by Jayne Bamber
Mary could not help but be enthralled; he seemed to be struggling internally over something, troubled by some dilemma, and that he had sought her out at such a time was as flattering as it was intriguing. And yet, she could not be entirely pleased. That something was the matter was apparent, and her days had been so full of the concerns of others that she had come to the dower house for respite, not to entangle herself further. In the end, one irresistible look from Mr. Tilney was all it took to persuade her, though she was quite sure it was only her Christian duty that compelled her to accept his request. “Of course, Mr. Tilney,” she replied. “You seem to be in need of some assistance; I cannot refuse you.”
Placing his hand on his heart, he smiled warmly at her. “Just what I knew you would say – I knew you would not disappoint me, Miss Bennet, I was quite certain of it. In truth, I am glad I have found you. Come, let us take a turn in the garden together.” Mary took his arm, and he led her down the gravel path, not speaking until they were well out of hearing of Harriet and Mr. Rushworth. He glanced back at the gazebo, and led Mary around another turn of the path before addressing her at last. “Thank you for your forbearance, Miss Bennet. I hope I have not caused you any alarm or embarrassment in singling you out.”
“Mr. Tilney,” she replied, “you are not the first to ask me for help this week. I had no notion of Kent being such a very dramatic place, when first I came, but I hope I am up for any challenge.”
He grinned at her. “Just what I should expect you to say! I believe I may say I know you well, Miss Bennet – I am sure I have observed how sympathetic, how tender and attentive you have been to everyone who has experienced any sort of distress, since first you arrived, and I have long admired this quality in you. I knew, when faced with a quandary of my own this morning, that you must be just the person to come to my aid – there could be no better choice. In truth, it is a matter of some delicacy, and before I say anything further, I must be assured of your discretion.”
Mary smiled at his high estimation of her, and yet she was still quite confused. “I thank you for your kind words, sir – of course you may trust me, so long as there is nothing untoward….”
“Of course, Miss Bennet. I will not dissemble – this may shock you, but we are in desperate need of your assistance.”
“We?”
A tall hedge lined the perimeter of the garden – he led her through a gap in the hedge, rounding a corner, bringing them to the lane that led towards the meadow between Rosings and the Parsonage. There stood a very pretty young woman who had been standing beside, or rather, hiding behind the hedge.
Mary started for a moment, having not expected to find anybody there, particularly such an unfamiliar face. “I beg your pardon.”
Seeing her confusion, Mr. Tilney said, “Miss Bennet, pray allow me to introduce you to my sister, Miss Eleanor Tilney.”
“Your sister! Oh – it is a pleasure, Miss Tilney.” Mary dropped into a curtsey, and the young lady did likewise before stepping forward to shake hands with her.
“I am so happy to meet you – this is Miss Bennet, is it not, Brother? I have heard so much about you!”
“Have you?”
“Oh yes,” Miss Tilney replied. She cast a curious gaze over Mary, as if taking her measure, before replying, “Yes, I see what you mean, Henry – so much intelligence about the eyes – simply wonderful.”
Mary blushed. She was still quite confused; she had no notion of why Miss Tilney should arrive, only to be lurking behind shrubbery, why Mr. Tilney should be disconcerted about it, and certainly doubted that the purpose of their meeting was so that she could be paid such pretty compliments, which Mary enjoyed far more than she ought to.
“Intelligence, and good sense besides,” Mr. Tilney said. “Yes, I do believe Mary is just the person to help us.”
“I do hope so,” Miss Tilney replied. “Has he asked you?”
Mary felt a strange sensation, a tightening in her chest. “Asked me what?”
Miss Tilney laughed, giving her brother a look of playful adoration. “What? You mean to leave it to me?”
Mr. Tilney answered with a shrug. “I have not even told her why I am in Hunsford at all. I confided in Miss Harriet, but rather regretted it – I do not wish to seem as though I am boasting, or sharing my history only to recommend myself.”
