A Match for Mary Bennet (6 page)

One afternoon, the squeak of the door below her on the main floor of the library alerted her to someone's entrance. She supposed that Darcy or Bingley had entered, but if both had come in to talk, she must leave or make her presence known. She stood and peered over the great mahogany rail only to see a man alone. He was tall, apparently young, and when she caught his profile, she saw that he had a moustache. She could not identify him nor did she recognize his gait as he strode purposefully to the leather-bound books near the fireplace. The gentleman looked up, book in hand, and acknowledged her with a smile and a bow. She refused to acknowledge the brazen smile, but she nodded stiffly. He settled at a table with his selection, and suddenly Mary realized that she was alone in a room with a strange man. Quickly she shelved her two books, pocketed her papers, replaced the pen in the inkwell desk in the corner, and left through the hall.

Mary found her mother in the nursery telling Callie to “be sure to hold his head” and saw Callie, who had been doing just that, frown at Mrs. Bennet, glaring silently, as if holding her anger in check.

“Mama! There is a strange man in the library!”

“Oh dear. Cannot Darcy prevent the public use of his own library? What would Mr. Bennet think? But perhaps Darcy does not know.” Mrs. Bennet wiped her hands and stepped into the hall with Mary. Nurse Callie's face registered relief as Mrs. Bennet reached to close the door. “We must prevent draughts.”

Before they found Darcy, however, a hubbub at the foyer drew them to the grand staircase. Elizabeth joined them and they watched Mrs. Reynolds welcome Mr. Bennet and Kitty, who had come early for the holidays. As Mrs. Reynolds told the footman where to take the arrivals' luggage, Elizabeth and the Bennets descended to greet them. Mr. Bennet, uneasy about being on the scene during Elizabeth's lying-in, now hurried to tell her how glad he was that “Little Charlie” had come and that Elizabeth looked well. Catherine rushed to Mary to tell her how bored she had grown at Otherfield. “That Miss Bingley kept gathering Beth into her arms, saying, ‘Come to your favourite aunt, honey,' and she treated me like an intruder. I don't suppose you will be calling yourself Charlie's favourite aunt?”

“No indeed, Kitty. I hardly see the baby for thirty minutes a day, and so far what he favours is being fed, as far as I can detect.” Mary gladly showed Catherine to her room while Elizabeth stayed to visit their parents. They helped the obliging Polly unpack Kitty's frocks and hang them in the wardrobe. While they worked, Mary told Kitty of the wonderful library, but Kitty barely took notice. Then Mary mentioned the strange man in the library—“tall, with light brown hair and a stride like Wickham's”—and Mary made a face at this, indicating her annoyance at the man.

Kitty, however, looked up with interest. “He wasn't in uniform, was he?”

Mary gave her a look of disgust. “Of course not. And he has a ridiculous little moustache.”

Kitty's eyes sparkled. “What a mystery! But how much nicer if he were in regimentals.”

“For shame, Kitty. I thought you had stopped being enamoured with officers. Surely after…” Mary stopped short. She had almost mentioned Lydia! She merely shook her head and frowned, hoping that one day Kitty would get redcoats out of her head. Perhaps her unhappy stay at Otherfield had set Catherine back, rather than helping her. “Come on; let me show you my private entrance to the library. We'll be very quiet, in case the man is still there.”

Kitty was glad to follow her through the impressive ballroom. She looked around in awe at the high-ceilinged room that stretched over nearly the whole front half of the mansion. “Without Christmas decorations, this room is enormous! I hardly recognized it! Is the library in here?”

“No, but the door is.” Mary walked with her through the hall to the unobtrusive small door leading to the balcony, and she opened it noiselessly. Catherine peeked over the polished mahogany railing and saw the gentleman sitting near the fire and chuckling softly while reading his book. Mary, standing behind her, heard the snort followed by a low-pitched laugh, and she looked too. Kitty watched intently, as if willing the man to look up, while Mary whispered, “Come along, Kitty. We must go.” Mary turned, expecting her sister to follow.

Instead, Kitty leaned over the ornate railing and said, “Good afternoon, sir.”

Mary fled through the door, embarrassed to be seen there and ashamed for Kitty's boldness. Just before the door closed, she heard a pleasant “Afternoon, miss,” from below.

