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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 that 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 want 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.

She thought of
making some excuse. The note was phrased just loosely enough that, coming from
some other man, it might be interpreted as a request instead of a command. But
Mr. Farnsworth, she reminded herself, did not make suggestions; he gave orders,
and he was accustomed to having them obeyed as if he were still a captain in
the Navy. In the end, Mary decided it would draw less attention to herself, and
therefore less discomfort, if she simply did what was expected of her. With the
children along, it seemed unlikely that she would be forced into any awkward
conversations similar to the one the other night.

Michael was
always eager for a ride, especially with his father. Grace was happy because
Mary was going too. This time it was Gwendolyn who complained, preferring to
stay behind in the company of her poetry, but she was also aware how futile
attempting to cry off would be. So, Mary and her charges dutifully donned their
riding clothes and assembled at the stables by the appointed time. Their five
horses were saddled and waiting as well. Instead of Mr. Farnsworth coming,
however, at ten minutes after the hour another note from him arrived. It was
directed to the governess in his bold, careless hand.

Miss Bennet,

I have just
this minute received an urgent message, summoning me to town on business that
cannot be postponed. Please instruct that someone should bring my horse round
to the front of the house at once. You and the children must continue on as
planned, taking a groom along for safety’s sake. My disappointment at not being
able to join you on this occasion is only assuaged by the thought that we shall
keep our appointment another time. You shall ride with me again, Miss Bennet. 
H.F.

Mary’s thoughts
upon reading the brief missive were all in celebration of her reprieve. That
Mr. Farnsworth should be taken off at the very moment when she expected to have
to see him again, and that he should in all probability be kept away from
Netherfield for several days following, could be nothing other than the
sweetest stroke of good fortune.

Michael was all
disappointment, however, and the quality of this second ride suffered
undeniably for his father’s absence. Mary could not fill Mr. Farnsworth’s place
for leading the expedition; she did not know the best routes to take, nor did
she possess his knack for making discoveries round every corner and behind
every hedge. Even the horses seemed to sense the difference – that nothing
remarkable would be required of them that day – and they settled into a
plodding pace from which no amount of coaxing could dislodge them. The result
was a calmer albeit far less interesting afternoon.

If Friday
failed to supply its full measure of stimulation, Sunday more than made up for
it. Mary arrived at Longbourn church that morning, fifteen minutes before the
commencement of the service, to find the gathered congregation a-hum with news
of strangers in their midst. Mrs. Bennet, who was no doubt the source of these
reports, quickly provided her daughter with all the necessary information as
well.

“Friends of Mr.
Collins from America!” she told Mary. “A brother and sister by the name of Beam
– Mr. Calvin and Miss Polly Beam. Perhaps you have heard your cousin speak of
them. They took a notion to follow Mr. Collins here to England, and so they have! They are both this minute at Longbourn with him, drinking tea and sitting
in our front parlor. What do you think of that, Mary?”

“This is most
surprising. I do remember Mr. Collins speaking of some particular friends in
Virginia – neighbors also, they were. But what could have possessed them to
travel so far to see him again so soon?”

“That is the
very question I would wish to ask them myself – that and how long they intend
to stay – although I should hope that I know better than to do so. It might be
indelicate in my position for me to make such inquiries, and yet I cannot help
wishing Mr. Tristan Collins would.”

“I suppose he
must be pleased to see his friends.”

“I daresay he
is, although I believe he was as surprised as anyone else that they had come.
Nevertheless, we have made room for them, and you shall meet them for yourself
after church. They declined my invitation to come along this morning – which I
must say vexed me greatly – claiming to be too tired from their travels. I
suppose I shall have to be content to wait until tomorrow to introduce them to
our local society. We are all bidden to your aunt Phillips’s house then for supper
and cards. Everybody’s curiosity will have been vastly increased by suspense, I
daresay, so I can at least think of that whilst I am waiting.”

“Really, Mama!
Are they such oddities that people will throng to get a look at them?”

“They are
Americans, Mary, born and bred! Not simply English returned to their native
country like your cousin.”

“Do you mean to
say that they are red Indians, Mama?”

“Certainly not!
Do you suppose I would stay two minutes, let alone two days, in the same house
as bloodthirsty savages who are as likely to slit my throat as look at me? Good
gracious, no. Their father was English right enough; so I understand. No doubt
he saw to it they were raised to have
some
manners, but still I shudder
to think what must have been lacking in their upbringing. Their mother came
from France, after all, which may account for Miss Beam’s looks as well as the
airs she takes on, as if she imagines herself a very fine lady instead of the
next thing to a heathen. And her coming just now, before your sister has had a
chance to secure Mr. Collins, is very unlucky. I do not like the way Miss Beam
looks at him, not one bit. Kitty had better watch out for that one, and so I
have told her!” It was then time to go in, so Mrs. Bennet was forced to leave
off her tales of the newcomers.

Mary could
barely be civil to her fellow parishioners as they all made their way into the
church, so thoroughly was her mind occupied with the information her mother had
imparted about Mr. and Miss Beam, and with what she herself could recall of Mr.
Tristan’s remarks about the pair. They owned the farm adjoining his in Virginia – she was certain of that much – and that they had treated him kindly when he
first arrived in that place.

There must have
been some kind of unpleasantness thereafter, because the conversation had moved
on to the desirability of making a fresh start. Whether or not the
unpleasantness had anything to do with the Beams, however, Mary had no way of
knowing. She only remembered Tristan’s expression when he spoke of it – the
shadow that flitted across his determinedly cheerful countenance. Yet he had
left his holdings in Calvin Beam’s care.

And now here
they were, come nearly halfway round the world to see their friend again. Was
it excessive affection that brought them, Mary wondered, or some other pressing
matter? Her mother had already marked Miss Beam out as a rival to Kitty, and
thus to herself as well. Although Mary would not credit half her mother’s
opinions, the idea of a lovers’ quarrel and going to great lengths to repair it
would explain the facts.

The first hymn
was just beginning when Mary sat down in the pew next to her sister. Kitty said
nothing; she only smiled in a way that evoked the idea of a wistful apology.
Mary answered with an equally conciliatory look. She did not wish to quarrel.
And if there really were a threat from the outside, it would be well for the
Bennet sisters to close ranks against the interloper.