The Other Bennet Sister

by Janice Hadlow

  “They are painted to designs made by Mr. Hogarth,” Mr. Gardiner observed, leaning to look more closely at the design behind them. “This one is The Milkmaid’s Garland, I believe. It must be older than me, and has suffered from the ravages of time and stupidity—people will touch them, often with greasy fingers—but you must admit they are still very fine.”

  Mr. Gardiner had prudently tipped the head waiter handsomely enough to ensure their supper should not fall victim to the Gardens’ famously meagre way with portions; and, as a result, the plates of ham served to them were thick and juicy, their chickens large and golden, and the blackcurrant tart that followed handsomely topped with cream. In short, thanks to Mr. Gardiner’s carefully bestowed largesse, their supper was everything they could have wished it to be; and everyone was full and happy as the plates were cleared away. Darkness had fallen properly now, and Mr. Gardiner took out his watch and turned to his wife.

  “If I’m not mistaken, we are about to witness a very remarkable event.”

  A clock struck nine, a loud whistle blew—and at that precise moment, every light in the Gardens was instantly illuminated. Small tapers hanging in the trees, large lamps by the paths, each one lit up at the exact same moment. Gasps of astonishment, and a ripple of applause greeted the success of the undertaking, which impressed even the most sophisticated visitors.

  “They do it every night,” said Mr. Gardiner, highly satisfied at seeing a difficult thing well done. “Apparently, it has never been known to fail.”

  Mr. Hayward was explaining to Mary how the trick was achieved—by means of cotton wool fuses and very accurate time-keeping. She was listening with the greatest attention, when, looking up to sip her coffee, she noticed a young man hurrying eagerly towards their table. When he reached them, he called out to Mr. Hayward with friendly familiarity.

  “Tom, I thought it was you. I spotted you from afar—have been calling your name this ten minutes or so—I was obliged to run away from my companions to seek you out.”

  Mr. Hayward rose, smiled in recognition, and shook the hand of the young man, who looked expectantly at the party around the table.

  “May I introduce you all to my friend Mr. William Ryder? We studied the law together some years ago. Mr. Ryder, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, various small Gardiners, and Miss Bennet.”

  As Mr. Hayward named everyone at the table, Mr. Ryder bowed to each of them, even the children, which made them giggle behind their hands. At this, he bowed to them once more, accompanying his flourish with an exaggerated wink, which, as he had intended, provoked even more delighted laughter. Unperturbed, he turned to the rest of the table, addressing them with the greatest good humour.

  “I beg your pardon for interrupting you. I hope you will forgive me for trespassing on your privacy, but your little circle looked so inviting, I could not resist approaching you.”

  “We are always glad to meet a friend of Mr. Hayward’s,” replied Mr. Gardiner. “Will you join us for some wine? We shan’t be staying a great deal longer. The lights have been lit which means it is best for families to take their leave quite soon. But we have time to offer you a glass, if you wish it?”

  Mr. Ryder, it appeared, did wish it; and in a few moments, he was seated amongst them, a rapidly emptying glass before him, chatting in the liveliest manner. In the course of a quarter of an hour, his hosts learnt he had been in the country for the last few months, that he usually lived in Brook Street—here Mary could not help looking towards Mr. Hayward, who inclined his head gravely at this news—and that he was a great frequenter of the Gardens, visiting them whenever he could. His conversation, though it did not allow much opportunity for others to interrupt its flow, had that transparent willingness to be pleased that rarely fails to recommend itself to its listeners; and it did not take long before Mr. Ryder had secured an invitation to take tea at Gracechurch Street the following week. As he was preparing to take his leave, his name was called from a little way across the grass.

  Mary looked up—she knew that voice. There on the path, staring towards the Gardiners’ box with a look of barely concealed indignation, stood Caroline Bingley. As their eyes met, Miss Bingley allowed herself a chilly nod of recognition. Beside her stood her sister, Mrs. Hurst, and her sister’s husband, neither looking pleased.

  “Ah, I see I am summoned,” murmured Mr. Ryder.

