Chapter 30
Five and a half days lapsed before Longbourn welcomed the hurried arrival of the Gardiners and Elizabeth. No letter of coming was expected. They'd come away as soon as Jane's first, misdirected letter and her second had been received at Lampton in Derbyshire. Everything was rushed, even their reunion in the foyer was a bit breathless. Jane had removed from her own room to her mother's bedside for the time being. Once they'd greeted and embraced, at the very least, they rushed upstairs to Mrs. Bennet, so anxious, she asked Jane to check the window repeatedly, practically every five minutes since daybreak… for two days.
Mary stood by until her sisters returned. Mrs. Bennet had lulled into a period of whimpering calm. Her face had drained of nearly all colour, except for the hot stains made by her crying. Mary could do nothing but hold her hand. How Jane put up with it was incredible. Whenever she tried to read aloud for her mother, to be of comfort, Mrs. Bennet could tolerate no more than five minutes. She'd break down into tears all over again, moaning Lydia's name. How she fussed about the trays brought up to her. Open the window, it was scorching. An hour later, whoever left the window open was trying to finish her off. All her smelling salts, the whole armory, was laid out between her nightstand and the vanity. Yet, she didn't faint once.
Mr. Gardiner, so long-suffering, listened to his sister rail against humanity. First and foremost, Mr. Bennet was to blame for not having taken his family to Brighton himself. Then, right after him, it was the Forsters and their extreme neglect of her daughter. Of course, Lydia was not the girl to do this sort of thing, if she had been looked after properly. Now, Mr. Bennet was gone to London, leaving her in sore straits. Nothing would come of it but a duel. Her husband stood no chance against a younger man, a trained officer; Wickham would kill her husband. In quick succession, she remembered the Collinses, ready to turn them out before he's cold in his grave. Burning flames once more ignited in her third child. Not the girl to do that sort of thing. Of course not! How little their mother knew her own daughter. What their mother would say if Mary read aloud Lydia's final diary entries, was almost enough to entice her. Why not? Lydia was not the only one capable of spite. Meanwhile, their uncle did his best to talk her out of these dreadful predictions. After a night's sleep to recover from the journey, he'd be off to London, get Mr. Bennet to stay with him at Gracechurch Street, then consult on what is best to be done.
It worked some good. Mrs. Bennet couldn't be talked out of her fear for Mr. Bennet's life, as angry she was with the whole business. Her brother, might he also challenge Wickham to a duel? No such fear was in her mind. Make them marry, keep Mr. Bennet from fighting, and third, almost just as important: "Tell Lydia, not to give any directions about wedding clothes until she has seen me. For she does not know which are the best warehouses!"
Mary left it to the others to shift for themselves, make whatever plans necessary. She retreated to the drawing room, where Kitty was trying to read a novel. As the door opened, the poor girl went tense; all muscles in the face pulled taut.
"Are our uncle and aunt staying the night?" asked Kitty.
"Yes. Jane and Lizzy have offered their chamber for the Gardiners. Jane will sleep with Mama, and Lizzy will sleep with the children tonight. All the family will return to London tomorrow. It's hoped that our father will stay at Gracechurch Street, which only makes sense. I wonder if he and the colonel have found out anything more yet. Did the post come already?"
"It's come, but nothing else from Father."
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing…" Kitty's eyes fluttered a few seconds anxiously before turning attention back to her book. In a moment, it was cast aside. "You know, I think I'll take a stroll to Meryton."
"Do you think that wise, Kitty?"
"I think I need air. I need to get out of the house for awhile."
Ever since the express, she refused to look everyone in the eye. At least from Jane, no such disapproving looks or disappointed gazes were given. But Jane was almost a prisoner upstairs. Kitty attempted to help, along with Mary, to keep Jane from the brink of exhaustion. When she attempted to help clear away the tray, the teacup slid and shattered to pieces on the floor.
"Clumsy child!" whined Mrs. Bennet. "Must you be so hateful and shred my poor nerves to pieces? If you wished to be helpful, Kitty, you ought to have gone to Brighton with her. You could've stopped her and spared me this!"
"Mama!" cried Jane. "Please don't say such things. You don't know what you're saying."
