So one morning, when her aunt approached her as she sat at the piano with her niece, ready to begin their practice, the first thing Mary noticed was the envelope she held in her hand.
“I have some most unexpected news,” announced Mrs. Gardiner. “We are to have a visitor, it seems. Your mother is coming, Mary. She expects to arrive next week.”
Chapter 86
Mrs. Bennet’s trip to London was not, as she explained at length to anyone unwise enough to ask about it, undertaken in pursuit of pleasure. Left to herself, she should not have risked it, for the journey was tedious and the inns unsatisfactory. But her doctor insisted upon it.
“Dr. Gower would hear no contradiction. ‘Your well-being depends upon it, ma’am.’ That was what he said—and the orders of a medical man are never to be ignored, so here I am.”
“No, indeed,” replied Mrs. Gardiner, as she, Mary, and Mrs. Bennet sat in a rather formal circle, drinking their morning coffee. “You were very wise to come. And who is it you are to see?”
“His name is Dr. Simmons,” said Mrs. Bennet respectfully, “and he takes a particular interest in ladies who suffer with their nerves. He charges a guinea a visit, but what is money where one’s health is concerned?”
She is still very handsome for her age, thought Mary, covertly watching her mother from under lowered eyes, and as proud of her appearance as ever. As if to confirm the truth of Mary’s observation, Mrs. Bennet glanced quickly at her reflection in one of her sister-in-law’s pier glasses, made a minute adjustment to her hair, and another to her cap, before turning away with the satisfaction of having found everything as much to her liking as usual.
“You look very well, Mama,” ventured Mary. “Have your nerves been troubling you? I should not have guessed it from your appearance.”
“I would not expect you to understand. You have no notion of what I suffer.”
“And how long will the treatment last?” interrupted Mrs. Gardiner.
“Usually a week is sufficient, although with a particularly difficult case, it may take up to ten days. I only hope Jane can spare me for so long.”
“I’m sure she must have been very reluctant to see you go. Especially in her condition.”
“Oh, she was beside herself. But Mr. Bingley was all consideration, urging me to think of myself. He insisted I was not to hurry back until I had been properly attended to. He has sympathy for my state, even if others do not.”
Mary decided to ignore her mother’s pointed glare and reached out instead for one of the little cakes that sat so invitingly amongst the coffee things. Before she could take one, Mrs. Bennet removed them to the other end of the table.
“I don’t think so, Mary. Sugar is most injurious to complexions such as yours.”
With a sigh, Mary understood that her mother had been provoked by her remark about her nerves; and that she must expect to suffer for it until Mrs. Bennet felt herself revenged. And just as Mary had expected, when Mrs. Gardiner left the room to see to her children, her mother settled down to the pleasure of delivering a few more disobliging observations.
“I cannot say your holiday has been of much benefit to you.” She moved a little nearer, to examine her daughter more closely. “You don’t look anywhere near as well as you did when you set out. You are quite pale. Washed out, even.”
“I’m sorry you think so, Mama.”
“A little rouge might not go amiss. But judging from her own complexion, Mrs. Gardiner has none about her.”
“I do not know, I have not asked her.”
“Well, as everything of hers is always to be preferred by you to anything of mine, I shall not offer you any of my own. Were there any young men to be met with in the Lakes?”
“There were two gentlemen in our party, Mama. As I believe I wrote to tell you.”
“Did you? I cannot recall. But neither of them showed you any particular attention?”
“I did not go to the Lakes in search of a suitor,” replied Mary, as evenly as she could, “but to see for myself the beauties of the landscape. And with that, I was very well satisfied.”
Boldly, she reached across to the plate of cakes and took one; but her defiance was not equal to actually consuming it in the face of her mother’s frank disapproval, and she set it, untasted, on the edge of her coffee cup.
“Were you indeed? Well, I suppose we must hope your luck will change now you are back in town.”
Mrs. Bennet leant over and rang the bell.
“The girl can come up now and do the dusting. This furniture is a disgrace.” She ran her finger across the top of a little side table and looked askance at the results. “I suppose you remember what I told you about your spectacles? Did you wear them at the Lakes? If so, you have only yourself to blame for coming home in the same situation in which you left. But my advice is never heeded.”
* * *
Mrs. Bennet’s visits to Dr. Simmons met all her expectations, as he took a most gratifying interest in her complaints, without prescribing anything unpleasant to cure them. Her only regret was that the consultations were over so quickly. They occupied no more than a few hours every other morning, leaving her with a great deal of time on her hands; which required Mary and Mrs. Gardiner to give up their other occupations to entertain her. With Mrs. Gardiner, Mrs. Bennet found many engaging topics to discuss, from the inadequacy of the children’s breakfasts, to the unaccountable negligence of the head parlour maid; but her conversations with her daughter followed a much narrower path. Her interests remained pretty much what they had always been, and she had nothing to say to Mary on any subject other than her looks and her marriage prospects.
