The Other Bennet Sister

by Janice Hadlow

  Immediately, Miss Bingley was on her feet, striding forward to reach the piano. Soon the room rang once again with her playing, as polished and as glittering as the lady herself. Mr. Bennet led Mary back to her seat. She sat down heavily. She could not meet his eye. He stood beside her for a minute or so, but when it was clear she did not intend to speak, he sighed and walked briskly away. Her face burned with shame. Everyone had seen. Her mother, Kitty, and Lydia. The horrible Bingley sisters. And of course, Mr. Collins. They had all watched as she had been so brutally and so publicly shamed. They had all seen. When, a little while later, Elizabeth arrived and sat next to her, Mary did not acknowledge her presence.

  “Come, Mary, don’t be angry. You cannot expect to be the only one to play tonight.”

  Her voice was consoling, and she reached for her hand; but Mary, furious now, shook her off.

  “This was your doing! You made our father stop me!”

  Now it was Elizabeth’s turn to look away. When she finally met Mary’s angry, wounded stare, it was plain she had decided to admit the truth of the accusation. She had the good grace to look a little abashed as she conceded Mary was right.

  “I am sorry it was done so bluntly. Our father might have acted with more tact.”

  She put out her hand again.

  “It was for your own good. I did not want to see you mocked. It really wasn’t my intention to hurt you.”

  Overwhelmed with indignation, Mary threw her music off her lap. The pages floated slowly to the floor and landed at her feet.

  “How could I not be hurt? Everyone saw. Everyone. And don’t you dare tell yourself you did it for me. That’s a lie. You did it for yourself—to spare you embarrassment in front of people you want to impress.” Tears began to prick her eyes. “I did not think you could be so cruel, Lizzy.”

  Elizabeth sat very still; for once, it seemed she had nothing to say. Then Charlotte arrived and placed a comforting arm round Mary’s shoulders, urging her not to cry and offering her a handkerchief to wipe her face.

  “Let us go and take a breath of air,” she said softly, “just the two of us.”

  Elizabeth did not attempt to stop them or accompany them but remained where she was. No-one spoke to Mary or Charlotte as they made their way through the crowd. As they reached the door, they passed Mr. Collins, talking at the top of his voice to anyone who would listen. If he had been so fortunate as to be able to sing, he assured his audience, he would have had great pleasure in obliging the company with an air. “For music is a very innocent diversion, perfectly compatible with the profession of a clergyman.” He was in excellent spirits and paid no attention at all as Mary passed him, leaning on Charlotte’s arm. His indifference was for Mary the final blow. She supposed it was a proper reward for her presumption. She did not know why she had allowed herself to imagine she was worthy of any man’s attention, that there was anything she could do to please. Well, she had been properly punished for her foolishness, slighted and humiliated by those who were supposed to love her. And despite all she had endured, she loomed no larger in Mr. Collins’s thoughts now than when he had first arrived at Longbourn.

  When they reached the garden terrace, Charlotte sat Mary down and spoke to her with the firm kindness with which one might address an unhappy child, urging her to consider that few people but herself would have noticed what happened, and none would have thought Mr. Bennet’s intervention arose from anything but fatherly concern that she should not overexert herself. As for Lizzy, it was impossible she had meant Mary any real harm. They had both noticed her agitation earlier in the evening; she was not herself and had acted in the heat of the moment.

  But Mary was not to be consoled.

  “I think you know that isn’t true,” she replied. “She felt I had shamed her, and that if I went on, I should do so even more. That was her only consideration.”

  She breathed in more deeply, trying to control her agitation. “She thought only of herself. I have always loved her the best of my sisters. I knew she didn’t care for me as she used to—but until tonight I never realised she was so bitterly ashamed of me.”

  Charlotte squeezed her arm.

  “She was ashamed of everyone tonight, and if I know her at all, which I believe I do, she will now be more than a little ashamed of herself as well. Don’t take things too much to heart. You look a little calmer now. Shall we go back in and see whether Lydia and Kitty have left us any ices?”

