Hello, I am back with a new chapter I just finished. I don't know what to think about it, but maybe that is a good thing. In any case, thank you all so much for your reviews, they have been great and they made me smile, so thanks :)
In my story, Mary Bennet is a redhead and I hope no one is bothered by that. I mention it later in this chapter. There is no exact clue to her hair colour in the book but most would describe it as simple brown, because she is plain, but I would go a step further and say it could be red, because red hair was not considered very pretty back then and since she kept it up most of the times, no one could see whether it was pretty or if it made her prettier. Anyway, please read and tell me if you like it.
Chapter 3
Miss Mary Bennet was considered by the entire village a very wholesome girl. She was very plain, but not too plain as to offend prettiness. She was told she had just the right amount of decent plainness. She had a peculiar wisdom that could be understood only by her authors and therefore was unsuitable, but it was not forbidden in the country side because no man bothered to censure this wisdom and was indifferent to its substance. Her manner of address lacked any form of elegance, but she showed deference in front of her superiors. She was a quiet creature when she did not have something to say, but usually, at large gatherings she always thought she had something to say. Her sentences were flat, empty, well-rounded words that almost never had a consistent meaning. There were times when she became aware of this fault, but those times were ill-chosen because they happened to pass during a speech she was making in front of an audience and her pride bid her continue.
One could say Miss Bennet adored attention and wished nothing more than to be observed and one would be right. That was her object.
And so a description of her should end, cold, detached but realistic. Only, it's so very hard to blame a young girl for all these inadequacies without showing some mercy. This mercy would consist in reconsidering this girl's character and trying to unravel other traits unsuspected by others.
Her mother knew her very little, but thought she was a great reader, her father considered her a judicious pedant and her sisters believed she was harmless and very helpful.
None of them, however, saw the amount of contradictions that this little woman raised around her. It is natural to consider a man full of contradictions, but this young woman was far more contradictory than any other living creature in England.
And this sum of contradictions was noticeable only when one took the time to fulfil her wish and observe her.
Firstly and most importantly, though the entire parish thought that Miss Bennet was a most devoted Christian, in truthfulness, while she adhered to the Scriptures with heart and soul, she had a very strange understanding of them. She went to church every Sunday and prayed with her sister and her mother in the same pew but her thoughts, though settled on divinity, had nothing to do with what is called religion.
You see, Miss Bennet was almost a mystic, but it was ironic that she was not aware of it. No, she could never be aware that she was not the model of propriety that Christianity ordained, because no one ever noticed anything strange abut her beliefs and therefore no one bothered to check her.
But if she had been checked, one would have been astounded.
Miss Bennet believed in God as part of nature. She interpreted all religious texts as a proof of the Lord's omnipresence, but she took this very literally. She looked everywhere for God, because she suspected He was everywhere and therefore, her mission was to search for Him. Many a times, she saw a sign of divinity in a branch, or a nut, or even the footprints of a fox and she would treasure these sights for a long time and if divinity was encompassed in something material, one could always find that particular object hidden under her pillow.
She knew many passages of the Bible by heart. She understood very little Latin but she had the fortune of never being examined on that account. What she learnt by heart she understood well, but she could not reproduce any of it. Even so, all the excerpts that she did know spoke to her of the grandeur of the universe and nothing else. She saw creation and mystery in them. She sensed a sort of revelation of the spirit, a necessity of God, but nothing very concrete.
No one suspected this way of thinking because no one would doubt an accomplished girl who could quote the Bible; no one would question the simple thoughts of the Bible. But one should know that a truly narrow-minded, religious girl would not indulge in other lectures of any other kind like she did.
Had Miss Bennet read Spinoza, she would have found the echo of her beliefs. Her visions were complex in their simplicity, but only because she unconsciously borrowed small morsels of philosophy from different equitable thinkers. Her Christian paganism, a contradiction in terms, showed once again what a strange, contradictory creature she was.
She performed different rituals at different moments of the day like any other person, but while man does not endow these moments with any sacred thought, Miss Bennet considered these small actions all that was beautiful and simple and the work of God.
She liked to pick up strange herbs and boil them in hot water, after which she would drink the water as if it was holy water from the church. She also believed in many superstitions that, to her mind, did not at all insult her Christianity, for she thought that the only reason for which superstitions were not engraved in the Bible was that they were so commonplace and so innate to any human nature that they were like unwritten rules that needn't even be mentioned.
She was an expert in wedding and funeral customs and traditions and she had thought once of writing a small book on them but she had changed her mind quickly.
Whenever she took walks in the meadows and decided to nap she positioned herself in such a way as to face north and she lay in the grass with her fists tightly clenched, as if she was grasping her dear life.
