It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that the last daughter left unwed, will be expected to be the support and mainstay of her ageing parents.
Mary was at dinner with her mother. Her father and younger sister Kitty were away, visiting her older sister Elizabeth and her husband Fitzwilliam.
The dining table that could seat ten people had only two place settings at one end. Mary picked the broken walnut shell from her side plate. She rubbed its arched ribs between her thumb and forefinger, while half listening to her mother.
'And Mrs. Long has bought three new gowns. Just think, three! And not plain cotton ones, oh no, they are made of the finest muslin or silk or so sister Philips tells me. Far too fancy for a woman of her age and station. They are dripping with frills and embroidery. She simply does not know how to age gracefully, unlike myself. What is a woman of her age doing, buying three white gowns?'
Luckily her mother did not require a reply, merely an audience.
Mary had an epiphany; herself, in thirty years' time with greying hair and crow's feet, sat at dinner, listening to a similar monologue delivered by her wrinkled, ancient mother. Except dinner would not be at this table and in this dining room because her father would be dead and their cousin Mr. Collins, would own Longbourn. She and her mother would be in a cottage somewhere with a much smaller dining table. And no library.
She sniffed and her mother looked up.
'Are you starting a cold? Pray, do not give it to me. You know how susceptible I am to infections and what a delicate constitution I have.'
'I will remove myself from your presence immediately,' Mary said, intending to go to the library.
'Yes, you must go straight to bed. I will have a glass of hot elderberry wine sent up to you immediately. That should stave prevent a cold.' She turned to the maidservant waiting patiently to clear the table. 'Joan, go and instruct cook to make Miss Bennet a hot posset and then take it up to Miss Bennet. Oh and ask Hill to attend me here to discuss the bed linen.'
More likely to discuss Mrs. Long's new dresses, thought Mary. She was disappointed at not being able to go to the library, but consoled herself with the thought of the books she had in her bedroom.
'Don't start reading, Mary. You know that reading at night is bad for your eyes and besides, is a shocking waste of candles.'
Mary sighed. She knew that Joan would report back if she caught her reading. It was early to go to bed but easier to give way to her mother.
Another truth, universally acknowledged, is a single lady without independent means of her own, must be in want of a husband with a good fortune of his own. Mary had been pondering this particular truth since her epiphany the evening before.
Standing in her bedroom the next morning, she made a decision.
'I am determined to marry,' Mary declared to her reflection in the old fly-specked bedroom mirror. Her reflection looked doubtful. She then added defiantly, 'And I will marry well.' Her reflection looked even more doubtful.
Mary took off her spectacles with the round metal rims and peered into the mirror to study her face. She carefully catalogued her faults. They had been pointed out to her often enough by her mother. Her hair was fine and mousy brown in colour rather than luxuriant and golden as was Jane's and Lydia's. Her eyes were not as large, dark and lustrous as Elizabeth's. Her complexion was a little muddy. Mary was the shortest in the family and not as slim as Elizabeth or Kitty. Her gown was a drab brown cotton, with a high neck.
Mary sighed. Her mother, her family and their neighbours had never described her as a pretty girl. She was accustomed to being compared to her other sisters and found wanting. Solace had been found in books, in good works, in improving her accomplishments such as the pianoforte, singing, and in avoiding company whenever possible.
However; since the marriage of her two older sisters, Jane and Elizabeth to wealthy, respectable men, the marriage of the youngest, Lydia, to a wastrel of a man, and the frequent absences of Kitty, she had been required by her mother to accompany her in lieu of the other sisters.
Mary had always hated going on these visits before, because at some point she would always hear herself compared to Jane and Elizabeth most unfavourably. Her mother would shake her head and say, 'At least, four out of five of my girls are pretty.'
Mary knew that her mother and her cronies did not regard being well read, accomplished or well behaved as any sort of compensation for lacking the all-essential physical beauty. Her mother had been a beauty in her youth.
The catalogue of her faults made her decision to marry well, seem ridiculous. Then she remembered Charlotte Lucas. Charlotte was no prettier, indeed even plainer than Mary yet she had married Mr. Collins and become Mrs. Collins. Mary both admired and resented Charlotte. She knew that her mother had hoped that Mr. Collins might consider Mary after Elizabeth rejected him but Charlotte had seized her opportunity and won the gentleman.
Her mother had pinned all her desperate hopes on Jane and Elizabeth making good marriages to save them from the poverty that would ensue when Mr. Collins inherited their home and property due to the entail. Those hopes had been miraculously realised so there was far less pressure on Mary and her younger sister Kitty to make good marriages. However, their mother was still determined to marry them off however, as she regarded being a spinster the greatest crime in the world although she publicly doubted her ability to do so for Mary. How Mary hated it when she did that.
Mary reflected that much had improved for her since the marriages of Jane and Elizabeth. She now had a much larger bedroom as she had petitioned for the one that had belonged to Jane and Elizabeth prior to their departure from the house. Her bedroom had been small and narrow. Kitty's bedroom had already been larger because she had shared it with Lydia before that disgrace of a sister went to Brighton.
