Page 44 of The Mercy of Chance

T he morning sun filtered through the parlour windows, casting long shafts of light across the worn but well-scrubbed floorboards.

Mary sat at the secretary, her pen moving steadily across the page as she tallied accounts and catalogued the remaining household items to be transferred to the Lodge.

Though her posture was upright, and her expression composed, her eyes bore the weight of quiet responsibility.

Kitty lounged nearby on the settee, pretending to mend a pair of gloves, though her attention was plainly elsewhere.

“You know,”

Kitty remarked, threading her needle without looking down, “it is rather fearsome, the way you have taken command of the house since Lizzy and Jane left.

A less charitable observer might suppose that you enjoyed issuing instructions.”

Mary did not glance up.

“Someone must ensure order is maintained.”

“Yes, but you need not march about quoting the account book like the Articles of War,”

Kitty teased.

“If Mr Fairfield calls again today, I shall know it is to report on your new system for storing turnips, or to hear your latest theories on composting straw.”

A faint flush rose in Mary’s cheeks, but she kept her voice composed.

“I have simply endeavoured to maintain the expectations set by Grandfather and my sisters.”

Kitty’s grin widened.

“And to inform Mr Fairfield that calcium-rich soil may yet revolutionise the lower orchard?”

Mary finally looked up, the corner of her mouth twitching.

“If you are determined to mock my interest in agronomy, you may take over the inventory of preserves.”

Kitty gave a theatrical shudder.

“No, thank you.

I shall confine myself to teasing and glove repair.

Far safer.”

Mary shook her head, returning to her entries.

But even as her pen resumed its path across the page, a flicker of amusement remained in her eyes.

A knock at the front door brought Mary’s head up.

Hill entered a moment later.

“Mr Fairfield to see Miss Mary.”

Mary rose at once, smoothing her skirt.

“Show him in, Hill.”

Mr Fairfield entered with his usual brisk step, hat in hand, and a case of papers tucked beneath one arm.

“Good morning, Miss Bennet,”

he said, his bow deep and earnest.

“I hope I do not intrude.

I come with the notes from the soil survey and a question regarding your marsh drainage figures.”

“You are most welcome, Mr Fairfield,”

Mary replied, gesturing toward the table already laid out with maps and ledgers.

“I have just finished updating the records from last week’s observations.

Please, let us review them together.”

He joined her at the table without hesitation, and the two bent over the documents with the solemn concentration of scholars examining a treatise.

Their voices dropped as they entered discussion—Mary pointing out the elevated calcium levels in one sample, Fairfield offering a comparison from another estate’s marshland.

Kitty exchanged a glance with Hill, who had remained quietly near the hearth.

With a mischievous gleam in her eye, she murmured, “And they say sentiment is out of fashion.

Or should I say, sediment.”

Hill’s mouth twitched at the corner, but she demurely replied, “Seems to me Miss Mary’s doing fine work, no matter the topic.”

By midday, Mr Fairfield had taken his leave, his eyes lingering on Mary a moment longer than necessary as he offered his farewells.

She returned to the secretary with a deep breath and resumed her cataloguing, the faintest smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Mrs Bennet sat beside Mr Bennet’s chair in the small sitting room he preferred, updating him on household matters as was her custom each week.

She had just finished recounting the details of a dinner party when she paused, seeming uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Is something troubling you, my dear?”

the elderly gentleman asked, his eyes still sharp despite his advanced years.

“Not troubling, precisely,”

Mrs Bennet replied, fidgeting with her handkerchief.

“It is just that… well, Mr Freeman has been calling rather frequently.”

“So, I have observed,”

he said with a gentle smile.

“A fine man, Freeman.

Steady and respectable.”

“Yes, he is most respectable,”

Mrs Bennet agreed.

“And the girls seem to like him well enough.”

Mr Bennet reached out and patted her hand.

“Frances, my dear, you need not circle the matter so delicately.

I am not so old that I cannot recognise what is happening.”

Mrs Bennet blushed like a young girl.

“Certainly not, nothing improper—”

“Of course not,”

he interrupted kindly.

“You are a lady of impeccable propriety.

But you are also a woman still in the prime of her life.”

She looked down at her hands.

“It has been nearly eight years since Thomas passed.”

“Indeed.

My son would not have wished you to spend the rest of your days alone.”

The old man’s voice grew softer.

“Life is too precious, and too short, to deny oneself happiness when it presents itself, Frances.”

Mrs Bennet looked up, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

“You truly believe so?”

“With all my heart,”

he assured her.

“Thomas would want you to be happy.

As do I.

As do your daughters, although they may tease.” He chuckled.

“I hear the kitchen has never produced so many apple tarts.”

Mrs Bennet laughed despite herself.

“The girls are incorrigible gossips.”

“They are observant,”

he corrected.

“And they love their mother.” He squeezed her hand.

“Now, when next Mr Freeman calls about some transparent matter of business, perhaps you might suggest a walk in the garden.

I hear the early daffodils are quite fine this year.”

Mrs Bennet’s smile was radiant.

“Thank you, Father Bennet.”

“No need for thanks,”

he replied with a wink.

“But perhaps you might ask Cook to send up one of those famous apple tarts.

I should like to see what all the fuss is about.”

The clock had not yet struck four when the sound of hoofbeats broke the hush of the afternoon.

Mary, seated at her account books, glanced up as a footman approached, dismounting with practised ease.

Kitty, nearest the window, let out a small exclamation.

