nonsense as you have done in the past.”
“It was you who raised the subject of clothes just now, sir. I am content to never think of them as a general rule, saving for utility.”
A little bored, Mr. Bennet changed the subject. “Has Elizabeth written to you from Hunsford? She wrote me a most impertinent letter from London, informing me that since I do not trouble to pick up my pen and write to her, she would direct her efforts to her dear sisters instead. Her very words! It is well that she has sufficient charm and wit, Mary, or I might scribe her a blistering scold.”
“I daresay Lizzy might enjoy that.” Mary did not always comprehend where her sister found such humour in others, but she knew enough to guess that any letter from Papa would be opened with a trill of laughter regardless of its contents.
He barked a laugh. “Aye, aye — you have the right of it. I shall not give her the satisfaction, eh? Do you hide from your mama in here, Mary? Is Mrs. Bennet threatening half a dozen fittings for a bridesmaid gown?”
Mary hesitated. “No, sir, not as yet.”
He nodded to the shawl. “You would do well to have any new dress match that shawl, my dear. It suits you — I do not think I have ever seen you look so well as when you have it on.”
“Unless the weather warms before we leave, you are likely to see it often. I will bear your advice on its aesthetic merits in mind, sir. Perhaps you and Lydia would like to debate on the matter. She shares your opinion save that she thinks it ought to be a darker hue to match my outlook on life.”
Mr. Bennet smiled at her jest. “Your sister Lydia, I predict, will either be wildly popular in Bath or hated on sight. I cannot make up my mind which it will be but I do trust you will write to inform me. ”
“With no hope of having a letter back, I ought to emulate Elizabeth.” Mary sighed. “Lydia has enough charm of her own when she cares to use it. I daresay she will have many friends. Kitty too, since she goes wherever Lydia leads.”
She sat with her father for a few more minutes in silence and then stood to take his tea tray away. The door to the bookroom was thick, and consequently, when it was opened, the noise from the rest of the house sounded louder .
“But I cannot possibly go to Bath without new dancing shoes? We will have a master for it, I am sure, and you know that there will be balls and parties every night in the town.”
Lydia's voice reached their ears with clarity and Mr. Bennet grimaced. “Shut the door, Mary, there's a good girl. I wonder if Miss Hatterchet has any skills on rendering a young lady mute. That would be of far greater benefit to me than teaching her to speak loudly in Chinese.”
Mary opened her mouth to inform her father that she did not believe Miss Hatterchet had mentioned any ability in Chinese, but she closed it again at his testy look and swiftly exited the room .
Kitty met her on the stairs. Of all the three sisters bound for Bath, she looked forward to it with the greatest enthusiasm .
“Mary, have you been with Papa? Did he say if we might order the dresses? Lydia is sure we will need ever so many, and we have money now, so there is no reason Papa would forbid us, is there?”
“He did not say. I for one find the prospect of travelling to Bath with numerous trunks of gowns to be a recipe for an uncomfortable few hours. Remember the last time we travelled for any length — Lydia packed far too much and we were obliged to share the seat with two bandboxes that would not fit with the trunks.”
Kitty nodded. “It was uncomfortable, but she would not be told no, and she does say, Mary, that if she cannot go to Bath finely turned out, then she would rather not go at all.”
“She will go,” answered Miss Mary in repressive tones, “if our parents say she should go. I imagine they hope she will learn to expand her intellect rather than dream of silly social gatherings.”
“There is that,” Kitty replied, a little doubtfully, “but you know Lydia — she will threaten Mama that she will run away back home, and it alarms our mother enough that she will be petted and indulged. Lydia knows it.”
“If she knows it, then I think very little of her moral character to exploit her own mama.”
“Oh, do not preach at me again, Mary — I am only telling you what Lydia said. Would you like to walk into town with me? I do not like to go alone and Lydia is busy with our mother. You need not, of course, but I want to call in at Lucas Lodge.”
