Chapter 8 Mary breaks off the engagement

Mary found Sir Eustace alone in the parlour.

'May I speak with you? ' she asked.

'Of course, my dear,' he said, giving a little, courtly bow. It made Mary extremely uncomfortable, but she forced herself to speak.

'I am extremely sorry to cause you any inconvenience or distress, Sir Eustace.' The smile on Sir Eustace's visage disappeared. 'But I have come to the conclusion that I made an error in judgement when I accepted your hand. I am persuaded that I would not make you happy if I were to become your wife. I must decline to marry you.'

'What nonsense is this?'

Mary was dismayed but not surprised by his reaction.

'I am afraid that I must decline to marry you,' she repeated.

Sir Eustace's face flushed deep crimson and he stepped closer to Mary, looming over her. 'What has made you change your mind?' he demanded. 'Only a few weeks ago, you agreed, you were happy to wed me and now, you are saying that you will not?'

Mary trembled but held her ground. 'I am very sorry to disappoint you, but I cannot marry you.'

'But why not?' roared Sir Eustace. 'Give me a reason.'

'I have given you my reason, I would not make you happy.'

'Why not?'

'I fear that our tastes are too dissimilar for us enjoy domestic harmony. I was hasty in accepting your proposal and I apologise most profusely,' Mary said.

'So we may not agree on every point. What of it? You would soon be guided by me to see the folly of your views.'

Mary felt as if she were standing on the edge of a great crater that had just opened up in front of him and in due time would give thanks for not tumbling into the hole.

'Again, I am so very sorry,' she said and stepped back, intending to leave.

Sir Eustace seized her wrist in a tight grip and growled, 'You do not have my leave to go.'

His fingers dug into her flesh. She tried to pull her wrist away and failed. Sir Eustace towered over her. Then to her enormous relief, her mother entered the room.

'Are our two lovebirds dallying here?' Mrs. Bennet began in a playful tone, which changed to a questioning one. 'Is something amiss?'

'Oh Mama,' Mary said.

Finally breaking free of Sir Eustace's hold, she ran out of the room. Hurtling upstairs, she could hear the commotion breaking out below; the loud complaints of Sir Eustace and the even louder wails of Mrs. Bennet, but all she could think of was reaching the sanctuary of her bedroom.

Pulling the door shut, she flung herself on the bed and wept bitter, noisy tears.

A short while later, Mr. Bennet was disturbed in his library by his wife coming into the room without knocking. He frowned at her, displeased by this discourtesy.

'Mr. Bennet, you must come and talk to Mary at once. The silly lass is saying that she has changed her mind and will not marry Sir Eustace.'

'Realised that she did not have the stomach for it, eh?'

'Don't be ridiculous, Mrs. Bennet. Sir Eustace is a most eligible match and Mary will certainly never receive such a fine offer again. You must insist that she marries him.'

'Bring her down to the library and I will give her my opinion.'

Mrs. Bennet thought that she had heard those words before but could not remember when.

'I understand that you have broken your engagement to Sir Eustace,' Mr. Bennet said after Mary had entered the library, followed by her mother.

Mary lowered her eyes and nodded, unable to speak.

'May I offer you my congratulations on a sensible decision.'

There was a sharp intake of breath by Mrs. Bennet. Mary ignoring this, raised her eyes and said gratefully, 'Oh, thank you, Papa!'

She left as Mrs. Bennet began to berate her husband.

Mr. Bennet said, 'I, too am disappointed at the loss of such an excellent son-in-law but we cannot expect Mary to marry purely to provide us with entertainment, my dear.'

This speech left Mrs. Bennet so red faced and speechless that her husband had ample time to remove himself to the stables before she recovered.

Sir Eustace could not be found at dinner time. When his man servant was questioned, he professed to have no knowledge of his master's whereabouts. Sir Eustace did not return that night.

Sir Eustace swept into the breakfast room just as the family were finishing their repast.

Not troubling himself with any of the social niceties, he began, 'I have come to collect my things and will henceforth trouble you no more.'

Before Mrs. Bennet could say a word to soothe his ruffled feelings, he continued, 'I wish also to inform you that I have become affianced to a young lady and will be staying at her father's establishment from now on.'

'Who is this young lady, if you don't mind my asking?' Mr. Bennet enquired as both his wife and his daughter were bereft of words although for entirely different reasons. Mrs. Bennet was astounded and angry that he should have found someone else so soon. Mary was stunned at this precipitate behaviour.

