“You mustn’t take on so, Miss. ‘Tis only me.”
Mary recognized the voice and her fears were a little allayed. “What do you do here, Clinton?” she asked cautiously as she swung her feet to the floor.
“I brung up your trunk for you, see, and then I just stayed to watch over you a minute. You was laid out so comfortable like.”
A chill raced across Mary’s shoulders and down her arms, and she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She was careful, however, that her voice should remain calm. “I did not hear you knock.”
“I let myself in real quiet like, so as not to disturb you. I figured you might be asleep, and so you was.”
“Nevertheless, you should have knocked and waited for an answer. Please go now, Clinton. You have completed your task, and I thank you.”
“Well, if you’re sure there ain’t nothin’ else I can do for you.”
“Nothing at all.”
He hesitated, and for a moment Mary thought he might not obey. But then he turned and left her. When the door was shut between them, Mary closed her eyes and exhaled. What was the man thinking, coming into her room like that, uninvited? How long had he been standing there, and what were his intentions? In the poor light, reading his expression had been impossible. Perhaps he meant no harm, although this was not the first time he had behaved improperly towards her.
Mary wondered if she should speak to someone about it, that someone of necessity being Miss Farnsworth. She hated to get Clinton in trouble unnecessarily. After all, nothing untoward had actually happened. On the other hand, she dared not wait until it did before taking action. It also occurred to Mary that if he were this forward with her, Clinton might well be harassing other female members of the household more overtly, girls who had less standing and little chance of protecting themselves. Perhaps she ought to speak out in their defense if not in her own. After debating the question back and forth in her mind the whole evening, Mary ultimately decided to report the incident to Miss Farnsworth first thing in the morning.
“You caught him looking at you?” said Lavinia Farnsworth from behind the ornate desk where she managed her correspondence. “Well, that is hardly a crime.”
Mary stood opposite, with her hands clasped behind her back. “It was the circumstances that made it improper, Madam, not the fact that he was looking at me. He was in my bedchamber without leave, watching me sleep! Does that not strike you as odd? And as I said, this is not the first time something like this has happened.”
“So you have therefore concluded what? That Clinton is in love with you, or that he intends to murder you in your bed? Which is it? Really, Miss Bennet, what a fevered imagination you must have. Perhaps you should be flattered rather than offended; I daresay it is not every day that a man pays you so much attention.”
Mary felt her face growing warm, half in embarrassment and half in bitter annoyance. “I do not consider this a joking matter, Miss Farnsworth, and I would appreciate it if you did not either.”
“Very well; have it your own way. I will see to it that Haines speaks to the man, but more than that I will not do. You said yourself that he has yet to lay a finger on you. And if I were to dismiss every servant who looked at another sideways or uttered an impertinent remark, there should soon be no one left to do our bidding.”
“Please…”
“That will be all, Miss Bennet! Now, I suggest you return to the schoolroom, where you belong… and where I trust you will be unable to tempt anybody else to misbehave.”
Not trusting herself to speak, Mary gave a curt nod and left without saying another word. There was no more to be done at present. Should something more serious occur, she would not hesitate to bypass the acting mistress of the house and go straight to the master. To do so now, however, would only make of Miss Farnsworth a more violent enemy without cause.
Mary did indeed return to the schoolroom and took some comfort in the familiar surroundings there. Grace was eager enough to resume her studies. Michael, not surprisingly, was more difficult to reign in after being largely left to his own devises for over a week. But Gwendolyn was the mystery.
On their journey home from Staffordshire, Mary had noticed in her oldest pupil periods of distraction and seeming wistfulness. Now, however, she was positively melancholy, moping about and unable to take an interest in anything save Shakespeare. She had taken up a copy of his sonnets upon their return and refused to part with it, even during their period of outdoor exercise that afternoon. When Mary insisted that she walk rather than sit in the shade, Gwendolyn simply took her book of verse with her, alternately studying it and staring at the sky, paying no attention to where she was going. Mary could not help worrying she would end by stumbling into a ditch or briar patch.
“It is Phillip Bancroft,” Grace presently volunteered in explanation.
Mary had again turned her watchful eye from Michael, who was scaling the lower limbs of his favorite tree, back to his wandering eldest sister. “Phillip Bancroft?” she repeated.
“Yes, he is our second cousin on our uncle’s side, and he came to visit whilst we were staying at Bancroft Hall. Gwendolyn began behaving very silly the moment she set eyes on him, and then she told me she is in love.”
“Is that so? And of what age is this young man?”
“Two-and-twenty! And the book he likes best in all the world is Shakespeare’s sonnets. He read out his favorite one to us the second night he was there. Gwen looked nigh on to fainting by the time he had finished.”
“Ah, I see.”
“It is completely ridiculous, of course. He is far too old for her.”
“For the time being, yes, but perhaps not in another four or five years. She will be a beauty then, and old enough for a gentleman still in his twenties to consider.”
Grace rolled her eyes and made a sound of disgust. “Do not tell me we shall have to put up with this…” She gestured to her sister. “…this dreadful mooning about for another four or five years!”