On both these questions, Mary refused to be drawn. She was particularly determined that no mention of Mr. Hayward’s name should reach her mother’s ears. She did not think she could bear the interrogation she knew would follow if any hint of her feelings for him were to escape her. Mary was sure Mrs. Gardiner could be trusted with the secret; her relations with her sister-in-law were not such as encouraged the exchange of private intimacies. If anything, Mary was more afraid of betraying it herself, revealing it by some unguarded expression forced out of her by her mother’s relentless questioning. To avoid such an accident, Mary did all she could to reduce the hours she was obliged to sit with Mrs. Bennet; and in pursuit of fresh air and a little relief from her mother’s presence, she spent more and more time on her walks around the City. As she retraced her old routes, she slowly recovered the enjoyment she had once found in them, and usually came back happier than she had set out; but as she left the house one morning, the weather was against her. The skies were low and grey and threatened rain; and she got only as far as St. Paul’s before the showers began. She took shelter in the great doorway for a while; eventually, she had no choice but to pull up her collar and make her way back to Gracechurch Street.
When she arrived back at the house, she was surprised to hear her mother’s laughter drifting down to the hall from the drawing room. Perhaps the great Dr. Simmons was paying a house call? But when she entered, there was Mrs. Bennet, sitting delightedly on the sofa, gazing with every appearance of approval at the smart, manly figure of Mr. Ryder. Her aunt, from the other side of the room, caught Mary’s eye and made the tiniest shrug; but Mrs. Bennet did not see it. She was far too fascinated by Mr. Ryder to notice anything occurring beyond the space occupied by his captivating person.
“Miss Bennet,” he exclaimed, jumping up to greet her, “I am so glad you have come back. I should have been very sorry to leave without the pleasure of seeing you.”
“I was out walking—” began Mary, before her mother interrupted her.
“Your hair is damp, my dear,” she cried, with a brilliant smile Mary did not recall seeing directed at her before. “I’m sure you will want to attend to it before you join us.”
“May I request that you do not,” said Mr. Ryder eagerly. “It is charming exactly as it is. Very natural and becoming.”
Mrs. Bennet
was somewhat taken aback to hear so unmistakeable a compliment addressed to Mary; but she quickly recovered herself.
“All my girls were brought up to be as natural as possible, sir. I do hate to see anything false in a young woman.”
“I cannot speak to the virtues of your other daughters,” declared Mr. Ryder smoothly, “not having had the pleasure of meeting them; but I can say that with this Miss Bennet, you have succeeded admirably. There is no artifice in her at all.”
He smiled knowingly at Mary, his expression conveying with amusement that he understood the part he was expected to play in the conversation, and would not scruple to indulge himself in doing so.
“I might add,” he continued, “that having been introduced to Mrs. Bennet, it is only too apparent from whom her daughter has inherited her delightful manner.”
“Really, Mr. Ryder!” exclaimed Mrs. Gardiner. “That is a little too much, even for you!”
“I am never afraid to offer praise where praise is due,” he murmured.
Mrs. Bennet, not at all disconcerted, moved a little forward on the sofa.
“I should very much like to hear about your trip to the Lakes, sir. I have always longed to see them, but have not been lucky enough to do so. My desires are not much attended to, but as long as everyone else is happy, I do not mind it.”
Mary touched her hair, feeling the raindrops wet on her hand. Mr. Ryder launched obligingly into a lively account of their trip, occasionally appealing to Mary or Mrs. Gardiner to confirm some detail. He did not, Mary noticed, mention the Scafell climb, for which she was very grateful. She obediently added an aside now and then; but she had no desire to establish in Mrs. Bennet’s mind a picture of herself and Mr. Ryder as inseparable fellow travellers or indeed, good friends. She knew her mother would already be thinking of him as a potential suitor, and she did not wish to offer her any further encouragement.
When Mr. Ryder eventually took his leave, Mrs. Bennet could barely contain her excitement.
“What an extremely interesting young man! Such manners, such presence, such consideration. It is a long time since I have met with anyone quite so charming!”
“Yes, Mama, he can be very agreeable.”
“Agreeable? Is that the best you can say about him? What are his circumstances? Who are his people?”
“His family resides in Kent. I believe he is quite comfortably situated,” replied Mary. “His income is such that he is not to be obliged to follow any profession.”
She did not mention his connection to Lady Catherine. She knew this would only sharpen her mother’s appetite to push her into Mr. Ryder’s arms.
“Then he is a most eligible young man. I assume he has no existing ties? He is not promised elsewhere?”
“I believe not,” admitted Mary, “although another lady has shown herself ready to oblige him, if he could be persuaded to ask her.”
There was a moment’s silence as Mrs. Bennet absorbed the implications of this knowledge.
“I am not sure I quite believe my ears.” She leant forward, fixing her daughter with a disbelieving stare. “Here is a young man with every advantage—rich, obliging, very good-looking—a man who is interested in you—very interested, from what I have just seen. And yet you talk about another woman pursuing him with no more concern than if he had been a pound of butter.”
She sat back in her seat, exasperated by such wilful stupidity.
“What are you thinking of? What can have possessed you to be so foolish?”
“I think of Mr. Ryder as a friend,” replied Mary uncertainly. “A good friend, but no more than that.”
