The Other Bennet Sister - Episode 3 recap
- Brianne Moore
- 3 days ago
- 14 min read
Don't let the door hit you on the way out
The sisters Bennet have all gathered to mourn their father and comfort their mother. It’s unclear how much time has passed since the story started, but Kitty has a baby now, so I think we can assume it’s been at least a few years since the Netherfield ball (unless Kitty got married quite young and had the kid right away).
MayVO contemplates a future of relying on her sisters’ hospitality and serving as an unpaid companion to her mother. Yeah, none of that sounds good. But did Mr Bennet seriously not put anything aside to provide for his wife after his death? I know he was on the careless side, but that’s positively negligent. Did she not come with a dowry? Because that’s at least partly what the dowry was for.
Mrs B wails that none of the girls will understand her pain, because the bond between herself and Mr B was such a rare and beautiful thing. There’s a nice cutaway shot to Elizabeth, just managing to restrain herself from bursting into tears/throttling her own mother. Mary glances sympathetically at her, because Mary gets it.
How can this get worse? With the arrival of the Collinses, of course! Just who you want to see in the depths of grief.
Mr Collins blunders in and is so tactless it’s painful. He’s basically barking at them to start packing and get the hell out of his house. Come on, we all know this man’s awkward, but this sort of behaviour would have been beyond the pale. He’s a clergyman. He’s dealt with mourning people before. This could have been a nice moment to give him a little depth and humanity, but noooo, he’s gotta be a cartoon, like so many others, for some reason. It’s not even funny, it’s repulsive.
Charlotte tries to soft-pedal his pushy rudeness but isn’t entirely successful.
At this point, there’s a fabulous conversation between Lizzy and Jane, conducted entirely in looks over their wailing mother’s head, that goes something like this:
You gonna take her?
Me? Hell no, she’s not living with me. Darcy would kill me. He might kill her.
Well I don’t want her either. Oh, God, I’m going to have to take her, aren’t I? All right, fine.
And then Jane insists her mother come stay with herself and Mr Bingley at Netherfield, even though Pride and Prejudice established that Bingley and Jane left Netherfield (in part to get further away from Mrs Bennet) shortly after their marriage.
Mrs B perks up at the thought of going somewhere with lots of servants to coddle her.
Jane mentions that Caroline is staying with them too, so Mary will have company. Is Jane an idiot? Come on.
Jane then remembers to extend the invitation to Mary, and mentions, in a tone-deaf manner, that Caroline is staying with them too, so Mary will have company. Is Jane an idiot? Come on.
No matter, Mrs Bennet has a solution. Her brother and sister-in-law, the Gardiners, need a governess, as theirs has recently left. Mary would be perfect for that!
What? I thought this woman was super concerned with appearances. I highly doubt she’d want Mary working as a governess, that was seen as a somewhat shameful comedown in the world, and Mary has wealthy relatives, so she wouldn’t even need to do this. If the story needs her to go to London for a while (which I’m fine with), then just have the Gardiners invite her to stay with them. They had Jane to stay for weeks (months?) during Pride and Prejudice, so it’s not as if that would have been completely unheard of. Employing your niece would be awkward as hell. This makes no sense.
Mary doesn’t love this idea either. She’s so against it she insists her mother will need her, but Mrs B, of course, has never needed or really wanted Mary, so there it is.
Mrs Bennet can’t even be bothered to say goodbye to Mary before she goes to London. This woman. Run, Mary. RUN!
People who can't teach...
Mary stresses to Hill, worrying the kids won’t like her and realising she has no idea how to teach children anyway. Hill reassures her she’s a very likeable soul and knows lots of random facts, and that’s all teaching is, really, isn’t it? Regurgitating facts to little baby-bird children?
(I’ll just note that my day job is working for a college that, amongst other things, educates teachers to be teachers, so this notion of teaching being so easy anyone can do it particularly enrages me.)
Hill thinks it’ll do Mary some good to get out in the world and meet some people who aren’t her terrible family or their neighbours. I agree. Before she goes, Mary sees her mother at one of the windows and smiles at her. Mrs B kind of sneers back. HATE.
London calling
In London, Mary’s joyfully received by her sweet aunt and uncle, who welcome her and show her to a really nice room upstairs, far enough from the kids that they won’t keep pestering her. Mary seems shocked they haven’t stashed her in some unheated, filthy garret and doesn’t seem to know how to handle someone being kind, generous, and thoughtful to her.
(I already mentioned Indira Varma as Mrs G, but Mr G is Richard Coyle, whom I’ve been fond of ever since seeing him in Lorna Doone waaay back in 2000. He was also the highly loveable Jeff in Coupling, so he’s firmly in my good books. Fun fact! He pursued acting after a stint entertaining passengers on ferries. There, that’s a thing you know now.)