  Mary wiped her eyes one last time, and they drifted back into the house. But although persuaded to go back inside, she refused to return to her old place near her mother. She could not bear the prospect of Mrs. Bennet’s curiosity, and instead retreated to a chair at the very back of the room, where there was no danger of her being noticed by anyone. At first, Charlotte stayed loyally by her side; but eventually, she agreed to rejoin the party, promising she would return regularly to see how Mary did. Once alone, it was a little easier for Mary to compose herself and gradually, she grew calmer. To keep her thoughts from returning to the moment of her humiliation, she forced herself to survey the company from her seat in the shadows. If she could not enjoy the ball herself, she might at least observe what others were doing. She began to find this strangely comforting. It soothed her mind to fancy herself above and beyond the emotions that governed everyone else at Netherfield. In this detached mood, she watched as Jane danced again and again with Mr. Bingley, her eyes cast modestly away from his admiring smiles. She stared at Miss Bingley, standing as close as she dared to Mr. Darcy, her sharp features consumed with longing when she thought he could not see. So that was how it was? She smiled bitterly and turned away. Elsewhere amongst the dancers, she could just make out Lydia and Kitty in the midst of the line, their dresses pale against their partners’ brilliant uniforms, Lydia’s face ecstatic as she whirled around.

  Emboldened by the sensation that she was not really there at all, Mary rose from her seat and walked a little further around the dark hinterland of the room. From there, she saw her mother, talking, talking, talking, holding forth to Lady Lucas, whilst her friend, head bowed, listened obediently. She caught sight of Mr. Collins, bobbing hopelessly around Elizabeth, his persistence defeating all her attempts to shake him off. Only when Charlotte appeared at her side did Lizzy finally escape. Mary’s heart softened as she watched Charlotte bear Mr. Collins away, selflessly conducting him towards supper, chatting as she went. There was nothing Charlotte would not do to help her friends, even when, like Lizzy, they did not really deserve such consideration.

  When she was satisfied there was no more to see, Mary returned slowly to her chair. There she was surprised to find a small glass of strawberries placed on it, a silver spoon balanced on the rim. Puzzled, she looked about to see who might have left it there, suspecting it must have been Charlotte; but instead, it was Mr. Bennet’s broad back that she glimpsed, hurrying away into the crowd. She picked up the glass and turned it round in her hand. She understood this was her father’s way of making amends, the closest he would come to an acknowledgement that he had hurt her.

  She knew he would never willingly speak to her of what he had done. But if she had pressed him to tell her why he had left the strawberries without staying to present them himself, she could easily imagine his answer. It has all the virtues of an apology with none of the embarrassment of an explanation.

  Despite herself, she almost smiled. He would never feel for her what he did for Lizzy; but he had thought about her enough to bring her some strawberries. He knew he had hurt her and was sorry. She supposed that was something. She pulled the glass towards her and plucked one out, biting into it as tears again came into her eyes.

  Soon after, the ball drew to a close. It was late, past two o’clock, when the Bennets stood in the hall, waiting for their carriage. Once they were settled inside, even Lydia’s chatter soon subsided, her head leaning on Kitty’s shoulder as she fell asleep. Everyone was silent, some from happiness, some from exhaustion, others from a conscious
ness that the evening had not turned out as they had hoped. Only Mr. Collins kept up a steady stream of conversation all the way back to Longbourn, quite untroubled by the fact that he received no reply.

  Chapter 28

  Mary stayed late in bed the following morning. She did not feel ready to join the others. She knew the conversation would be all about the ball and was certain her humiliation at the piano would be too compelling a subject to be tactfully ignored. She could imagine only too well the opportunities that topic would offer Lydia to tease her and resolved to stay where she was until breakfast was over. Mrs. Hill brought her a dish of tea and offered to comb out her hair, but she would not be persuaded to leave her room.

  So it was that she missed the dramatic events that unfolded after the table was cleared. Even upstairs, she was aware something had happened. She heard the hurry of footsteps in the hall and her mother’s voice raised in angry exclamation; but these were not unusual occurrences, and it was only when Kitty and Lydia burst into her room that she understood what had caused them.

  “Mary, you must get dressed and come downstairs,” exclaimed Lydia. “There’s been such an upset, you won’t believe it!”

