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30

Company Coming

Once returned
to Netherfield, Mary did her best to put those at Longbourn out of her mind.
There was nothing more she could do about that situation at present. The family
drama between Mr. Tristan Collins, Kitty, and Miss Beam would have to carry on
without her for another week, at least without her physical presence. She had
to hope that her existence would not be entirely forgotten, though, that some
lingering impression remained to keep her prospects alive.

As usual,
Mary’s work with the Farnsworth children kept her much occupied the next day.
They had started with mathematics that morning and had just moved on to
geography when Clinton came into the schoolroom to say that Mary’s presence was
required downstairs.

“Miss
Farnsworth it is who wants you,” he told her. “Said as I should fetch you right
away.”

“Very well, Clinton,” Mary replied. “You have delivered your message and may go. I know my way and will
come directly.”

“I think I had
better wait for you. Miss Farnsworth told me…”

“And now
I
am telling you to go on ahead without me,” Mary interrupted. “I do not require
an escort, and I will be there the more quickly if you leave me now to settle
the children. Do you understand me?”

“’Course I do;
I ain’t no dunce, you know. Only you mustn’t dawdle. Miss F. has got herself
worked up into quite a pucker.”

When he had
gone, Mary gave Gwendolyn, Grace, and Michael each an assignment to work on in
her absence, and then she hastened down to the entry hall. There she found all
the upper servants gathered in silence before Miss Farnsworth. That lady held
in her hand what appeared to be a letter, and she was doing a fair imitation of
her brother, scowling and pacing an abbreviated route in front of the doorway.

She looked up
when Mary came down the stairs. “Ah, I see Miss Bennet has deigned to join us,
so now we may begin,” she said, coming to a standstill. “I have called you all
here to apprise you of Mr. Farnsworth’s plans, that you may begin making ready
immediately.” She waved the letter in the air for emphasis. “He will be
returning from London on Wednesday, and not alone. He is bringing with him a
large party of friends, who will be staying for no less than a week. There will
be feasting, and dancing, and everything in the way of the best entertainment.”

A low murmuring
broke out amongst the servants at this momentous news.

“It goes
without saying that your master will expect everyone and everything here at
Netherfield to be in peak form,” Miss Farnsworth continued, “to do him proud
before his guests. There is much work to be done in preparation and not a
moment to lose. Cook, I will want to see your menu plans this afternoon without
fail. Mrs. Brand, I must consult with you immediately. The rest of you, with
the exception of Miss Bennet, may go and get busy about your duties at once.
That is all for now.”

A hum of
chatter surged and then died away again as the others dispersed, leaving Mary,
Mrs. Brand, and Miss Farnsworth behind in the hall.

“Miss Bennet,”
said Miss Farnsworth with obvious hostility.

“Yes, Madam?”

“You may be
wondering what any of this has to do with you. And so am I, in truth. All I do
know is that I have been charged by my brother to give you
this
.” She
shook a sealed note at Mary, as if it were conclusive evidence of some crime.
“If there is anything in it that at all pertains to my preparations, I trust
you will bring it to my attention. What my brother could have to say to
you
that merits a private correspondence, I am sure I cannot imagine. Go now, for I
have more important matters to discuss with Mrs. Brand.”

Mrs. Brand gave
Mary a sympathetic look, but she could say nothing with the mistress present.
Mary had no wish to linger in any case. Her curiosity to know the contents of
the note from Mr. Farnsworth was at least equal to that which it had excited in
his sister. She hurried back upstairs with her prize, going to her bedchamber
instead of returning to the schoolroom, to read the missive in private.
Carrying it to the pool of light streaming in through the window, she broke the
seal and read.

Miss Mary Bennet,

I hope you
do not find my writing to you to be presumptuous. I know that some might
consider it improper for me, a single gentleman, to correspond directly with
you, a single lady. Such privileges are generally reserved for engaged couples,
I believe. I should have allowed my sister to relay this message were I
altogether certain she would do so properly. In light of past events, however,
I had no such assurances. Furthermore, I thought that, under the guise of our
professional relationship, I might be permitted this minor liberty.

You will
have learnt by now that I have adopted your advice, just as I said I would. We
shall give the local gossips some truth to talk about as you recommended, for I
am indeed inviting my friends to Netherfield for dancing and general merriment.
My particular wish is that you should be counted amongst the guests – for the
entire week or at least at the ball to be held Thursday night. That is the
purpose for my writing to you now, to personally invite you. You shall be
introduced as the daughter of a local gentleman, which indeed you are, as you
have more than once reminded me. There will be no mention made of your current
occupation unless you yourself chose to divulge it.