Her mother had told her that if either Jane or Elizabeth came to stay with their husbands, she would have to give up her bedroom for the duration of the stay but it had been eighteen months since the marriages and Mary felt that this inconvenience was unlikely to happen soon.
Her mother's famous nerves afflicted her far less although there seemed to be no diminution of her silliness. That was a reason to consider marriage, the prospect of a lifetime spent with her mother did not appeal. Life with her father was something she could have borne with fortitude but as he was several years older than his wife, it was likely that he would die first.
The loss of the library would be a heavy blow. Perhaps she could find a husband wealthy and educated enough to have a well-stocked library? Both Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy had libraries although Mr. Darcy's was far superior. Not that she had ever been invited to enjoy it on her rare trips to Pemberley, she thought resentfully.
But that was an unprofitable line of thought. She had to find a way to possess her own library and marriage, that was the only option open to her. She needed to concentrate on strategies and tactics to win her a suitable, respectable, wealthy husband. She would start at once.
The next day, Mr. Bennet and Kitty returned home. Mary had forgotten that the morning was to be occupied by a visit to the Lucas family and then to the Longs. She knew that her mother would insist on Mary accompanying her and resigned herself to a morning of idle gossip. Mary hoped to see her friend, Susannah Long, who was staying with her aunt.
At the Lucases, there were two pieces of interesting news to impart to the visitors.
Maria has just become engaged to a most eligible young gentleman,' Lady Lucas said. 'Mr. Worth has a thousand a year.'
Mrs. Bennet and her daughters expressed their congratulations.
'I'm sure Maria will manage very well on a thousand a year,' Mrs. Bennet said. 'How blessed I feel that Jane and Lizzie need never worry about the size of the fortunes that their husbands command.'
Lady Lucas' smile faded a little before she continued, 'And Charlotte and William will be paying us a visit with dear little Catherine Anne, such a sweet child.'
Mrs. Bennet struggled to maintain her countenance of delight.
In the carriage, on the way to the Longs, she said, 'Maria Lucas engaged! She's not one tenth as pretty as you, Kitty nor as clever as you, Mary. And I see no reason for Lady Lucas to crow about a thousand a year. Darcy has ten thousand a year. I could hardly control myself when Lady Lucas said the Collinses were coming. I expect they want to see how Mr. Bennet fares and inspect Longbourn. Odious impudence! And Catherine Anne is the most pudding-faced child I ever saw.'
Mary wondered if people had said that about her when she was little.
Mrs. Bennet continued, 'I sincerely hope that their next child is a boy. I wouldn't want Charlotte to suffer the same agonies as myself by failing to provide an heir.' Despite her words, her expression said the opposite.
What if I had been a boy? That thought had occurred to Mary before. She found herself musing over what her life would have been like if she had been the all precious heir. How different her position in the family would have been. Her mother's favourite and sent to school and to university. No careless half-education. Young ladies vying for her attention. She entertained herself with such fancies until the coach arrived at the Longs.
To Mary's pleasure, her friend Susannah was at home. The news the Bennets had brought, was discussed.
Mrs. Long then said, 'I hear that your brother is employing a new clerk, Mrs. Bennet.'
Mrs. Bennet was not best pleased that someone else should be sharing news about her relatives that she herself did not know. She announced that it was time to leave as they were expecting Mr. Bennet and Kitty to arrive back shortly.
'What was Sister thinking of, to tell mere acquaintances before her own sister?' she wanted to know in the carriage returning home.
Her father and Kitty had returned to Longbourn during their absence. Mrs. Bennet was all joy for the first half hour.
In the afternoon, Mary took a sheet of fresh paper and a pen and sat down at the table in the parlour to compose the list of items to consider when husband hunting.
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Item 1 - What can be done to improve my complexion?
Item 2 - What can be done to improve my hair?
Item 3 - What can be done to improve my figure?
Item 4 - What can be done to improve my apparel?
Item 5 - My deportment - does that need to be improved?
Item 6 - My countenance - does that need to be improved?
Item 7 - Opportunities - how is one to meet suitable, wealthy single gentlemen?
Mary took another sheet of paper and wrote 'Apparel?' at the top to consider the item in more detail. Then she looked up and said to her mother and Kitty, 'I was considering how to improve my wardrobe. I think perhaps a new gown and bonnet might be in order.'
'You, Mary, want a new gown and bonnet?' asked her mother in surprise.
'Yes. I have come to the conclusion that looking one's best and having a serious character are not mutually exclusive.'
Her mother and sister both stared at her, dumbfounded.
'What has brought about this change of heart?' Mrs. Bennet asked.
'Tell me, Kitty, what colour do you think best suits me?' Mary asked. This deflected her mother as Mary hoped it would.
'Not that horrid brown that you favour so much. Why don't you buy a pink or jonquil yellow gown? That would suit your colouring much better,' Kitty suggested.