  “You can’t imagine what’s happened!” cried Kitty. “You’ll never guess in a million years!”

  Mary sighed. “That’s probably true. But I really don’t care.”

  “Oh, I think you will,” said Lydia. “Even you will enjoy this.”

  “Are you going to tell me or not?”

  “Mr. Collins has made Lizzy an offer!” exclaimed Kitty, “and she refused him!”

  Mary sat up, her heart beating fast. She was not suprised Mr. Collins had declared himself; she had always thought he would do so. But she had not expected him to move so quickly.

  “Mama is furious,” said Lydia, throwing herself down on Mary’s bed, “and says Lizzy will have him, if she has anything to do with it. She carried her off to Papa, so that he could make her see sense. But he told Lizzy her choice was a sad one, for her mother would never see her again if she refused to marry Mr. Collins, and he would never see her again if she did!”

  Kitty clapped her hands. “Isn’t it killing?”

  “And now everyone is cross.” Lydia leapt off the bed and seated herself at Mary’s dressing table, turning her face from one direction to another, entirely pleased with what she saw. “Mr. Collins has stormed off. Papa has shut himself in the library. Lizzy won’t say anything at all, whilst Mama is beside herself, and says no-one takes any account of her feelings.”

  “It’s quite the best thing that’s happened this age,” said Kitty, with deep satisfaction. “What do you think, Mary?”

  Mary lay back in bed. It was a good question, and one to which she did not have a ready answer. Her sisters ignored her silence for a while, chattering away between themselves about what might happen next. But when they saw that Mary did not find the business as amusing as they did, they went away and left her alone. She got up and began to brush her hair. She did not pose before the mirror as Lydia had done, but looked directly into her reflection, as if asking herself what she should do now.

  She washed quickly. Mrs. Hill had brought up the water some time ago, and now it was barely warm; but she did not notice. She laid out a dress on her bed, and sat down beside it blankly, as if she had forgotten what it was there for. Her mind was elsewhere. She had never imagined she would be the first sister to whom Mr. Collins proposed; but she had persuaded herself she might merit consideration as his second choice. If her efforts had succeeded, this should have been her moment. Once he had been refused by a woman who would never accept him, he might have been ready to listen to one prepared to say yes. It was now, when he was still smarting from Lizzy’s rejection, that Mary had hoped to turn his thoughts to her, soothing his wounded pride and reminding him of the interests they shared, showing by her every word and gesture that she was the only Bennet sister he should seriously think of as his wife.

  But as she pulled her dress over her head, she realised none of these things would happen now. She would always be invisible to him. Even the public humiliation she had suffered at the piano had not been enough to capture his attention. She supposed she should be grateful her shame had passed him by—but, oh, to be ignored and dismissed by a man like Mr. Collins! That was a harsh corrective to any ideas she might cherish about her own worth. As she struggled to tie her sash, she told herself she really had no right to be bitter. Her pursuit of him had been prompted solely by rational considerations; she could not claim her heart had been broken. And yet something within her cried out that it was not fair. She was the only one who had tried to see the good in him, who thought he had the potential to become a happier, better man, but it had not been enough to win him. Nobody wanted her, it seemed, not even a man she did not love.

  When finally she made her way down to the drawing room, the first wave of the storm had passed; but anger and resentment hung heavy in the air. Mrs. Bennet lay on the sofa, lamenting her woes to anyone who would listen. Lizzy stared out of the bay window that faced onto the orchard, her expression set and determined, refusing to respond to her mother’s complaints. Mary did not know whom to approach, and stood uncertainly in the middle of the drawing room, afraid to speak lest she draw their frustration upon herself.

  She could not have been more relieved when she heard the bell and Charlotte Lucas was announced. Charlotte had been invited to spend the day at Longbourn, but in the drama of that morning’s events, this had been quite forgotten. Before she had taken off her hat and coat, Lydia and Kitty had gleefully imparted to her every detail of what had occurred, but to their disappointment, Charlotte had betrayed neither shock nor surprise. Instead, she had acted with characteristic calm self-command. Once in the drawing room, she had laid a soothing arm on Lizzy’s tense and angry shoulders; and had then approached the prone Mrs. Bennet, asking in a low concerned voice if there was anything she could do to assist her.