Mary had to smile at the girl’s dramatics, which were so unlike her usual reserved self. “I fear you may, my dear Grace. Young ladies of your sister’s age and older are often prone to such nonsense. You must be thankful, then, that you have only one sister. Pity me, for I lived with four.” Thinking back, Mary recalled all too well her own disgust at Kitty and Lydia’s wild enthusiasm over every man in regimentals, and how Jane had for months suffered love-sickness in her own quiet way. At last, belatedly and painfully, she had now herself acquired some empathy for their affliction.
26
Confidentially Speaking
All day she had expected his summons; all day she had prepared herself to give an accounting of the trip to Stafford-shire – a financial accounting as well as the explanation for their delayed return. Finally, after she had taken her evening meal with the children in the nursery, the call came.
Mary resolutely made her way downstairs to meet with her employer in the library, as she had done so many times before. She found him, however, not in his usual place, at the desk that dominated the center of the room, but instead sunk deep into one of the leather armchairs near the window.
He turned his eyes from the twilight without, half rose, and attempted a smile. “Do come and sit here, Miss Bennet,” he said, indicating the mate to his own chair. “I am far too tired for formalities tonight. I hope you do not mind.”
“Not at all, sir,” she answered, crossing the room to take the proffered seat as he settled back into his own. “This chair will do as well for me as any other.” Mary handed him the large envelope she had brought with her.
“What is this?” he asked, absently taking it from her.
“It is a ledger documenting all the expenses from the journey to Staffordshire, sir, along with the funds that remain. As for our delayed return, I can explain.”
“Never mind all that,” he said, tossing the envelope aside. “The girls told me about the breakdown. Not your fault, obviously, and tha
t is not why I sent for you.” He sighed wearily. “No, the truth is, I need someone to talk to, and you are the only creature in this household upon whom I can absolutely rely for an honest, intelligent opinion. You will be honest with me, won’t you, Mary?”
“Of course, sir, if I can. But are you sure I am the properest person to consult? Surely Miss Farnsworth would…”
He interrupted. “Miss Farnsworth will not serve. You understand as well as I do that she has limited capacity for serious contemplations.”
“I would beg to differ with you, sir. I believe…”
“Miss Bennet!” he interrupted again in a tone of exasperation.
Mary silenced herself at once and waited for him to continue.
“I did not invite you here to debate my sister’s merits. I am simply asking for your assistance. That is all. You must trust me to know my own business, and to know that Miss Farnsworth is not the one who can help me now.”
“Yes. I beg your pardon, sir. How may I be of assistance?”
His taut expression relaxed. “Ah, that is better. Now, I will speak plainly. The situation is this. Miss Agatha Browning – do you know the lady I mean? Yes, of course, you do. You will have seen her in Meryton. Apothecary’s daughter.”
Mary nodded.
“I barely know the woman, and yet apparently she has put it about the neighborhood that I have made romantic overtures to her, raising certain expectations. Well, her father came to see me whilst you were away, wishing to know my intentions. Of course I told him there was nothing in it, and that my affections were engaged elsewhere. Still, he could make things damned unpleasant if he chooses – not just for me, but for Miss Farnsworth and the children – saying I have used his daughter ill. I think what he really wants is money. Beastly nuisance, I know, but there it is.”
As he spoke, Mary felt the color rising hot into her cheeks, and when he finished, she asked, “Sir, what can you mean by telling me all this?”
“Have I shocked you? Indeed, I would not have thought it. You are hardly a child. Surely you know that these kinds of things do occur. Why should not we speak of them frankly?”
“But why to me, sir? What has any of this to do with me?”
“Do not you see, Mary? No, of course you do not. Your modesty prevents you from acknowledging half your own worth or how much I have come to rely on your opinions.” Leaning forward, he regarded her with an entreating look. “You are the only one I can speak to about this matter. Being neither a servant nor a member of the family, you have a unique position of objectivity in this household. Furthermore, I believe you are fully capable of considering such a delicate matter with common sense and discretion. Most importantly, though, you have the good of this family, especially the children, in view. Is it not so? Have I overstated the case or misjudged your loyalty?”
Mary hardly knew what to say or do. Had her pride allowed it, she might have flown from the room, but above all, a sense of dignity must be maintained. She did not wish anyone, least of all Mr. Harrison Farnsworth, to think her naïve or unsophisticated. Besides, her concern for the Farnsworth family was sincere. In that much, he was correct.
“I see that I have overwhelmed you,” he said. “Forgive me, Miss Bennet, for burdening you with my problems. Perhaps I have presumed too much upon our growing friendship.” He rose abruptly and crossed the room to stare into the empty fire grate.
Mary stayed where she was, rooted to her chair with her gaze resting on Mr. Farnsworth’s back. Much could be read there, if one knew where to look, how to interpret the drooping line of the shoulders, the head bowed down by care.
“Mr. Farnsworth,” she began cautiously. “I admit that I was momentarily overcome by what you disclosed. Now that I have had time to consider, however…” He turned, and Mary saw the hopeful expression on his face. “…perhaps we might discuss the problem openly and rationally, as you suggest.”
