A Chance Meeting pt 3

The unmitigated gall! He didn’t just do that, did he?

Part 3

Three days later, Mary sat in the parlor, The Moral Miscellany open in a sunbeam on the table before her, and a sheet of paper crosswritten before her. Her handwriting was not nearly as pretty as Jane’s or as legible as Lizzy’s, but given the magnitude of the favor Charlotte asked, a week’s bit of work, reading her handwriting was little to ask in return. No doubt that was all she would receive in return.

What an unkind, disagreeable, inappropriate thought. It was an honor to do such a favor for her friend. No reward was needed, or even appropriate. Even if a very great deal was being asked of her.

She sanded the page and stood.  Gracious heavens, that was a long passage, but it should cover several of the significant points Charlotte asked about, particularly in regards to incorporating the instruction of appropriate behavior into the instruction of reading. While it might be true that children would better enjoy the use of little stories about cats and dogs and birds in their instruction, for those for whom their time in education could be severely limited, it would be best to pack as many lessons as possible into what little time they might have for them.

She stretched her shoulders and her neck. How long had she been at this? Several hours now. It was definitely time for a break. Charlotte would not be expecting her response to be posted for at least a week, so she had the luxury of a little time. Especially considering that the book was not due back to the library until after that.

Was it so wrong to plan on keeping it for the full duration of her rental?

A flash of movement at the window caught her eye. She stepped to the window and pulled aside the curtain, pressing the side of her face to the window pane. What was that? Was there a caller expected today? Surely that was a man’s coat that moved past. But Papa received very few callers.

A loud knock summoned Mrs. Hill to the front door.  Low voices murmured just past the parlor door. Mrs. Hill’s she could identify, but the other, an unfamiliar man’s voice she could not. Mrs. Hill’s footsteps trailed off toward Papa’s study and a moment later back again.

“He will see you,” she said, and traipsed off toward Papa’s book room again.

How decidedly odd. Who would be visiting—

Kitty scurried into the parlor and pressed the door shut behind her. “Mary! Mary! You will never guess!” She clutched her hand to her chest, breathing hard.

Mary looked at the ceiling, where the plaster was cracked and looked as though it was held together by cobwebs. “Then why do you not tell me.”

“Why must you be that way? You are always such a killjoy.” Kitty rolled her eyes and flounced to the settee. “I have just seen the oddest thing. A strange man has come to see Papa!”

“I gather that much just sitting here and hearing the door open.”

“But I am sure you did not see him,” Kitty taunted in her best singsong.

“Is there a reason I might want to?”

Kitty rose and sashayed around Mary. “I think he was rather handsome, in a tousled, windblown sort of way.”

“Since the day is quite calm, that hardly sounds like a compliment.” Mary turned her back on Kitty, not that it would do very much good.

“Why are you determined to dislike everything?” Kitty stomped.

“Why are you so determined to find everything agreeable, even before you know its nature?”

“His nature you mean.”

“You sound like Lydia.”

“What is so bad about that? She was the first among us to get herself a husband.” The edge of Kitty’s lips curled up in a little sneer.

“And such a husband she got. I would enjoin you not to follow her example.” Gracious, Kitty’s hero worship of Lydia was worse than she had realized.

“You are just jealous. Spiteful and jealous that you will end up an old maid and she, the youngest of us all—”

Mary clapped her hand over her eyes. “Is constantly begging Jane and Elizabeth for pennies because her husband drinks away all their money.”

“That is a lie! Did you not see her last letter to Mama?” Kitty sounded like Mama when she shrieked.

“Perhaps I should let you read her letters to me. Just last month she asked if I had any pocket money—”

“I do not believe you. I will not hear this. In fact, I will tell Mama you are spreading lies about Lydia!”

“Pray do not tell her!”

“See there, that is proof you are lying.” Kitty leaned close to Mary’s face.

“No, I am trying to protect Mama. It would devastate her to know that Lydia is not enjoying the kind of life to which she had grown accustomed.”

“Liar!”

Mary clutched her temples and sighed. No, there was no reasoning with Kitty in this state. In that she had learned a great deal from Lydia. Mary shook her head and quietly removed herself from the parlor.

