Jump to new as of July 15, 2002

Chapter 1

Miss Bennet of Longbourn, known to her family as Mary, lay curled up in a ball, feeling extremely cross. She had a headache and the lingering effects of a putrid sore throat that had kept her to her room for the past week. A touch of illness did not usually disquiet Mary; one of the many tenets that guided her life was that one should not complain over the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" that the Lord saw fit to visit on everyone. However, it was one thing to be slightly ill, but still be able to read a good book, or study the newest book of sermons that had been published, or gaze over sheet-music. It was quite another to have such a headache that made even such quiet pursuits impossible. She could not even practice her singing because of her sore throat.

She was quite alone at Longbourn, except for the servants, of course (they were fellow brothers and sisters in Christ as well, Mary reminded herself); her father had gone to Town on some business, and her mother was visiting Jane and Mr. Bingley at Netherfield. Kitty had left for Pemberley four days ago, invited there by Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, and, Mary understood, her sister-in-law, Georgiana, as well, to stay with them over the summer. Mary had been included in the original invitation, but her illness had dispelled any ideas of her joining the party.

She was not quite sure whether she regretted that or not; while visiting a fine mansion such as Pemberley, and seeing Elizabeth again, was something she had looked forward to, she had to admit that being separated from Kitty for a few months had made her life a little bit easier. She had heard talk of "enriching her mind" and "improving her understanding", and hoped that such an experience would teach her younger sister that there was more to life than frilly bonnets and handsome officers...and to respect her elders (even those of only a few years). Mary herself always tried very hard to do so, although holding to the commandment to honor one's parents could sometimes be very trying when her mother was concerned. It was easier with her father, from whom she had inherited an affinity for books, as well as some measure of intelligence, although she still could not understand why he insisted on calling her "one of the silliest girls in England".

Mary remembered a discourse on this subject from a cousin who had visited the family almost two years ago. He had told her that we should all respect our elders and betters, and their condescension, when given, showed a generous, gracious spirit that should be honored and appreciated. Mary was now much less impressed with the solidity of this gentleman's reflections, and indeed, the gentleman himself, than she once had been; that he was now married and a father, had much to do with that. Yet, Mary thought it must be some mark of character, that he managed to practice what he preached, considering the reputation his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, had gained in the Bennet family, indeed, the whole of Meryton, from her high-handed attempts to forestall the marriage of her sister Elizabeth to Mr. Darcy.

Such were the thoughts and memories that floated through Mary's head as she tried to distract herself from her suffering. But it is not an easy task to do so, when one's suffering is unrelieved by the attentions and ministrations of loved ones. While she would not have admitted it to anyone, what caused Mary the most distress was the way she often seemed invisible to her family. Sometimes she wished that her parents had continued in their attempts to create a heir for one more child, whether that child had been a son or daughter, so that perhaps she would have had a friend, a companion, within her own family, as did Jane and Elizabeth, or Kitty and Lydia. Not that Jane had ever been unkind to her, of course...

"...and Mama seems to care for me more now, since Jane and Elizabeth were married, and Kitty is not at Longbourn." Just as Mary thought this, the sound of servants' hurried footsteps and far-off voices alerted her to her mother's return from Netherfield. Mary's illness had made her very sensitive to sounds, but even in a normal state, her mother's voice was extremely difficult to ignore. Eventually, she heard a knock on her door.

"Miss Mary! Miss Mary!" It was Martha, one of the maids, who was serving as a nurse to her.

"You may come in, Martha...please do not raise your voice! It affects the headache."

Martha opened the door, and looked at her apologetically. "I am so sorry! Miss Mary, your mother has returned. She asked to speak to you..."

"...oh Mary! Mary! Wonderful news!" Mrs. Bennet's voice interrupted. "I know you are ill, but you must hear this!"

"Yes, Mama?" Mary said, resignedly. Besides, she was rather curious. She had rarely seen, or heard, her mother so eager to speak to her.

Mrs. Bennett rushed into the room. "I have just heard from Jane, dear Jane, that...well, I am to be a grandmother! And she a mother! Oh what wonderful news!"

"Indeed!" Mary exclaimed. She remembered something she had read once, which seemed to fit the moment perfectly. "The happiness of a woman in being a wife, is bound to increase once she enters the state of motherhood."