'Oh no, not yellow for Mary. That would never do,' her mother said firmly. 'Only Jane or Lydia with their fair colouring can carry off yellow with any degree of success.' Whatever her faults of character, Mrs. Bennet had a good eye for colour.
'Why don't I get the fashion plates and we can look for a suitable gown for Mary?'
Kitty left the room and shortly reappeared, her arms laden. Kitty liked nothing better than looking through the fashion periodicals for ladies.
Mrs. Bennet and Kitty spent a happy hour or so, looking through the periodicals and arguing with each other over the best style and colour for Mary. Mary was happy to be guided by them. In the end, it was decided by Mrs. Bennet that Mary must purchase not one but several dresses.
'It is high time you had a new wardrobe, Mary. I do not want to be embarrassed by you when we go to Pemberley. We must go to Meryton, first thing tomorrow to consult with the dressmakers,' she decided.
'Mama, may I have a new dress too? I have worn all of my dresses so many times at Humberton and Pemberley that I am ashamed to come down in the evening.'
'Of course, you may,' said Mrs. Bennet, smiling dotingly at her.
It was no secret that Kitty was the favourite of the two daughters left at home even though Kitty now spent large amounts of time with her two eldest sisters. Perhaps it was true: absence did make the heart grow fonder Mary thought. Certainly, now they were further away and infrequently seen, Mrs. Bennet seemed excessively fond of Jane, Elizabeth and Lydia whenever she mentioned them and especially in conjunction with their husbands. Perhaps she, Mary, should find somewhere to visit for a while and her mother might appreciate her more.
The next day, Mrs. Bennet, Mary and Kitty visited several establishments in Meryton. Mary came away with one new gown and several ordered; a new bonnet and new pelisse besides a pair of gloves, slippers and several other items.
Mrs. Bennet insisted on visiting her sister for refreshments before returning home. Mary would have to endure their tedious gossip about their neighbours. She was almost tempted to walk home. It occurred to her that Elizabeth was a great walker and perhaps her slim figure was partly attributable to that. Mary decided that she too would begin to walk more and made a mental note to put it on her list.
After refreshments had been offered and accepted, Mrs. Philips said to her sister, 'We have a new clerk in the offices.'
'Indeed?' said Mrs. Bennet with the obligatory note of enquiry in her voice.
' A Mr. Robert Dane. Mr. Philips is delighted with him. He is conscientious, hardleley working and quite the gentleman.'
'A clerk, a gentleman!' Mrs. Bennet scoffed, conveniently forgetting that her sister's husband had once been such a thing. Mrs. Philips flushed a little for that jibe tested even her own enormous good nature, and said rather sharply. 'Yes. We have invited him to attend the next little gathering at our house as his manners will not embarrass.'
Unlike Mama's, thought Mary.
'If you must, you must,' was Mrs. Bennet's gracious reply to her sister.
'Is he good looking?' Kitty asked.
Mrs. Bennet frowned at her.
Mrs. Philips hesitated. 'He is very neat and properly attired but,'
'But?' asked Mrs. Bennet.
'He has red hair,' Mrs. Philips disclosed with the air of someone mentioning a disability.
'So no, then,' Kitty said and promptly lost interest.
Mary felt a pang for this unknown gentleman, summarily dismissed because of his red hair. She had a fellow feeling for him and thought she would look out for this Mr. Dane at the next gathering so that he might meet one member of the Bennet family who would be civil to him.
When they arrived home, Mr. Bennet was just coming out of his library. He raised his eyebrows to see the large quantity of packages being brought into the house.
'Who has been spending their money on worthless trinkets, this time?' he enquired.
'You'll never guess,' Kitty giggled.
'If I will never guess, then you had best tell me.'
'Oh my dear, we have been spending money on Mary; new gowns, new bonnets, new pelisses, new gloves,' Mrs. Bennet told her husband.
'Spare me the list of feminine apparel,' Mr. Bennet begged. He turned to Mary. 'I must confess that I am surprised, Mary. I would have thought that I would see the sun rise in the west sooner than our philosopher deign to take an interest in clothing.'
Mary blushed and looked down at the floor, biting her lip. She had always wanted the esteem of her father and had always greatly envied Elizabeth's position as their father's favourite daughter.
'We have decided that Mary must be made over and improved. It will help her to gain a husband. She has a new dress for sister Philips' soiree,' Mrs. Bennet told him.
'And what do you think of this plan, Mary?' asked her father.
Mary blushed again. She did not know what to say, as she could not deny that was the plan.
'I see Mary has no words so I will assume that silence means consent. I was not aware that you were looking for a husband, Mary?'
'Oh, Mr. Bennet, how can you be so foolish. Of course, every young lady is looking for a husband. Why not Mary?'
'Possibly because I thought she had more sense,' Mr. Bennet said as he walked away from his sanctuary but these words were uttered so softly that only Mary caught them.