Mary sniffed and smiled a watery smile. ‘It doesn’t give me pleasure any more. So I will refrain from playing.’
‘Of course,’ Lizzy said. She knew that was the end of it for now. She patted her sister’s arm, and they continued their walk in silence.
THE DAYS AT Pemberley drifted through the summer. Darcy often had business in town or on the estate, but Lizzy made sure that she and he had time together alone, either walking or taking the carriage about. Lizzy did not ride but would drive a little phaeton and pony as Darcy rode his favourite horse in the grounds. Once Mary watched them as they came back from one such time together, Lizzy with her hand on Darcy’s arm, and Darcy bent protectively over Lizzy as they walked and conversed. She wondered then how she could have thought Lizzy was unhappy. Darcy, too, was as grave as ever, but all he had to do was look upon Lizzy and his face lightened with joy.
Georgiana and Mary drew close, although as Mary already had four sisters she was not sure she was ready for another. Still, Georgiana was a good girl who at first was quiet and then, when Mary grew more acquainted, showed a mischievous streak. Georgiana tried to hide this from her brother, who looked upon her with a kind of grim foreboding, as if he expected his sister to perform some extraordinary frisk. Georgiana was quite different with Mary from what she was with her brother or Lizzy, and Mary rather liked her vivacity.
Though Georgiana was accounted most accomplished, she also liked reading, though her taste tended towards the wilder sort of poetry and novels. She pressed her favourite volume in Mary’s hands, and, dubiously, Mary began it. Half-scandalized and half-enraptured, she read it quickly, lest she be found with it by Lizzy or Darcy. She wondered what Mr Collins would think, and then she thought, Fie on Mr Collins! She laughed to think of his shocked expression and his expressions of dour censure. What would he think of her having received a novel from Georgiana Darcy, of all people? Still, she hastened to finish the book and give it back to Georgiana.
Then they discussed it for hours, Mary’s dark head and Georgiana’s fair one close together as they reread their favourite parts. What adventures young Catherine had in Northanger Abbey! And for the first time, Mary thought it might be fine to meet a young man in the assembly rooms in Bath, even if he didn’t have a stern father or a scandalous elder brother.
‘I like this one better than The Mysteries of Udolpho,’ Georgiana said. ‘Catherine seems more like us, as if the author knows what a girl really was like. But Udolpho is quite frightening. I couldn’t shut my eyes for several nights after I read it.’ She trembled with the memory of the delicious fright.
Novels, Fordyce said, were unfit for expanding a young woman’s horizons. They turned a female away from her true study and excited emotions unacceptable in a genteel lady.
‘The Mysteries of Udolpho,’ Mary said. ‘I have heard of it. I’d like to read that one next.’
PEMBERLEY WAS NOT as lively a household as Bingley’s could be. There, Jane and Bingley entertained often, and it seemed sometimes as if all the young people of the neighbourhood gathered at the house nightly for an informal assembly. No, at Pemberley, Lizzy and Darcy kept a quieter household, though they enjoyed entertaining guests and visiting in their turn.
One morning Darcy took Lizzy’s hand, a gesture that Mary often found both puzzling and disquieting – it was such a proper display of affection yet it held such a private meaning.
‘Lizzy,’ he said, ‘Do you remember meeting Tom Aikens? He has written to me saying he is coming to stay in the village on business, but has expressed a wish to visit us.’
‘I do remember,’ Lizzy said. ‘He is from ___shire, is that not so? A fine horseman?’
Georgiana gave a sudden laugh. ‘I remember! He was such a funny young man! How he made me laugh! I scarce could keep up with him, he would talk and talk on all manner of topics.’
Tom Aikens was a young man of not more than two-and-twenty, of respectable family. The recent death of his father had left him the inheritor of a small estate, which he was ambitious enough to expand in all ways possible, instead of merely squandering its wealth, as many young men with lesser drive were wont to do. He had a great interest in horses and would talk of almost nothing else to anyone who would listen.
‘Be prepared, Mary,’ Georgiana said to her. ‘For he will talk to you of nothing but horses, hunting, and racing. He cannot sit still but must always be moving. It is a wonder he can sit still in the saddle.’
