Mrs. Phillips's POV
Chapter 48: They Need To Come Back Home To Longbourn.
I am becoming worried about the Bennets staying in London. While I was glad to have my husband travel to London to help sort out their legal difficulties, I was really hoping that they would all return home with him. The younger girls are growing weary of their parents being gone so long. Lydia whines and cares on, and then Kitty joins in. Some days I do not feel like visiting them at all, as they are in poor spirits indeed, but I imagine they would take out their frustrations on especially Mary that much more if I were not there.
Mary just wants to play the piano and read her religious books. Really, she should have a governess to help teach her, but Mr. Bennet never seems to have the funds for this. I think he feels that as his older daughters have learned just fine on their own (after the more basic learning their mother provided), that Mary should do likewise. He does not seem to recognize that his older daughters have really been learning from him. Lizzy is his particular pet, which is not surprising I suppose, as she is both his first child by blood and of a similar nature to him. Any matter he brings up ends up guiding her reading so that she may gain his attention and conversation. I doubt she would have nearly the same interest in geography, physics or animal husbandry if not for the fact that gaining knowledge of such things provides her with more to discuss with her father.
While Jane is not nearly so scholarly, she is so biddable that if her father even so much as suggests she should learn about something she is certain to try at least a bit. But it has become apparent to me that Lizzy has vastly outstripped her in acquired knowledge and these days (at least before she went to London), she often asked Lizzy for help in gaining a passing knowledge of something, rather than trying to read source materials herself.
But Jane is also often trying to please her mother, whereas Lizzy has decided that her mother is not worth pleasing. I remember Fanny's frustration that she did not have the skills to teach her daughters how to be members of the gentry. The only gentle skills she had to pass on are sewing and embroidery. Jane is most willing to practice such skills at her mother's behest and has had the patience to master even stitches with just the right tension.
Lizzy, on the other hand, has very little patience for the womanly arts besides learning the piano (and she has not much patience for that). I see how (perhaps not even realizing it), she has taken Mr. Bennet's side in her parents' marital difficulties. I can tell she is convinced that her father was saddled with a woman who is practically an imbecile. She believes the surface Fanny that my sister presents and cannot imagine all the pain and wit beneath her surface.
Fanny tries so hard to act carefree and to talk and talk about the most simple of things as if that will still the bad thoughts that still plague her. Things were quite bad after Jane began her monthlies. Fanny avoided me after they began, but when Jane came and talked with me about such matters, I knew just what was the matter with Fanny. I made Mr. Bennet bring her to me and forced her to talk about what she had been avoiding. There were many false starts as time and time again she pretended to misunderstand me, pretended nothing was amiss, pretended that she had nothing else on her mind but a stupidly elaborate gown she was sewing for Lydia. I knew the truth, every stitch she had made was an attempt to distract herself, an attempt to focus on something else. Finally, though, she was honest with me.
She told me, "Mary-Ann, I know I am being unreasonable, but everything in me screams that some man is going to hurt Jane, to do to her what Mr. Bragg did to me. I cannot be rational about the matter, though I believe I am past simply panicking about it."
I replied, "None of us will let that happen. And Jane is a sensible girl. She will not be tempted to go anywhere with a man."
Fanny told me, "I thought I was a sensible girl, too. I did not understand all the ugliness within men's hearts, how someone could act with such cruelty as to take what was mine to give, to steal a part of me with no care for me, could upend everything for his own amusement. I keep lecturing the poor girl, trying to put restrictions on her actions. Another child would rebel, but Jane just takes it. She is so beautiful that I fear she will prove too great a temptation for someone to molest. I know she is very young, but I feel if only I could get her married that everything would be well and that I could finally feel she would be safe."
"Most men are honorable," I told her, "and her position as the daughter of Mr. Bennet protects her more than you were protected. There would be higher consequences for anyone to pay who treated her wrongly. Most men who have bad intentions prey upon their servants or people that they think have no resources to make them pay. Mr. Bragg would not have done to a sister of Mr. Hosmer what he did to you. Jane is really too young to marry now and must have time to know any suitor. She should not be rushed into marriage as we were."
