Her other principal joy was her periodic music lesson, for which Mr. Farnsworth had ultimately refused to allow her to pay. Monsieur Hubert came once every fortnight and had students enough to fill an entire morning. Miss Farnsworth always took the first lesson, followed by the children in no particular order, and then lastly Mary.
The music master came according to his regular schedule the Tuesday Mr. Farnsworth was away. Mary reported to him an hour earlier than usual, at the end of Gwendolyn’s time.
“Very good, Miss Farnsworth,” said Monsieur Hubert with his familiar French accent, still prominent even after spending more than a dozen years exclusively in England. Although his looks were decidedly ordinary, even plain, he had a certain style that elevated him above any danger of being referred to as commonplace. “That will be all for today, I think. You must promise to practice more, however, or you will never be as accomplished as the other young ladies.”
Gwendolyn rose from the instrument, bobbed her teacher a hurried curtsey, and left the room saying, “Yes, Monsieur.”
The well-dressed man of five-and-thirty then turned his attention to Mary. “Ah, Miss Bennet!” he sang out, bringing his hands together in a gesture of mercurial delight. “Now I shall have the pleasure of hearing from my favourite pupil. You put all the others to shame.”
“Bonjour, Monsieur,” she said, smiling demurely and coming forward. Mary had no illusions. She assumed the music master must have many ‘favourite’ pupils, an idea which gave no offense. No one could dislike this man of gentle charm and grace, for there was a genuine warmth about him that melted away any irritation that might otherwise have sprung from his little excesses. “I suppose you have heard,” she continued, “that Michael is to be excused henceforth.”
“Oui, oui, so Miss Lavinia Farnsworth has informed me.” He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Quel dommage! It is ill-advised, certainement, but what can one do? Not that the boy showed much promise, you understand. Still, with time and hard work, something acceptable might have been achieved.”
“My nephew would make you a more eager pupil, Monsieur Hubert. I have just had a letter from my sister, who is Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, reminding me to ask if you would consider taking the boy on. I know it is a long way to travel, but I am sure Mr. Darcy would be prepared to make it well worth your while.”
“Ah, Derbyshire, you say, Miss Bennet. Divine country, that, simply divine! And I have heard of this place you call Pemberley. A very fine estate, I believe. Of what age is this child, your nephew?”
“He was five September last, and very eager to learn, I am told.”
“Well, then, perhaps something might be arranged. For you, Miss Bennet, I will consider it. Now then, shall we begin?”
Mary did not need to be asked twice. She seated herself at the revered instrument and waited for further instructions.
“The scales, I think,” said Monsieur Hubert. “Begin with your scales, and then we will move on to the Mozart.”
Mary obediently commenced the methodical exercise with both hands, running her fingers up the keys for two octaves and then down again before moving on to the next scale in the sequence. She knew the prescribed progression well and had performed it a hundred times or more. Yet even this routine business, tedious to most, gave her exquisite pleasure. For this brief interval of time, once every other week, she could forget her responsibilities and become lost in the music. She could set aside the duties of a teacher and become the student instead. She could imagine herself a girl again – a talented and promising young lady with a bright future ahead… if only for that one hour.
8
Arrival
It was a Sunday when he first presented himself at Longbourn, and fortunately so, for thus Mary was on hand to support her mother through the crisis. The two ladies had been taking their ease after dinner when they heard a carriage approaching.
“It will only be my sister Phillips,” said Mrs. Bennet, not bothering to lift her eyes from the bit of lace she was mending. “She said at church that she might drive over.”
Mary, her mind alive to other possibilities, set aside her book at once. She knew very well that over three weeks had elapsed since the arrival of the letter from America. So the time was right and the important moment might well be at hand. Then Mrs. Hill corroborated what Mary’s intuition already told her; coming into the sitting room, she announced the true identity of their visitor.
The effect on Mrs. Bennet was both stunning and immediate. She froze stock still, momentarily adopting both the color and character of a pillar of salt, before slowly coming back to life. “Mr. Tristan Collins?” she repeated, evincing her astonishment at the news. “He is here? Now?”
“Yes, ma’am,” confirmed Mrs. Hill, “just this instant arrived all the way from America. Shall I show him in?”
“Are you mad, woman? I must have a moment to think. Lord bless me, how is this possible, Mary? We have had no card, no letter, no hint of his coming so soon.”
Mary busied herself tidying the room, saying, “None of that matters now, Mama. He is come, and we must make the best of it. Let us not keep him waiting, as if he were unwelcome in his own house.”
“His house?”
“Yes, for so it is, as well you know. It became his house the moment poor Papa died.”
“I cannot bear it! I simply cannot bear it, that I should be forced to make way for this… this undeserving usurper!”
Mary hastened to her mother’s side, urging her, “For heaven’s sake, madam, speak lower. What advantage can it be to you to offend Mr. Collins? You will never recommend yourself – or your daughter – to him by so doing. Remember your plan, Mama.”
