Unexpected Friends & Relations

by Jayne Bamber

  She liked Captain Wentworth, despite his impudence – she might have liked him very well, were she a single woman even yet. The fact remained that she was not, though she rather suspected he wished she was. That the two should be obliged to enact such scenes of intimacy, words of love and perhaps more physical contact tha

  n might be strictly necessary, and in the presence of her husband’s family, must necessarily be an uncomfortable thing. But that she should rehearse it with him for the next week, might be rather a good thing.

  There would certainly no longer be any tension or awkwardness between them on the day of the play. His fascination with her, and hers with him, must surely be spent in all of the quiet hours together rehearsing it – she would have a means to express what she felt in the solitude of their practicing together, and by the time they were to perform for all the others, it might very well have passed. Indeed, she began to think the play the most fortunate occurrence. Were it not for this occasion to give voice to all of the tumultuous, confusing things she felt toward Captain Wentworth, she might very well have been driven to some manner of folly from which there could be no recovery. But in the mere performance of it, she was quite safe. There was no impropriety that could arise, that would not be safely dismissed and attributed to what was necessary; her growing curiosity toward him would be directed safely to such a purpose, and then she would have done with it all together.

  With this in mind, she began to lament that the play was now only a week away. It was certainly a small space of time for her to come to accept that she had feelings for Captain Wentworth, to indulge in them perhaps just a little, under the guise of playing her role, and then expel them so thoroughly that they might be safely boxed away forever, never to be considered again, upon the theatrical’s conclusion. It may perhaps be a very dangerous thing, to a lesser woman, but Caroline had ever been capable of talking herself into a greater share of confidence even than she felt, and was reasonably sure she would not fail, on this occasion, to do what she must.

  ***

  Mary had arrived at Rosings Park determined to be pleased with the place for her sister’s sake, and with the company to be found there. Happy as she was to be gone from Surrey, Mary resolved that she would begrudge no one but Mr. Elton himself – as much as Rebecca wished to bear some burden of the blame for Mary’s disappointment, she could not allow it. Mary would have blamed herself entirely, but this Rebecca would not allow. It was an impossible situation, and one Mary was relieved to escape from – likely her sister Kate had written of her hopes that Mary might come to Rosings with little expectation that Mary would so quickly accept the invitation, and yet she was so warmly received upon her arrival that she could not repine her decision.

  Rosings Park, and the neighboring estate, Cranbrook, the former home of Lady Catherine’s new husband, were both already quite full of visitors. Mary might have felt her presence an unnecessary burden, her sister’s invitation more formality than sincere request, and yet the general atmosphere of the whole house was so merry, she was soon made to feel beyond mere welcome.

  It was not long before she discovered the reason for the high spirits around her. The whole party, which had been rounded out to a group of twenty with her arrival, had been engaged in a theatrical scheme, and there was a general expectation amongst them that Mary would participate. She felt a great many things at this discovery – astonishment, to be sure, and equal measures humor and horror. There was not a trace of shame or embarrassment to be found in anyone else; her friends and relations all seemed proud of themselves and their present occupation.

  Mary’s first thought was that Lady Catherine could not possibly allow such a thing to take place, and yet she ascertained that though the imposing dowager had initially been inclined to disapprove, the lively spirits and entreaties of so many young people, and even her own jolly husband, had soon won her over. Indeed, to hear Lady Catherine tell it now, the entire scheme was quite her own, and she intended to diligently oversee its successful completion.

  Mary’s next fear was that her sister Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy must disapprove of such a thing. Lady Catherine might have taken leave of her senses, or merely been gainsaid by so many others, but such a scheme was beyond all decency and propriety – she was certain Mr. Darcy could not know of it, and surprised that Georgiana was one of the principal participants, given all that she had suffered for her previous indiscretion.

  No sooner had Mary met the charming Mr. Willoughby, the only one of their party with whom she was not previously acquainted, than she began to understand why Georgiana may have been persuaded to take part in the theatrical. He was handsome, charming, and lively – almost too much so to be a widower, in Mary’s opinion; she immediately distrusted him.

