A Match for Mary Bennet by Eucharista Ward Page A

right path when she passed the cottage with its sentinels of sculptured yews at the front door. Reaching the church and finding the door open, she ventured in and looked around. She walked up the aisle and savoured the lingering beeswax-and-linseed oil smell of the small country church, so like Longbourn’s church and yet somehow even more comfortable. Perhaps its emptiness encouraged her to feel she belonged to these pews, this pulpit, and this polished wood altar with its plain white covering. She was admiring the oval window above the altar when she heard a noise behind her like a cough, but when she turned, she saw no one.
    â€œUp here,” Mrs. Wynters said, and Mary raised her eyes to a loft in the rear of the church.
    â€œHow do I reach you?”
    â€œThe stairway is below, opposite the door you came through.”
    She made her way back to a door marked “Choir,” which opened onto a well-worn stairway. It circled around as it rose, and its old wood steps creaked as she ascended, some noisier than others. She found herself at last in an open loft with a low banister rail that reminded her of her library balcony. Her eyes beheld the small organ and Mrs. Wynters standing next to it, pumping a bellows. The kind organist pointed to the organ bench. “Take a seat. I’ll work the bellows.”
    Mary thought the organ just the right size to learn on. She tried a few keys but no sound came out. Mrs. Wynters leaned over and pulled out some stops. She also pointed out the foot pedals. “Try those first.”
    As Mrs. Wynters pumped, Mary played tentatively at the foot pedals, and then tried the lower keyboard, and finally the upper. By the time she had managed to play one hymn completely through, the light streaming through the east clerestory window had paled, and she knew she must start for Pemberley.
    â€œYou will make an organist, I believe, Miss Bennet. Come next Saturday if you like.”
    â€œOh, thank you. I shall!” Mary thanked her again and again as they descended the creaking old stairway.
    â€œAnd the following Saturday evening, prepare to join the carollers. I will give you the music next week, and I am certain you and Miss Darcy will know the noels. We have obtained the much-used, Langley-farm waggon, so wear your warmest and oldest gown and pelisse.”
    Mary delighted Georgiana with her news, and Miss Darcy joined her the following week. The two young ladies took turns playing the organ and working the bellows, and Mrs. Wynters, though at first she teased that they had left her nothing to do, overlooked them, suggesting stops and techniques.
    Georgiana, who had studied organ with a music master at Lambton, had little need of the lesson, but she protested she was glad of it. “It has been so long since I have played one, I had almost forgotten.”
    The next week, with helping at the children’s party on Tuesday and carolling on Saturday, Mary and Catherine fully entered into the season and had grown to think of Miss Darcy as another sister. But despite the holiday spirit, Mary remained eager to steal some hours in that wonderful library whose balcony so often beckoned to her when she passed the ballroom door. How fortunate that Polly had shown her the entrance which made stealth easy for her. Whenever possible, she slipped across the polished dance floor and through the small door to enjoy the many works of poetry and religion shelved so conveniently right at the balcony. One day she ran her hands longingly over Fordyce’s sermons, a much better edition than the one at Longbourn, but she returned to the Bunyan, which had become a favourite. She felt most at home there and in the music room, and daily she came to love Pemberley, though its grandness still awed her. No less did she remain in awe of Mr. Darcy, whom she could hardly address without a trembling at her knees. She would be glad to return to Longbourn, but her time in Derbyshire passed