In the corridor near her own room, Mary spied Elizabeth pulling her pelisse around her shoulders. Lizzy smiled invitingly. “Mary, if you are not otherwise engaged, would you walk out with me? Papa is tired, and Mama is arranging things in his room. The sun is so invitingly warm for this time of year, I simply must go out. But I may need an arm to lean on.”

Mary was not loath to humour her sister, especially the one who had sacrificed so greatly as to marry such a man in order to provide for her sisters. She slipped into her room to don her spencer and came right out, calling, “I cannot read this afternoon at any rate. A strange man came into the library.”

Elizabeth laughed, and when Mary joined her near the large stairway, she said, “The ‘strange man' is Mr. Oliver, who is soon to be the vicar of Kympton. He means to read the whole of Saint Augustine's works, but Reverend Wynters keeps him busy most days. He is free to come here only on Tuesdays.”

Though glad of that, Mary sniffed. “Well, he could not have been reading anything by Saint Augustine just now, Lizzy. He was laughing!”

Elizabeth regarded her quizzically as they descended to approach the side door. “And saints are not funny, I suppose?”

“Certainly not!” Mary could not even imagine such a thing.

They crossed the garden to enjoy the autumn wood and dying witch hazel near the trout stream. Elizabeth pointed out a favourite tree, now a graceful fan of limbs with twigs stark against the pale blue sky. “In summer it spreads like a perfect green umbrella, shading the hillside.” She did not add that it was the very tree under which Darcy had surprised her when she and the Gardiners first visited Pemberley. It seemed long ago now, but the tree remained precious to her, though she had been heartily embarrassed at the time. She inhaled the sharp air appreciatively. “How I have missed the woods and hills these last weeks!” She strolled ahead and almost burst into a run as she used to do, but bethought herself and waited to take Mary's arm. “I forget I am no longer a carefree girl. Imagine my being a mother! Will I ever become used to it?”

“Oh, I imagine you will.” Mary skirted a briar that reached out over the path. “And just think, Mama and Papa once had to grow accustomed to us. We think of them always as parents, but once they were young and carefree. And now…” Mary paused, not wishing to think them old.

“Grandparents!” Elizabeth finished for her. “And Papa rests after a short ride. He never used to nap in the afternoon. One doesn't like to think of them actually growing old…” Her voice trailed off, as if the thought also saddened her.

Mary looked off in the direction of the stables, where she noted one tree shaped differently from all the others. “Look, Lizzy! All the oaks and maples fan outward, but that tree stretches all its limbs upward, like many hands in prayer!”

Elizabeth smiled. “You have spotted Darcy's precious linden tree. And in summer you would like it even better, when its heart-shaped leaves and delicate yellow blossoms appear. You must spend a summer with us sometime.”

A rustle behind them warned of Catherine's approach just before she called, “Lizzy! Mary!” As she caught up, she confronted Mary. “Why did you not stay with me? I talked to him.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Indeed.”

“And he said I must apologise to you. He thought he frightened you.” Catherine inhaled deeply, happy to slow to her pace.

“He did not frighten me; I simply could not stay alone in a room with a man to whom I have not been introduced.”

“La, Mary, don't be such a stick. He is rather nice, even if he is a clergyman, and I think his moustache quite becomes him. He is not so exciting as an officer, but I liked him.” Catherine pulled at the cloak she had grabbed hurriedly.

“Then I am surprised that you did not stay there.” Mary, who considered a moustache to be a dandyish affectation in a clergyman, tried to meet Elizabeth's eyes to see whether Catherine's boldness had outraged her as well.

“Oh, he said I must excuse him while he returned to Saint Augustine. I asked him what was so funny about Saint Augustine, and he said, ‘Another time I will tell you.'”

Elizabeth spoke her motherliness. “Kitty, you mustn't disturb Mr. Oliver. He is serious about his reading, and you know you have not been properly introduced.”

Kitty stamped her foot. “You are just like Jane; you want me to be a fine lady like you, I'll warrant.” Petulance coloured her voice.

Elizabeth laughed then and took Catherine's arm playfully. “I am no fine lady at all, Kitty, just a tired one. Let's try that bench, and you can tell me about dear Jane.” She pointed across the stream.