'Miss Margaret Merryweather.'

'Miss Margaret… do you mean Meg Merryweather, the daughter of the proprietor of The Blue Boar?' asked Mr. Bennet.

Mary saw her mother's brows draw together and her lips purse. She predicted that her father would soon suffer a thorough inquisition into how he had gained his knowledge of the young lady and that establishment.

Sir Eustace bowed. 'The same. She is a very pretty, lively young lady who recognises and is grateful for the honour that has been bestowed upon her. Unlike some ladies I might mention.' His basilisk stare rested on Mary.

'She's no lady,' muttered Mrs. Bennet but Sir Eustace did not hear.

'Might I be allowed to enquire as to how this came about?' Mr. Bennet asked, looking up at Sir Eustace from his dining chair.

'When I left your establishment, I went to a hostelry for a well-deserved glass of wine. I was angry and appalled at the disgraceful treatment meted out to me by your daughter, Sir.'

'Indeed,' Mr. Bennet murmured. 'But how did this lead to an engagement.'

'Not that it is any of your business now, but I met the delightful and lovely Miss Margaret Merryweather and proposed to her.'

"Was this before or after your well-deserved drink?' enquired Mr. Bennet.

Sir Eustace flushed. 'How dare you, sir! If that is going to be your tone, I will tell you nothing more about the affair.'

'Then allow me to offer you felicitations on your forthcoming nuptials,' Mr. Bennet said.

'Indeed, I am sure I wish you all the luck in the world,' Mary said with feeling. She considered it a most ill-considered venture. Mrs. Bennet was too overcome to say anything.

'I am sure that you wish to depart promptly, and we will not delay you,' Mr. Bennet said.

Sir Eustace bowed again and went out of the room. He could be heard bellowing for his manservant.

'Well!' Mrs. Bennet said. 'Did you ever hear the like?'

'No,' Mary said.

Mrs. Bennet turned to her. 'This is all your fault, Mary,' she hissed. 'Now, you have no chance to apologise to him and ask him to take you back. I hope you are satisfied, my girl.'

'I am sorry, Mama but I never had the slightest intention of taking him back. And I certainly would not after this hare-brained behaviour.'

At this, Mrs. Bennet had to upset her chair and rush from the room, calling for Hill and the smelling salts. Mary was sure she would indulge in a fit of hysterics, upstairs.

'I am almost sorry to lose him as a son-in-law,' Mr. Bennet said to Mary. 'By this act he has shown he might even have come to outrank Mr. Wickham and Mr. Collins in my esteem. Up until now I had thought Mr. Collins the most foolish man I had ever met. I am delighted to find I am wrong.'

'Do you suppose he asked the first woman he met to marry him?'

'Very likely.'

They found out the facts of the case from Aunt Philips.

She came hurrying over from Meryton to impart the gossip to Longhorn. Mrs. Bennet insisted that Mary stay in the parlour to hear it.

'It seems that Sir Eustace was very angry when he left your house, sister. Several people heard him cursing on his way to Meryton. And Mrs. Long saw him come into Meryton and heard him say, "I will marry the first decent woman I meet." Then he was seen to turn into the Blue Boar.'

'By Mrs. Long?" asked Mrs. Bennet.

'Does it matter?' Mary asked.

Her mother gave her a quelling look. 'I should think that you would have the decency to stay quiet, miss. Pray continue, sister.'

Mrs. Philips needed no further bidding. 'No, he was seen by Mr. Paynter, the apothecary. He had himself a very good lunch there, a cold roast quail, mutton stew, an apple pie and a bottle or two of Rhemish —'

'Two bottles of Rhemish for lunch! The very idea,' Mrs. Bennet interjected.

'These were served to him by Meg Merryweather,' Mrs. Philips carried on, ignoring her. 'It's been said she's the prettiest girl in Meryton.' Mrs. Bennet snorted. Mary wondered if she had ever made the acquaintance of George Wickham. 'Well, those two bottles proved his undoing. By the end of the meal, Sir Eustace had proposed to Meg and she'd accepted.'

'Who told you all this?' asked Mrs. Bennet.

'I had it by way of my maid who had it by way of one of the ostlers at the inn who was told it by the barmaid there,' Mrs. Philips said.

Mary thought it likely that a life of ease might tempt a young woman in Meg's station of life, however unappealing the bridegroom might be. She could not blame the girl. Mary too had been blinded by such mercenary ambitions.