Miss
Farnsworth will not approve, of course, which is why I did not entrust to her
the task of telling you all this. She will, however, abide by my wishes when
she has no choice. Show her the pertinent portion of this letter and she will
provide you with anything you may need to be properly attired –
your
choice from her best gowns this time, not hers. I promised myself that one day
I would dance with you, Miss Bennet. Please do not disappoint me.

Yours,
etc.

Harrison
Farnsworth

Mary sat some
minutes staring at the confident strokes of black ink scrawled on the single
sheet of paper, silently digesting the meaning of the words they conveyed. She
was astounded – and extremely flattered – that Mr. Farnsworth should invite her
to be his guest at the house party. For a moment she even pictured herself
fitted out like a proper lady and proudly escorted to the dance floor on Mr.
Farnsworth’s steady arm. The letter clearly stated that was what he desired.
And on the face of things his tone sounded sincere and gracious enough – very
little of his former autocratic tendencies in evidence.

And yet
something inside her would not allow Mary to trust it. Much could be concealed
on a written page, after all, and it was possible to put more than one
construction on the words of the author.

She read the
letter again, imagining that Mr. Farnsworth himself was present. This time,
hearing the words as from his own mouth, there was no sincerity or
graciousness. Mary saw only cavalier diversion in his eyes and heard only
derision in his voice, as she had at the close of their last meeting, when he
laughed at her. How much different was the effect of this second perusal! How
quickly it put an end to any pleasant feelings of gratification… and to every
idea of accepting the invitation.

Under the best
of circumstances, with Mr. Farnsworth’s full loyalty and regard, a party
amongst
the ton
would be no very pleasant prospect for her. How much
worse, then, to know herself to be at a severe disadvantage going in. Despite
what he promised in his letter, it was sure to come out that she was merely the
governess in that house. Then the jokes would begin. Mary shuddered at the
thought.

No, she would
certainly not attend only to be laughed at again, to be made the object of Miss
Farnsworth’s insults and Mr. Farnsworth’s sport. It was out of the question
even to consider it.

Had there been
a fire in the grate, Mary would have tossed the offensive note straight in. As
it was, she took the great satisfaction of ruthlessly tearing it to shreds
before discarding it.

~~*~~

Mary carefully
kept to the schoolroom and to the company of the Farnsworth children as much as
possible after that. However, she made a brief but happy exception when
Monsieur Hubert arrived the next morning. Miss Farnsworth sent a message to the
nursery saying that she could not under the circumstances spare the time to
take her turn, and that Gwendolyn should report directly to the music room in
her place. Grace followed, and then, with all three children settled at their
geography assignments, Mary lightheartedly flew downstairs.

“Ah, Miss
Bennet, a pleasure, as always!” said Monsieur Hubert upon her entrance. “My
favorite pupil is, like the sweet after a meal, reserved for last again today.”

“Really,
Monsieur, you should not say such things; it is too much flattery.”

“
Mais non
!
I tell you nothing more than what is the truth. There is no need to dissemble,
therefore. A lady should be able to hear and acknowledge her merits with
dignity. No embarrassment, Miss Bennet! And no more protests either! That is my
command. Now, how have you been getting on with Monsieur Beethoven, hmm?”

As usual,
Monsieur Hubert and the magic of music carried all Mary’s troubles away. For that
one hour, the house party and Mr. Farnsworth’s upsetting letter retreated to a
distant corner of her mind, where they could be as completely forgotten as
yesterday’s dirty dishes.

Alas, it was
only a temporary reprieve. When Mary returned to the schoolroom, Gwendolyn made
it difficult for her to keep at bay thoughts of the coming event. The girl had
caught the excitement of the thing and could form neither an opinion nor a
sentence concerning anything else in the intervening days. Even though it was unlikely
she should catch much more than a glimpse of the party’s splendor, the
anticipation of its going forward in her vicinity was enough to feed every one
of her burgeoning notions of romance.

“Oh, how I wish
I were old enough to be there!” she exclaimed Tuesday afternoon whilst they
were taking their airing out of doors.

Mary had
started off at a brisk pace with the children, taking a circular lane on the
property that she had discovered made an excellent path for exercise. Michael
and Grace had scampered on ahead, but Gwen hung back with Mary, speculation
about the coming party on her mind.