Fanny looked me right in the eye then with an intense look and grabbed my arm. "But it all worked out for you, you have been happy, have you not? I could not bear it if what happened to me hurt you also."
I did not want Fanny to feel any guilt, so I hurriedly reassured her, "Yes, I have. Mr. Phillips is a good man and we love each other." I tried to shove far away the little niggling thought that perhaps if I had married someone else, I might have a brood of children myself now. I really had no desire to be married to anyone but my Stephen, children or no children. I added, "However, it would have been nice not to be rushed into marriage, to have a little more time to enjoy my girlhood. I would have liked more time to flirt and dance and consider all possibilities before I settled down. I think I would have ended up married to Stephen anyway, though, for who else was there? Although the younger Mr. Thomas was a handsome man, he had not the means to marry anyone and I am not sure he could even read. I would not have wanted to marry Mr. Wynn. He was so old and ugly. And Mr. Harrington was so boring."
"What about Mr. Hosmer?" Fanny asked me with just a hint of a smile. "On paper at least he was the best prospect."
"Yes, he and Mr. Bennet were the best prizes," I answered back with just a hint of a smile myself. "There is really no one nearby for your girls. You will need to take them to London to find them suitable men."
When I learned Fanny would be taking Jane with her to London, I was not surprised.
I should try harder to enjoy myself in the role of surrogate mother for my other nieces. Is this not what I have longed for, for many years? And yet, they are even now well set in their ways, upon fixed paths and really have no wish to receive direction from me.
Mary gladly takes instruction where she can find it from those she thinks have something to teach her (she has never sought any instruction from me, but what have I to teacher her really, that Fanny cannot? It is not as if she needs to learn how to cook or clean). From the parson's wife Mary learned to play the piano and (I believe in an attempt to grow closer to Lizzy) talked Lizzy into gaining instruction as well. However, as Lizzy has the option of spending time with her father, she practices far less than Mary.
It is really a pity that Mary has never been welcomed into Mr. Bennet's book room the way her older sisters have. Without his direction she has retreated into only reading whatever religious book currently strikes her fancy as having the most pious instruction for her and going on an endless quest for accomplishments. Does she not understand that these are only to be seen as something to fill a young woman of the gentry's time until she shall marry, just something to be mentioned about her in passing when she is introduced to a promising man?
Piano playing is useful, I will admit. We all need entertainment and a future husband may enjoy having a wife who plays. But I cannot imagine that any man cares much if his wife can cover a screen, paint a table or net a purse. Yet Mary has learned to do all that and more.
I fancy that Mary might improve a great deal in her choice of reading if her father would take some interest in her, but no one seems to care about my opinions on this matter and I am no great reader myself. I rather think Mary looks down on me a bit for being only the wife and daughter of an attorney rather than being the wife or daughter of a landowner.
It is a testament to how different Lizzy and Mary are treated by Mr. Bennet that even while Mr. Bennet is away, Elizabeth feels welcome to use her father's book room for herself. Mary would never dare to enter without an invitation, and certainly would never trespass there while her father is away.
So while Elizabeth can flee to Mr. Bennet's book room to read and avoid capers by her younger sisters, Mary is left at their mercy. You would think they would look up to her, but she lacks confidence and Lydia especially seems to understand exactly how to exploit that.
The younger girls pester Mary so much, especially Lydia, that eventually Mary loses her temper and yells at them. Afterwards, she feels that she has to go and pray to God for forgiveness. Then just when she feels as if she had adequately earned forgiveness by doing a variety of selfless deeds (I wish I could convince her that God freely forgives but that the flesh is weak in doing what is right), Lydia torments her again and again until finally Mary lashes out again and afterwards is filled with guilt and remorse.
Yesterday, I was late getting to Longbourn because Mr. Phillips was not feeling well. I had resolved to stay home in the morning with him and only visit the girls in the afternoon. Apparently, Lydia was bored because I had yet to arrive to entertain her (she always demands more attention than the others, I think she was coddled too much by Fanny because Tommy was gone) and decided to make her own entertainment.