"Oh Mary, indeed! Why, I remember when I first found I was to be a mother! Dear Mr. Bennett was so happy..." Her mother babbled on, and Mary was rather surprised to see her eyes look far off, dreamily, as if remembering an earlier time when domestic happiness appeared assured in her own marriage.

"...Jane wished to share her thoughts with you, dear Mary. Here is a letter." Mrs. Bennet thrust a note into Mary's hand. Martha, who had entered the room during Mrs. Bennet's reverie, quickly handed Mary her spectacles. Although her head protested, Mary sat upright to read the letter.

Dear Mary,

I am sorry to have to share this news in a letter. I dearly wished to visit you, especially hearing that you are ill, but Mama and Mr. Bingley insist that I not be exposed to any illness, in my peculiar state. I am to be a mother! It is very exciting, Charles - Mr. Bingley, I mean, tells me every day that he is sure I will be a wonderful mother. He is so kind and gentle! I am sure you will make a wonderful aunt, Mary, and hope that you will be recovered soon, and visit Netherfield. Mr. Bingley has directed that a nursery be prepared in all haste, and I hope to hear your thoughts on the decor. Oh I wonder what I have done to deserve all this happiness!

Your sister,

Jane Bingley.

Chapter 2

"So how is Miss Jane?" Martha asked Mary, as she fussed with her hair. A fortnight had passed since Mary learned of the blessed event in Jane's life, and she had just returned from a visit to Netherfield.

"Martha, you must not call her Miss Jane, you must address her as Mrs. Bingley now. That is the proper way."

"Of course, Miss Mary." Mary thought she saw a flicker of something pass over Martha's face - amusement? It was a look Mary had often seen in the faces of those around her, especially her father. She briefly wondered at it, but went on to tell of her visit.

"Mrs. Bingley was in high spirits, Martha. Indeed, I am not sure I have ever seen her so - blissful. Now, I know it is the duty of every woman to be a good wife and mother, and that is the source of her happiness. So it is not as if I was astonished.."

"...but you have not seen much of such happiness, have you?"

"Martha, whatever do you mean?"

"Oh, Miss Mary, do not be grieved at me. I've seen how it is, between the Master and the Missus. Of course, I will not speak of it beyond the doorway of Longbourn House...but I've seen happier unions, myself."

Mary knew she should take Martha to task for her insolence, but she also knew she spoke the truth. Even her Aunt Philips, who they were going to visit for high tea, seemed to have a happier marriage, although her temperament was similar to Mrs. Bennet's. Still, she felt obligated to defend her parents in some way.

"Well, they have been through trying times..."

"...I understand, Miss Mary. I remember my early days at Longbourn House, when the Missus was in her confinement - before Miss Lydia - Mrs. Wickham, I mean -- was born. They took me on then, to help mind the baby. Such high hopes they had - that Longbourn House would have an heir at last! When the Master found out that was not to be...he changed. He used to have more patience with the Missus, before that. And the Missus, she fell a-doting on Miss Ly-Mrs. Wickham. She swore she would find a rich husband for her. For all her daughters!"

Martha said the last with a slight chuckle, and Mary had to struggle not to make a face. Not just because Lydia had hardly found a rich husband - indeed, the girl was lucky to be married at all. She doubted that her mother had ever expected Mary, "the plain one in the family", to marry into a fortune. And if she ever had, hopefully the success of Jane and Elizabeth on that front had satisfied her enough not to embark on any matchmaking schemes for Mary. How embarrassing that would be! Mary blushed slightly at the thought.

Martha, however, seemed to misread that blush. "So, Miss Mary, have you any suitors? Shall we be seeing another lady off from Longbourn House soon?"

"No, I -" Mary could not think of what else to say. No, she did not have any suitors -- it seemed most men had no use for a plain girl of little fortune. But surely, there must be a gentleman who could appreciate a woman of good morals, who was well read, and whose musical talent had entertained many in Meryton. Yet somehow, Mary had a feeling that if she told Martha that, she would start laughing again.

"No? Well, Miss Mary, you've still time. You're not one-and-twenty, and I've known ladies who wed at thirty. Mrs. Collins, Miss Lucas that was, the gossips swore she'd stay a spinster forever. And look at her now!"