‘Oh,’ Mary said. ‘He sounds alarming.’ To herself she thought he was precisely the sort of young man who was rowdy and boisterous and had nothing to do with quiet young women such as herself. Therefore she would not care to meet him, for he would not care to meet her.
Mr Aikens was true to his reputation, for soon all of the little village at the foot of Pemberley’s estate were talking of the young gentleman who rode a fine black horse and thought nothing of jumping over all the hedges all across the country. It was as if a wind blew behind him at all moments. There was talk of nothing but Mr Aikens at all the social gatherings in the county, and though Mary had yet to meet him, she found herself already tired of him.
‘For goodness’ sake, Lizzy,’ she remarked with some exasperation one morning as they made their way through the village’s crowded little high street. ‘It is as if no one like Mr Aikens has ever visited us before. What will become of us when he leaves?’
‘I almost wish he would,’ said Lizzy, half under her breath, nodding cordially to a neighbour. ‘Then we might have some peace. But you know how it is to live in such a small town. When there is little that happens, everything becomes such a to-do. At least it is just one Mr Aikens and his black horse and not a regiment of officers.’
Mary surprised herself by giving a laugh. ‘He is likely to cause less trouble, even if he gallops about so intemperately on horseback.’
Lizzy gave her a smile in return. ‘I wonder why we ladies of Longbourn never learned to love horses. I never was a good enough horsewoman to enjoy the exercise, and I think Jane learned only enough to stay on.’
‘I remember our dear little pony,’ Mary said. She had never forgotten the small brown horse, with his black mane and tail and mischievous temper. He would bite if one wasn’t careful, but he smelled of oats and was fat and comfortable when one of the girls begged a ride from the grooms on the farm.
‘Yes, but I also remember that he mistook my straw bonnet for his luncheon. Do you remember how Mama screamed when she saw that he had chewed his way through my ribbons and was fairly on his way to my hair?’
‘Is that why he was banished to the Lucases? You traitor! I liked him. Once Leigh let me ride him by myself through the fields.’
‘Yes, and he abandoned you halfway through a wet swale after being frightened by a covey of grouse.’
Mary wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. ‘Oh dear. Mr Aikens will find us wanting, I think.’
Lizzy suddenly tightened her hand on Mary’s arm. ‘Sooner than you think, Mary. Look.’ She nodded up ahead at them. There was a crowd of men and horses, and a hubbub of conversation. One young man sat on his black horse, speaking to the rest, his pose casual as his horse danced nervously in the street. He wore a tall hat on his curly brown hair, and his coat was grey with a considerable amount of dirt upon it. The effect was compounded by muddy boots, as if he had been trampling about in wet fields, but there was no denying that he was a horseman of great prowess. He never moved, and controlled his horse with almost imperceptible effort.
‘Oh,’ Mary said with some surprise. It was not only the sight that he presented that was engaging. She knew him. He had been the young man at the Lucases who had asked her to dance, only to have Maria Lucas claim him instead.
She became overwhelmed with nervousness. She wondered whether he would remember her, told herself that he could not possibly; she was surprised at herself that she even remembered him, she had such a small glimpse of him and their conversation had been so brief. Is it he? she thought.
It hardly seems likely. To be sure, she made a little moue, just as he looked at them over the crowd. Mary had the self-knowledge to realize that he would think she was scowling at him and felt her colour rise. She wanted to turn away, but he lifted his hat and Lizzy curtsied. Mary followed suit hastily. Lizzy threw her a quick glance, wanting to see what made her act so strangely. She had no time to explain. Mr Aikens dismounted and led his horse over to them, the crowd parting to let him pass.
‘Mrs Darcy,’ he said. ‘A pleasure to see you again, ma’am.’ He shook Lizzy’s hand and then bowed to Mary.
‘Mr Aikens, it is indeed a pleasure to see you. May I introduce my sister, Miss Mary Bennet?’ Lizzy said. Mary curtsied again as he bowed. When he looked at her he narrowed his eyes for a moment, his expression at once aloof and searching. It unnerved her, so she spoke quickly.
‘Mr Aikens, you may not remember, but we have met.’