Mary felt certain that Lizzy could have instructed Kitty more pointedly. But she swallowed her distaste and crossed the footbridge with them to the bank above the stream, where they sat on a weathered but clean wooden bench. Catherine, her spirits revived, gave the Nottingham news and even refrained from complaining about the overweening Caroline Bingley, except to say that she acted of late as if she were Jane's truest sister. For a pleasant interval, they might have been back at Longbourn, recapturing maidenly pursuits. But soon the creeping autumn chill sent them back to Pemberley's fireplaces and a fine tea with the refreshed older Bennets. At dinner that evening, Elizabeth asked Darcy, “Do you suppose Mr. Oliver would come for tea some day? I have been remiss. My sisters and yours have not been introduced to him, and if he is to frequent our library, perhaps he ought to be acquainted with all of us.”

Georgiana put in, “Indeed, I have never yet set eyes on him, and Kitty says he is very nice.”

Darcy spoke teasingly to Elizabeth, “If he has not been introduced, how is it that Kitty knows he is very nice?”

Kitty coloured at his teasing. “I happened upon him in the library, sir.”

Darcy smiled and returned his attention to the succulent pork loin on his plate. “You are in the right, Lizzy. We cannot allow Kitty so great an advantage over her elders. I will ask him to tea on Sunday.”

***

Though the elder Bennets spent Sunday at Otherfield with the Bingleys, the rest of the family enjoyed tea with Mr. Oliver. A somewhat nervous-looking Mr. Oliver acknowledged Elizabeth's introductions with a stiff bow to Mary, to Georgiana, and less solemnly to Kitty, while the girls curtsied formally. When they seated themselves, he hesitantly folded his tall, thin body into the proffered chair. “Miss Catherine was so kind as to introduce herself to me in the library.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I have asked the girls to let you pursue your studies undisturbed. Have you made a good start?” She poured his tea and offered the tray of raspberry scones.

He gingerly balanced his cup and saucer with his left hand and reached out his right for a scone, then looked around for a place to put it. Delia placed a large napkin on the polished table next to his chair and he smiled his relief as he set it down. “I wondered how to drink tea without a third hand.” Then he responded to Elizabeth. “I have made a start, but there is so much! I have never seen so complete and magnificent a collection.” He turned to Darcy. “You have excellent taste in books, sir.”

Darcy thanked him. “The library was my father's treasure. I have tried to finish the sets he started, more to honour his memory than to indulge in my own taste, which might run to more historical or fictional works.”

Catherine, who had opened her mouth several times to address the guest, finally found an opening. “Tell me all about Saint Augustine, Mr. Oliver! Why do you want to read all his works?”

Oliver laughed. “Oh, I do not expect to live long enough for a project like that! I merely hope to study enough to keep my preaching orthodox.”

Kitty squirmed gleefully. “Mary told me that Saint Augustine once had a vision of the child Jesus at the seashore. He was digging a hole in the sand, and…”

Oliver laughed, putting up a hand to stop her. “A medieval tale, I am afraid. Those medievals liked their saints floating above the earth in all manner of miracles.”

Elizabeth turned to Mary. “What story is that?”

Mary felt her face warm at the unwanted attention, but his cavalier dismissal of the tale gave her courage born of indignation. “He walked the shore trying to understand the Trinity. He asked what the child was doing, and the child said, ‘Digging a hole to put the ocean in.' Augustine said, ‘You cannot do that; it is impossible.' And the child said, ‘It is easier for me to put the whole ocean into this hole than for you to understand the Trinity.' Then the child vanished, and Augustine knew it was Jesus.” She raised her chin high and stated firmly, “I read that in a book.” She felt sure that any clergyman who scoffed at beautifully devotional legends would give dry sermons.

Oliver brushed some crumbs from his mustache with the large napkin. “Oh, there is
some
truth behind it, I am sure. I fancy it was meant to convey to simple souls much of what the saint wrote in his treatise on the Trinity.”

Darcy looked up in interest. “What was that?”

“He prayed for his readers, and he begged them to correct him if he went wrong because he knew he tackled a subject beyond him. Great men are that humble.” Oliver gratefully relinquished his cup and saucer to the attentive Delia even as he reached for another scone. To Darcy he added, “It is one of my favourite parts of Augustine's work, because as I read it I am assured that a great saint has prayed for me. That is comfort in trying times.”