When I arrived in the afternoon I heard from the elderly maid, who is charged with helping to mind the younger girls, that she could not find Lydia. Kitty kept making excuses for where Lydia could be and apparently the maid could not be bothered to figure out that Lydia was out of the house.
As I was preparing to go in search of Lydia, Mary came to me, very upset. She told me, "Aunt Phillips, the bonnet that used to be my mother's that I have been working on re-trimming all these weeks, well it is gone and I believe Lydia must have had something to do with it."
I knew the bonnet she was talking about. The bonnet was old and worn, and probably because of it my sister had blithely given it to Mary without asking whether anyone else fancied it. At the time I think Lydia was envious, but all she said was, "Who would want that old thing?"
However, Mary had worked very hard re-trimming it these past few weeks and from such efforts had greatly improved it. I believe that the better it looked, the more Lydia wished she had it for herself (though it would have been overly big for her).
Mary is not very good at her stitches and fixing the bonnet was slow work for her. I offered to help her with the more difficult parts, but she was determined to do it alone. I remember her asking me, "Do you think I will impress Mama with how much work I have put into improving it?" I remember her saying (after the children received yet another letter about how long their parents' trip was extended), "I have been longing to show the bonnet to Mama; will they not come home soon?" I felt she thought to garner her mother's approval and affection by working so hard to rehabilitate the bonnet, but likely it was a useless effort.
I wished to help Mary look for the bonnet, however I felt I could not attend to that matter at that moment as I was very concerned as to where Lydia could be as she is only eight years of age. In making inquiries of the staff, I soon learned that Lydia had been seen walking on the road to Meryton, carrying a bonnet. The footman who told me he had seen her, seemed to assume she was walking with one or another of her sisters.
I always feel awkward in asking to use the Bennet carriage, but under the circumstances felt it entirely justified. First I went to Lucas Lodge. The Lucases have only recently begun living there. It was odd when King George decided to knight Mr. Lucas for the speech he made as part of his mayoralty (Mr. Bennet has said in looking back upon it, it was a sign of the king's madness that we should have recognized). I thought, perhaps, Lydia might have gone to see Maria Lucas. Alas, she had not been seen there but Miss Lucas volunteered to go with me to look for her.
We spotted Mr. Goulding along the road and inquired whether he had seen Lydia. He said, "No I have not. Right now I am seeking after Mrs. Long's donkey. She is convinced someone stole it, but I rather fancy it has been taken as a prank. Who would want that broken down old donkey? Now if it was a horse . . . ."
Miss Lucas and I exchanged glances. I think we were both wondering if Lydia might have something to do with it.
The next person we passed was the apothecary, Mr. Jones. He hailed us and asked, "Did Miss Lydia ever find Miss Mary?"
Of course I was confused with such a question, so I asked, "Did you see Lydia today?"
"Yes, I did, no more than half an hour past. I asked where her sisters were as she is rather young to be out by herself. She told me she was looking for Miss Mary. I asked if she needed help finding her, but she told me that all was well. I rather fancied that she might have hidden herself from Miss Mary as some kind of a game as she kept laughing."
"Did she have a bonnet with her?"
"No, indeed."
"Did you see which way she was going?"
"Yes she was walking further into Meryton. I was busy delivering medicines or I would have made more of an effort to sort the matter out. I think she was rather being a pest in knocking on a great many doors, looking for Miss Mary. Speaking of a bonnet, Miss Lydia said her sister had recently remade a bonnet and it was an ugly old thing with green trim, but that we might know her sister by the bonnet. I thought it a rather an odd thing to say as everyone knows who Miss Mary Bennet is, and would it not be easier to spot a young lady by her gown than by her bonnet?"
I was quite confused about the matter, but as we continued on, Miss Lucas had a notion. She said, "I fear that Miss Lydia is doing something cruel to her sister Miss Mary. It just occurred to me that the name of Mrs. Long's donkey is Mary. I have heard her talk about how the name fits her donkey because she is 'Mary, Mary quite contrary.' That was the name she came with. Do you suppose that Miss Lydia knows this as well?"