  He made his goodbyes and was quickly borne off by his friends, Miss Bingley giving a last toss of her head which left no doubt of her sentiments at having been deserted in such a way. Her gesture was no doubt intended to leave everyone at the table feeling a little affronted, but Mary could not help believing it had been particularly directed at her.

  “How extraordinary to see Miss Bingley again,” Mrs. Gardiner remarked as they left their box. “It was not very well bred in her to be so standoffish, especially when you consider she has been entertained in our house. But I am more affronted than surprised.”

  Mrs. Gardiner looked as if she might have enlarged on this theme, but it was plain that Mr. Gardiner had on many previous occasions been compelled to listen to recitations of Miss Bingley’s faults; and for all the love he bore his wife, he was not eager to hear it again.

  “Your friend is certainly a prodigious talker,” he said hastily to Mr. Hayward, in an attempt to change the subject. “I imagine that must be an asset to him in his profession?”

  “It might have been, if he had persevered with it,” replied Mr. Hayward. “But he did not finish his studies. I don’t think Ryder was born to be a lawyer.”

  “So how does he support himself?” asked Mrs. Gardiner.

  “He has some money of his own. And he’s related to a great lady in Kent, who makes him an allowance that enables him to live as he wishes.”

  “I wonder, sir,” asked Mary, suddenly seeing in her mind the pieces of a jigsaw coming together, “is Mr. Ryder’s benefactress by any chance Lady Catherine de Bourgh? My sister Elizabeth is related to her by marriage, and she is well known to other friends of mine. I wonder if that is how Mr. Ryder came to know Miss Bingley. If he is a favourite of Lady Catherine’s, they might have met at family gatherings in Derbyshire.”

  “That could perhaps be the lady’s name,” replied Mr. Hayward, “although I cannot quite recollect it.”

  Mary was about to ask more, when it occurred to her that even as a subject of conversation, she had no desire to introduce Lady Catherine’s baleful presence into their happy circle.

  Now it was dark, and as Mr. Gardiner had suggested, the Gardens had begun to take on a character not at all suited to the presence of families. There were more young men about than Mary had noticed before, and the smart, bold-eyed ladies, whose occupation she now fully understood, paraded with unmistakeable purpose around the colonnades. It was time for the Gardiners’ party to take their leave; and as they traced their way back to their carriage, through the winding paths, illuminated with thousands of tiny candles, Mary found herself again walking alongside Mr. Hayward. As they were alone, she felt herself able to indulge her curiosity about his friendship with Mr. Ryder.

  “If you and Mr. Ryder no longer share a common interest in the law, may I ask what continues to draw you together as friends?”

  Mr. Hayward shot her a quizzical look.

  “You do ask the most extraordinary questions!”

  “You told me earlier I displayed an interest in human nature, so here I am, seeking to extend my knowledge.”

  He turned away to hide a smile.

  “I’m not sure I shall tell you. I think you will laugh.”

  “I’m sure I shall not.”

  “Well, then—the truth is, it was poetry which brought us together. We read it tirelessly when we were students—anything to distract ourselves from the tedious burden of torts and case law.”

  “It was my passion, I believe, that drew him to it,” continued Mr. Hayward. “I cared for poetry with an even greater intensity then than I do now, if you can imagine such a th
ing. But I sometimes wonder if I did Ryder much service in encouraging him to share my dedication. I am not persuaded it was entirely good for him.”

  Mary drew her coat around her. The night was growing damp. She picked her way carefully along the path, avoiding the wet grass.

  “I’m not sure I understand. Why should it have harmed Mr. Ryder to be introduced to something he came to love?”

  “For a nature like mine, which is, I suppose, essentially settled and steady, poetry was like a great, noisy thunderbolt,” replied Mr. Hayward. “It woke me up, alerted me to feelings I did not know I had, or certainly had not the words to describe. I don’t doubt I’m better for what it has taught me. I’d be a far duller creature without it.”

  You could never be dull, thought Mary fondly; I have never met anyone who less merited that description.