"Get out, Kitty! If you're not going to be of use to anybody, get out!"
Needless to say, that outburst of yesterday, was still with her. Not all of Jane's reasoning intervention on Kitty's behalf had healed the stab of such words. Mary even sat with their mother awhile, so Jane could have time alone with Kitty. It gave her some time for crying. Ever since, Kitty stayed far from their mother's room. Jane did not call her back for any further help. While Mrs. Hill did look on this disapprovingly on Kitty's lax hands or Mary's attention to her studies, there wasn't much in their power to do good.
"Why aren't you girls sharing the burden with your sister? She's running herself ragged, looking after the mistress."
"That's uncalled for, Hill," said Jane, who had appeared in the doorway. "May I have a word with you, please?"
Mary and Kitty were undisturbed from then on, united in their uselessness. Any attempts to self-soothe by means of a walk in the gardens, to read, embroidery, even laying down for bed came with profound guilt. Mary dared not try to practice scales or work on her own craft. The noise, however softly played, might send Mrs. Bennet into a state of madness. Aside from the invalid room, the drawing room and the parlour, all other parts of the house, were under a shadow; for it would've been no different than a house of mourning.
Jane and Elizabeth set about their plan. The Gardiners stayed the night, to leave shortly after breakfast. Mrs. Gardiner sat with Mrs. Bennet for a time to relieve Jane, by intervals. Lizzy also took turns likewise, unwilling to be shooed away from the invalid's bedside by sharp words.
"I suppose all our plans were for not," said Mary to Elizabeth, who was occupied with unpacking her gowns.
"Oh… I'm afraid so," sighed Lizzy. "I confess I've not thought about it, ever since we received Jane's letters. I'm so sorry, Mary. Perhaps, once this is all settled, we can invent some other pretext to get you to London. Mrs. Gardiner will, I'm sure, make more inquiries."
"I was told of a specialist, but he is, unfortunately, very long a wait to see. I suppose we can try, or write him to make a recommendation to someone more readily available."
"How have you been since I've been away?"
"There's no change." Mary hesitated to venture further. Her heatrbeat was accelerating with each step into her sister's chambers. She took a seat at the vanity table. "Lydia has certainly disturbed and overturned many lives. Ourselves, Mother and Father. I'm sure Colonel Forster cannot stay in town indefinitely to search for them. He must resume his place with his regiment."
Lizzy made no reply. Her face remained serene, more rather numbed.
"You look so tired, Lizzy. Such a shock to all of us."
"Yes."
"You mustn't allow pangs of conscience to keep you from sleep and rest. Perhaps we were all to blame for this. Our father consented to let her go to Brighton. Our mother desired it above all things. It has been pleasant to have the house a bit quieter. I have felt that myself, and have enjoyed the loss of our sister's company. Though considering what it had led to, I confess I feel guilty for such pleasure. Now, she is ruined. Lydia can never come back to us in the same way again."
"Mary?" When she finally turned her head, she found Lizzy staring intently, with a rather odd look set in her eyes. "Why do you say pangs of conscience?"
"Because… because he was accepted into our society. Mr. Wickham ought never to have been in close company with this family, any decent family. More questions should've been asked before everyone opened their arms to him."
"Well—not everyone. Apparently, you saw more than any one of us did," shrugged Lizzy. She wasn't blinking, hardly at all.
"Well, I did… Yes, I did."
"Everyone else was a fool, everyone but you. And I was the first offender in the regard. Do I take your meaning correctly?"
"… I suppose, you do." Mary nodded, equal to her sister's stare, feeling the heat from her chest rise. "You must admit, Lizzy, there were occasions I expressed my doubts and concerns about your attachment to Mr. Wickham. But after all, I'm only your younger sister, and you paid no heed to it. Now, I was completely justified for such feelings. I was right to be worried about you. It was difficult to make out whether you were attached, or even in love with him. I'm thankful your heart was broken. Yet, the trust you bestowed a comparative stranger has proven to be a serious error in judgment."
"Clearly," replied Lizzy, through an exhale. Guilt had turned her cheeks red, and Mary felt the colour in her own, the colour of much different emotion. "Mary, if you wish to say something, be straightforward."