'She, or probably her father for he's known to be a cunning man, asked Sir Eustace to put it in writing. This he did then fell into a deep sleep. When he woke up, he saw Meg's pretty face and a paper with his signature on it.'

'But surely he was rich enough to buy his way out of it?' cried Mrs. Bennet.

'That's as maybe. He didn't want to do that. Talked about himself as King… King Cop… King Whathisname…'

'King Cophetua,' said Mary. She was amazed Sir Eustace knew that old legend. 'He was an African king who married a beggar girl.'

'Fancy,' said Mrs. Philips. 'Mr. Merryweather won't thank Sir Eustace for calling him a beggar. His inn does a fair trade.'

'It's a shame and a disgrace,' Mrs. Bennet said with feeling.

'Apparently, they're to wed as soon as possible.' Mrs. Philips laughed. 'They don't want him coming to his senses.'

Mary flushed with humiliation. She was also a little hurt at how quickly Sir Eustace had replaced her.

A day or so later, Mary and her mother paid a visit to Lady Lucas. Mary was standing in an alcove in the parlour, half hidden by the curtains, talking to Susannah Long when she heard her name mentioned.

'Have you heard the latest about Miss Bennet?' came the voice of Mrs. Hiddleston, a well-known gossip. She must have been standing close by for Mary to hear the words so clearly.

'No? Do tell.'

'You knew that she was safely engaged to Sir Eustace Watford?'

'Have I met him?' asked the other female voice.

'Tall. Fat. Red-headed. You met him at the dinner at the Lucases.'

'Oh! Yes, I recall him now. What of it?' Mary recognised it now as belonging to Miss Bramble, a spinster of the parish and another inveterate gossip.

Mrs. Hiddleston half laughed. 'He has broken his engagement to Miss Bennet and become betrothed to Margaret Merryweather.'

'Who's she?'

'Only the daughter of the landlord of the Blue Boar, no less.'

'No!' Miss Bramble's voice held a note of astonished delight.

'Apparently, he and Miss Bennet quarrelled. He went straight out, got blind drunk and proposed to Margaret.'

'How disgraceful. How could he lower himself? And what a shame for poor, dear Miss Bennet,' breathed Miss Bramble.

'Yes. I don't know how she will live the disgrace down. It seems the Bennet family has not done with entertaining us with their indiscretions. Do you remember Lydia Bennet?'

Miss Bramble ignored this invitation. 'Poor Miss Bennet,' she repeated. 'I doubt she'll get another offer after this.'

Mary's cheeks burned. Her breast swelling with indignation, she made to step forward. Susannah grasped her arm and jerked her back.

'Stop, Mary.'

'Let me go. They need to know that it was I who broke the engagement not him.'

'I won't. Don't be such a ninny. Far better for you than society thinks it was he rather than you. Let him have the shame of it.'

Susannah's words and her grip on Mary's arm, forced Mary to pause and reflect. After a moment's contemplation, she admitted to herself that Susannah was right. It would be better for her if the world thought that Sir Eustace had broken his promise, galling though it was to Mary's pride.

Mary knew that some time would pass before life became tolerable again for her in the Bennet household or in Meryton. Her mother had taken the news of Sir Eustace's engagement very badly and alternated between fits of the vapours and long diatribes against Mary. She wept angry tears at the loss of such a glittering prize to a mere publican's daughter. Mary began to take longer and longer walks in the surrounding countryside.

She wrote a short letter to each of her two older sisters, informing them that she was no longer going to marry Sir Eustace without giving any reasons. They had both written back sensible, tactful letters without any of the 'I told you so's' that Mary thought that they might justly have done.

Mary was surprised when she received an invitation from her Aunt Gardiner to stay with them in Cheapside. On further reflection, she knew this to be the work of Elizabeth or Jane and she was grateful for their thoughtfulness. To be completely out of sight of her mother for some time was probably the best remedy for curing her mother's vexation with her. Mary knew that she was not the Gardiners' favourite niece, so was touched by their consideration. It was agreed that Mary should spend a month in London with them.

'I'm sure that you have done nothing to deserve it,' sniffed Mrs. Bennet. 'Indeed, I feel that it is I that would have benefited from a stay in London after the distress of the last few weeks. I wonder that they did not invite me.'

Mr. Bennet caught the look of despair on Mary's face and roused himself to say, 'Come my love, you know that you do not enjoy this time of year in London and it might be unhealthful for your delicate constitution. Much better than you should go another time when the weather is more clement.'