With Lizzy staring at her as if she had lost her mind, Mary was about to remind him of their first meeting, when he broke into a smile.
‘I knew it!’ he cried. ‘At Lucas Lodge! I thought I remembered you. I could not for the life of me remember where I had seen you, though.’
Mary was conscious of a great relief and pleasure. He had remembered her, and it appeared that the memory was not at all painful. ‘Capital!’ he went on, ‘for the Greys have said they are planning a private ball and are inviting all the neighbourhood. You will be able to play for the assembly!’
Mary’s smile froze. Mr Aikens went on, oblivious to her dismay. ‘What do you think of my horse? I’ve named him Hyperion. All of my horses are named after the gods. It suits them, don’t you think?’
With Lizzy cautiously patting the horse’s gleaming neck, Mary took a breath and tried to regain her calm. He could not have known how his words had stung, yet she could not help but feel the pain. She felt an unhappy fluttering in her stomach. She wondered why her mother seemed to enjoy feeling like this.
As Mr Aikens and Lizzy discussed the merits of his horse, or rather, Mr Aikens talked and Lizzy nodded and tried to put a word in edgewise, Mary took the opportunity to pet the animal’s mane. The horse, so much bigger than the pony of her childhood, turned his head to look at her. He breathed with a snort out of large nostrils, and his ears cocked forward at her. She knew little of horses except that this one seemed calm and happy to see her. She held out her hand to him and he blew on it.
‘He likes you,’ Mr Aikens said, breaking off his conversation with Lizzy in mid-sentence. ‘He is a great judge of character. I turn to him for his opinion on all of my acquaintance.’
‘You rely on his judgement? What if he is easily swayed by oats and apples?’ Lizzy said, smiling.
Mr Aikens scoffed. ‘A man would be more easily led. No, Hyperion recognizes breeding and true gentleness and is not to be bribed. His good opinion is absolute.’
Lizzy laughed, delight in her eyes. ‘Does he ever change his mind?’
Mr Aikens pretended to consider that. ‘No, I believe he is right the first time. It makes it much easier for me, you see. I simply observe to whom he gives his approval and follow suit.’
Mary said, ‘No human fallibility, then, can mar his judgement. How happy men would be could they always be so right.’
‘No offence to Hyperion’s excellent judgement,’ Lizzy said, ‘but I have it on good authority that at least one man is relieved that his first opinion was trumped by a second.’
‘But horses can have no such regrets,’ Mr Aikens said. He smiled. ‘At least I think they do not, and on that point, Hyperion has not been able to enlighten me.’
‘If God had given them the gift of speech, they would not be animals,’ Mary said.
‘And perhaps it is just as well,’ Mr Aikens said. ‘I fear God’s judgement but I think that animals would have more to say about man’s perfidy against them.’
Mary was shocked by this blasphemy and said no more as Mr Aikens and Lizzy conversed. In the end, Lizzy invited him to dinner that night, and Mr Aikens accepted. They parted company, continuing their little excursion down the village high street while Mr Aikens remounted his horse and rode off on the rest of his errands.
‘A most unusual man,’ Mary said at last. ‘I hardly know what to make of him.’
‘But you met him before,’ Lizzy said. ‘How was it you did not tell us?’
‘I had not ever learned his name,’ Mary admitted. ‘You know how it is at the Lucases. One scarcely has time for introductions before all are off in a frenzy of activity, whether it is dancing or cards or some other game.’
‘He remembered you,’ Lizzy said, and there was a mischievous light in her eye.
Mary blushed. What was Lizzy scheming? ‘As I was the only girl at the piano, I was easy to remember.’
She rather liked the idea but had to hide a pinch of disappointment when Lizzy said, ‘Ah, that must be it.’
Mary turned away, pretending to adjust her glove. ‘He is a fine young man, to be sure. But I would be surprised if he opened a book, and the way he spoke about his horse! One must not give to animals the attributes of mankind – it is blasphemous, Lizzy.’
‘He was funning, Mary.’
Was he? Mary knew she had little experience with men, and even less with men of Mr Aikens’s stripe. Had she misunderstood? She stared after the departing Mr Aikens, still in sight for, though there was much traffic along the street, he sat so high.