Mary hesitated. Her company was not so often sought that she could resist the lure of being wanted. “I had hoped to practise in the music room but I suppose I might do that when we return. The exercise will be beneficial and it has stopped raining. Very well, I will go with you, but you must not embarrass me by giggling like a schoolgirl over officers in red coats.”
“I am going to be a schoolgirl, am I not?” Kitty's argument was reasonable enough that Mary elected to ignore it in favour of fetching her bonnet .
Kitty was a pleasant enough companion when she was not so occupied in being Lydia's shadow. She checked her pace courteously and did not complain that Mary walked slowly up the last hill before the lodge came into sight. Mary did not enjoy walking — the sensation of queasiness that came over her with too much strenuous activity was enough to dissuade her in general, but she had read that it was good for the mind to keep the body active, and so she forced herself to walk, at least a little. Riding was a better activity, she believed, provided one could keep the horse to a walk — it was far more dignified. It was a pity, really, that Nelly was so often wanted elsewhere. If anything could persuade Mary to enjoy the outdoors, it was her slow and steady hoofbeats on turf .
Mary had a fondness for the old mare — there was a delightful scent about a horse that drew her to visit the stable to offer Nelly an apple, when there was an apple to be had. The atmosphere of the stable was calm enough that on one occasion, years ago now, Mary had been tempted to take her book in to read, nestled in the hay in a spare stall. It was an idyllic idea that sadly did not live up to her expectations. Straw was excessively itchy and not so well designed a seat as a proper chair .
The Lucas family were at home to callers, and when Kitty abandoned her to talk with Maria, Mary politely, if a little stiffly, made conversation with Lady Lucas .
“Have you heard from Mrs. Collins, Lady Lucas, if my sister has arrived safely in Kent? Papa was asking me this morning if I had received a note from Lizzy.”
“Oh, dear, dear Elizabeth — she is a delight, you know. We have heard much of her popularity in town — I believe she was even referenced in a newspaper, though not named of course. Your mother was saying she was sure Lizzy should be courted very soon. I am sure Mrs. Bennet is quite right. Sir William is not wrong to refer to her as a jewel of the county. I daresay that when Miss Bennet is wed, the young men will form a queue up to the door of Longbourn for Elizabeth’s hand! If Maria were older I should be quite jealous, but she is so young, you know, and my Charlotte is so well settled that I can have no envy.”
“Yes, Your Ladyship — but have you received a letter?”
“No, Miss Mary, though your sisterly concern does you credit. Perhaps a note will arrive soon, my dear — the weather has been wet here lately and I am afraid it does create delays in the postal service, fine though it is. I heard only recently that a carriage was stuck for almost two days on a muddy road in the north of England. Imagine it! I cannot imagine the discomfort of that.”
“I am sure the travellers were able to seek refuge in an inn,” offered Mary reasonably. “They cannot, after all, have remained overnight in a carriage during this weather.”
Lady Lucas found this to be a disappointingly sensible response but nodded. “More callers, Sir William! I wonder who can have called on us now. How pleasant it is to be at home and have the door knocker so well used. I often think it is a great pity when homes so large as ours are not filled with people. Mrs. Bennet thinks just as I do, I am sure.”
“Mama is fond of visitors, yes. I think perhaps your callers might be military men, Lady Lucas. I saw a flash of red in the window.”
Her Ladyship rose and went to look. “Why yes, I see you are right. How observant you are, Miss Mary. It is none other than Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham come to call. How charming to have a drawing room full of young people. It is a good thing that the gentlemen have come here rather than go to Longbourn or they would have missed you both.”
“Which would have been a great disappointment to us, ma'am,” said Mr. Wickham bowing as he entered, “for we should have been robbed of the opportunity to see the Miss Bennets and also of enjoying your hospitality, Lady Lucas.”
“Ho!” exclaimed Sir William, pleased, “Here's a pretty speech, my dears — a charming compliment to our guests and you, my dear wife.”
