The Pursuit of Mary Bennet (14 page)

Papa held up a restraining hand. “I cannot ask Charles or Mr. Darcy for any more help. Out of the question.”

“So it is true, then, that a nursemaid for Lydia is also out of the question?”

“You disapprove, I see. I have done a poor job of managing our income over the years, Mary. I’m determined to hold on to the money set aside for marriage settlements for you and Kitty. Apart from that, there’s simply not enough for a nurse.”

“But Papa, by all means, use my portion. I am quite sure I will never wed.”

“
You
may be sure of that, but I am not. Lydia is strong and healthy, and there is no reason why she cannot tend to the babe herself.”

I arched my eyebrows at him. “Except that she has absolutely no inclination to do so.”

“Even so, she’ll manage. According to Jane’s letter, you’ve come home in order to offer assistance?”

“I’ll do what I can, but I’m afraid I’m ill prepared for the job. Has Lydia heard nothing from Wickham, then? No word at all?”

“None.” He was silent a moment. “Although she has received a few letters from someone else. She refuses to say from whom, but I have a strong suspicion they are from the man she—”

“No need to explain, Papa. I take your meaning. That seems rather . . .
scandalous,
does it not?”

“Just so. I told her in no uncertain terms that I would confiscate any further communication from him. She laughed and said it was none of my affair. You know her too well to doubt me on that head.”

“Oh, I am sorry, sir.”
Ungrateful wretch of a girl, to speak so to Papa.

“It is your mother and I who are to blame. If I hadn’t been so remiss as a parent, if I had been more severe on Lydia, we might not have come to this pass. I foolishly assumed she would turn out to be a good girl, like the rest of you. Kitty excepted, although she has improved of late.”

“We must make the best of a bad situation,” I said, and we strolled toward home, both lost in our thoughts of missed opportunities and irresponsible acts.

Chapter 15

T
he days flew by, and the dread of Jane’s leaving us burrowed into the pit of my stomach. What would I do, left alone with Mama, Lydia, and a newborn babe?

Jane made good use of her time with us to instruct Lydia and me on swaddling, bathing, feedings, changing nappies, and various ways to comfort the baby when all else failed. With Jane’s patient coaching, Lydia became more proficient at nursing the child, who had at last learned to latch on to the nipple.

I closely observed Lydia performing these tasks, and it was disturbing to see her impassivity. She took no joy in any of it, and handed Felicity to me or Jane directly after a bath or feeding. And she always left us to deal with the soiled nappies, wrinkling up her nose and saying, “Eww,” as she handed Felicity over.

One day Jane said, in a voice that brooked no argument, “Lydia, today you are going to get out of that bed, bathe, and dress. Then, since it’s a very fine day, we will all take your daughter outside for a walk.”

“You and Mary may walk, but I’m not recovered from the birth yet. I still feel rather weak, you know.”

“Nonsense. Felicity will be a month old tomorrow! You will never regain your figure or your strength if you keep coddling yourself in this way,” Jane said. “What do you intend to do? Wither away up here? It’s time to rejoin the world, dear.” From then on, Lydia bathed and dressed every day, although she continued to keep to her chamber or the upstairs sitting room most of the time and displayed little if any motherly tenderness.

The morning Jane was to leave, I took her aside. “I must speak with you before you depart.”

“What is it, Mary?” The footman was strapping her bags onto the chaise, and if she sounded impatient with me, I didn’t blame her. She’d been here almost a month, and I was certain she missed Charles and David exceedingly.

“I won’t keep you but a moment. I’m concerned about Lydia . . .” My voice tapered off, since I didn’t know precisely how to describe the reason for my unease.

Jane grabbed my hand and pulled me into the dining room. The servants had finished clearing it of breakfast things, so it stood empty and quiet. “She shows no affection for Felicity. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

I nodded. “Do you think it’s because”—I felt my face color—“she doesn’t know if Wickham or the other man is the father?”

“Hmm. Possibly, but I think it more likely that she’s simply taking longer than usual to form an attachment with her child. I’ve heard of that happening to some women, along with other strange behaviors, especially with a first child.”

“She’s so listless and lethargic. Is that part of it?”

“It very well could be.”

“Can anything be done?”

“I think not. It simply takes time, and I’m afraid the burden of caring for the baby is going to fall on your shoulders until Lydia has come through this. I am certain Charles and Mr. Darcy would pay for a nursemaid, but Papa will not hear of it.”

I thought back to the day I’d overheard my mother saying I’d have to help Lydia when her child was born. I’d been so consumed with anger. Lydia had arrived in the middle of that conversation. All things considered, I supposed I should be glad I hadn’t had to travel to Newcastle to attend her.