She liked to chew parsley in the evening before going to bed and during stormy nights she hung some garlic over the windows.
If she ever felt she had a cough she drank plenty of beet root juice even though it made her feel very sick.
Whenever she stole out in the middle of the night for a glass of water, she would make a cross over her bedroom door.
When the sun set, she chased the orange globe until it almost sank and when it was about to sink she whispered 'Rise tomorrow like today'.
If she ever saw a raven cross her head, she felt the following day it would rain.
These small gestures went almost unnoticed by the larger crowds. And they went unnoticed by herself as well.
Now that Kitty was alone with her more often, she would come to see more of this behaviour and would give an opinion on it. The opinion was never formed, however. There were small attempts, but they were meant as jokes. She generally considered her sister a very odd creature and did not think her behaviour was unusual, it was only odd in the way Mary was odd which was only natural of her. It was like her manner of walking and speaking suited her demeanour and fashion and while Kitty did not agree with either of them, she was reluctant to do more than jest on them.
She was far more occupied with other people and other characters and considered that her sister would turn sensible later in life when real values would be instilled in her.
What were the real values Kitty treasured?
No one really knew, but she believed there was a set of real values that one ought to have. Among them was marriage but others were of a more complex nature. Whenever she tried sorting them out, she got very tired and gave up. But she had a firm belief there were at least twelve.
Mary disagreed with her and told her values always changed, but she did not believe that herself. She only hoped that was true, because it was far better for things to change gradually.
Although, at the same time, she insisted that some things should never change. Like the colour of violets and the cover of books, or the spring weather and the dark, deep ponds in the forest.
Kitty then replied that she was being silly and incoherent and she should try thinking less. Mary would then launch in a set of more incoherent arguments and the conversation would never end.
It is then obvious that these two young women would not get along fairly well if they had to travel by coach, along with a very garrulous Mrs. Smithson and a listless Mr. Smithson. If they had to sit next to each other for a whole of three hours, then they would rather be moderately silent. As for Mrs. Smithson, she did not mind doing most of the talking and receiving feeble signs of agreement from the sisters. Mr. Smithson, in want of a distraction, was trying to light his pipe but his wife kept chiding him about it, saying it would be very stuffy inside the carriage and he'd better go sit next to the coachman if he planned on drinking tobacco.
Kitty tried to be civil and said that she wouldn't mind the smoke, but Mrs. Smithson argued that their dresses would develop a smell. At that Kitty hesitated indeed.
Mrs. Bennet had made sure to pack them their finest shawls and dresses and she had added two new gown balls. Those gowns could not afford smelling bad. They were both yellow and very pretty, but they only complimented Kitty Bennet's complexion and hair. She had the good fortune of having a rather sallow yet not unpleasant face and a wild tame of chestnut hair that rounded up her features perfectly. Her only real defect was her upturned nose but many families in the village made sure never to mention it to her. It had been mentioned a couple of times in her youth and she had been so devastated to hear it, that it was unanimously agreed that they should just ignore it from then on.
But the yellow gown did not look good at all with Mary's red locks. She was unfortunate that she lived in a century where red hair was considered very unattractive. As such, even though sometimes the sun rays lit her hair and made it resemble a rich horse mane either there wasn't anyone around to appreciate this feature or the people who were, found that it gave her a sickly, vulgar appearance.
Mr. Bennet, perhaps, was the only one rather fond of her hair because it reminded him of his own red shock that he had sported in youth with some pride and his mother's maroon locks that she hid under a white bonnet.
But beyond her family, few men could express approval on her hair. There never was complete approval on that part.
But Mary was not aware that the dress did not suit her and she was just as excited as Kitty about wearing it, because even though she would never confess it, new garments always made her smile. It was not necessarily the article of clothing itself that pleased her, it was the feeling of having something new.
She fell asleep half-way through the journey, so when they arrived in Hertford she did not manage to see much of it because she was very tired. This frustrated her for a while, but she was careful not to let it show because she wanted to be poised and serious.
What she did see was a multitude of closely knit houses with brown roofs. There was also a squalid but colourful and cheerful market. There were a couple of grey-looking treetops beyond the houses but she did not try to assume what that meant. The cobbled streets smelt like a pig sty. She felt like a wet cat in the middle of running carts and busy people.
They arrived at the small and cosy pension where Mr. and Mrs. Smithson usually checked in every time they were in Hertford. It so happened that the landlady was a distant relation of Mrs. Smithson and she was more willing to be civil and kind to the Smithsons than to most families. She had a heavy step and liked to talk very loud. That is why when the sisters entered the parlour they almost jumped when they heard someone shriek.