Hill entered the parlour with unaccustomed urgency, her cap askew and her cheeks touched with colour.

“A London post rider, ma’am,”

she announced.

“A letter has arrived for Mr Bennet.”

At once, the household stirred.

Mary rose from her place and reached for the sealed packet with steady hands.

“From Gracechurch Street,”

she read aloud, studying the seal.

“It is Elizabeth’s hand.”

Mrs Bennet entered in haste, followed by Lydia.

“A letter! Oh, Mary, read it aloud this instant.

I shall not be able to rest until I hear what she says.

Perhaps the matter is resolved, and they are returning home.”

Mr Bennet, already settled in his favourite chair, nodded to Mary “Read it aloud, Mary.

We shall all learn their news together.”

“Yes, yes, Mary,”

said Mrs Bennet, her voice fluttering.

“Read it at once—I shall not be easy until I hear that my girls are safe in that dreadful city.”

Mary unfolded the letter and began, her voice steady.

Gracechurch Street, Tuesday morning

My dearest Family,

I write in great haste to share what news I may, and to assure you—and especially dear Grandfather—that Jane and I arrived safely and are now comfortably settled at Uncle and Aunt Gardiner’s.

Our reception here has been most warm, and the children were delighted to see us, though Aunt has already confessed her concern over how little rest we are likely to take whilst in town.

Yesterday we attended Mr Graves’s chambers in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, accompanied by Mr Darcy and Uncle Phillips.

The setting was intimidating—oak-panelled walls, legal tomes towering above our heads—but Mr Darcy proved a steady and reassuring presence throughout.

He took care to place us near the fire and made every effort to ensure we were not overwhelmed by the formality of the meeting.

She read without interruption, but when she came to Elizabeth’s mention of the chambers in Lincoln’s Inn Fields and the intimidating setting, Kitty gave a small shiver.

“Lincoln’s Inn! That sounds most dreadful.

I imagine some grim, echoing hall filled with clerks in black.”

“I do not know how they can bear it,”

Mrs Bennet fretted, wringing her handkerchief.

“Solicitors and barristers and all those dreadful legal persons—I should swoon on the threshold.”

“They will not swoon,”

said Mary crisply.

“They are there to defend our family’s interests.”

…Mr Graves has reviewed the documentation pertaining to Mr Collins’s petition and believes our position to be quite strong, particularly with the new evidence connecting Mr Collins to the drainage sabotage and the improper attempts to sell a future interest in Longbourn.

We were made to understand the gravity of these matters in full, and I confess to being both astonished and appalled by Mr Collins’s boldness.

Lydia’s eyes widened in delighted outrage.

“So, it is true, then! That smug little toad really dared to sell what is not his to sell.

I should like to box his ears.”

“He is shameless,”

Kitty added.

“What if the court believes him?”

Mary glanced at her grandfather, then replied with quiet certainty, “Then we shall rely upon the measures we have already begun.

The Lodge is ours by purchase and much has been removed from Longbourn already.

Even should the court prove less than just, we shall not be destitute.”

Mr Bennet gave a slow nod of approval.

“Quite right, Mary.

We are not without recourse.”

Mary read on.

Mr Graves reminded us that the court may soon require a formal inventory of Longbourn, should the petition proceed to trial.

Uncle Phillips has advised on preparing such a list, and he has emphasised the importance of distinguishing between entailed and personal property.

We shall send further instruction in the event that effort begins in earnest.

Mrs Bennet gasped.

“I declare it is an outrage! That man means to strip me of my very teaspoons!”

“They must determine what belongs to the estate, and what is our personal property,”

Mary said calmly.

“Mr Phillips advised us to prepare for such a possibility.”

“Well, my marriage portion and the Gardiner heirlooms shall not be touched.”

Mary glanced at her grandfather, then continued the letter.

…We are to remain in London for at least a fortnight, perhaps longer, to assist with preparations and review affidavits.

Mr Graves has been most diligent, and Mr Darcy exceedingly generous with his time and efforts...

I need hardly say how grateful we are for their support.

A silence followed this sentence, during which Mr Bennet shifted in his chair.

“Well,”

he said at last, “we are indebted to Mr Darcy.

“

Jane sends her love and adds that she is doing her utmost to remain composed for all our sakes.

Pray give our warmest affection to Grandfather and reassure him that we are equal to the task he has entrusted to us.

I hope he continues comfortable, and that the rest of the household is in good health and spirits.

Write soon and let us know how you all fare.

Yours ever affectionately,

Elizabeth

Mary reached the end of the letter and folded it once more.

“Mary, do write to them tonight,”

Mrs Bennet declared.

“They must know how we are managing here—and how we are keeping them in our prayers.”

“They are very brave,”

Kitty said quietly.

“I never imagined Jane and Lizzy would go to court.”

Mrs Bennet clutched her handkerchief.

“Heaven preserve them from being made to speak before a judge!”

Mary gave a calm shake of the head.

“They shall not.

Women are not called to speak in such proceedings.

Mr Graves shall present all testimony.

Our sisters attend only to advise and review the affidavits.”

“And they do so under the protection of Mr Darcy and Uncle Phillips,”

added Mr Bennet.

“They are not without support.

I have no doubt they will acquit themselves admirably.

Let us hope the court sees what we have always known—that the fate of Longbourn ought not rest in the hands of a fool.”

There was a moment of stillness in the room as each considered what lay ahead.

Then Lydia reached for her mending.

“I suppose I had best finish this hem, in case they wish to inventory that as well.”