“Now, if there’s nothing else, I must go. If the circumstances become too taxing for you, you can always visit High Tor. I’m sure it would do you good.”

Shortly afterward, she climbed into the chaise and left me to my new occupation of nursemaid.

M
y adoration of Felicity began the first time she smiled her gummy little smile at me. I’d taken her from Lydia after a feeding, intending to tuck her back into bed. It was early, not past six o’clock, and most days she fell back to sleep. As I walked down the hall, her tiny hand shot out and brushed my face. The soft touch of her flesh felt sweet beyond measure. I entered the nursery and lowered myself into the rocking chair, propping her in my arms and gazing down at her. She’d changed so much in the weeks since Jane had left us. Her eyes had taken on a deep brown hue and were focusing well, now that she was nearly two months old. Having lost a great deal of her dark hair—perfectly normal, according to Mama—at present only soft fuzz covered her scalp. And then the smile flashed.

It was such a lovely thing. So honest and trusting. I wasn’t sure if she had smiled before, or if I was seeing the first one. I wanted to dash in to tell Lydia, but I knew she’d be angry if I woke her up. Instead, I tickled Felicity’s chin and cheeks, made faces, recited a few nursery rhymes—whatever I could do to elicit another one of the wondrous smiles. I was rewarded for my trouble with two more toothless grins before she fell asleep in my arms.

The thought of parting with her pained me, so I carried her to my own chamber and tucked her beside me in my bed. I fell asleep listening to the cooing noises she made in her sleep, and when I awoke later, she was still sleeping. After I’d washed and dressed, I laid Felicity in her cradle and walked down to the breakfast room.

Lydia, already seated, clutched what appeared to be a letter in one hand while eating bites of toast with the other. She started when she saw me and jerked the hand with the letter down to the folds of her dress.

I couldn’t resist goading her a little. “What is so secret that you must hide your letter from me, Lydia?”

“Nothing concerning you. Just a letter from a friend.”

“Which friend?” I asked, pressing her.

“One of the regiment wives, if you must know. She asked a lot of nosy questions, to say the truth. I suppose they find my situation vastly diverting.” She looked crestfallen, and I felt sorry about baiting her.

Mama came in just then. I poured myself some coffee and buttered a cold roll, all the while surreptitiously studying Lydia. I noticed she slid the letter into her lap and kept it there throughout breakfast. If it was truly from one of the regiment wives, why was she so bent on hiding it? Perhaps Papa was correct in believing these missives to be from her . . . friend.

“Lydia, dear,” Mama said, “I think this would be a fine day to make some morning calls. Lady Lucas and your aunt Philips both wish to see the baby. What do you say?”

Say
yes
.
It will help you become acquainted with your daughter.

“I don’t know,” Lydia said. “Sir William and Lady Lucas will go on about Charlotte Collins’s babies until I shall wish to scream. And I’ll have to pack up the baby’s things and get her ready to go, which means bathing her and feeding her—”

“That doesn’t signify,” Mama said with a nod in my direction. “Mary will do all that for you, won’t you, Mary?”

I pretended to think about it. “I believe I can manage except for the feeding. You shall have to do that yourself,” I said.

Felicity cried at that moment, as though letting us know she desired to be out in society. “Why don’t you feed her now, Lydia, and I’ll prepare a bath and set out her clothing.”

“Very well then,” she said, rolling her eyes heavenward. “You and Mama will hound me until I agree.” She scraped her chair back and, keeping the mysterious letter concealed at her side, left the room.

I bathed the baby in Lydia’s chamber, which served the purpose better because it was warmer and more spacious. While Lydia performed her toilette, I dressed Felicity in a long pink frock with lace trim. “Has she smiled at you yet?” I asked.

“What? Has who smiled at me?”

“Felicity, of course.”

“No. She seems a disagreeable child, always fussing and crying.”

“Lydia! She smiled at me this morning after you fed her. If you would only take the time to play with her yourself, she would smile at you. After her feeding she is most content and happy.”

“I suppose you think you know everything there is to know about babies,” Lydia said, turning away from her vanity table and glaring at me, “now that you’ve looked after Felicity for a few weeks.”

“Not at all,” I said. “I happen to believe you’re wrong in calling her a disagreeable baby. To me she seems most amiable.”

“Well, and you would know. You’ve raised so many babies yourself.”

I expelled a frustrated breath and realized I’d made a terrible mistake. She’d taken offense at my words; I had spoken too impulsively, as I used to do. Lydia said not another word, but none-too-gently scooped Felicity up, grabbed the child’s bonnet, and marched downstairs in a huff.