“What history? What is this?” Mary began to grow impatient at their speaking in riddles; if neither Mr. Tilney nor his sister wished to say whatever it was that had led them to approach her, she began to fear it could not be anything she would wish to hear, and she started to turn back.
“No, wait – please, Miss Bennet!” Mr. Tilney clasped her hand in hand gently, without any force, but it was enough to stay her.
“Really, sir,” Mary said with no little exasperation. “I must ask you to speak freely, or else seek the counsel of Miss Harriet, as she seems to know something of your business already.”
“She knows of it, in part – I really nearly mentioned it to you myself, when you asked me about my sister, but I thought you would suspect me of boasting.” Mr. Tilney glanced back at the hedge, attempting to peer over it, and suggested they move a little away, perhaps walk through the meadow, as he suspected he would be rather long in the telling of what he had to say.
Mary hesitated. Mr. Rushworth and Harriet would think she had gone off on her own with Mr. Tilney – it would be improper – if Kate were to hear of it, she would be drawing such conclusions! And yet, Miss Tilney’s pleading look was enough to convince Mary, and she accepted.
“Well,” Mary said as they began walking, “what is it you would tell me?”
“I must begin at the beginning,” Mr. Tilney replied. “Before I came to Hunsford, I had the living of Woodston, near my family home, Northanger Abbey. Has Miss Harriet never happened to mention it to you? I told her of it at the ball at Cranbrook, but that was before you came to Kent.”
“No – I am sure I should remember, if she had ever mentioned it – Northanger Abbey, it sounds just like something she would like – like something out of a Gothic novel!”
Miss Tilney laughed ruefully. “I believe it rather is. But I shall spare you any details that will only embarrass my brother. Suffice it to say that I have fallen in love with a young man who is not quite up to snuff, in my father’s opinion. He wishes me to marry a lord or a baronet. Henry is on my side – my Mr. Fielding is a parson, too, you see, so of course he must approve – but he and our father have had a falling out over it.”
Mr. Tilney blushed. “Come, come, one could fall out with Father over what to have for supper. And of course I should take your part, Ellie, in matters of the heart. You have one.”
“You see how kind my brother is to me?” Miss Tilney gave a sad smile. “Unfortunately, my brother’s support has done little to move my father. He knows that I mean to marry Mr. Fielding when I come of age in September. I care nothing for matters of fortune; I wish to marry for love, and to be happy. Father is determined that I shall not throw myself away on anything so inconsequential as love, and so he took me to London – or would have done – we got as near it as Watford, when I saw my opportunity, and I fled. I hope you will not think too ill of me, for being such a disobedient daughter, but I am so near to reaching my majority, I will not have my independence taken from me at the last. I shall not be married off against my will!”
“And so you have fled your father, to seek asylum with your brother?”
“That is just it, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Tilney answered on his sister’s behalf. “It was right of her to come to me, to have such faith in me, though I do not know how much I might help. Our father does not know where I have gone since leaving Gloucestershire – as Ellie says, we did not part on good terms – however, it might easily be discovered. I met with Lady Catherine in London, after your brother-in-law Robert recommended me to her. I do not know how widely known the arrangement may be – anyone who was present at dinner that night, when first we met, and dance
d, might know of it. Indeed, I believe Sir Walter Elliot is a friend of my father’s. In short, it is not impossible that he may yet learn where to find me, and when he does, he will find her. I think it unlikely it should take him until September, to be sure.”
“I think I begin to understand,” Mary said. “She cannot stay with you – but she cannot return to your father. Miss Tilney must be housed, must be hidden away somewhere, and where better than Rosings?”
Here Miss Tilney took Mary’s hand. “Believe me when I tell you it pains my brother, Miss Bennet, to ask you to harbor a fugitive, such as I am.”
Mary turned to Mr. Tilney. “Is this what you intend to ask of me, sir?”
“I should never ask it of you,” he replied, “if it were not so vitally important – so dear to my heart – can you do it?”