The mention of Mrs. Collins did not cheer Mary up as much as Martha had intended, but she managed a small smile to show Martha. It was true that Charlotte had never been a beauty, and the Lucases, despite Sir Lucas's title, were of even humbler means than the Bennets...but she had married, and had a beautiful baby girl. One day Longbourn would be her home...though Mary hoped that day was long in coming.

"Well, Miss Mary, we're all done. You can put your spectacles back on. I'm sorry to prattle on like this! I suppose it's not my place to talk so."

It must have been the melancholy brought on by considering her marital prospects, that led Mary not to tell Martha she should be more proper, but to say,

"It is alright, Martha. I shall not mention it."

Martha smiled. "I will tell the Missus that you are ready."

Chapter 3

Mary sat on a sofa, rather bored. Tea would not be served for another half-hour, at least, as Mr. Philips had sent word that he would be delayed returning from a call on a client. Her mother and aunt had seized the opportunity to catch up on the local gossip. Mrs. Bennet, still quite pleased at Jane's announcement, was especially keen on any news of confinements.

"Mrs. Kendall is preparing for her fourth lying-in," Aunt Philips said. "Hear this, sister, she is said to be hoping for a girl, that she thinks her first three sons were quite enough."

"Three sons quite enough, and hoping for a daughter? The woman does not know how blessed she is. Ah, if I had even one son, that would have been enough for me! Though, I am sure dear Jane would take us in, perhaps even Elizabeth, if Mr. Bennet passes on, and those Collinses turn us out into the hedgerows! "

"Sister, let us hope that Mary and Kitty are well settled before such a sad event takes place."

"Oh, Kitty, I am not worried about. She, at least, will have a place at Pemberley! Mr. Bennet received a letter from Mr. Darcy just yesterday, assuring him that they were all quite delighted with her. And to think, she must come into the path of other rich men! I am sure she will make a good match!"

"But surely, Mary will make a good match as well! A man who wishes for a virtuous wife, would be well advised to choose Mary." Mrs. Philips looked over charitably at Mary. "Do you not think so, child?"

Mary felt a faint heat rush to her face, but managed to say, "Oh, yes, aunt. As they say, a virtuous wife is a man's greatest treasure."

"Of course! And I am sure you would care for your mother, if she is turned out of Longbourne?"

"Yes, aunt." She tried to think of something else to say, to express how she would honor her mother in such a circumstance, but before she could think of the right words, Mrs. Philips turned toward her sister again.

"And sister, I am sure Mr. Philips would agree with me, that you will always have a place here with us, as well."

Mrs. Bennet was calmed with this thought, and the conversation continued in a lighter vein. Eventually, the topic turned to a foundling who had been discovered by the vicar. Mrs. Philips had enough sense, to suggest to Mary that she look over the latest additions to Mr. Philips' library, before the speculation as to the infant's parentage began, and Mary, relieved to be excused, set off.

Mary looked around the library, an interesting room which was smaller than Mr. Bennet's refuge, and also more cluttered. While most of the bound books had shelves to call home, there were also books piled on a table in the middle of the room, and a stack of law journals on the floor. Most of Mr. Philips' books were on the law or other technical endeavors, but there were also books of poetry and some novels.

Mary eventually found herself noticing a particular book, on the top shelf. While she had to squint slightly, she could make out the title: "The Mystery of Udolpho".

Yes, Mary remembered, this was the novel she had seen Kitty reading! She had been quite surprised to actually see her sister with a book, and Kitty had been amused to see her reaction.

"Ha!" Kitty snorted. "Yes, Mary, I may not be as well-read as you, but Maria Lucas insisted I read this. Do not be astonished, I am not reading Cowper, nor Fordyce. It is merely a novel!"

"I have heard it said, sister, that novel-reading does naught for the minds of young ladies." said Mary.

"And who would say such a thing! Mr. Collins, perhaps, did he not say he never read novels?" Kitty chuckled at the thought anyone would follow advice given by Mr. Collins. "And Mary, did I not see you reading the Romance of the Forest just a fortnight ago? That would make you foolish, as well."

"I did not mean that it is foolish to read novels, just that it does naught for the mind, if that is all one reads."

Kitty had just laughed at that, and so ended any chance for deep conversation between the sisters. But she had become more and more engrossed in the book the more she read of it, to the point that Mr. Bennet had joked that "we seem to have gained another great reader in the family". It surely must be a silly book, for Maria and Kitty to read it, but Mary had to admit, she was quite curious as to what had captured her flighty sister's attention.