  “It is kind of you to think of me, my dear Miss Lucas, for no-one is on my side, nobody takes my part.”

  Charlotte offered to call for tea, a glass of water, perhaps; but Mrs. Bennet brushed away her suggestions.

  “If you really wish to help me, you would talk some sense into your friend over there, insist she run after Mr. Collins as quickly as she can and tell him, with all the charm she can muster, that she has changed her mind.”

  Charlotte looked towards Lizzy, who firmly shook her head, which provoked her mother to berate her even more.

  “I tell you what, Miss Lizzy, if you take it into your head to go on refusing every offer of marriage, you will never get a husband at all—and I am sure I don’t know who is to maintain you when your father is gone—I shall not be able to keep you.”

  Mrs. Bennet continued in this vein for some time, dwelling at length on Lizzy’s inability to see a good thing when it was staring her in the face, until she was interrupted by the arrival of the gentleman himself. Mr. Collins had returned from his exile in the garden and stood at the drawing room door, the very picture of injured dignity, declaring that he should like to speak to Mrs. Bennet, if it was at all convenient. Mrs. Bennet roused herself reluctantly from her couch, declaring she was at his disposal for anything he wished to ask of her.

  Elizabeth immediately left her seat at the window and sailed past Mr. Collins without a word. Mary and Kitty dutifully followed her; but once she was on the other side of the drawing room door, Mary was surprised to find that both Charlotte and Lydia were still within. She could only suppose they had contrived to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible and, for that reason, had not been ejected. It did not surprise her that Lydia should behave in such a manner; but that Charlotte should do so was most unexpected.

  It was not long before Mr. Collins emerged, with the self-conscious air of a man who has just delivered himself of a weighty decision. He nodded towards his waiting cousins with a superior smile, and walked swiftly away. Once he had disappeared, they crowde
d into the room, eager to find out what had been said.

  Mrs. Bennet had returned to her sofa, her eyes closed, her handkerchief placed over her face.

  “I am not equal to describing what has befallen us,” she announced in a low, disappointed moan. “Go away, all of you, and leave me alone. Charlotte and Lydia can tell you what he said.”

  Once the door had been closed on Mrs. Bennet’s grief, Charlotte leant heavily against it. Mary noticed that even she was now a little excited, her eyes brighter than usual.

  “He has ‘withdrawn his pretensions to Lizzy’s favour,’” she declared.

  “Yes,” cried Lydia. “He’s pulled out! You’ve lost your chance, Lizzy! It’s all over for you!”

  “His manner was more resentful than his words,” Charlotte continued. “But he says he is resigned, and I think he means it. You need not fear he will renew his pursuit.”

  Elizabeth fanned her face with an exaggerated gesture of relief.

  “I’m very glad to hear it. I don’t think I could have borne much more of his good opinion.”

  “But some other poor girl may not be so lucky,” added Lydia, “for he told Mama he still hopes to find himself ‘an amiable companion.’ I very much hope it won’t be me.”

  “You are rather young for that,” said Charlotte. “I think you are safe enough. But it is clear he does still hope to discover some fortunate woman to preside over his parsonage.”

  “Well, whoever she is, she must form her own conclusions as to the desirability of an offer from Mr. Collins,” Lizzy said with a laugh, her good humour quite restored. “I am only relieved to be free of him myself!”

  With that, she took Charlotte’s arm, and they walked into the garden to continue their conversation in the open air. With nowhere else to go, Mary made her way to the library, but once there, found she could not settle to her work. She wandered to the window, where she watched Elizabeth and Charlotte walking on the grass. Elizabeth was chatting to her friend with all the ease in the world. It was as if the painful events of last night had not taken place. She had said nothing to Mary about their bitter exchange. But then, thought Mary, as this morning demonstrated, Lizzy’s life was so full of incident that perhaps she had already forgotten it. Mary’s own humiliation must seem a small thing, easily blotted from Lizzy’s mind when she had so many more extraordinary matters to think about.