Mary comes down for breakfast and Mr G invites her to join them. For some reason, she demurs and goes all the way back upstairs to wait for the kids.
Post-breakfast, the kids all introduce themselves to Mary. Has she seriously never met these children before? Didn’t they stay at Longbourne when the Gardiners took Lizzy on that trip when they went to Pemberley? She must surely have seen the children then, but she acts like they’re complete strangers to her. Weird.
The kids are Marianne, George, and Rebecca, for the record. Mary greets them stiffly, as if they’re alien creatures she’s not sure of.
So, it turns out Hill was wrong and Mary is TERRIBLE at teaching. Even though we saw her earlier with all sorts of notes on sheets of paper, which suggested some kind of lesson plan, now she’s just sitting in front of three small children, reading aloud from Hutton’s Theory of the Earth. Yikes.
The poor kids are bored to tears and baffled, probably wondering what they’ve done to deserve this. George is sleeping, and from what we later learn about the earlier lessons, that’s probably self-preservation at this point. Mary notices she’s put a kid to sleep and decides to move onto history, beginning with ‘in 1492, Columbus discovered America.’ Sigh. You see? Teaching isn’t as easy as people think. And Mary’s facts are wrong.
Mary looks up from the globe long enough to realise Rebecca’s done a runner. Can’t blame her. And how long was Mary staring at that globe anyway? She asks the others where Rebecca is and they hilariously just shrug. Sibling solidarity. You wouldn’t understand, Mary.
The kids are rescued by the arrival of Mr Tom Heywood, a cute-in-a-sweetly-nerdy-way friend of the family. The kids are super happy to see him, at least in part, I think, because he represents an escape from the lessons from hell. He announces that dinner is served and introduces himself to Mary. He notes the lack of Rebecca, then puts on some glasses (!!) and they all hear some giggling and squealing coming from the toy chest. Man, Rebecca really was desperate to escape, wasn’t she? Can’t be comfortable, crammed in there with a bunch of toys.
Tom starts a little game, asking if Mary has any mice in the toy trunk, and Mary, bless her, tries to play along but that only lasts until Tom says something about the mice not being able to get to their cheese and of course she has to correct him. She’s really starting to lean into that insufferable person trope, which is unfortunate. Tom, bless him, goes the factual route and acknowledges that mice really prefer root vegetables and grains. Mary seems pleased he’s as big a fact-nerd as she is.
Rebecca, from inside the toy chest, announces she’s a rabbit. Mary tries desperately to think of a way to spin this game but can’t think of a reason why there’d be a rabbit in the toy trunk. Heywood comes to her rescue and says that rabbits aren’t social, so of course they’d hide.
I mean, what child doesn't want to know the mortality rate of highly contagious diseases?
Rebecca is retrieved and everyone, Tom and Mary included, sit down to dinner. Tom’s a junior barrister who helped Mr G with a legal matter years ago (and was apparently one of their lodgers? They take in lodgers? They seem pretty wealthy for that.) The kids, as kids will do, spend the meal accidentally revealing all the wildly inappropriate things Mary’s been teaching them all day, including the history of revolutionary republicanism and the likely outcomes of smallpox (blind or dead!). I’ll just say, the oldest of these kids is maybe 10 or 11, so this is a bit much, especially for a first day. The Gardiner parents are a bit (…) but gamely say this all sounds like some super interesting learning they’re doing. I can see now why Rebecca hid.
Tom nerds out and asks Mary if she’s read a particular book, and then they, in unison, drop the mortality rate of smallpox (30%). Maybe not dinner-table conversation, you two, especially in front of young children, although the Gardiner kids seem oddly unfazed by this. Then again, Rebecca announces that George cried three times during their lessons and Jesus, Mary, it’s only the first day! This does not bode well.
I’m not sure if this is supposed to be funny or something, but smallpox was still a very real fear at this point. Even though early vaccines were available, the disease still killed and injured a LOT of people, so these kids would be very right to be terrified, and so would their parents.
The Gardiners, curiously, do not ask Mary to maybe just tone it down a little bit (surely one lesson ending in tears per day is enough?) and propose an after-dinner game. Graces is the popular choice and seems to consist of using two sticks to throw and catch a beribboned hoop. Mary sits off to the side and refuses to play, looking anxious the whole time. Did she really never play games with her sisters? Was she never a child? I thought Serious Mary was a more recent development?
