As for Miss Gwendolyn, most likely she would never need to depend on her wits to make her way in life. Anybody could see she would be a beauty. All the unmistakable signs were there, even at thirteen. Her features were delicate and flawlessly regular, and a light yet womanly figure was clearly emerging to replace the awkwardness of youth. Her father would marry her off to a rich man who did not care if she could speak Italian or even keep household accounts.
“So, on the whole, you are pleased with their progress,” Mr. Farnsworth summarized after hearing Mary’s report. “You must hope that I am equally satisfied when I examine them myself. I shall question the children on a few of the points we discussed when I see them tonight.”
11
In Good Company
Mr. Tristan Collins’s new neighbors were not backward in their civilities. On only his second day at Longbourn, gentlemen of rank from the immediate vicinity commenced calling on him to pay their respects. The master of Netherfield was among the earliest of these.
His visit to Longbourn was soon the talk of the great house and beyond, with there being not a single servant or tradesman in the area that remained long in ignorance of it or in any doubt of what must follow. The call would soon be returned, and then a dinner (or an evening party, at the very least) must be given in honor of the new arrival.
Mr. Farnsworth, whatever his rumored propensities to the contrary in town, was known to keep almost no company in the country since his wife’s death, and not that much before it. Had there been even a single ball or dinner party of any consequence at Netherfield in the last two years, the good people of Meryton would have easily divined it from the size of the orders to the butcher and wine merchant, and from the traffic of foreign carriages on the roads. Nothing much escaped their notice.
Among these good people, the general consensus developed that Mr. Farnsworth could not shirk his duty forever – in truth, that he could not reasonably hide behind the shield of mourning any longer. As owner of Netherfield Park, it was his responsibility to lead the way in local society. If his own conscience neglected to tell him so, his sister most assuredly did not. Thus being saved from the rigorous censure of the whole world, he did in fact issue the required invitations.
A dinner party it was to be, with the guest list pared down from the corpulent figure Miss Lavinia originally proposed to a character of the barest bones. On that point, Mr. Farnsworth was immovable. In addition to the guest of honor and his relations, Sir William Lucas, his lady, and two of his daughters were to attend, along with Mr. and Mrs. Cavanaugh. A brace of eligible young men were selected to even out their numbers, and to give the unattached young ladies someone to flirt with.
Those with invitations to the august event were soon judged by their neighbors to be the happiest creatures in the county, and those without the most unfortunate that ever lived. For nothing could be better than a dinner at Netherfield, except perhaps a ball.
Mary, upon learning that she was to be one of the lucky included, could not at first make up her mind to be pleased about it. Although she would have felt herself quite equal to attending a stately dinner anywhere else, to attend one at Netherfield, where she was also employed, seemed peculiarly awkward. How could she be the household’s governess by day and its honored guest the same night? How could she follow Mr. Farnsworth’s orders one moment, and dine with him as an equal the next?
It was an uncomfortable blurring of the lines. Social conventions existed for a reason, and within their well-defined strictures, one knew how to behave. There was security in it, and one ignored those boundaries at considerable peril. That was the untenable position of a governess, however – existing in some undefined middle ground between one class and another – so perhaps she had brought this upon herself.
Another Sunday visit home to Longbourn taught Mary one cause for joy in the matter. Mr. Tristan Collins would be at the dinner, and the more time she spent in his company, the better she liked it. As on the previous Sunday, when he had first arrived, the long afternoon afforded plenty of opportunity for conversation. Whilst Mrs. Bennet dominated, all Mary could observe of her cousin was the extent of his patience, which proved to be considerable. He bore with all the ill-judged officiousness of the mother, and heard all her silly remarks with forbearance and command of countenance. Then, as on the previous occasion, Mrs. Bennet did eventually take herself off.
“Mr. Collins, I hope you do not think me rude,” she said at the conclusion of their afternoon meal, “but I feel one of my sick headaches coming on, and I must have a lie-down before it gets any worse. Please, do excuse me.”
Mr. Collins rose when she did, saying, “Of course, my good lady.”
“My daughter will be happy to entertain you in my absence. Mary, you will attend me for a few minutes first.”
Mary did as she was bidden, following her mother from the room.
“Now, Mary,” Mrs. Bennet whispered once upstairs. “I am leaving you alone with your cousin for a reason. Talk to him about whatever else you like, but you must take care to work your sister into the conversation and sing her praises a great deal. I have done what I can, and yet Mr. Collins might well think my opinion of Kitty prejudiced by maternal solicitude. He can have no reason to suspect your good opinion of her, however. And I wish him to be half in love with her by reputation before they ever meet. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Mama.” There was no point in arguing, however little Mary liked the task assigned to her. “Have you heard from Kitty to say when she is coming home?”
“Not a single word, which has vexed me greatly. Perhaps my letter has gone astray. The post seems to be alarmingly unreliable of late! At all events, they shall meet very soon, for Mr. Collins, as it turns out, plans to venture into Derbyshire himself in order to visit his sister. You remember Ruth Sanditon, do not you, Mary? Of course her name is something different now. What was it he told me? Thacker? No, Thornton! And she is wife to the rector of the parish under Mr. Darcy’s patronage. So, you see, Mr. Collins will go and stay at Pemberley, and he shall be very often in Kitty’s company. It will all work out exactly as I planned!”