He looked at her with such intensity that Mary suddenly felt she could deny him nothing – what a dear man he was, to look after his sister, to defy his father even! If she had ever had a brother, she would have wished for just such a one. It was a hard thing to admit, even to herself, but for Mr. Tilney she was willing enough to bend her own rules, though she had never suspected it until this very moment. “Only tell me what I must do, and I will help you if I can.”
“Oh, Miss Bennet!” Miss Tilney squealed with delight, and wrapped her arms around Mary, laughing with delight and relief.
When Miss Tilney released her, Mr. Tilney took Mary’s hands and drew her a little nearer. “I cannot tell you what this means to me, Miss Bennet. I know you would not agree to such a thing lightly – you are far too good to us. I only hope there shall be no cause for you to regret your generosity.”
“You mean, should your father come into Kent in search of Miss Tilney?”
“I am fairly certain he shall, ere long,” Mr. Tilney replied.
“And what do you imagine shall occur when he does? He may not be satisfied by your assertion that she is not here. Though there may be no sign of her at the parsonage, he need only ask anyone else in the village after Miss Tilney, and be directed on to Rosings.”
“I had thought of that,” Miss Tilney said. “I need only give a false name.”
“Quite so,” Mr. Tilney agreed. “Perhaps she could be your friend Miss Smith, visiting from Surrey? You were there recently – it would be perfectly natural that you might have made a friend there, who should wish to visit you here.”
“Oh dear,” Mary said. “You would have me lie to my sister and brother-in-law while I am a guest in their home?”
“No, of course not.” Mr. Tilney replied. “I shall explain it to Robert myself – we are old friends. Robert and his wife shall know the truth, but to anyone else at Rosings, she is Miss Smith of Highbury, your particular friend.”
“Perhaps not Miss Smith,” Mary mused. “Harriet was called Miss Smith in Highbury, before she became Miss Sutton. There cannot be two such.”
“I had quite forgotten about Miss Harriet. She would instantly see through the disguise, unless we confide in her as well. Perhaps she might provide us some insight on the principal families of the area, so that we might pass Ellie off with some degree of credibility.”
“Very well. Let us go and speak to Harriet – I am sure she and Mr. Rushworth shall be relieved that I have not been alone with Mr. Tilney all this while, as I would not wish to arouse any suspicion – that is….”
Miss Tilney laughed. “My goodness, Brother! Are you quite known as a rake in the area?”
“Oh yes,” he said with cheerful defiance. “I am sure if ever I was alone with Miss Bennet, I should be counted upon to carry her off, never to be seen in the village again.”
Mary was rather embarrassed, but Mr. Tilney gave her such a teasing look that she merely swatted at him. The three companions turned back toward the dower house, reviewing the details of their plan. They had determined that Miss Tilney would stay two nights at the parsonage, for surely they could not expect General Tilney to discover his daughter’s whereabouts so quickly. That would give Mr. Tilney time to speak to Kate and Robert, and for Mary to make it known to the rest of the party at Rosings that she was expecting a visit from her friend.
Two days hence, Miss Tilney – Eleanor, she begged Mary to call her – would arrive at Rosings; Mr. Tilney would take her to the next village over, and put her in a hired coach, that her arrival might be duly convincing.
“I shall write you a letter, before I return to the parsonage with my brother,” she told Mary. “That way you have something to show your friends, from your dear friend Eleanor Smith, or whatever my name is to be. It shall all seem perfectly reasonable.”
They had reached the dower house, and were coming up the gravel path to speak with Harriet and Mr. Rushworth, who were still sitting in a pleasant tete-a-tete. Mary was relieved that they had not read on without her, as she was quite longing to hear the next chapter of The Romance of the Forest, but when Miss Tilney drew near enough to overhear their conversation, her face went white as a sheet.
***
“I suppose we had better wait for Mary, before reading on,” Harriet observed to Mr. Rushworth as Mr. Tilney led Mary away. “I know she is just as eager as I to read what happens next, and more so besides, for she has not read it already.”
