A Chance Meeting pt 1

Mary takes refuge at the library and finds more than she expected.

Part 1

Mama trundled into the parlor in another one of her flurries. Mary slipped a ribbon into her book and set it aside without sighing. That was an accomplishment all told, considering the regularity of Mama’s flurries. There was really no point in trying to continue reading once Mama started to bustle about.

Mama often found something to flurry about—it was nearly a daily occurrence. It seemed her need for commotion had increased in frequency since last winter when Jane and Lizzy had married and gone away. With three daughters out of the house now, it seemed she was easily bored and, just perhaps, her flurries were her way of adding some interest to her day. Naturally it never seemed to occur to her to check if anyone else might find the same amusement that she did in the fuss.

On the whole, it was generally best to simply pretend to pay attention, inserting the appropriate sounds of interest here and there as necessary in order to convince her she was actually being attended to.

How Jane would scold her for such an attitude. But truly, it was the only way to manage Mama these days without biting a hole in one’s tongue.

“Kitty, Mary, come around and join me! Come around, come now! The post just arrived, and I have letters from your sisters. All of them! Can you imagine, three letters in a single day? I am beside myself with excitement.” Mama pulled a chair close to the tea table and spread her treasures out before her.

That all it took was three letters in a single day to send Mama into such convulsions of delight said a great deal. Since that same fact revealed little uplifting or positive, it was probably best not to dwell upon it.

Mary adjusted a chair near the tea table and sat down, smoothing the table cloth in front of her. Mary, Kitty and Lydia had embroidered the pale linen cloth with violets and daisies for Mama as a gift for Twelfth night three years ago. Funny how Mama always seemed to sit at the edge that Lydia had embroidered. Bother, that was another ungracious thought. Far too many of them for comfort this morning.

Her sisters’ distinct handwriting greeted her from the directions written on the folded letters. Swoopy and exuberant from Lydia. So many curls and loops mismatched and going all directions. Jane’s was dainty and perfectly regular, exactly as all the guidebooks directed a lady’s handwriting should be. So very easy to read, as though not willing to displease anyone by stepping outside the accepted formation of any letter. Yes, that was definitely Jane. Lizzy’s writing was narrow and angular, more direct and to the point, if that were possible for handwriting. It was clear and easy to read, just not as artistic and pleasing to look at as Jane’s. One read Lizzy’s letters because they contained information and were often interesting, not because they were pretty and worthy of framing, which given the occasional lack of content in Jane’s letters, was sometimes the best that could be said of them.

Mama cracked the seal on Lydia’s letter and unfolded it. Of course she would start with that one. Mary gritted her teeth as Mama turned her shoulder into a sunbeam to better catch the light on the paper.

“My dear family, I have been ever so busy. Please do not complain that I do not write more often. As a married woman, you must know I am fraught with demands on all sides and I must apportion my time very carefully.” Mama pressed her hand to her chest, her eyes a little misty.

Mary clenched her jaw. No, a taciturn remark would not do. Those only ignited arguments. Mama did not want to think about all those things that Lydia might be called upon to be doing, but really, was it not obvious by the frequency of Jane’s and Lizzy’s letters, that not all married women were so intolerably busy?

“I am to have a new dress made very soon. Wickham has promised me. And I know precisely what I shall have…”

Mary glanced at Kitty who rolled her eyes just a bit. Could Mama not discern Lydia’s fantasies from reality?

To be fair, it was probably easier to pick such things out after reading the letters Lizzy had written directly to Mary. It seemed Lydia wrote to Lizzy and to Jane, in letters far more frequent than went out to Mama, she often asked for some help for Wickham from their “rich husbands” who doubtless would never miss the blunt much.

It was sad that their youngest sister was in such straits, barely able to hire a single maid of all work and having to share a house with several other young officers and their wives. It was hardly the condition Lydia described in letters to her parents. From those, no one would guess she was sharing in the disagreeable household tasks, even considering taking in some sewing, or teaching some children their letters and first reading to bring in a few more coins as the other junior officer’s wives were doing.

While it was tempting to simply tell Mama the truth and brings these disagreeable letter-reading sessions to an end, it would be too unkind. Mama would be crushed to learn the truth of Lydia’s situation and that would probably make things even worse for all of them.

And they would still have to sit through Jane’s letters. And yes, it was petty and wrong to find them so disagreeable, but she did.

“Excuse me, Mama.” Mary jumped up in the middle of Mama’s sentence. “Might we continue this another time? I just realized that I must return this book to the circulating library today.”

“Oh, Mary. Why did you not take care of the task when you went into town with me yesterday?” There was something a little crestfallen in Mama’s tone.