Mary returned downstairs with her assignment and fresh topics for conversation. She found her cousin in the sitting room, on his feet and staring out the window. At the sound of her approach, he turned and quickly replaced his pensive look with an open smile. But in that brief glimpse of his unguarded expression, Mary had read much. She felt a rush of compassion for the man as she considered his position. He was away from all his friends and from the wide-open expanses of the new world, and now confined to a modestly proportioned manor house in a small village with only her mother for company. The walls must truly be closing in about him.
“I am sorry, Mr. Collins,” she said instinctively.
“Why, Miss Bennet, whatever for?”
“Oh… perhaps for imposing myself on you,” she answered, hardly knowing what she was saying. Mary looked about the undersized room as if seeing it for the first time – the outmoded furniture, the faded wallpaper peeling at the edges, the unnecessarily heavy draperies blocking what little sunlight managed to penetrate the overcast sky. “You have been cooped up in this house for a week with barely a moment to yourself since your arrival, I should imagine. And now, were it not for me, you would have had your chance for a little peace.” Although it was an honest thought, Mary immediately reproached herself for speaking so freely to this man, who was still, she reminded herself, a relative stranger.
“I thank you for your sympathy so candidly expressed, Miss Bennet, but I have not suffered as badly as you suppose. I must keep my time and my mind occupied, and I am delighted that you are here to assist me. I so enjoyed our conversation last Sunday.” He glanced once more out the window. “Perhaps we might safely venture out of doors again. Would that be agreeable to you, Miss Bennet? Or may I call you Mary? I am afraid I quickly lose patience with all this ‘Miss-ing’ and ‘Mister-ing’ at every turn. Do not you?”
“As cousins, the brief duration of our acquaintance should not signify. I have known of your existence all my life, and our people – two branches of the same family – have a long history together.”
“Long, perhaps, but the association has not always been a happy one, I believe,” she said, leading the way to the door.
“Quite right, Miss Mary – there, how is that for a suitable compromise? No doubt you refer to the dispute between our two fathers, which, sadly, was never resolved.”
“Yes, never resolved and the origins never explained either, at least not to me. Papa refused to speak of it.”
“I have only the vaguest knowledge of the business myself. My father was exceedingly long in his complaints but rather short on the details. I believe the gist of his quarrel with your father was this. He felt wronged by the manner in which their mutual grandmother settled her affairs. She was a woman of some means at the end, having outlived and inherited the assets of two husbands – my great-grandfather first and then yours. Apparently the property of both was left to her in such a way that she could do as she pleased with it, and she chose – for what reason, I do not know – to bequeath most everything, including the Longbourn estate, to the son of her second family, your grandfather Bennet, instead of to mine.”
“That would be highly irregular, and yet in no way my father’s fault.”
“Which is precisely my view of things. If anyone is to blame, it is the matriarch herself.”
“Besides, the injustice is now corrected,” said Mary in a satirical tone. “The estate has come over to the Collins side after all, thanks to the entail.”
“Ironic, is it not? I think our granny entirely outfoxed herself there. Well, shall we walk towards Meryton? Though the shops will be closed, it is a charming village and it gives us a destination of sorts. Or are you too tired for such an undertaking, Miss Mary?”
“I am not tired in the least, Mr. Collins.”
“Tristan,” he corrected her
“Mr. Tristan, then. Still,” with a glance at the sky, “I fear it will rain.”
“Then we shall have to adopt a lively pace in order to return to Longbourn before it does. It will add adventure to the scheme.”
Persuaded by his enthusiasm, Mary consented and they set off together at a brisk rate, as proposed. An easy silence rested between them some minutes as they gave themselves over to the enjoyment of the day, which, as Mr. Collins had suggested, held the tacit promise of adventure. The glowering nature of the sky lent a dramatic contrast to the occasional shaft of sunlight breaking through, and the air held a charge of anticipation at the threat of an approaching storm.
Remembering her mother’s explicit instructions, Mary, almost regretfully, resumed their conversation. “I understand you have another, far grander destination in view, Mr. Tristan. I hear you are to visit Pemberley and to there meet with your sister as well as two of my own – my elder, Elizabeth, who is Mrs. Darcy, and my younger sister Kitty.”
“You have heard correctly. I am for Derbyshire on Wednesday, the morning following this dinner party at Netherfield. As you might imagine, I am most anxious to see my dear sister Ruth again after so many years.”
“Of course you are.”
“And your mother was extremely insistent that I should stay at Pemberley whilst I am in the neighborhood. She has sent a letter on to your sister, and she assures me I will be most welcome. There is a good deal more room for guests at the great house than at the parsonage, Mrs. Bennet pointed out. She is thinking of my sister’s comfort and my own, no doubt.”
“No doubt.” Mary pressed ahead with her assigned task. “I believe you will find both my sisters very amiable creatures.”
“I am sure that I shall. Tell me; is either of them much like yourself?”
