Chapter 4
Warning: mention of a miscarriage.
Summer at Longbourn is surprisingly… nice. My room isn't freezing when I get out of bed, and the dresses we wear are oddly cool and refreshing. Jane, Lizzie and I go on lovely walks through the countryside, accompanied by a footman.
I miss my old life, but for the first time since my arrival, I don't start brooding when I imagine spending the rest of my life in this time. I'm starting to really love my adoptive family. Jane and Lizzie are angels, Mrs Bennet is truly caring, and Kitty and Lydia are endearing.
Mr Bennet is absent, but I guess I can't really expect much of a father-daughter relationship with him. I'm not Lizzie, after all.
I spend a lot of my time on the piano. I don't know why, but I really love it. I think part of it is that it's something I'm better at here, than I was in the twenty-first century. I'm really proud of myself; I've gotten Jane to sing along with some simple songs, and she's grown more confident with the activity. Lizzie and I are practicing an easy duet I found in the music book, it's coming along quite nicely I think.
Mrs Bennet has been encouraging us to get out of the house more, this last month. She seems a bit tired. Kitty caught a bad cold this spring, and hasn't really gotten over it yet. I was shocked to learn that the policy when dealing with sick children in the regency era was to just – do nothing. Lydia had to come sleep with me, because the house was so scared the illness would spread. Thankfully, and with a lot of work from the nurse, Kitty got better and will be turning five in November. Lydia is jealous because she will be four in January, but we promised her she would have a party all to herself when the time came. She's already shaping up to be a spoiled brat, but I love her anyway.
I focus on Lizzie, who looks like she's struggling with the concept of breaststroke. She's thrashing around the secluded pond I discovered, struggling to keep her head out of the water.
I jump in and join her. I tap her on the shoulder, and she stands, blinking water out of her eyes.
"Look, it's bend, star, pencil, and you have to move first with your arms, then kick with your legs," I show her a few strokes.
"You make it look so easy," she complains. "But it isn't natural to me!" She complains.
Jane swims along vigourously, head nicely out of the water. She's not exactly fast, but that's not the point. I just want them to be able to swim if they fall in water sometime. You never know.
I was horrified when I learnt it wasn't taught in this time.
"Jane can do it fine. You just need more practice. Come on, I'll hold you up while you do it so you don't drown."
I'm seven now, and Lizzie is still nine – her birthday is early October. So she doesn't complain too much when her little sister teaches her to swim.
I've gained credibility in the household. I've clearly mastered reading, and will read anything I can get my hands on – including the books in Mr Bennet's study. I usually go there when he can't catch me. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, I think. I've also started learning my multiplication tables, and it's obvious Mrs Bennet doesn't have a head for numbers. Thank god it's not genetic.
I've been quietly reviewing the household accounts, just making sure we're not wasting money anywhere. Mrs Bennet does run a pretty tight ship, so aside from some frivolities now and then, my interference should be unnecessary.
Anyway, my "little sister" status had evolved into "Mary" status. I have my own personality now, in the eyes of Jane, Lizzie, and even Mrs Bennet. I'm not sure about Mr Bennet, but I guess my "investing" at Christmas may have spiked his interest. I don't know.
Speaking of my "investing", I'm keeping up a steady correspondence with Mrs Gardiner – which means we exchange a letter a month, more or less. She leaves me notes about how the business is doing in her letters to Mrs Bennet.
She's pregnant! I'm really looking forward to meeting the future Gardiner child. They should be due for October or early November, so maybe the Gardiner's won't come for Christmas.
"I give up," Lizzie groans, climbing the banks of the pond. She towels herself quickly, then gets dressed. Jane and I copy her.
We head over to Longbourn. When we arrive at the house, I hear strange cries. They seem to be coming from Mrs Bennet's room. When we enter the house, I see Mr Jones' coat, hastily flung on the dresser.
I recognize Mr Jones' coat because he came when Kitty was ill.
And I definitely recognize Mrs Bennet's voice. She sounds distraught.
We cross Sally, who is rushing up the stairs with spare linens in her arms. "Sally, what's going on?" I ask her, worried.
She sees us behind her, and stops for a second. "It's Mrs Bennet, Miss. She's… unwell. I really must be off," she explains hurriedly.
I think again about my own suspicions, when I had seen Mrs Bennet puking after breakfast. Sadly enough, I had been expecting this.
"Shall we take Kitty and Lydia for a walk around the grounds?" I suggest.
Jane and Lizzy must have their own suspicions, because we head for the nursery.
The girls are in their playpen, and grab the bars when they see us. It's almost funny – they look like some sort of prisoners.
"Come on, girls, we're going on a walk," I tell them brightly, grabbing their outdoorwear. Lizzie and Jane get them out of the contraption, and we spend the rest of the afternoon entertaining them in the garden. The weather is beautiful.
That evening, Mrs Bennet isn't at the dinner table, and Mr Bennet barely eats.
"Well, girls," he finally announces, in a strangled voice. I look up at him and see he's barely keeping it together. So he must feel something for Mrs Bennet, after all. "This afternoon, your mother suffered a miscarriage. She will probably be unwell for a while, I'm afraid, so try to soften her burdens a little, will you? Lizzie, I know you like walking, so could you see to the tenants? And Jane, maybe you could practice making the menus for a while? Mary, perhaps you could keep on checking those ledgers, eh? Keep your sums sharp."
I'm flabbergasted. Mr Bennet actually noticed. Maybe he isn't quite the lost cause I thought he was.
My heart breaks for him, and especially for Mrs Bennet. Jane, Lizzie and I promise to do our best, and retire for the night. Their thin faces are solemn. Once in my pyjamas, and my socks, I creep out of my room, to listen at Mrs Bennet's door. I was thinking maybe a hug, or some form of comfort could do her good, but instead I hear Mr Bennet's voice.
"I'm so sorry, my dear, but Mr Jones has confirmed our worst fears. He says that if we keep trying…" His voice broke, and I strain my ears to hear. "It could be dangerous to you. I don't want that, Fanny."
"Oh, but what about the entail?" Mrs Bennet wails. "I have not been a good wife to you, I'm afraid." She starts crying softly.
"Hang the entail. We'll manage. I'm in good health, and – Jane is not so young any more – she is twelve, and in three or four years could be out. And I'm sure the girls will find themselves some fine husbands. It will work out."
I creep back to my room, shaken. Jane is still a kid – how could they think of her going out in a few years? I'm sure Mr Bennet didn't really measure what he was saying. Yes, that must be it. I really, really hope so, anyway…