“Excellent,” he said, coming toward her again with renewed vigor. He sat once more in the chair facing her, this time forward and at attention. “Now then, what is your opinion of this ticklish situation? What would you advise me to do about it?”
“Sir, I confess that I am surprised at your being in any doubt. To me, it seems perfectly obvious.”
“So I suspected it would, which is why I have asked you. I am too caught up in the middle of the thing to see it clearly.”
“I suppose that is the explanation. At all events, I shall tell you what you must already know yourself. If you have not behaved improperly toward this lady, then you must not pay her father damages as if you had. To do so would only confirm your guilt in the eyes of some, and lay yourself open for others attempting the same. My guess is that Mr. Browning will go away quietly, for to spread rumors would damage his daughter far more than it would you in the end.”
“Yes, right you are, Mary. I cannot give in to blackmail, for that is what it amounts to, in truth. What can be done to prevent such gossip and speculation in future, though? That is perhaps the larger question.”
Mary chose her words carefully. “I think, sir, that a gentleman in his prime – one with a fortune and no wife – will always be a topic of interest to the local population, if you will excuse my saying so. Perhaps…” Mary stopped herself from finishing the thought aloud.
“What is it, Miss Bennet?”
“It is nothing, sir. Not my place to say.”
“No, do go on, please. I give you leave to say whatever is on your mind. In fact, I insist on hearing it.”
“Yes, sir. Then forgive me if my opinions seem too pert, but it strikes me that the quickest way to put an end to false speculation would be to let the truth be known. You said your affection is engaged elsewhere – a lady of your London acquaintance, no doubt. Well then, why hide it? Bring her to Netherfield. Parade her in public. Give the local gossips some truth to spread instead of leaving them to make up lies.”
“Now you sound like Lavinia. She thinks it is high time I marry again – someone high born and moneyed, by her prescription.” He rose and took up his habit of pacing once more.
“Sir, I would never presume to go so far as that!”
“You would not, but my sister does. And she may be right. Mrs. Farnsworth has been gone nearly two years now, and the children should have a mother,” he concluded.
Mary dared not break in upon his thoughtful silence. She sat patiently and most uncomfortably by, wondering that she had allowed herself to become embroiled in such an awkward conversation. Although her regular conferences with Mr. Farnsworth had lately taken on a more familiar, less business-like tone – a change that left her feeling vaguely uneasy – this was far and away the most personal subject raised by him yet. He seemed genuinely desirous of her opinions and friendship, yet she could not help wondering if under the surface he was toying with her. Was this some kind of game to him, and she his pawn?
She knew how to behave toward the authoritarian employer of the last three years. She could not say the same for the one of the last several months, who increasingly treated with casual disregard the lines that had heretofore guided all their dealings together.
Lost in her own contemplations, Mary started at the sound of Mr. Farnsworth’s bold voice resuming the conversation.
“Do you know, I think you are absolutely right!” said he with an intensity of a character Mary could not decipher. “I shall give a house party here at Netherfield and invite all my friends, including the lady we were alluding to. We shall have dancing and merriment the likes of which this place has not seen in some time. Although, as to dancing, I am sadly out of practice. I shall make a bloody shambles of the business unless you help me, Mary. You must give me lessons, starting right here this minute,” he said, holding out his hand to her.”
“Me? Oh, no, I could not!”
“I have seen you dance, remember? That night when you looked so happy in Mr. Collins’s arms. So it is no good pleading want of ability.”
“Then I shall plead wan
t of propriety, sir… and the lateness of the hour. You said yourself that you were tired.”
“Propriety be damned. Are we two children who need a chaperone? And as for being tired, I feel suddenly revived by the idea of dancing with you. Come now, Miss Bennet,” he commanded, his hand still extended to receive hers. “You teach my children; why not their father? Would you have me embarrassed in front of my guests… and my lady?”
Ignoring his question and his hand, Mary pushed out of her chair and made straight for the door. Before she reached it, however, she heard him laughing.
“Another time, then,” he called after her. “Make no doubt about it, Mary; another time, and you shall dance with me.”
27
Complications
Mary could hear his derisive laughter echoing in her ears all the way back to her bedchamber. So he was toying with her after all.
And what about his sad story of Miss Browning? Was that only a ruse to draw her into some elaborate game? No. She discarded the idea at once. Whatever else Mr. Harrison Farnsworth might be capable of, Mary could not believe he would sully the names of a respectable lady and her father for his own amusement. It appeared she herself was his only intended victim, and she could not imagine what she had done to deserve such treatment.
Mary was hurt and embarrassed, but more than that, she was bitterly disappointed in him. She had thought Mr. Farnsworth’s brutish ways a thing of the past. The blow of his wife’s death had seemed to soften his manner, made him gentler with his children and more sympathetic to the others. On a more personal level, Mary had been convinced that they had forged a bond of mutual respect, even tenuous friendship, between them. Apparently, she had been grossly mistaken.
Sunday now became the single object upon which Mary set all her store for gratification. To see her cousin again, and to avoid her employer in the meantime: these were her solemn goals. All hope of the latter seemed at an end, however, when Mr. Farnsworth sent a note up to the schoolroom Friday morning, advising her that he desired that she and the children should go riding with him that afternoon.
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