‘Anyway,’ she said, mostly to herself, ‘Mr Aikens and myself are as ill-suited as you and Mr Collins would be.’ Then Mary heard what she had just spoken out loud and wished she could take the words back. Now Lizzy would think that she thought of Mr Aikens in those terms. But Lizzy said only,
‘No couple can be as ill-suited as that. I won’t allow the possibility.’ She took Mary’s arm and they continued their slow promenade down the village street.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MARY WAS NOT required to play the piano for the Greys’ party after all, as they had engaged a small ensemble of musicians to provide music for dancing. For the first time in years, Mary would be required to dance. She steeled herself, laid out her best gown on her bed and sat and stared at it. No matter what she did, she could not make herself handsome. She was thin, her complexion plain, her features unremarkable. Her eyes had not that beauty that other unremarkable young women could claim, and her hair was thin and could not hold a curl. And where Jane was accounted a great beauty, Lizzy noticed for her vivacious character and fine eyes, and Kitty and Lydia for their youth and good humour, Mary had no saving grace by which to distinguish herself. Society looks for attributes in others with which to please itself and rewards the owners thereby; Mary neither smiled nor spoke prettily and was judged accordingly.
Perhaps I am unwell, she thought hopefully, but she had nothing, not even a headache. Still, she thought of crying off but she knew it was likely that Lizzy would want to stay at home with her. Mary sighed.
‘It is my trial,’ she said to her pretty room. ‘I must meet it with all the strength and courage I can muster. I will simply say that I do not dance.’
She summoned up her severest expression. If she took her little book of sermons, perhaps she could make it clear that Mrs Darcy’s younger sister was to be taken quite seriously.
For a few moments Mary indulged in a little daydream, one that had given her solace before. She is at a ball, and all are dancing; she alone reads from her little book. A young man, serious as she, perhaps a curate who had just got a living, sees her and asks what she is reading....
A rap at the door caught her attention and she sat up.
‘Come in!’ she called out, her voice wavering with a bit of fright that she had been caught out in her little dream.
It was only Lizzy; her sister peeped round the corner and came in.
‘I came to see if you needed help to dress. Oh, that is a lovely colour,’ she said of Mary’s blue gown. ‘It will suit you quite well.’
‘It
is very plain,’ Mary agreed.
Lizzy cocked her head. ‘Yes, it is, but it suits you, and we can ornament it with a few small pearls. Would you like me to help you with your hair?’
‘I can manage a simple plait,’ Mary said stiffly. She wanted to scream, Don’t turn me into a peacock!
Lizzy looked as if she would protest, then nodded. ‘Still, I will send in my maid. She can make a very pretty plait for you and you will see – it will suit you as well as the gown. I promise.’ She smiled and closed the door behind her, and Mary turned back to her gown.
She rarely went to balls outside Meryton; that society had been all she had known prior to that summer. She could not make herself handsome, and her best blue gown would look nothing like the gowns of her sister and Georgiana. I am poor Mary Bennet, a country relation, she thought. If there is any consolation, it is that none will pay any attention to me.
True to her word, Lizzy sent in her maid. The girl braided Mary’s hair, chattering on about how pretty her nut-brown tresses were, and pinned them up like a crown on her head.
‘Ooh, that looks lovely, miss,’ she said. ‘Let me make it fancy for you, now. Just you wait.’ She fashioned small curls around Mary’s forehead and her temple to frame her face. Then she handed her the looking-glass. Mary was pleased. She did not look like a peacock. Somehow in the light and with the curls her face was rounder and softer, but she still looked like herself.
‘Those are pretty ear-bobs, miss,’ the maid said.
‘Thank you,’ Mary said. The small pearl earrings had belonged to Mr Bennet’s mother and were old-fashioned and simple. Just like me, Mary thought. She stood. Her blue gown was plain, but it had lace at the collar and a satin ribbon at the high waist, and little flowers embroidered along the sides and the hem. Her slippers matched her gown, and their little heels and buckles gleamed. She gathered her light wrap over her arms and pulled on her long gloves, borrowed from her sister.
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