At the end of Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen, we are told that Mary Bennet is the only daughter who remains fully at home after three of her sisters have married and her next-younger sister, Catherine, is mostly gone visiting with Jane and Elizabeth. Austen’s Mr. Bennet believes that Mary is more pleased by this than not, but we do not know, for certain.
For myself, I have always been rather intrigued by Mary Bennet. She suffered, quietly, disappointments in her life. In a new short story, I am exploring what might have become of her. Here is a bit of the story as it sits, now.
“There now, Miss Bennet,” Hart, her maid, assured her. “You look very well.”
Mary grimaced at her reflection. “I’ve never looked very well, Hart, so there’s no use in saying so. At the most, you have done well with my hair and my gown certainly is in the first stare of fashion but I… I will never be a well-looking woman.” She replaced her spectacles and checked the details in the small looking glass. Hart had managed to coax a curl into her hair, and it was drawn back in a respectable manner, not like the fashionable curls on the detail in La Belle Assemblée that Hart kept around for inspiration.
Hart saw her glance at it and scooped the magazine up. “It’s the latest one, Miss Bennet. June, 1828, see? Right here. But I knew you’d not want all those feathers and such in your hair. It would not suit you, as you’ve said. Even Mrs. Darcy doesn’t dress like the women in the fashion plates.” The middle-aged ladies’ maid was meticulous in terms of pleasing the lady of the house, Mrs. Darcy. She was employed by the Darcy family but worked for Miss Mary Bennet. It was a courtesy Mrs. Darcy paid to her unmarried sister, since she became Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley more than fifteen years prior.
Mary glanced disparagingly at the periodical. “Indeed I do not. I cannot believe I am sitting for a portrait, Hart. It still seems rather strange to me.”
Hart adjusted the lace trim at Miss Bennet’s shoulders and cuffs. “All the lady authors are having them done these days. I know you’ve seen the portraits in the papers.”
Mary sniffed. She did read the papers. If only to be aware of world events. It was something scandalous that she, a spinster approaching middle years, was a subscriber to such a thing as a newspaper, but so it was. Mary had long since given up trying to be as others expected her to be.
She nodded with subdued satisfaction. Yes, this particular fabric suited her and was, indeed, fashionable. Elizabeth made sure of that. A wine-hued floss silk, with embroidery and formal flounces at the hem. An elegant gown; not at all eye-catching but still in supremely good taste. “It seems a bit too décolleté, Hart,” she remarked.
“Not a bit of it, Miss Bennet. It’s just to pattern. The seamstresses made sure.”
Yes, they would. Of course. Everyone always seemed to heed Elizabeth Bennet Darcy.
Spring, 1799
Mary watched her sister Elizabeth, who at eight years of age was one year older than Mary herself, practice on the piano forte. It was a simple nursery song, and she, Mary, was to practice next.
“Well done, Lizzy,” Mama said. “Well done. And Jane, your stitches have quite improved.” Mary had no talent for needlework and indeed seemed only to be able to sew on patterned fabrics where her poor stitching did not show.
The ceiling resounded with the pounding footsteps of Catherine and Lydia. Well, they tried calling Catherine by her name but it never seemed to suit. Mary suggested, once, that they try calling her Kitty, since she liked being petted so much.
“Kitty! That’s mine! I want it back!” Lydia’s screech made the rest of the family wince, but Mary smiled privately to herself.
See? She wanted to say to her mother. See? I made that up. Me! But will you remember that?
She sighed and played with her loose tooth before picking up her picture book. At least those, she didn’t have to share!
When Lydia came tumbling down the stairs, landing with a cry that shook the windows, Mama took Mary’s book to give to Lydia to soothe her. Mary frowned. “That’s my book,” she shouted. “Mine!”
“Nonsense,” Mama said. “It’s from the library and so belongs to everyone. You can get yourself another.”
Instead, Mary chose to take her turn at the instrument, following Elizabeth. She tried to play the same music as her elder sister, but it never sounded quite the same. Perhaps she just needed to play it more loudly. That might do the trick.
Still, try as she might, Mama never returned to the room to praise her practicing. Indeed, even Jane left. Only Elizabeth stayed.
More than anything, Mary wanted to be like Elizabeth. She was Papa’s favorite. And Papa was someone Mary loved very much. Maybe, if she played loudly enough, Papa would come and listen to her.
And maybe he’d buy her a new book.
Tags: creative writing, Pride and Prejudice, sequel, short story idea, Writing