“In the midst of calling upon Aunt Philips, it just slipped my mind. Pray forgive me.” Mary curtsied, scooped up her book, and scurried for the door.

“Let her go.” Mama harrumphed, turning toward Kitty. “But it need not curtail any pleasure of yours, my dear, let us continue with Jane’s letter.”

The spring sunshine was bright, but not entirely warm yet.  The ground had dried enough from the last rain not to be muddy, but neither so much as to be dusty. A light breeze blew, not enough to make one blousy, but sufficient to make the light shawl she wore quite necessary. All in all, the perfect sort of weather for a brisk—a very brisk—walk to Clarke’s Circulating Library at the far side of town. It was a small untruth that the book needed to be returned today. She had finished the book, but the errand could have waited, if necessary. But avoiding a letter from Jane could not.

It was true, Jane’s letters were all sweetness and light. She went on and on about how excited she was about their time in London and how delightful it would be to move back to the country once all matters were settled on the purchase of Bingley’s new estate. He was of course so delighted to be fulfilling his father’s fondest wish for his family to enter the landed class.

Ugh. What more was there to be said, but ugh? Yes it was wonderful for Jane and yes, she was truly glad for her sister’s good fortune. But did she have to make everything sound like a fairy story? Were there no cross words ever spoken in their home? Did she truly approve of everything that Bingley did?

At least Lizzy was far more realistic in her descriptions of life at Pemberley. While she did her best to make the foibles of the household laughable, at least it all sounded realistic, not like some sort of fantasy as wild as that which Lydia spun.

No doubt she would be treated to a reprise of all the letters when she returned home. But for now she was free from all that and would enjoy it to the fullest. Not to mention it would allow her to discharge her promise to Charlotte. That would be no small relief to get off her mind.

As she entered Meryton, she could just make out the roofline of Clarke’s at the far edge of town. What a refuge that place had become. Not that she had not already enjoyed it when she and Lizzy used to visit there. But now, she visited as often as she could and lingered in the reading room, even occasionally partaking in tea there just to stay a little longer. On some days she even perused the display case of goods kept to induce young ladies to open their purses even if they could not afford to purchase books as well as rent them. Whomever supplied Clarke’s had good taste with dainty writing papers, quills and desk accessories. Why they would carry powder puffs seemed a bit difficult to discern, but even those were pretty enough to attract Kitty’s admiration.

If Meryton had not enjoyed so many visitors and so much traffic from London, they might not have rated such an amply stocked library, maybe just a shelf of three at the local apothecary like the smaller villages had. But Clarke’s boasted not just several store rooms of books, but a pleasing reading room and room set aside for tea, conversation, and games, which meant the reading room stayed relatively quiet. What a wonderful place where one could be left in peace, alone with her thoughts and undisturbed.

Mary slipped into Clarke’s as two chattering young ladies sauntered out, tucking their novels into small baskets and covering them with embroidered napkins. Silly things. If they were ashamed to be reading them, then why do so in the first place? There was nothing wrong with a good novel now and again. In fact they were quite diverting, and often exactly what one needed to transcend the dreariness of life. But today that was not her mission. What a shame though. A good novel would have been quite welcome just now.

She drank in a deep breath of book-smell. Was not that one of the most soothing fragrances ever? Mama and Kitty would disagree, probably Jane too, but Lizzy would smile and wink at the thought.

Mary took her place in line at the circulation desk. No need to peruse the catalog today.  “The Moral Miscellany, please.”

The clerks eyebrow rose, but he was well trained enough that he said nothing, just scurried to the back room to find her request.

Yes, Mama and Kitty would tease her over the title and Papa would raise a brow and tut-tut. Let them think what they would. Charlotte Collins had recently written to her, concerned for a number of the children in the Hundsford parish. She wanted to begin a day school for them, to not just teach them to read, but to insure their morals were properly established as well and sought Mary’s advice on the matter.

In truth it was an honor to been asked for such advice, an honor Mary could not take lightly. Yes, perhaps it could be argued that she was taking it all far too seriously. But in such matters it was better to err on the side of being too concerned and too studious, than too little. After all, the consequences could truly be eternal. Hopefully the book would provide her with some solid suggestions for Charlotte’s effort, and allow her to discharge her burden with appropriate detail and attention.

“Here you are, Miss Bennet.” The clerk handed her the book.

Beside them another clerk spoke in not so hushed tones to an unfamiliar young man. “Pray forgive me sir, but it seems that young lady has just checked out the very volume you have asked for. You will have to wait for her to return it, but I am happy to make a note that you are waiting for it.”

The young man, rather tall and imposing looking, with a tousled crop of hair that hung down to bushy eyebrows, turned toward her and glowered.

Find future parts of this story HERE

So, why is he so testy? What do you think? Tell me in the comments.