I had a sudden thought of why Lydia might have taken the bonnet and let the donkey out, but I hoped I was wrong. Unfortunately my fears were borne out as in rounding a curve I saw a few people near the milliner's, with Lydia right out in front. She was laughing, but no one else was; instead most of their faces looked serious, annoyed or angry.
I signaled for the coachman to stop. I ran out, hoping I could stop what was sure to be a disaster. I heard Lydia calling out, "Can someone grab my sister? She just ran by. Mary is acting quiet wild today." Then she giggled.
"This is no laughing matter, young lady," said our parson. "Whatever possessed you to put your sister's bonnet on Mrs. Long's donkey? The poor animal is frightened by all that waving ribbon and as she ran by I saw she had marks upon her rump. I think you were cruel to her indeed. You are wasting everyone's time as someone will need to catch that beast and return her to Mrs. Long."
"Are you calling my sister a beast? Why I never. She may be a bit ugly, and have a long face, but she is no animal."
"Lydia," I intervened, "you come right now. You are in a great deal of trouble." I grabbed her by the arm. She tried to pull away from me. Miss Lucas grabbed at her other arm and then she stopped struggling.
"She needs a good switching," the parson told me. "She is being quite disrespectful to her sister and her family in acting in such a way."
I nodded. It was quite embarrassing to be lectured by the parson about my niece's behavior. I told him, everyone really, "I did not see the donkey, but if she has a bonnet on, it must indeed be the one that went missing this morning that belongs to my niece Mary. She just finished re-trimming it a day or two ago. If anyone can retrieve it and return it to Longbourn, we would be most grateful."
Another man spoke up then. It was Mr. Harrington. "I tried to grab it off the donkey, as I thought if the bonnet were removed that the beast might calm, but it did not come off and I think I might have torn it in the process." He seemed apologetic. "I did not know it was important to anyone."
"How could you have known? Perhaps it may be mended. I hate to leave you all to deal with what Lydia has done, but I need to get her home. I will send some stable hands to help catch the donkey."
Miss Lucas and I hauled Lydia into the carriage. I was so very angry that I seriously considered procuring a switch. As the carriage traveled back via Lucas lodge, Miss Lucas began to lecture Lydia. I gained a new respect for Miss Lucas that day. She would have made a wonderful governess, but I would never insult her by suggesting she take up employment.
However, even though Miss Lucas said everything that was good and right, it seemed to have no effect on Lydia, who only laughed, and exclaimed, "What good fun I had!" It should not surprise me as Lydia is never contrite in the least.
I can tell that sometimes Kitty feels bad about the actions her younger sister takes, but she is not strong enough to stand up to Lydia. I think Kitty fears that Lydia would be mean to her, too, if not for her focus on Mary.
After I returned Miss Lucas to her home, Lydia must have seen the barely contained rage in my eyes and stopped with her silly chatter. We traveled back in silence to Longbourn. I think that Lydia thought her lecture from Miss Lucas was her only punishment, but in that she was mistaken.
As soon as the carriage stopped she leaped out before I could stop her and went running in the house. I thought of following after her (though I am not as fast as she, and did not want to have such little dignity), but then thought the better of trying to catch her. Instead allowed the coachman to help me down and then sought out the housekeeper, Mrs. Hill. She quickly sent word for some stable hands to hie themselves to Meryton to assist with corralling Mrs. Long's donkey.
After I had sorted all of this out, I found Lydia with Kitty. Lydia was bragging to Kitty, "And then I put Mary's bonnet upon Mrs. Long's old donkey, and do you know, I rather think the bonnet looked better on Mary the donkey than our sister Mary. I wanted everyone to see how good she looked, but that silly beast is rather old and slow, and at first I could not get her to go. But then when she did, she ran quite a ways. I think half the town saw her. I kept asking after Mary my sister; oh Lord it was great fun!"