Mary stretched up on her toes to reach for the book, but it was just slightly out of her reach...she was the shortest of the five sisters, as Lydia, the tallest, had often teased her about. She thought for a while, and decided it would be more proper to step onto the ledge of the bottom shelf to gain some height, than to try to jump up or drag a chair out to stand upon. She did so, but it was still a bit too high. She slowly balanced herself on the tips of her toes...slowly, slowly...almost there...her hand touched the book...

CRASH!

Mary had indeed grasped the book, but in doing so she had lost her concentration and her balance. Down she fell, and, unfortunately, the pile of journals caught her fall, but then scattered about themselves, causing quite a racket. Mary's spectacles flew off as well.

Mary lay on the floor stunned, and before she could collect herself she heard quick footsteps, then saw feet shod in a man's shoes approaching her.

"Oh dear god-pardon me! Oh my, are you alright?" An earnest, but slightly quivering, voice issued from somewhere high above her. Mary realized the voice must come from the man who had suddenly appeared, and in the same instant realized her skirts were disheveled and her stockings were showing. She flushed with embarassment, and tried to smooth down her skirts as quickly as possible, but then felt a sharp pain in her right wrist. She must have twisted it in the fall.

"You are injured! You must...I mean, please, let me assist you."

What Mary really wanted the gentleman to do (as she could tell from his attire and manner that he was a gentleman) was to go far away and leave her in peace, but something in his voice made her nod. But the idea of having a strange man pull her up from the floor, was too much.

"I can sit up, myself", Mary said. She did so, and fixed her skirts as best she could with the uninjured hand.

"Please, take my arm," the gentleman said, as he knelt down. Still too embarassed to look him in the face, Mary took his arm and got up as quickly as she could. Now that the initial shock of hearing and finding a young lady fallen on the floor had worn off, the gentleman appeared embarassed himself, and awkwardly steered her to the nearest chair.

Mary still felt disoriented. She held her injured wrist to her. "My spectacles..."

"Yes, yes, spectacles. Let me see." The gentleman left her side for a moment, knelt down again and scanned the floor. "Ah, I see them." He presently returned, and held them out to her. Mary accepted her spectacles, careful not to touch his hand. She examined them, and saw no damage. Good, at least they were not broken. She put them on, and finally, dared to look directly at her rescuer. He was a lanky, thin young man, it seemed around Mr. Bingley's age, on the younger side of five-and-twenty. His face was also thin and rather pale, except for a faint blush on the cheeks, which must be due to the present awkward situation.

"Thank you, for your assistance", Mary said.

"Oh, no, please, do not mention it. I -- I say -- how is your wrist? Does it pain you?"

Mary gingerly tested her wrist, and winced.

"I believe, I must have twisted it, when I fell."

"Yes, yes, is it swollen, perhaps?" The young man peered at her wrist, and reached out one hand as if to examine it himself, but thought better of it. "I think, perhaps I should send for an apothecary?"

"Mr. Simms lives about five miles from here, not walking distance, especially so late in the night...oh what am I saying! Why should you send for him? Mama should, or Aunt Philips..."

"Aunt Philips! You are Mrs. Philips' niece?"

"Yes I am, I -- oh my, you do not know who I am!"

"Ah, but I should have realized -- Mr. Philips said his wife's sister Bennet was to come here for high tea. You are Miss Bennet."

"Miss Mary-yes, Miss Bennet." said Mary. As the eldest unmarried sister, it was she who was called Miss Bennet now, not Jane. She ought to have remembered that.

Mary expected the young man to introduce himself, but before he could do so, as if saying their names were the key to summoning them, her mother and aunt burst through the doors of the library, followed not long after by her uncle, who had just returned to his home. The row that ensued, is not hard to imagine: Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Philips fussing over Mary's wrist (and causing more pain than relieving); Mr. Philips attempting to take charge, but struggling to have his voice heard. However, finally, Mr. Philips managed to gain the floor.

"We shall send for Simms, then. Mr. Milwood, please tell the groom that the coach must be prepared again."

"Of course, Mr. Philips!" The young man, who had been shunted to one side and forgotten by most of the party, seemed quite satisfied to be made useful once more. He rushed out of the room, and Mary, while finally learning his name, had no chance to address him by it.