  “But I think poetry had a very different impact upon Will,” Mr. Hayward continued. “He was already of a lively and volatile disposition. He needed no further encouragement to give way to his feelings. He has never put a check upon himself, never stood back and tried to think rationally about what he wants. His heart has always ruled his head. I fear the poetry we read together only encouraged this tendency, with results that have not been wholly beneficial to him.”

  They walked a few more paces in silence before Mary spoke.

  “That seems a heavy responsibility to lay solely at the feet of poetry. Perhaps if Mr. Ryder had been obliged to follow an occupation, had been compelled to apply himself to some useful purpose, he would have learnt different habits.”

  “I have often thought so,” agreed Mr. Hayward. “The comfortable situation he enjoys has not perhaps been the best friend to him. The world has largely delivered to him what he wants, with very little effort required on his part to achieve it. He is used to obtaining what he wants merely by asking for it—although I must admit, the asking is always done in the most charming way imaginable, so that it seems a pleasure to indulge him if you can.”

  They were nearing the limits of the Gardens now, and Mary could see in the darkness a queue of visitors making their way through the gate into the streets beyond, where lines of carriages stood waiting. Suddenly, Mr. Hayward stopped and stood still.

  “I confess I am ashamed to hear myself talking about a friend in such an unmanly, ungenerous way. I do not know what can have provoked me to say such things. In my defence, I can only say that I speak to you with a freedom I would not extend to anyone else. It is very easy—perhaps too easy—to tell you what is in my heart. I hope you will not blame me for it.”

  “I could never do that, Mr. Hayward.”

  “And I am giving you a very partial picture of Ryder. His impulses are generous and there is no malice in him.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” she replied, thinking nothing at all of Mr. Ryder and only of his friend. As they stood amongst the shadows of the darkening trees, she longed to reach out and take his hand. For a heartbeat, she thought he was about to do what she could not—but at that moment, her aunt came hurrying back towards them, declaring that Mr. Gardiner had found their carriage, and would Mr. Hayward like a ride back across the river?

  Chapter 60

  A few days later, Mr. Ryder presented himself at Gracechurch Street to drink his promised cup of tea. Mary had not imagined that he would act upon his invitation so promptly; but here he was, sitting on Mrs. Gardiner’s sofa, sipping her best China tea. He was as tall as Mr. Hayward, but fair-haired where his friend was dark, with a bright-eyed, agile face, and an air of expansive good nature that made him somehow appear to take up a great deal of space in the smartly decorated room. He was completely at his ease, complimenting Mrs. Gardiner on the excellence of her taste, and the advantages of a window looking straight onto the street, where every variety of human experience was to be seen passing by.

  “Not quite every variety, I hope. This is one of the better parts of the City.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but who can say what range of emotions may be concealed behind the severe expressions of even our most respectable citizens? The shopkeeper may feel as deeply as the poet, even if his features do not reveal it.”

  Mrs. Gardiner agreed a little reluctantly this might indeed be so and promised to attend more closely to the physiognomies of her neighbours in future. Mary poured out more tea.

  “Mr. Hayward tells me that you share his passion for poetry, sir?”

  “Yes, we learnt to love it together whilst we pored over our law books. I sometimes think it was the only thing that prevented me doing away with myself!”

  “Really, Mr. Ryder!” exclaimed Mrs. Gardiner.

  “Well, perhaps I exaggerate a little.”

  “Did you find the law so very uncongenial?” asked Mary.

  “I’m afraid so. A temperament such as mine isn’t suited to the tedium of it.”

  “I understand your circumstances do not require you to practise some profession,” said Mrs. Gardiner.

  “I’m very glad to say they do not. I am lucky enough to be master of my own time; and when I see how hard Tom works, I fully appreciate my good fortune. Now, Miss Bennet, I think it is time for me to discover something about you. Hayward says you are a great reader of serious books. Please tell me which are your favourites and why.”

  He put down his cup, folded his arms, and waited. Mary had not expected to be interrogated and grew a little flustered under his scrutiny.