  Mary felt it her moral duty to discourage them from this notion of putting on a play, knowing that it could not be easily accomplished with so very many people set against her. Her first attempt was to dissuade her sister Kate, who as mistress of the house certainly had the right to put a stop to the ill-advised plan. Kate would not hear of it – she thought it a fine sort of amusement, perfectly innocent in nature, and really too promising of enjoyment to be done away with.

  Kate began a persuasive effort of her own. “Really, Mary,” said she, only half attending her sister as she sat on a cushion on the drawing room floor, painting an old tapestry that had been worked over as a backdrop for the theatrical. “It is perfectly natural that you must begin by disapproving of our little scheme – it is just what I would have expected of you. And yet, you have surprised me before – no one would ever have imagined that you should cease to read and recite Mr. Fordyce so very often, or learn to play the harp, or grow so very accomplished from your friendship with Lady Rebecca. Is the theatrical not another opportunity for you to live beyond your previous habits?”

  “Certainly not beyond propriety itself,” Mary cried. “What would Mr. Darcy say about all this?”

  Kate set down her paintbrush, admiring her own handiwork for a moment before shrugging her shoulders at Mary. “You mean to suggest he would not approve, and perhaps he would not, but I am sure it does not signify. Rosings is not his house – it will belong to his daughter someday, but for now it is my home and Robert’s. We are certainly within our rights as master and mistress of the place to do whatever we like here, including have a theatrical for our friends and relations. At any rate, he is not your guardian – and I do not see you invoking our uncle in the matter. The Gardiners and our mother would likely be delighted if they were to hear of our scheme, and though Mr. Darcy is Georgiana’s guardian, she does not vex herself about it, for Aunt Catherine, who is really the head of the family you know, approves very thoroughly, and will certainly make sure there is nothing untoward about our proceedings here. I understand from Lady Rebecca that your stay in Surrey has not been entirely pleasant, and perhaps you are afraid to let down your hair – figuratively, of course – and enjoy yourself here. But I pray you do not trouble yourself, for I so looked forward to your coming, and I would wish you to be happier here than you have been at Hartfield. The play is but a week away, and then, you know, we shall all go back to our usual, more civilized habits. I think you distress yourself over nothing!”

  It was certainly not nothing to Mary, and she continued her appeals, next with Georgiana, who was just as certain that there was nothing amiss with their plan. “I am sure I have my brother’s approval by proxy of my Aunt Catherine, to whose chaperonage he has entrusted me,” was Georgiana’s circuitous reasoning.

  Mary felt no little sympathy for Georgiana, who had suffered so much in London. Perhaps she deserved all the enjoyment to be had in her present mode of entertainment, but Mary feared it would lead her to further folly. Gently, she whispered, “Did not your brother also trust you to a chaperone in Ramsgate?”

  Georgiana gasped, her countenance betraying all the shame, pain, and even outrage that Mary had feared she would arouse. “What a thing to say!”

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p; “I do not speak so harshly to wound you, Sister,” Mary assured her. “I speak as a friend, out of a heartfelt concern for you. What do you know of this Mr. Willoughby, who must surely be your principal motive for participating in this folly?”

  “Oh, Mary, you do not know him,” Georgiana said with a happy sigh. “He is nothing at all like... you know who. I am certain of it this time. Everything has been above board and proper, and he is a gentleman in every sense of the word.”

  Mary frowned. Willoughby, why does that sound familiar? “I would not have you think me a prude,” Mary said, “nor unkind – you know I care for you very much. I would not wish you to anger your brother, as I am sure you must, nor would I wish to see you endanger your reputation a second time.”