“Do you suppose
Papa might allow me to attend the ball on Thursday night?” she asked.

“I think not,
my dear Gwen,” Mary answered. “You are far too young. Perhaps when you are
sixteen or seventeen. No doubt there will be many other opportunities, now that
your father has decided to entertain at Netherfield again.”

“If I could
only be there to watch, I should be satisfied. Well, almost satisfied. I used
to love to watch my father and mother dancing,” the girl added, dropping both
her gaze and her voice.

“Really? You
must have been very young. How long ago was this?” Mary asked gently.

“It was before
we came to Netherfield, when Mama was still strong. We lived in town then, and
we often had parties with dancing. Mama loved to give parties, and I sometimes
slipped down from the nursery to watch. I would have been seven or eight, I
suppose, for I was nine when we came here.”

“And did both
your mother and father like to dance then?”

“Oh, yes!
Sometimes they did not even wait for a ball. Papa would pull my mother to her
feet of a sudden and sweep her round the room with no real music to dance by –
just him humming a tune. I wonder whom he will dance with on Thursday.”

“I could not
even guess, Gwen.” Mary only knew that it would not be herself.

Gwendolyn
chattered on, but Mary was too lost in her own thoughts to properly attend. She
could not get this new picture of her employer out of her head – Mr. Farnsworth
dancing gaily with his poor wife as if they, neither one of them, had a care in
the world. The poignant portrait intrigued her, and yet the people in it were
unrecognizable as those she had met upon first coming to Longbourn – he
dictatorial and cold, she frail and defeated. Mary had not imagined there had
ever been much affection, let alone joy, in the Farnsworths’ marriage. At least
there had been precious little evidence of it by the time she knew them. What
could have happened to change them both so severely?

31

Observing a Ball

Since the
schoolroom windows overlooked the gravel sweep at the front of the house, Mary
and the children could hear every carriage as it approached on Wednesday. Mr.
Farnsworth’s own carriage arrived first, an hour before any of the others. Presently
he came up to see his children, embracing each of the girls and shaking hands
with his young son. Then he turned to Mary.

“Hello, Miss
Bennet,” he said. “You are well, I hope.”

“Yes, sir, very
well indeed.”

“Excellent! I
trust I shall be seeing you again soon, downstairs tomorrow evening if not
before,” he said with a significant look. Then he gave a slight bow and left
the room.

He had not
waited for an answer because he was confident that she would come. Mary
concluded thus much from his manner and his tone. Accustomed to having his own
way, Mr. Farnsworth expected this occasion to be no different than any other.
He expected
her
to be no different than any other. Perhaps she ought to
have called him back and undeceived him at once. Instead, she had let the
correct moment for doing so slip by with him none the wiser.

“What did Papa
mean?” Grace asked. “Why should you see him again soon?”

“I cannot say,
Grace. Perhaps he means to send for me to discuss your progress, so we had best
get back to our studies.”

Very little
progress was made that day, however. The children ran to the windows every time
they heard another carriage, and they strained to see who was alighting from
it. Michael was sure to call out something about the horses or the style of the
carriage, and Gwendolyn something about the lady who emerged from it. Mary
could not blame them; it was the most singular event to take place at
Netherfield in years, and it was only natural they should be excited.

For her part,
Mary wished only to stay as much out of the way as possible. It was a big
house, and there seemed little chance of her coming across the master or any of
his guests as long as she kept to a governess’s province – her own chamber, the
children’s quarters, the schoolroom, and the back staircase. When they went out
of doors, they would come and go as inconspicuously as possible and stay far
from the house and stables.

Her plan worked
flawlessly the rest of that day and all the next. Mary’s difficulty came on
Thursday evening.

“Please say
yes, Miss Bennet.” Gwendolyn peered up at her with beseeching eyes to match her
tone of voice. “I swear I will go alone if I must, but I had much rather you
went with me.”

The ball was
well underway downstairs, and the lively music filtered up to the nursery,
where they were taking their supper. Mary hesitated, torn between an earnest
desire to accommodate the girl’s request to observe the dancing and her own to
go nowhere near it.

Gwen continued.
“We shall not be seen, if that is what worries you. And in any case, I daresay
Papa would not mind in the least.”