Mary could not contain an ironical little laugh at the idea. “Not one bit, I promise you, so you are bound to like them both exceedingly well. Elizabeth is considered spirited and witty, and Kitty exceptionally good-natured. What is more, they are both allowed to be very pretty.”
“You are too modest of your own good qualities and accomplishments, Miss Mary. This commendation of your fair sisters is admirable, and yet it need not come at your own expense. I must say I admire you exceedingly – for having the wits and wherewithal to secure a highly respectable situation of your own, not depending on chance or wealthy relations to rescue you from unlucky circumstances.” They walked on and, after a thoughtful pause, he added solemnly, “Besides, beauty is not what a prudent man values. It is a trap, and something never to be trusted.”
Mary glanced sidelong at him but, seeing his grave expression, she knew not what reply to make. She therefore remained silent and returned her eyes to the road ahead. Still, she was pleased with the sentiment, which seemed to her a specimen of singular insight.
They were just passing the tree-lined lane for Lucas Lodge, when suddenly the clouds united over their heads, and a driving rain set full in their faces. There was only one thing to be done, to which the exigence of the moment gave more than usual propriety; it was that of running with all possible haste back the way from which they had come. Laughing, Mr. Tristan grasped Mary’s hand without warning and compelled her along the road at a gallop. She held her skirt, put her head down, and raced along at his side, drawing deep draughts of the freshening air into her lungs as she went.
On they ran in unison, stride for stride. Neither of them proved fleet-footed enough to outstrip the rain, however, and they ended huddled together on the front porch of Longbourn, soaked clean through.
Too winded to speak, they could do nothing more for a long minute than breathe and stare at one another. Mary soon grew disconcerted by Mr. Tristan’s proximity, and she averted her eyes to inspect the damage done to her exterior. Her half-boots were caked with dirt, and the hem of her charcoal-colored muslin was likewise muddied. She could imagine the rest. “I must look a sight,” said she, cautiously lifting her eyes again to receive her cousin’s opinion.
Tristan smiled down at her, drops of rain still caught in the tangled web of his pale eyelashes. “No more so than I, I would wager,” he said, jovially. “Come now, Miss Mary, you mustn’t take such a serious view of things. We have had our adventure after all, which I must say I enjoyed exceedingly. Will you not admit that you did as well?”
Before Mary could decide on an answer, Mrs. Hill opened the door and they were obliged to go inside.
12
A Step Forward
Mary retreated at once to her old bedchamber to change out of her wet clothes with the assistance of the household’s young maid. “You shall have to see what you can do with these dirty things, Betsy,” she told the girl. “I can wear something else for now, but I must be back in my customary attire before returning to Netherfield.”
“Yes, Miss,” said Betsy, who then began to rattle on about the sudden change in the weather, the misfortune of the two of them having been caught out in it, what her father always said about the risk of being struck by lightning, and other such nonsense.
Mary could not properly attend. Her mind turned back to the walk out with her cousin. It was not only the substance of their conversation that seemed to invite continued reflection. It was the exhilarating dash back to Longbourn in the rain.
Were she to answer Mr. Tristan’s question honestly, she should tell him that she had enjoyed it… prodigiously, in fact. She could not recall when she had last indulged in the pure pleasure of a physical release. Yet she would probably be at great pains to avoid owning how it had thrilled her. Why? She could not have rightly explained, other than it was a natural aspect of her reserved manner and the staid life she had carefully constructed for herself. Still, she had never been more tempted to let down her guard than now, with this cousin whom she began to regard as a true friend.
Once rid of her wet outer garments, Mary went to the closet, where the things she had left behind w
hen she took up her post at Netherfield remained. The soft prints and calicos she found there looked suddenly bright, almost gay, by contrast with the unvarying somber tones of her governess habit of the last few years. She scrutinized the some dozen gowns and chose a cheerful blue muslin that had been a favorite in her former life. With Betsy’s help, Mary slipped it over her head and fastened it into place. Then she braved a look in the mirror. The gown was no doubt hopelessly out of fashion (as, she imagined, her sister Lydia would not have scrupled to point out), but at least she was presentable. A little attention to her mussed hair and she was ready to return downstairs.
Mrs. Bennet had not yet reappeared. However, Mr. Tristan, in fresh attire and with his wet hair neatly groomed, awaited her in the parlor.
“Ah, how well you look, Miss Mary,” he said. “I see that you are none the worse for our little adventure. And no regrets, I trust?”
“Why should I have? There was nothing improper in it, was there?”
“Of course not! I only meant that I shouldn’t think running headlong on a country lane through a downpour is really in your line – not your usual idea of amusement. You seem to be of a far more sedate tendency.”
“Well, sir,” she replied with a touch of indignation, “I think I have as much right to enjoy a little exercise and adventure as anybody. And I daresay if I can keep up with three lively children, I can certainly keep up with the likes of you.”
“Well said, madam! I see I have underestimated you. That shall not occur again, I promise. And I am delighted to be proved wrong. It gives me reason to hope we shall share other adventures of a similar character in future. Do you ride, Miss Mary, or dance?”
“I am fully capable of both, I assure you, and yet rarely have the opportunity.”
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