  Georgiana squeezed Mary’s hand warmly, and offered her a placid smile. “You do not offend me, Sister – truly, I would be a fool not to appreciate your little warning, and I am sure I shall take a great deal of care to make sure that I do not disgrace myself a second time. And you certainly needn’t concern yourself with Mr. Willoughby. I was a fool about Wickham, and I suppose about Sidney Parker as well, but I think I am wiser now, and we are always so very much in company with all the others – there is really nothing in it. I understand you have had a little misfortune yourself, in Surrey, but that is no reason to think ill of every gentleman you meet. Even Mr. Audley, who seemed to display such grasping behavior when we were all together in London, is proving to be far from the fortune hunter we had supposed – he has been paying every proper address to your sister Lydia, despite her lack of fortune, and so, you see, the play must be a good thing for us all. You ought to join in.”

  Mary certainly had noticed Mr. Audley’s interest in Lydia, and it was a subject of further consternation for her. Though it was not an entirely new idea, for Mr. Audley had become acquainted with Lydia the previous summer, and danced with her at the Netherfield ball, Mary still felt doubtful. From all that she could discover, he seemed to have abandoned any designs he may have thought of forming on Harriet or Georgiana, and though Mary might have wished to, she could not credit herself and the admonishment she had given him at Harriet’s come-out ball. To hear Lydia tell it, Mr. Audley was thoroughly in love with her, and all for her own merit, but Mary could not credit that either. This, like so much else at present, must require further reflection on her part.

  Mary made one final appeal. Any entreaties to Lydia herself were quite useless, met only with obstinate nonsense, but on her sister’s behalf Mary would speak with Mrs. Sutton, who had been entrusted with Lydia’s guidance. Again, Mary felt some trepidation. Though she was not convinced Mrs. Sutton’s guardianship of Lydia would yield the results Elizabeth and the other sensible members of her family might wish, neither was she set against the lady, as Rebecca was. Mary was inclined to feel no little remorse for her involvement in Mrs. Sutton’s becoming affianced, against her will, in the autumn, and therefore disposed to be sympathetic to her now. Yet still, she felt she must argue against the folly of their plan.

  “It is an unusual scheme, to be sure,” Mrs. Sutton admitted, “but I think that when such a thing is done by a group of people such as ourselves, who are all so intimately acquainted with one another, and indeed share family bonds as well as long-standing friendships, there can be no harm in our little theatrical. Mr. Crawford informed us that he and Mr. Rushworth were engaged in such a scheme a year or more ago, with some friends of theirs, and it was a far more scandalous play. But they are good sorts – they have accepted that we shall do something far more respectable – who could argue against Shakespeare? Even Lady Catherine has seen that it is entirely innocent – perfectly acceptable. She is nearly the head of the family – certainly you must see that she would not allow anything unseemly to occur.”

  Here Mary very nearly gave voice to her dissent – Lady Catherine, though formidable enough to forestall any great scandal, had certainly allowed one unseemly thing to occur, in bringing her natural born daughter to London. Before Mary could find any polite way to mention this, Mrs. Sutton continued her justifications.

  “Your coming amongst us must be fortunate in one respect, for though you are so determined that you will not participate in our little plan, you might at least be willing to chaperone your younger sister – certainly I should be the one to do so, but I have been obliged to take a role myself, as without Titania the play cannot move forward.”

  Mary grimaced. Perhaps it was the proper thing that Mrs. Sutton wished to relinquish her role in the play, but Mary had as little interest in taking it on as she did in chaperoning Lydia, who shrugged off her every attempt to do so.

  In the end, Mary resigned herself to the notion that the theatrical would move forward. She had no wish for her presence amongst them to be seen as an unwelcome thing, by continuing to voice her disapproval, and after arriving at such a conclusion found herself more easily persuaded to accept that Lady Catherine and Sir Gerald’s active involvement in the theatrical must lend it some respectability. Thus Mary did her best to make herself more agreeable to her present companions. She consented to assist with the costumes, and the reading of lines with all of the players. In doing so, she found ample excuses to always be moving from one room to another, and making it known to the young ladies in particular that she might be walking in on their rehearsals at any time, should anything untoward be considered.