“A single young woman cannot have a man as a friend!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet. “He is either a suitor or he is nothing! And there is no doubt in my mind that, whatever you may say, Mr. Ryder was here very much in the character of a suitor!”
Mary rose up from her chair and walked quickly to the window. She did not want her mother to see how her words had affected her. In her heart, she knew they were true—but she had not wished to acknowledge that fact, even to herself.
“I have not considered him in that light.”
“Then it is time you did, before it is too late.” With this final disbelieving exclamation, Mrs. Bennet turned her infuriated attentions to Mrs. Gardiner.
“I am amazed, sister, amazed that I have been told nothing about this young man. And then, just as I learn of his existence, I discover that there is a rival for his affections—that there is a chance Mary may be cut out!”
“She cannot be ‘cut out’ if she does not wish to marry him,” replied Mrs. Gardiner. “And I have not heard anything from Mary that suggests that is what she wants.”
“Of course it is what she wants, even if she does not know it yet. Marriage is what every woman wants, and, whilst she was in your care, it was your duty to persuade her of that.”
“I am not sure interference on my part would be either helpful or desirable,” retorted Mrs. Gardiner, who had made up her mind not to be provoked and, not without difficulty, continued to keep her temper. “In my experience, these matters are best left to the young people to decide.”
Mrs. Bennet waved a dismissive hand.
“How can they possibly do so, when they are neither old enough nor experienced enough to know their own minds? It is up to us to show them what is for the best, and make them act on it if we can.”
“Then I’m afraid we must disagree,” declared Mrs. Gardiner icily. “Their affections are not to be forced or coerced. They must find their own way. All we can do is prevent the very worst from happening—to keep our daughters away from blackguardly men and instill in them enough sense to resist their blandishments.”
The words elopement and disastrous and Lydia hovered in the air, but Mrs. Gardiner thought better than to utter them; and Mrs. Bennet was too distracted to perceive any personal application in what had been said, which, if she had, would have required her to leave her brother’s house that very evening, if not before.
“You are entirely mistaken,” declared Mrs. Bennet. “The cleverest girl is sometimes utterly blind to where her true interest lies; look at Lizzy, if you like. Having safely married four daughters, I think I may be allowed some experience in these matters.”
Mrs. Gardiner thought it prudent to say no more, but Mrs. Bennet was not to be silenced. “And what have you been doing in all of this to advance your cause? No, miss—don’t speak—I can see—nothing at all!”
She shook her head, unable to believe a daughter of hers could be so indifferent to her own best interests.
“Even you, Mary, must surely see,” her mother continued, “that if Mr. Ryder has made no offer to this other lady—who appears to have a better grasp of her position than you—it must be because he likes you.”
“He may not wish to marry either of us, Mama. Have you thought of that?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mary. A single man in possession of a good fortune must be in search of a wife.”
“As I say, I consider us as friends only. I have no reason to believe he thinks of me in any other way.”
Mary knew this was disingenuous; but her mother’s eagerness frightened her.
“Nonsense,” retorted Mrs. Bennet. “He looks at you with real admiration. I suppose you are not used to it, and don’t recognise it when you see it, but I assure you, it is so.” She turned towards Mrs. Gardiner. “Even you must agree with me on this point. It is impossible to deny he admires her, is it not, sister?”
Mary could see her aunt had no wish to encourage Mrs. Bennet, but could not bring herself to lie.
“Yes, Mr. Ryder is very fond of Mary. He sees qualities in her that others have not appreciated—even those closest to her—and that is greatly to his credit.”
“In that case, I am all the more amazed you haven’t done more to advance matters. But fortunately, I am here now, and I will have everything settled before I go back to Jane.”
Chapter 87
It did not t
ake Mrs. Bennet long to discover that Mr. Ryder was a distant relation of Lady Catherine de Bourgh—Mary supposed she had extracted the information from Mr. Gardiner—and this drove her to even more determined efforts to secure him for her daughter. When he appeared at Gracechurch Street, which he did increasingly often, he was plied with coffee, tea, and every kind of cake. At Mrs. Bennet’s insistence he was invited to dinner and served Mr. Gardiner’s best claret. He was coddled and flattered and treated to every kind of delicacy until Mary thought he might burst. He did not seem to mind it, and remained his usual easy, cheerful self; but after one particularly trying afternoon, when she thought she might curl up and die from shame, Mary summoned up her courage and complained.
“I do beg you, Mama, to leave Mr. Ryder alone. It is very unseemly to encourage him as you do.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” exclaimed her mother. “We are only making him welcome. Inviting him into the family circle, you might say.”
“It isn’t fair. It raises his hopes. It makes him feel as though he has some special claim on us—on me.”
“Yes, that is the general idea. How else will we get him to make you an offer?”
Once an idea had taken root in Mrs. Bennet’s mind, it was almost impossible to dislodge. Mary knew she could throw herself endlessly against her mother’s iron will, without making the slightest dent on her convictions; nevertheless, she persevered.
“But I do not think I want to marry him.”
Mrs. Bennet did not look up from her sewing, as if this was too silly an idea to be seriously entertained.
The Other Bennet Sister Page 47