Mr. Rushworth frowned and hesitantly set down the book. “Oh – yes, of course we must wait for her. I am sure you know best.”
Harriet smiled to herself, amused that he seemed to really wish to read on. “It is kind of you,” she said. “I am so glad you have joined our little reading circle. It has become rather lonely this past week, without Lydia and Georgiana.”
“I hope – I ought not to speak of it, but I can hardly feign ignorance – I hope you will convey my best wishes – that is, I hope their hearts are not so very broken.”
“That is kind of you to say,” Harriet replied. She smiled shyly at him, not sure it was quite right to gossip about her dear friends’ wretchedness. Even so, she was pleased by Mr. Rushworth’s warmth.
“Should we wait for Mary and Mr. Tilney, do you think? I imagine you must be wishing to get back to the dower house, to help your parents with all the wedding planning,” he said with a forced smile.
“Oh, no – that is, I am not sure how much help I can be. I have not much experience of that nature, as my mother does. I understand she did a great deal when Kate and Cousin Robert married, and my father has had four children married. I would only be in the way.”
“And yet, is it not a fine thing, to finally be present for a family wedding? Your first, since joining your family.”
Harriet smiled ruefully. Anyone in the family whose wedding she might have wished to attend was already wed. She would have enjoyed watching her cousin Georgiana marry her Mr. Willoughby, or Lydia wed Mr. Audley, but that was destined not to be. She could not like the notion of this wedding taking place at all, even though it was her half-sister who was to be the bride. Cynthia had not expressed any great eagerness to include Harriet – quite the opposite, in fact – and it had rather wounded Harriet.
“Will you stand up as bridesmaid for your sister?”
Harriet groaned, and then caught herself – what an unladylike display! “I – that is – I had not thought – Cynthia says she will not have any bridesmaids.”
“Oh,” Mr. Rushworth said, and then frowned. The poor man seemed to realize he had said exactly the wrong thing, and Harriet was moved to take pity on him, though she felt herself much more to be pitied at such a time.
“The truth is,” said she, resting her hand gently on his arm, “I had wished to be a bridesmaid – I should very much like it, but….”
He looked earnestly at her, his awkward grimace softening as he placed his hand on top of hers. “What is it, Miss Harriet? I hope I have not upset you in any way. I seem always to be saying the most dreadful things; you must think me very dim-witted indeed.”
“I could never think such a thing!”
“I am sure a great many people do,” h
e sighed. “I am never the cleverest of my companions, nor the brightest. Well – I apologize, what an awful thing to say. I have only made you more uncomfortable.”
“I hate to hear you speak of yourself in such a way. If anybody else said such things of you, I am sure I should – I do not know – I should… hit them square in the nose!”
Mr. Rushworth laughed. “I cannot imagine you ever doing any such thing, but it is kind of you to say so. You are always so very gentle, Miss Harriet. I thank you for your generosity. With you, I need not feel so foolish – you never seem to take offense, even when I am sure I have given it.”
“You have given me no offense, Mr. Rushworth. It is only that I am a little upset, not by anything you have said. It is rather distressing to me – Cynthia’s being wed, I mean.”
“Why should it distress you? He is a fine match for your sister – he seems to make her very happy. Perhaps you are thinking of Miss Lydia?”
“I confess I am – I have been worried about her.”
“I know it cannot be so wrong of us to gossip about it – let us keep it just between us, Miss Harriet. We can speak candidly together, can we not?”
“I certainly hope so,” she replied. “At any rate, it is hardly gossip to own that I feel some compassion for my friend. She has certainly made a great spectacle of her feelings – I need not conceal mine. She has been quite despondent, ever since the engagement was announced.”
“It was a shocking scene! Truth be told, I felt rather sorry for the girl – he certainly led her on, did he not? I believe we all expected things to play out differently – we had every reason to think it would be so.”
“Yes, exactly. I hope it is of some comfort to her, at least, to know that the error in making such an assumption was not hers alone. I suppose, at such a time, it cannot be much of a consolation.”