'It's just Miss Bartley, my dearies, don't be shy!' Mrs. Smithson chided them. 'She's a very wholesome woman. I say, Miss Bartley, will you introduce yourself to my very pretty guests? I have brought two exemplary girls to your prestigious abode! They're newcomers.'
Miss Bartley came out of an adjacent room and took off her dirty apron and rushed to shake hands with Mrs. Smithson.
'Ah, but these are fine ladies! I thought I'd have smaller people!' she yelled. 'One is very pretty, the other one looks very thoughtful. You ladies need some distraction, don't you?! I bet you can't wait to see the town! You're very lucky to have Mrs. Smithson as your companion, there's none the better! But where has Mr. Smithson gone to?'
'He is down to buy a newspaper.'
'Is he now?! He won't find anything good in it! I have given up on reading those silly things, they tell you nothing, nothing at all. I can provide better news by myself, I can tell you! But here I am, talking of newspapers! Welcome my friends, welcome!'
The two sisters introduced themselves rather shyly and expressed a wish to go remove their luggage. After they found their room they did not come out until tea.
When they stepped down in the evening, Miss Bartley was in the kitchen so they sat in the drawing room and talked to Mrs. Smithson at leisure. From time to time they heard her pass in the corridor, but she was yelling at a servant girl, not at them, so they didn't mind. Mr. Smithson was sleeping in an armchair close by. The other four guests at the pension were playing bridge in a corner by the window; two elderly ladies and two elderly men.
One of them turned his head to look at Kitty and then whispered to one of the ladies 'very thin girl'.
At this, Kitty drew up her shawl and rested her head against the sofa. She dearly wanted to open a window but both Mr. and Mrs. Smithson had told her that would never do and it would bring the draft and dust from outside.
Mary was folding and unfolding her fan and watched the shadows that it made on the carpet as Mrs. Smithson told her about a quaint little carriage she had seen going up the road.
'I saw a woman in it, very fine, very well-dressed, silver earrings you know, but in her lap she had the most odious creature! A pug, a little dog the size of my purse. And he meowed like a cat!'
Mary laughed a bit, but Kitty rolled her eyes and kept staring at the window she wanted to open.
That is how their first night in town transpired, as the clock chimed away the hours, as they drank their glasses of wine in front of the fire, as they untangled their hair before going to bed, as Mary got up in the middle of the night and tried opening the door but found it locked. Kitty held the key under her pillow. She walked around the room for a while, before falling on the bed tired.
In the morning, Mary refused to get up early because she had had a bad night and therefore when the sun rays pierced the silence of the room, she pulled the curtains angrily and growled in her sleep like a strange creature.
'There is no logical reason for me to get up,' she had said. 'No reason.'
Kitty was much more active. She decided to let Mary lie. She would walk around town with Mrs. Smithson. She wouldn't be able to show her enthusiasm in the company of an elderly woman but she could at least stop worrying about how intelligent she appeared to her sister and simply take in the air of town and all it had to offer.
So when Mary finally opened her eyes to greet the day, she found her sister's bed empty. A small note on her pillow informed her that she was in town and she'd better have breakfast.
Mary felt a very bitter taste in her mouth, like she had swollen an entire onion. She finally realized she was in Hertford and she couldn't go back.
Her head swayed slightly and her feet pulled her towards the bed, but she gathered her strength with determination and she half-opened the curtains.
The view that welcomed her was more rustic than urban which dispelled some of her worries. Their room opened to the back of the establishment. She saw a pig sty that was empty and a narrow muddy road full of children, walking about, screaming and playing. She saw a tall beech trapped between the roofs of two houses across the street and her mouth quivered at the foul image. She wished she could touch the bark of the tree, because she believed it was a good thing to soothe trees, or at least attempt it.
Her luggage was half-open and the boxes spat out large pieces of cotton and book spines. She knelt on the floor and opened her bags and settled everything on the bed.
Only after two more hours did she come down in the drawing room. It was already noon and Kitty still wasn't back. She heard the bells from church far off.
She traced her steps back down the corridor and tried finding the kitchens but it was no easy task. She felt very listless and carefree, but at the same time, a great weight lay on her shoulders, pulling her head down.
She stopped when she saw a small, red door at the back of the hallway. It was a back door. It probably led to the gardens and the sty. She opened it quickly and slipped outside.
There weren't many children playing about anymore. They were probably home, at dinner, she thought.
Mary had never enjoyed fences. She looked at the brown pieces of wood stuck together in front of her, the one encumbrance in her path, the one thing she couldn't jump over. At home she could jump over some shrubberies and only get a few scratches, but the fence was too tall.
She approached quietly and climbed up a stair to look yonder.
Mary was patient when there was something to see. Even though it was close to noon, there was still some bustle on the street and there were still extraordinary things to watch.