“Yes, yes, the plan,” said Mrs. Bennet with a little more composure and considerably less volume. “That is the thing to think of now. Mr. Collins must marry Kitty. Oh! But Kitty is gone off to her sisters. What bad luck! Well, she will be sent for and made to come home at once. In the meantime, I suppose we shall have to entertain Mr. Collins as well as may be. There was a time when I was considered quite the charmer, and you shall simply have to do your best too, Mary. I know this sort of thing is not really in your line. That cannot be helped now. We must each play our part to see that things turn out as they should.” Mrs. Bennet took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “Hill, please show the gentleman in.”
Mary was more prepared than her mother, and not nearly as surprised by so early an arrival of their cousin from America. Yet she too felt the need to steady herself for the first sight of this man whose person, situation, and manners had been the conjecture in nearly every recent discussion at Longbourn. Then, all at once, the suspense was over. Mrs. Hill opened the door, and the man so long speculated about, so high in everybody’s interest, was actually before them.
Holding hat in hand, the distinguished young gentleman walked into the room and made a neat bow, saying, “Tristan Collins at your service.”
Mrs. Bennet moved forward to greet him, extending her hand and smiling, her demeanor quite transformed from what it had been only moments earlier. “Ah, Mr. Collins, you are very welcome indeed. Did your wife sail with you from America?”
“What? Oh, no, Mrs. Bennet. I am not married.”
Mrs. Bennet’s countenance brightened still more. “What a shame that is, sir, for it strikes me that you are of a very good age for it.”
The most pressing question already asked and answered, Mrs. Bennet proceeded to undertake the other necessary civilities as well. Mary was herself too much overcome to be of any assistance, for before her stood a most pleasingly featured man, and not at all like the one she had imagined.
“This is my middle daughter,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Mary, come meet your cousin Mr. Collins.”
They each took a step toward the other. “How do you do, Miss Bennet?” he said, smiling. “I cannot tell you how delighted I am to make your acquaintance.”
“I thank you, sir,” she said, bobbing a slight cur
tsey.
Mrs. Bennet continued. “I have four others, Mr. Collins, and they are the most agreeable girls you would ever care to meet, though I say it myself. Do let us sit down. Now, my eldest is Jane – Mrs. Bingley, that is… ”
With her mother conducting the conversation all on her own, Mary had leisure to collect herself and take stock of their visitor. He was above middling height, with a spare frame – so unlike what his brother’s had been – and with fairer coloring too. His features were not classically handsome, perhaps, but not very far off the mark either. The considerable powers of his person to recommend him were further augmented by a sincerity of expression and warmth of voice such as seemed certain proof of his amiability. There was something else too, something indefinable…
“Mary!” her mother was saying. “Mary, do try and pay attention. Now, I have just been telling Mr. Collins how sorry I am that more of the family was not here to greet him.”
“Yes, you must pardon the paltry size of the welcoming party,” said Mary. “You see, we had no idea of your coming so soon.”
“Dear ladies, you owe me no apology and no special honors either. I am only distressed to learn that my letter should have gone astray, giving you no warning of my arrival.”
“It is of no importance, sir. We are always ready to receive guests to Longbourn.” Mary colored and stammered, “Oh! I… forgive me. I certainly do not mean that you are only a guest in this house, Mr. Collins. You are, of course, much more than that. It is we who… What I mean to say is that… that we stay here only by your kindness.”
He laughed easily. “My dear Miss Bennet, there is no need for us to stand on ceremony, I trust. We are family, after all. If you had received my letter, you would know that I have no intention of throwing my weight about and casting you out into the cold. Your mother has endured enough hardship for one year, surely.”
“You are very good, sir,” said Mrs. Bennet.
“Yes, and not at all what I expected from your…” Mary left off clumsily, vexed with herself for letting her thoughts about his letter pass her lips too freely.
“Not at all like my brother? Is that what you were going to say, Miss Bennet?”
“No. Yes. I’m sorry.”
“It is quite all right. Poor William. Did you know him well?”
“Not so well as we should have liked to,” offered Mrs. Bennet. “He was a fine, respectable young man, with very noble intentions, I believe. Because of this awkward business with the entail, he naturally felt some responsibility toward this family. Did you know that he came to this house with the express purpose of choosing a wife from amongst Mr. Bennet’s daughters? None of them was married at the time, you understand. I thought it an exceedingly good plan. However, in the end your brother went another way. And so… well, here we are.”
“I trust you do not hold his choice against him, though, Mrs. Bennet.”
“No indeed, sir, for one does not like to think ill of the dead. I am only saying that it was an excellent notion and surely one which would have satisfied the wishes of all concerned, had it come to pass.”
Feeling uncomfortable with the direction her mother had carried the conversation, Mary interrupted. “Mr. Collins, you must be tired from your travels. Perhaps you would like to rest before supper. If so, you must not allow us to keep you sitting here talking.”
“How kind you are, Miss Bennet. Yes, I think I would like that.”
“Hill,” Mary called out. “There you are, Mrs. Hill. Kindly show Mr. Collins to the guest room.”
“Of course, Miss Mary,” said Mrs. Hill. Then turning to Mr. Tristan Collins, she added, “This way, if you please, sir.”