"I am being—"
"I mustn't feel fangs of conscience, you say, but you expect I should feel them?"
"It's only natural. I wish to be of comfort."
"You are correct in that I do feel the pangs of conscience. Is there a need to add torment to misery? Is there a need to be so presumptuous? If you wished to be kind, you could dispense with judgment and hold your tongue."
"I was right about him!" declared Mary. Instantly, she was upon her feet. "Instead my better judgment was treated so lightly and ridiculed by my younger sisters."
"Mary—"
"Lydia and Kitty had their example set by you! Because you accepted him, they accepted him too. Because you accepted him, our father looked too kindly on Wickham. He was held up on so high a pedestal that even his own conduct could not lower him, even when he was pursuing Miss King for her fortune. He slighted you, yet you defended his conduct! Handsome young men must have something to live on as well as the plain. You endorsed these mercenary motives, and Lydia took you seriously!"
"What makes you say that?"
"Those were her final words entered in her diary!"
"Mary…"
"If you don't believe me, you can read it yourself. The Forsters had some of her belongings returned to us, including her diary… I really do pity you, Lizzy," said Mary, who started to tremble in her zeal. "You could have made a positive difference in the lives of all your sisters, Lydia especially. But your happiness comes first. Your self-respect comes before the respect of others… You ought to have married Mr. Collins!"
Now, her sister looked utterly aghast, horrified. "I did not know this was your opinion. I should've married Mr. Collins?"
"You were a fool! Not because it was materially a good match for you, or convenient to the retention of the estate, but because you had the power to do real good by it! As the wife of the rector at Hunsford parsonage, you could've used your influence, invited Lydia or Kitty to stay with you for an extended time, given them a real education in propriety and decorum. Between yourself, Mr. Collins, and Lady Catherine, great evils could've been removed. Lydia would've been safeguarded from the influence of Mrs. Forster, cut off from further association with all officers, including Wickham. Kitty would've benefit from time separated from her sister. None of this would've happened!"
"I also recall, Mary, that you were once keen to engage Mr. Collins' affections. My refusal was not viewed in the same light, at that time."
"If you had accepted him, I'd have accepted the situation as a matter of course," Mary defended. "When you refused him, I felt it my duty to try and gain back what was so thanklessly cast away. But your own happiness was more important. Nobody else was in your thoughts. The future could've been vastly different, but for that decision. Now it is all too late. Now Lydia, and every one of us, have no future except that of our own making."
The both of them had come to a standstill. Both stood facing one another, having engaged in a duel of their own. If real swords had been crossed, Mary had won. This was becoming a habit now: Captain Carter, Mr. Jones, and now Lizzy. She was learning what it meant to be angry. Society and propriety dictated that all such feeling was wrong. Anger was never separated from bad temper; they're too often paired together. Perhaps it wasn't the intention of it, but in the heat of the moment, the angry person cannot separate the two either. After drawing a few breaths, Mary saw the full extent of the pain inflicted.
Tears welled in Lizzy's eyes, but did not fall. Both sisters were roughly similar in height, yet Mary had always felt shorter. Lizzy seemed to bide her time, undecided whether to speak or be silent. But in the end, she chose silence. She left her own room, much to Mary's dissatisfaction. This was not expected by her younger sister. It wasn't like with Kitty or Lydia, whose quarrels often degenerated to a screaming match. Mary did not wish for the same results; it simply didn't resolve her own conflicts.
There is one part in P&P that made me think less of Mary and Kitty in this whole episode. Jane was doing all the work. And them? "Mary and Kitty have been very kind, and would have shared in every fatigue, I am sure, but I did not think it right for either of them. Kitty is slight and delicate; and Mary studies so much, that her hours of repose should not be broken in on." Every time I've read P&P, I thought these girls should've stepped up and helped their sister take care of their mother. But more lately, my viewpoint softened a little. Am I the only one? Had anybody else ever thought this when they read the novel?
Sorry this one is a bit of a shorter chapter. Shouldn't be long before I roll out the next, but I'd love to hear what you think of Mary's head to head with Lizzy.