Mary thought that she should never love her father more.

Mary was unsure as to how much of her affairs had been relayed to Mrs. Gardiner and was dreading an inquisition. However, on her arrival in London, Mrs. Gardiner, showed the delicacy that Mrs. Bennet so signally lacked, and did not refer to the failed engagement at all. On consideration, Mary thought it might be helpful to discuss what had occurred with her aunt who she knew to be a sensible and rational woman.

She raised the subject with her, one morning when they were looking out of the window onto the rain-splattered street. Once they had finished discussing the probability of the rain continuing and eventually agreeing, on the impossibility of venturing out that day, Mary ventured to speak on the subject.

'Has Jane or Elizabeth mentioned any details of my broken engagement to you, Aunt?'

'No, they did not. I am sure that they feel that any information come from you and should be at your discretion.'

'Has my mother?'

From Mrs. Gardiner's hesitation, Mary was sure that she had received a letter full of complaints and self-pity from Mrs. Bennet.

'She might have told me something of your recent history, Mary but please do not feel obliged to discuss it if it gives you any discomfort.'

'I would like to talk it over with you, aunt. I should welcome the advice of such a woman of the world as yourself.'

Mr. Gardiner was a sensible woman but just as susceptible to flattery as any other mortal. She indicated to Mary to continue.

'Did my mother tell you that I received a proposal of marriage from a Mr. Dane?'

'Yes.'

'I suspect that she also told you that I had turned him down because he was only a clerk of my uncle, Mr. Philips.'

'She might have written something along those lines,' her aunt murmured.

'That is not why I refused him. Mr. Dane was a personable young gentleman, educated and civil but I thought his intentions in asking me to marry him were mainly to improve his position and had little to do with any real affection for me.'

'If that were the case, then you could not, of course, have accepted him. Were you sure of this?'

'Quite sure. I overheard his friend, Mr. Sutton discussing it at an assembly ball. I challenged him when he proposed, and he did not deny that he thought marrying me might help his advancement even though he pretended to be fond of me.'

'How difficult for you.'

'That is one reason why Mama was so happy when Sir Eustace proposed. She had been most unhappy at my turning down Mr. Dane.'

'She is not, I fear, best pleased with you at the moment.'

That was certainly an understatement.

'I am very sorry to have disobliged Mama, but I could not marry Sir Eustace. I have come to realise that I misunderstood the true meaning of "marrying well".' Mary told her. 'I took the worldly definition, of marrying for security, for wealth and position.

'You are not the first woman to make such a mistake. It is, sadly, rather more common than it should be,' Mrs. Gardiner commented. 'While it is prudent to consider how you will manage for money when married, it should not be the primary concern.'

Mary continued, 'I looked at my older sisters, both of whom had married men of wealth and status. I ignored the fact that the most important thing to them was that they loved the men, that they thought them people that they could spend the rest of their lives with, in mutual respect and affection.'

'That has always been evident with Jane and Elizabeth.'

'But I failed to see it, Aunt Gardiner, I made a mistake. I thought that being an old maid was the worst fate that could befall me. My thinking was erroneous. I now know that spending the remainder of my life with my parents and then probably shunted from sister to sister is preferable to spending my life with a man whom I neither care for nor respect but who would have total power over me. I think that I have been very naïve.'

Mary reflected that her mother might be silly and insensitive, but she was rarely deliberately cruel or mean. And she was sure that Jane and Elizabeth and their husbands would always be kind.

'To be sure the lot of an unmarried lady without an income of her own is not a pleasant prospect in our society. She is not given respect because she is dependent on the goodwill of others. I fear that being a married lady is esteemed so much because it guarantees freedom from want if nothing else. But I believe you to be right, dear Mary, unpleasant as the future of a spinster may be, still more unpleasant is that of being married to a man who has no respect for your abilities and character, whatever the reason for marrying you. I own, it must be a difficult time for you, having turned down two proposals of marriage but if you are convinced that you could not be happy with either of them then you made the correct decision.

Her aunt's words greatly encouraged Mary. To have her actions endorsed by a sensible woman made her feel much better. She had been haunted by the thought that if she had only listened to Mr. Dane that she might now be enjoying life as his fiancé but once again, she told herself not to dwell on things that could never be.

If she had behaved unwisely in the past, she could console himself with the thought she would have the experience to guide her in her future conduct. That marriage was not a likely prospect for her, was something that she would have to face with courage and faith.