The gentleman was barely out of earshot when Mrs. Bennet began relating her opinion of him to her daughter: what a fine figure of a man he was; not ill-looking either; and so much more refined than expected of someone who had spent so many years away from all good society.
“And did you notice the expensive cut of his clothes?” she continued. “He must be a man of some fortune after all. What an excellent thing for Kitty! Yes, he will do very well. Was not it clever of me, Mary, to drop him that hint, just to get him thinking? Though he may never before have had any idea of finishing what his brother started, I daresay he will now, especially once he sets eyes on our Kitty.”
Mrs. Bennet, well satisfied with this good beginning, took Mary’s suggestion likewise, retiring to her own apartment until supper.
At last, Mary was alone with her thoughts and with the lively state of her emotions. She was by no means displeased with what she had thus far seen of her cousin. In truth, she agreed with her mother’s assessment of his many advantages, excepting perhaps the idea that Kitty should necessarily be the beneficiary of them. After all, had not Kitty declared most emphatically that she wanted no part of Mr. Tristan Collins?
9
Mr. Tristan
Mary was still in the sitting room an hour later when Mr. Tristan returned. “Ah, there you are, Miss Bennet. I found that I was not so very tired after all. May I join you?”
“I should be glad if you would, Mr. Collins,” said Mary, laying aside her book again. “I hope you find your room comfortable. You may, of course, have your choice of any in the house. It is your home now.”
“Nonsense, no need to throw your well-organized household into upheaval on my account,” he said, sitting down across from her. “I am very happily installed in the guest quarters, and there I shall remain until everything is settled.”
Mary reflected a moment on his words before choosing to take the next logical step. “If I may be so bold, sir, may I ask what are your future plans for this house? It is not so much for myself that I wish to know; I reside primarily at Netherfield, an estate near here where I hold the position of governess. But provision will need to be made for my mother and my younger sister. With your coming sooner than expected, I am afraid no firm arrangements are yet in place.”
“I appreciate your straightforwardness, Miss Bennet. We are all in a very awkward situation here, and we had best acknowledge it openly. As for my plans, I hardly know them myself. My life has been in America, as you are aware, and I still hold interests there – personal as well as business,” he said thoughtfully. Mr. Collins then rose from his seat, stepped to the window, and gazed out at the western horizon before continuing. “I have been happy there… for the most part… yet I cannot say when, or even if, I shall ever return.”
Mary felt certain there was more to the story, which perhaps her cousin would disclose in due course. For the time being, however, she had to be content with generalities. “What is it like… in America, I mean? One hears tales of all kinds of horrors.”
“Horrors, Miss Bennet?” he said, turning to face her again and laughing good-humoredly. “Let me guess. You are envisioning something very primitive indeed – dense jungles inhabited only by wild animals, barbarians, and godless savages. Am I correct?”
“I cannot precisely say, sir. I prefer to depend on facts rather than imaginings. And, as I never before spoke to anybody who set foot in the new world, I have had very little opportunity to form an educated opinion.”
“Quite right, Miss Bennet. I am pleased to hear that you place your confidence in what can be known by observation instead of on rumor and wild speculation. We could use a deal more of that philosophy, according to my view. I shall be happy to satisfy your intellectual curiosity on the subject of America. It is far too seldom that I find myself a singular expert on any topic.” He peered once more out the window. “Can I persuade you to take our discussion into the garden? It is a fine day and, if you will not think it in bad taste for me to mention it, I should like to be made a little familiar with the grounds. In that field, you are the expert.”
Assenting to his proposal, Mary accompanied her cousin on a walking tour of the small park belonging to Longbourn. She began by showing him the outbuildings at the rear: the poultry house; the stables, which shared a common roof with the dairy
and cheese house; and the other barn, where the pigs and farm implements were kept. Then, from the top of a little knoll, she pointed out the orchard, the kitchen garden, and the approximate extent of the property. Along the way, she took care to draw attention to anything interesting or otherwise worthy of special note.
Mr. Collins observed all these, as well as the cultivated fields round about, with the strictest composure; nothing more animated than a mild compliment to their upkeep or a general nod of approval did he offer for any of the things he was shown.
Mary’s natural pride in her lifelong home initially felt slighted by such cool restraint, thinking he was displeased by what he saw. Soon, however, she began to appreciate her cousin’s forbearance in the proper light. Too much praise for Longbourn must have been more offensive to her than too little. Then it would seem as if Mr. Collins were congratulating himself over so fine an inheritance and counting the days until he could have it to himself.
They next passed through the little wilderness at the side of the lawn. Then the hermitage and the front flower patch were explored, followed by the walled garden. Mary had deliberately saved it for the last stop on their tour, as it was a particular favorite with her.
“I often come here to read,” she said, taking a seat on one of the benches there. As her eyes revisited each familiar prospect – the moss-covered stone of the high walls; the canopy of quaking oak leaves overhead, waving at the bright sky; the gravel path underfoot and the slightly unkempt lawn; the sight of the house framed by the open gateway – she could not help thinking how very much she should regret not being able to come there ever again.
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