“I should have dared to put Her Ladyship earlier than the Miss Bennets, Sir William, but I should not like you to have any reason to call me out. Husbands are a protective group when it comes to charming speeches that involve their wives.”
Sir William bellowed with laughter as his wife tittered politely. Mary saw Kitty and Maria giggling in the corner and decided that a polite smile would be necessary in response to this daring sally. It seemed Mr. Wickham had the ability to say shocking things without offending his audience. Lizzy was the same, she mused. Mary supposed it was a gift of sorts but she did not always approve of what was said. It seemed out of place, somehow, falsely to claim fear of a husband's jealousy .
Mr. Wickham made his way to sit near Kitty and Miss Lucas, well within earshot of Mary and the watchful Lady Lucas.
“I hope Miss Lydia is not ill, Miss Kitty. I hardly expected to see you here with any other sister but she. It is as though you are never apart in Meryton.”
“Lydia is with Mama, Mr. Wickham. She seems to think she needs to spend a fortune on dresses before we are to go to the seminary in Bath.”
“Ah,” he said, and shook his head sorrowfully. “You will be much missed in Meryton. I declare that Denny and I will not think the company anywhere near so lively. Miss Lucas here will be desolated to see you go too, will you not, Miss Lucas?”
Maria managed several vigorous nods. “Mr. Wickham is exactly right, Kitty — I shall be sorry and will miss you. I hope you will write to me from Bath, however, and that we shall find out through your letters all the exciting things there. Lydia said the school is such a fashionable establishment!” Miss Lucas's eyes were wide. “How I wish I could see it, and you will be parlour boarders too!”
“I am sure, my dear Miss Lucas, that Miss Kitty will make all sorts of friends while away. Will you forget about us altogether, Miss Kitty?”
Kitty, a little pink, vowed that she would not .
“I would wager that Miss Lydia will not forget you either, eh, Wickham?” Mr. Denny said, and received an amused look from his friend.
“No, no — we do not forget our friends, Wickham!” Kitty spoke sincerely, a little agitated that he meant it and that he indeed feared he would be expunged from their memories. “It will not be so long until the holidays and Lydia will certainly be eager to dance with you again, so do not despair.”
Mr. Wickham laughed. He seemed to be in a most amiable mood this day — determined to charm all and be charmed by them in turn. “I beg your pardon for having suggested it, Miss Kitty. The Miss Bennets must be known henceforth as loyal friends, and despite all the fun and adventures to be had in Bath, they will not forget their admirers from humbler towns. Although I ought not to call it humble — Meryton is one of the most delightful towns in which I have ever visited. Each neighbour knows the other and is kind and pleasant. Poor soldiers could not be billeted anywhere better — there, is that too bold of me, do you think?”
“Not at all, sir.” Sir William's voice was approving and everyone in the room looked pleased. “A finer speech nor a truer one has not been heard. If it were not so early, I should open a bottle of claret to toast you. Indeed I would. We are very fond of our little town and you could not have said anything more gratifying to my ears. I am a magistrate here, after all, so I claim some small credit for its congeniality.”
Mary, whilst agreeing to the worthiness of Meryton, wondered what the exchange of glances between Mr. Wickham and his friend Denny signified. However, the moment was gone when Mr. Wickham spoke again.
Stretching his legs before him in his chair and lazily crossing one ankle over the other, he said, “In the presence of a magistrate, I cannot, unfortunately, encourage you to open the claret anyway, Sir William.” He paused to acknowledge the sudden laughter from Kitty and Lady Lucas and then Maria's slightly slower shocked giggle. “I had much better turn the subject, had I not, and ask you, Miss Kitty, if I will be turned out of Longbourn should I call to see Miss Lydia, on account of having missed her company this fine hour? Shall I, I wonder, be counted as a lesser amusement than all the charming dresses she now has at her disposal? I must not flatter myself, after all, that a humble soldier could compete with an abundance of silks and lace.”