Tom tears the sleeve of his jacket, which means he not only has to take the jacket off, but must also roll up the sleeves of his shirt. You know, I thought, when she said Mr Collins had decent forearms, that she was just desperately reaching for something nice to say, but the way she practically salivates at the sight of Tom rolling up those sleeves makes me wonder if she doesn’t have a particular fetish (brachophilia, for anyone wondering. Yes, I looked that up just for this. You’re welcome).
Uncle G interrupts her unclean thoughts about manly arms to ask if she won’t consider playing. Mary refuses, saying she’s no good at games and that she’d only spoil it. Funny thing is, she’s spoiled the mood by saying that, as everyone looks really uncomfortable for a minute there. She can’t win for losing.
The hoop lands near her and she hands it back to Tom, who takes it with his HAND, which is attached to his AMAZING FOREARMS and the music goes all soft and romantic.
Mary tries her hand at a lesson plan and gets as far as: Game? Before staring out at the rooftops of London.
Mrs G comes in and Mary panics that she’s about to be yelled at, which I would have expected too, in her place. But apparently her aunt is less concerned with her children’s mental health and ability to sleep than she is with Mary’s wardrobe. They’re going to be having people over, so wouldn’t Mary like a new dress or something? Mary goes the, ‘Nah, I’m good,’ route, until Mrs G informs her that there’s a dress allowance included in her governess wages. Wow, these were some generous employers.
Mary can’t quite believe these people actually want her to attend their soirees, because she truly has no concept of being valued by anyone, ever. The look of confusion on her face really is something. (But also: we get it, show. You can stop now.) Mrs G reassures her that nobody in their house is required to sparkle, they just want her to enjoy herself and be her. I’d recommend keeping the smallpox small talk to a minimum, Mary, but otherwise, you do you.
Should've gone with the Drake's Neck silk, Mary
At the haberdashers’, Mary is uncertain about fabric choices, defaulting to her mother’s belief that Mary looks terrible in just about everything. Mrs G coaxes her along until she picks some things out.
And then who should show up but Tom! Convenient! He’s in the neighbourhood to have his jacket mended, so at least there’s a plausible reason for him to be passing by. He and Mary joke about the ridiculous names of some of the fabric colours, and to be fair, they really do sound like a Farrow & Ball catalogue. They’re having fun, until Mary has to ruin it for no reason at all by pointing out that one colour is just yellow, completely ruining the mood. She’s very good at that.
But you know what? I’m not clear why her excusing herself from Graces or calling a colour yellow went over like such a lead balloon. Why would either of those things kill the vibe so thoroughly?
Mary worries that a green dress will be seen as wild but she likes the idea of getting a little crazy. Slow down there, Mary, we haven’t even gotten to stockings yet!
He suggests she pick the colours that make her feel most like herself, then heads back to work.
As soon as he’s gone, Aunt Gardiner starts gossiping about how he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders and works too hard. She does not, however, expand on that and Mary doesn’t ask her to, even though any normal person would.
Mary chooses fabrics: crimson and a spring green trim for one dress, and a spring green (acid green, really) for the other. Aunt G praises her choices. Mary worries that people might think the green dress is a bit wild (despite Charlotte wearing that colour almost exclusively and there’s nothing wild about her) but she likes the idea of getting a little crazy. Slow down there, Mary, we haven’t even gotten to stockings yet!
Mrs G tells her to please herself and get what she wants. ‘You’ve done a very good job,’ she tells Mary, and I’ll bet good money the number of times Mary’s heard that in her life can be counted on one hand.
Lake Darcy's got nothing on Tom in shirtsleeves
While the Gardiners are out buying shoes for the kids, Mary picks up the Graces sticks and hoop to practice, and launches the hoop through the door just as Tom’s walking through it. For all Aunt Gardiner’s opining, he doesn’t seem to have to spend all that much time at work. Nor does he seem particularly weighted by the world.
He asks if she wants to play and she agrees, launching the hoop with a bit more grace and earning a lot of praise from him. Lest he tear his coat again, he removes it and rolls up those sleeves, which is starting to feel like a euphemism every time I type it. Mary actually turns away as he does it, like he’s stripping naked or something. Their wedding night’s going to be interesting (calling it now!).
They crash into each other while playing and decide to call it. Tom hands over a book he’s brought and Mary sneers, noting that it’s poetry (Lyrical Ballads, for anyone curious. Probably not the best place for her to start.). She prefers facts to whimsey, as if all poems are completely whimsical. This girl needs to read more widely. (Although, Lyrical Ballads, ushering in Romanticism as it does, perhaps leans a little further away from the serious side of things than she would’ve liked.) She does reel off a few poets she’s tried: Byron (really? She’s pretty cutting edge, considering he only started publishing around about 1812 and I don’t think we're many years beyond that at this point) and Dryden. Feels like she’s kind of moving between some extremes there, but also: she thought Dryden was too whimsical? Did she only read his satires or something? A lot of his work was history and fact-based, no? Seems like it should be right up her alley. This kind of feels like someone just Googled 'poetry before 1820' and grabbed a couple of familiar names.