One of them came in the form of a woman and a man.
He was in a carriage and he was following a young lady that was walking on the street.
'If you would just stop – it's not very practical what you are doing,' he was saying gravely. The door of the carriage was open and his hand was extended towards the lady.
He looked like a very troubled man, the kind of troubled man that had drunk too much Sangria and was finding it hard to wake from his drunkenness. His shirt was dishevelled and his waistcoat was unbuttoned.
'I will never stop and I will never get in that carriage again,' the lady was saying angrily. She was walking as if she had a clear destination in the distance and her pace was brisk. Her hands looked very course for a young lady. Her head was hidden under her parasol. Her golden curls were now lacklustre and her bright eyes were stormy.
'Why not?'
'Why not? Why not? You dare too much, Sir!'
'Quiet now. Don't be a woman, people might be watching,' he said looking around wearily. He noticed the young girl that was watching them over the fence.
'Don't be this, don't be that! I'll be whatever I want! You can't oblige me! And you have great nerve to tell others what they should be. You presume people act like this or that, but you are the one who should worry about your character,' she told him.
'I'll worry, I'll worry. I always worry. Now get in dear, your shoes will be torn,' he said carelessly.
'You'll worry?! How can you think I'll get in? How? He was a man! A naked man in your room!'
'Lower your voice woman!' he commanded angrily.
'How can you explain that?' she asked loudly, ignoring his beckoning.
'He was a friend from college, just a friend. He is very ill. I explained it to you.'
'That's why you two were taking opium? Is that why?! Your servant told me a girl had just left! She said it was a painted girl! Have you no shame?!'
'You say opium as if it's the devil,' he said rubbing his eyes. 'There's no shame in meeting a girl. Even if she was painted. It would be prejudice to say she was a low woman. '
'Have you no shame for me then?! You know papa disapproves of you greatly! You know how he hates you! You give him reason to think of you badly, very badly. He has every right doesn't he? I shouldn't protest anymore when he says that you are a scoundrel! You always give me reason to dislike you Eric! Oh, I dislike you very much!'
'Oh, alright, just calm yourself, will you? I didn't do anything, it was just a little bit of fun with a friend. I would call it reckless, but there was no meaning in it.'
'Is that how you lead your life?! Without meaning?'
'Most of the times, dear, but that's not my fault. It's life that's doing all this. This morning was very dull, for example. But I would really appreciate it if you could stop talking so loud.'
'Don't tell me how to talk! You have no right after what you did.'
'You like imagining things, I know that, but nothing happened.'
She had stopped close to where Mary was eavesdropping and she seemed ready to slap the man called Eric.
But at the last moment she turned around and hurried in the opposite direction.
'Molly!' he called feebly after her.
'Let me be!' she bellowed.
His hand fell to the ground. He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. He then pulled the carriage door and looked around the street. His eyes met Mary's.
She had heard everything, he supposed. It was not a terrible thing that she had, because she was a complete stranger. She probably did not understand anything either. But should they meet in some ball room, would she bring up the matter? She had no reason to, more so since she was a woman. And women had no business with intimate affairs. She would not bring up something misunderstood, something like street talk.
He thought she would look away ashamed after hearing everything, but she continued to stare at him. She was not blushing and she did not look embarrassed at all. She seemed very comfortable watching him, even though he was looking at her as well.
Her look was very studied, like she was trying to read a difficult book in his countenance. He was trying to see what she was seeing in him, but he accomplished nothing. Her small hands were holding the fence and her chin rested on the wood.
He thought she was a servant girl. He nodded towards her and yelled at his driver to go on.
Mary watched him as he disappeared in the dust. She was utterly bewildered yet captivated at the same time. She had heard some harrowing details a young, respectable lady should never hear and she had felt disgusted and bothered like anyone would, but beyond those common feelings she had felt a very absorbing interest for the couple. Her imagination was a fearsome weapon against her. She wanted to know the story behind the words. He seemed a fascinating creature to her, the kind of shabby character depicted in some controversial novels that the chaplain had forbidden. He was the kind of fool, the kind of man who fooled with his life. A man who did that with his life was a good subject of observation. He seemed like a man with few principles. In the books, it always sounded like the hero invented his own words. She wondered if he did that, if his speech was so well thought-out in his head. But if she looked back on it, he had no coherent speech to speak of.
She tried imagining the story between the man and the woman. The lovers who had such uncommon, curious names! Molly was a very strange name to her, the kind of name you would give a cat or a sheep. And Eric sounded like delicate, refined china or maybe a wave at sea.
'Mary!' yelled a voice that was familiar to her. It was Kitty who had come back from town.
She reluctantly left the fence and entered the pension. There would be much talking inside.