Poor Mary was both red and pale, trembling a bit with contained emotion. I felt she could only be pushed so far until she struck back.
Wanting to keep that from happening I told Mary, "Your sister will be punished."
"You cannot punish me!" Lydia declared, stuck out her tongue and went running off.
I knew that I was not as swift a foot as her and I would not engage in that game. Kitty had not followed her sister. She was quick to declare, "I did not know what Lydia had planned. It was mean to take Mary's bonnet and make fun of her that way."
"You knew something."
She hung her head a little, "Well, yes I did. But Lydia said she just planned to hide Mary's bonnet where she would never find it."
Being just an aunt and not actually entrusted to see to their well being, I wondered what I should do to punish Lydia. Although the switch idea was tempting, I feared that Mr. and Mrs. Bennet might think I had overstepped my bounds. Finally I decided to consult with Mrs. Hill. Together we agreed that Lydia should lose her dinner and be confined to her room the next day.
I planned to go to Longbourn the following morning to see that Lydia's punishment was well and truly carried out, but the letters that were waiting for me when I returned that night changed all my plans. The letter from Fanny told me about Jane's suitor, Mr. Ellis. I had heard about him from Stephen and though I thought Jane too young to gain a husband, I was glad he seemed to be a good man. Stephen had of course told me all about the fight and how Mr. Bragg came to be in the Gardiner home with his son. Though he thought my brother and my brother-in-law had acted most impulsively, he told me that if he had been about he might have acted likewise. He was relieved that both of the Mr. Braggs were now out of both Fanny's and Jane's lives for good. I was relieved as well as I could not imagine what it would do to Jane's gentle soul to learn how she came to be.
Fanny was most circumspect in her letters (never telling of anything so obvious which would cause problems should it fall into the wrong hands), but a bit of her letter bothered me. She wrote:
There seems to be something just a bit off in how Jane relates to Mr. Ellis. I am not sure if it is just that she is still so young that she is scared to offer him the sort of encouragement which might lead to an offer, or if perhaps her fancies stem in another direction which can never be fulfilled for obvious reasons.
Jane's letter was much less circumspect. She wrote to me about her recent outings with Aunt Reid, including her dinner at the home of Mr. Ellis's aunt and their carriage ride together while supervised by Aunt Reid. She then wrote:
While Mr. Ellis is nothing much to look at, this does not bother me. There is a kindness about him and he seems to want to get to know me. I have no particular objection to him, but whenever I feel he is trying to draw me closer to him, all I want to do is flee. It has taken me a while to understand why, though now I know.
The problem is my heart is at least partially otherwise engaged. I know the son of the man who hurt Mama is not a proper object for my objections; family loyalty should remove him from any consideration. Yet my hand that he held while our fathers fought still remembers the feeling of his hand in mine. This hand seems to alternately tingle and burn with the memory of it.
I know it is most improper, but he wrote to me. I have told no one and made no reply to him, at least not yet.
He wants to meet with me. He promises he will be most proper and that we will meet in a public place.
I have not decided whether to reply or not. If I do not reply, likely the matter will be at an end.
I long to reply. I long to meet him. I long to see if what I remember feeling was real.
I do not want to displease anyone; I do not wish to hurt my mother, but my heart wants what it wants and is heedless of reason.
I wish I had you here to advise me. This is nothing I could ever speak to mother about for knowing how much she wishes to protect me, it would be impossible for her to look past whatever terrible thing his father did and to see that the son is nothing like the father. I feel that you would be much more objective than her.
I wonder, if you had met my uncle and then your parents tried to keep you apart whether you would have just let them or whether you would have fought to have him at your side. You are the one who told me that I was not too young to be thinking of marriage. Before this trip I had no doubt that I was too young, but now? Now I will do my best to keep from thinking about him, to be the dutiful daughter my mother expects.
She then wrote of other insignificant things. I merely skimmed those, seeking any hint of where her thoughts might lie. When it was clear there was no other pertinent information, I went to Stephen and told him, "I need to go to town in the morning, to keep Jane from making a terrible mistake. I just hope that it is not already too late."