The closed door muffled Kitty’s protests and frustration, but did not silence them. For that, one would probably need to leave the house.

A walk in the garden would not be such a bad thing, and if she took a large basket and garden shears, she could make an excuse to Mama that she intended to cut flowers for the vases while she was out. Granted, that might not be her first purpose, but it would be worth doing for the relief of getting out of the house. Yes, that was a very good idea.

Papa intercepted her on the way to the still room off the kitchen. “Ah, very good, I was looking for you. Pray join me in the study.” He nodded at her and turned back toward his bookroom.

It would have been pleasing for him to deign to wait for her response, but few were offered that sort of privilege, so it should not be so surprising. Swallowing back another sigh, she followed him through the dimly lit corridor.

“Mary, this is Mr. Percy Johnstone, Vicar of Heatherington Parish.” Papa gestured toward his guest, sitting in one of the two large leather wingchairs near the fireplace.

He looked much like she had seen him at the library: slightly more than windblown, but slightly less than untidy, just on the edge of unkempt. The effect was not more attractive here than when they had first met.

“I have made his acquaintance.” She crossed her arms over her chest and planted her feet firmly.

“Yes, I understand, Sir William introduced you at the library.” Why was Papa smiling so wryly?

“Good morning, Miss Bennet.” Mr. Johnstone stood and bowed from his shoulders.

“Good day, sir.” No matter how she felt, it would not do to be rude. “What brings you to see my father today?”

“Well, now, after a fashion, you did offer an invitation.” Mr. Johnstone’s left eye twitched just a mite, and his lips lifted to match.

Impertinent! She stomped toward him. “Excuse me, I did no such thing. I have only met you once. I would not do such a thing.”

Papa cleared his throat, but it sounded alarmingly like there was a laugh underneath it. “Forgive me, Mary, but I must argue that I believe you did.”

Mary gasped. “What do you mean?”

“Unless Mr. Johnstone is quite a fanciful liar, which I will admit is still a real possibility—” Papa’s eyebrow twitched.

Mr. Johnstone snickered.

“I am under the impression you said something to the effect of ‘If you are so desperate for the use of the book I have checked out, speak to my father. Perhaps he will consent to you using it in his library when I am not reading it myself. That sounds very much like an invitation to me.” Papa glanced at Mr. Johnstone in a way that might be regarded conspiratorial.

Mary’s face flushed all the way down to her shoulders. Horrible man, taking her literally in a moment of unchecked frustration.

“And he has done so.” Now Papa smiled openly.

She looked away. “Apparently.”

“I would not have had the audacity to offer such a petition had you not suggested it yourself.” The way Mr. Johnstone’s eyes twinkled—he was laughing at her!

“I am sure you would not have.” No, he would probably rather have ripped the book from her hands and run off with it.

“I have heard his application for access to the volume in question and his reasons are quite as sound as yours. Moreover, he must return to his own parish soon and does not have the luxury of waiting for you to be finished.” The sharp edge to Papa’s voice suggested disapproval. “So, I have agreed to the proposition you suggested.”

“What did I suggest?” Her heart thudding in her throat so hard she could barely speak.

“That he might use the book here in my study when you are not engaged with it. I believe the concept is called sharing.”

“But, how can you—”

“I doubt you will feel any inconvenience at all. I have noted that you are apt to read early in the day, before you mother pays her morning calls. Then you either go with her, or you go off to pay your own or go to town, or take advantage of the afternoon sun to work on your sewing. You are quite the creature of habit, you know.”

She pressed her hands to her cheeks. When had he ever paid so much attention to what she did?

“If he comes at a time similar to today, I expect you will have finished your reading for the day and will hardly be inconvenienced by sharing the book with Mr. Johnstone.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist. “It appears what I think hardly matters.”

Papa cleared his throat again, but this time there was no laugh underlying it.

He was right, she was bordering on rude, but he—both of them—were little better.

“The book is in the parlor if you want it. I am going out to cut flowers for Mama.” She tossed her head and stormed out of the study.

Find other parts of this story HERE

So what should Mary do about such a very impertinent caller?