No, no, Mary will have no poetry, and she dismisses poems as ‘just words’, like her fact-filled books aren’t ‘just words’ too.
Tom, fabulously, asks what, exactly, she was expecting. Seriously, Mary. Pictures? Hieroglyphics?
Mary dismisses poems as ‘just words’ and Tom asks what she was expecting. Seriously, Mary. Pictures? Hieroglyphics?
He asks what she likes to read and she tells him she’s all non-fiction all the time. Look, we all have our preferences, but that’s not great, Mary. Try other genres! It will open your mind!
He asks what she reads for pleasure, which is a bit judgy of him. Some people find pleasure in non-fiction, Tom, just as some people find pleasure in poetry. Ask me how I know!
He asks if there really isn’t anything she likes about poetry and she responds that she likes that some poems are short. He finds that amusing, and she’s confused by his amusement. So am I, that was kind of a bitchy answer. He decides he’s going to win Mary over to Team Poetry.
Mary gives Lyrical Ballads a go but pretty quickly gets fed up with it. I’m going to assume she started with The Tables Turned, which she would have hated from line 1.
Party girl
The next day, Mary gets ready for the party. Mrs G tells her she looks lovely, but you guys, her dress is HIDEOUS. The crimson colour and the acid-green ruched trim make her look like a tacky Christmas ornament, and it’s not even well made. The neckline looks uneven (and so does the trim on it) and there’s a weird diagonal crease across the bust, like it doesn’t fit her properly. The style, with these little cap sleeves over full-length sleeves, doesn’t look at all right for an evening dress of the period. The trim criss-crosses at her wrists and looks awkward and heavy. It’s BAD.
Mrs G seems sincere, though, so I guess in-universe she’s meant to be pulling it off.
At the party, she meets Anne Baxter, a lovely young woman with a highly improbable lace insert on the dipped back of her own (much better constructed, much more period-appropriate) dress. What an odd Bridgerton-esque design choice there.
Miss Baxter likes Mary immediately, because Mary babbles about a friend of her mother’s who died from eating almonds, and succeeds in scaring off some almond-scoffing middle-aged man who was boring Anne. Tell him about smallpox next, Mary! Lord, this girl. But Miss Baxter thinks that was fantastic and admits to feeling socially awkward at these things, so now they can be besties. She toys with the nuts, which I guess is meant to underline her social awkwardness. At no point will she actually seem socially awkward or uncomfortable the way socially awkward people really are (ask me how I know!)
She also compliments Mary’s dress, so we’re just going to have to go with this: Mary’s dress is great. It’s GREAT, you guys. Super flattering. Striking. (I mean, I’m struck, don’t get me wrong.)
Miss Baxter offers to show Mary around London, if she’s interested. Besties!
Dancing begins. It’s not an Austen-esque story without dancing, right? No, it is not. Mary’s having a blast, while MayVO marvels at the fact that, though she never liked change, she’s enjoying herself. You know, in case you couldn’t tell by the fact that she’s laughing and looking utterly transported with joy here. I wonder if the writers thought they were going to end up with an actress who couldn’t express emotions or something, because I just don’t see what this voiceover is adding at all.
Miss Baxter tells Mary she wants to introduce her to a gentlemen with whom Anne has ‘something of an understanding.’ And then she introduces… Tom. Of course she does! So, I guess she’s the Lucy Steele and he’s the Edward Ferrars here?
Shoutout to Mary’s poker face. She betrays nothing but infinite joy at their ‘understanding’.
After Mr G drags Tom away, Anne tells Mary that they met three years ago and now hope to be married by next year.
MayVO finally has a reasonable use, noting that it’s not exactly surprising that someone like Tom would have secured a match, but it’s ok, totally, definitely ok, because Mary’s made friends, and I’m willing to bet these are the first she’s actually made. I mean, her sisters all paired off with each other and left her the odd one out, and Charlotte was more Lizzy’s friend (and also a fair bit older than Mary—nine years, at least, because Charlotte’s 27 in Pride and Prejudice and Lizzy’s 20. So that makes Mary 19 at the oldest, probably more like 18.
Mary continues to have a blast at the party, and it warms my heart, it really does. Ella Bruccoleri has such a wonderful, open face and expresses joy so well.
Comments