The footman carried a bag of Felicity’s things to the carriage, and grandmother, mother, and baby soon departed, Lydia with a scowl on her face. I didn’t mind her being angry, as long as Felicity did not suffer for it. Perhaps spending the day with her child would enable her to reap some of the rewards of motherhood, and she would begin to care for Felicity. How could she be content to be nothing more than a wet nurse to her own baby?

In less than ten minutes they were back. Upstairs straightening Lydia’s room, I heard first the carriage and then the baby’s cries. I hurried down to see what was wrong. Felicity had soiled her diaper and was screaming, and neither my mother nor Lydia seemed to have the least idea what was to be done.

The carriage door was summarily opened. Lydia held out a wiggling, wailing Felicity toward me. Astonished, I said, “You came back just so that I should change her nappie?”

“No,” Lydia said after I had safely taken the baby into my arms. “I’ve decided not to take her. It’s my first outing, and I don’t want it to be ruined by a crying, bad-tempered baby!”

“I rather thought showing off the baby was the point. I can’t feed her, you know. How long will you be gone?”

The carriage already in motion, Mama stuck her head out the window and yelled, “Mix a little honey with water and drip it into her mouth with your finger!”

“Ta!” Lydia called, heaving the bag of baby things onto the ground.

I knew Fee would be hungry before they returned, but she’d be content for a time, would probably even nap. I carried her in, changed her, and went downstairs to find Mrs. Hill. “Felicity and I are going on a picnic,” I said. “We may be gone a while. Would you ask Cook to fix me a few bites of something to take along?”

“Certainly, miss.”

“Mama said a little honey mixed with water might stave off the baby’s hunger. Could you see to that, too?”

Mrs. Hill looked as though she wanted to say something, but she kept it to herself. “Of course, miss.” Muttering under her breath, she walked toward the kitchen, and I wondered if she thought me foolish to take the baby on such an expedition. Spring was giving way to summer, and I did not wish to waste a sunny day inside. I might catch a glimpse of bluebells or wild garlic blooming in the woods.

While I waited for the food, I searched the sewing room until I found a piece of sturdy fabric from which to fashion a carrying sling for the baby. I laid her on the floor on a blanket, and, after taking a few measurements, cut and hemmed and arrived at something I thought would serve the purpose. Mrs. Hill helped me drape it across my chest and tie the ends in a knot at one side of my waist. I tucked Felicity inside, making sure she was comfortable and able to breathe.

“There now, miss, that’s very clever of you. I wondered how you would carry everything. If you don’t mind my saying, you’ve been more of a mother to that child than Miss Lydia. Mrs. Wickham, I mean.”

I probably should not have allowed myself to smile, but these were the first words of praise I’d received regarding my care of Felicity, and I was ridiculously pleased. “Thank you, Mrs. Hill.” I gathered she had been grumbling about Lydia earlier, not me.

On my way out, I saw the post had come. Sorting through it quickly, I found a letter addressed to me from Jane. I tucked it into the basket holding the food, and off we went.

E
ven with the sling, it was difficult to handle everything. I carried Mr. Walsh’s copy of
Clarissa
in my free hand, and its size was such that my hand and arm were aching by the time I found a spot near the stream to rest and eat. Felicity had fallen asleep, and I laid her on a blanket Mrs. Hill had thoughtfully tucked in beside the food. No sooner had I extracted cold mutton, cheese, and fruit tarts from the basket than I remembered Jane’s letter. After setting aside the food, I wiped my fingers with a napkin and broke the seal.

Sat. 2 June

High Tor

My dear Mary,

I fear I have neglected you by not writing sooner. It has taken me the better part of three weeks to set things to rights here. Cook and Mrs. Nicholls locked horns over menus, among other things, while I was at Longbourn, and it took a good bit of diplomacy to sort things out between them. Charles of course keeps out of such matters, and Kitty was unable to deal with the situation. Also, David’s nurse came down with a bilious stomach and had to be sent home for a week. Fortunately she is strong and generally healthy, and returned to us a few days ago.

You will be interested, and I daresay surprised, to learn that Kitty and Mr. Carstairs have developed a fondness for each other! I wish I could see your expression right now, as you read those words. According to Charles, Mr. Walsh did not call the entire time I was at Longbourn, but his cousin did. In fact, HW has only been here once since I’ve been back, which I believe could be described as a courtesy call to welcome me home. Charles rides over to Linden Hall once a week at least, where the two discourse on their favorite topics—horse riding and estate management—and catch up on news. They do not discuss the reason why Mr. Walsh no longer calls upon us.