  She was often passing through the smaller parlor where Lydia had made a habit of rehearsing with Henry Audley, and yet the two of them so often shared scenes with Georgiana and Mr. Willoughby that Mary began to believe that perhaps her sister did not require so much chaperonage after all – perhaps she had been ungenerous to question Mrs. Sutton’s judgment, or that of their party as a whole.

  As Mary’s tolerance of the theatrical scheme increased, so too did everyone’s pleasure in having Mary at Rosings. Mary herself was really happy to be there, and thought that once the ordeal of their performance had passed, she would really be perfectly content at Rosings – more so than she had been in Surrey. Here, at least, Mr. Elton was known to a great many of the principal residents of the place, and regarded with little favor. Despite learning that her brother-in-law Robert had been the one to recommend him to his position of vicar in Highbury, Lady Catherine’s disapproval of the man was of some consolation to Mary, and she had only to share the barest details of her acquaintance with Mr. Elton to receive a very thorough report of Lady Catherine’s own opinion of the man.

  Mary felt entirely vindicated – she had not been so foolish herself, but rather the target of a thoroughly practiced charmer. Even so, she was determined to be on her guard around the many single gentlemen in the area. Lydia was well pleased with Mr. Audley’s attentions, and Mary surprised by them – at least she could no longer accuse him of being mercenary, and that he seemed not to importune Harriet and Georgiana was a mark in his favor, though she resolved to stay vigilant over her sister Lydia, who was particularly susceptible to every manner of flirtation.

  Mr. Rushworth also seemed to have improved since last she met with him. He was awkward as ever, but no longer seemed to feel any indignity at interacting very amiably with Georgiana, which Mary thought must be credited to Harriet, who was always taking pains to converse with him, encourage him to be of good cheer, and console him in his mortification at being made to play the Ass. Mr. Willoughby still confounded Mary – he seemed everything proper and gentlemanly, and she could only suppose that it was his apparent perfection that gave her pause, coupled with a protective instinct toward Georgiana.

  Of Mr. Tilney, Mary was uncertain. He had been affable enough when she had met him in London, and seemed to be well-liked here in Kent. Her disapproval of their theatrical did not sway his desire to recommend himself to her, and though every instinct told her to be wary of him, after her dealing with Mr. Elton, he was a difficult man to dislike.

  By her third day in Kent, Mary had been coaxed as far as helping her friends rehearse their lines, and M
r. Tilney happened upon her as she was listening to Mr. Rushworth and Mr. Crawford in the library.

  Mr. Rushworth was still prone to fits of displeasure with his role, and was just complaining that he must look very foolish indeed, when Mr. Tilney entered the room. “Surely it must be some little recompense,” Mr. Tilney said to Mr. Rushworth, “that you shall have the thanks of all our friends here, for your performance – for somebody must play Bottom the Ass, and you do so with great credit, I am sure. More’s the pity for me, for I am to look very ridiculous, even at times delivering my lines to no one at all, for is it not ridiculous that we are but four days from our performance, and have no one to play my Amazon Queen?”

  Mr. Rushworth and Mr. Crawford agreed that it was so, and Mary scowled at Mr. Tilney, knowing what he was about. That she saw right through him in no way discouraged the affable man, and he continued thus, “I fear Miss Bennet is kinder to you than she is to me, for I see her taking great pains to assure you that you do not appear ridiculous, yet she will not trouble herself to spare me the same ignominy, and accept the role of Hippolyta, which has but one line in the opening scene, and twelve very fine speeches in the last.”

  “Oh, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Crawford cried, “do say you will reconsider! I am sure there is nobody who could play the part quite like you! In truth, the role is a fine one, exactly suited to yourself, for Hippolyta has such a reaction to the play-within-a-play, as you have had to our little theatrical – there should be very little acting involved for you!”

  Before she could reply, Mr. Tilney had advanced on Mary, taken the script she held in her hands, and turned to the page in question. “See here? She both pities the players for their absurdity, and yet remarks upon it as it pleases her to do so. No little resemblance to yourself indeed!”