  “As to my favourites—well, it is hard to say—I shall always hold Mrs. Macaulay in high esteem. Mr. Hume too, of course. The histories and some of the philosophical works. And I have just begun upon something new, Mr. Godwin’s Political Justice. I thought it would be good to read a work written so recently, that speaks to our times.”

  “Are you are a radical, then, Miss Bennet? That is a most dangerous and revolutionary book, I believe.”

  Mary turned away, refusing to rise to his teasing manner, and sought diversion amongst the tea things.

  “That is its reputation, but it is in fact a very sober, thoughtful work,” she said, pouring hot water into the teapot. “It contains some very interesting ideas about how relations between men and women might be improved, if a more rational scheme of behaviour was adopted by society in general.”

  Mr. Ryder’s air of playful condescension had irked her; but she hoped she had not sounded too pompous in reply. Mr. Ryder, however, did not seem in the least put out.

  “I’m afraid Mr. Godwin’s book is far too long for me,” he replied, holding out his cup for more tea. “I only do well with short works. And I have very little time for philosophies based purely on reason, especially when they attempt to reform relations between the sexes. In affairs between men and women, the only thing that should guide us is the heart.”

  “I believe that makes you as great an enemy to polite society as Mr. Godwin,” declared Mrs. Gardiner. “If there are to be no rules except what we feel at the time, the result will be nothing but anarchy.”

  “Yes, that is a point of view,” said Mr. Ryder genially, nevertheless implying it was not one he shared himself. “But there are many others who would welcome such a change—who would embrace it, as ushering in a long-overdue freedom. I am myself in favour of sweeping away the tired old rules that constrain the natural expressions of our souls—and of replacing them with liberty to follow one’s inclinations, as and when one wishes.”

  “I think you will find, Mr. Ryder,” interrupted Mrs. Gardiner, “that the liberty in such a situation tends to be enjoyed by the man, whilst the consequences are borne—quite literally, in many cases—by the woman. Now, unless we change the subject, I shall have to declare my modesty affronted and ring the bell. Let us talk of something else.”

  With an amused glance at Mary, which she once again refused to return, Mr. Ryder readily agreed, apologising if he had offended, and declaring himself happy to speak of something else. Mary could not but admire the charm with which he managed the transition—for soon they were safely immersed
in conversations of a kind far more proper for the tea table. From these, Mary and her aunt learnt that Mr. Ryder was indeed a connection of Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s, and that it was at Rosings, her house in Kent, that he had first become acquainted with Miss Bingley. He understood now that she and Miss Bennet were related by marriage. Mary did not like to imagine the relish with which she was sure Caroline Bingley had recounted to him the details of the less creditable events in the Bennet family’s recent history. But then, she told herself, if Mr. Ryder was such an advocate for following one’s passions, perhaps Lydia’s elopement would not strike him as so very wrong?

  The visit went on agreeably enough to the moment when it was appropriate for Mr. Ryder to take his leave; he understood perfectly when this moment was reached, and departed just before it would have been necessary to hint to him that it was time to go. Mrs. Gardiner lay back in her chair and threw her feet onto the sofa opposite her, uttering a great sigh of relief.

  “Heaven preserve me from wild young men with dangerous ideas!”

  “Do you really think him wild or dangerous?” asked Mary. “I agree his ideas about men and women were somewhat unorthodox, but beyond that, he did not seem disagreeable. And Mr. Hayward says he has a good heart.”

  “His being agreeable and his having a good heart, which I do not deny he may possess, makes him more, not less, of a risk to impressionable young women. And of course, he is very good-looking, if you don’t mind a broader type of build.”

  “I cannot say I took much notice of his looks.”

  “If that is so, then I’m glad to hear it. But I think he noticed yours.”

  Mary put down her cup, genuinely surprised.

  “My looks? What do you mean? There is never anything to notice about me.”

  “If that was once the case, it is not so now. You are nicely turned out, all spick and span, and you smile a great deal more than you used to. Some might say there is a positive bloom about you.”