“I am by no
means assured of that, Gwen.” He might not mind his daughter spying on the
party. The uncooperative governess was quite another thing. Still, if they were
careful…

“Please, Miss.
I must be allowed to watch, just for a few minutes, or I think I shall simply
burst!”

“Compose
yourself, Gwendolyn. Wild and uncontrolled behavior will not serve. If we are
to attempt this, I must be certain that you are able to conduct yourself with
caution and decorum.”

The girl’s eyes
popped wide with excitement, but she stifled any further outburst, covering her
mouth with both hands. After a minute of inward jubilation, she became
tolerably calm once more.

“That is
better,” said Mary. “Now finish your supper, and then we shall have a brief
look downstairs. You must promise to be discreet. I should not wish your father
or any of his guests to ever have an idea that we had been near the place. Do
you understand?”

“Oh, yes, Miss!
Thank you, Miss! I will be very good and very quiet. You shall see.”

“Remember,”
Mary said when they were ready to start down, “we can only stay a few minutes.
You must do nothing to draw attention to our presence. And you must be prepared
to retreat at my command should anybody come in our direction. Agreed?”

Gwendolyn
nodded vigorously.

“Very well,
then.”

They used the
back stairs to avoid any chance encounters and emerged in the corridor that led
to the far end of the largest drawing room. Mary knew that was the one which
had been given over as a ballroom, now and in the past. She could not help
momentarily thinking with horror of the first and only other Netherfield ball
that she had been present for, then as a proper guest. What a spectacle her
family had made of themselves that night! And she had unwittingly done her
part. This time, however, she would not be putting herself forward to be
humiliated; she would be hiding in the shadows, quite literally.

Taking Gwen’s
hand, Mary led her down the dimly lit passageway, which was ordinarily used
only by servants. She slowed as they approached the first of two doorways
opening to the drawing room. The music swelled, and Mary could glimpse the
musicians applying themselves just inside. She could picture the rest of the
scene even before confirming it by sight.

Mary took care
to position Gwen at the edge of the doorway and just short of the shaft of
light spilling through it. She stood directly behind with her hands on the
girl’s shoulders to be sure she would not stray. There they had an unobstructed
view with very little possibility of being seen themselves.

As Mary had
imagined, the great crystal chandeliers and more than a dozen wall sconces were
ablaze with the glow of tall, tapered, wax candles, their light reflecting off
every mirrored, metal, and glass surface. A set of elegantly coiffed and
attired dancers glided through their prescribed patterns down the center of the
room with clusters of onlookers lingering about the edges, the crowd composed
of those who had come from London augmented by a select number of the local
gentry. A few of these faces Mary recognized at a glance, but they could not
fasten her attention. Nor could any of the strangers from town. There was only
one person, somewhere in that room, who held any interest whatsoever for Mary,
the one person she both cared and dreaded to see: Mr. Farnsworth. Would he be
enjoying himself, she wondered? Would he be dancing? And with whom? Would he
even have noticed that she had not accepted his disingenuous invitation?

Then she saw him,
and at the same time so did Gwendolyn. “Look!” the girl whispered. “There is
Papa! But who is that lady he is dancing with?”

“I do not know
her,” answered Mary in a hushed voice. “Someone of your father’s London acquaintance, I expect.”

“She is very elegant,
is not she? And very beautiful.”

“Yes. And very
young,” Mary added, almost to herself. The lady was undoubtedly all that and
more. Was this the woman Mr. Farnsworth had meant when he had said his
affections were engaged? Would this mere girl, probably less than half his age,
be the next mistress of Netherfield?

Turning her
attention to Mr. Farnsworth himself, Mary noted that his evening clothes suited
him well, giving him a rather regal bearing. Yet it was not his appearance but
his dancing that especially struck her. He had professed to be sadly out of
practice, and she had pitied him for it. Yet the man before her now looked as
much at ease on the dance floor as ever he had on the back of a horse.

Before Mary
could dwell long on that inconsistency, the dance concluded. It left Mr.
Farnsworth and his partner at the end of the set nearest the musicians, and
thus also nearest to the doorway where the two spies were concealed. When he
turned in their direction, Mary instinctively drew back deeper into the
shadows, pulling Gwen with her. Gwen, however, strained against her grasp and
broke free, momentarily stepping into the light before resuming her previous
position.

In that
instant, her father had seen her, and he came swiftly toward the door.

Mary gasped.
“Away, Gwen!” she said softy but urgently, her feet already in motion. “We must
away.”

They were down
the corridor in a trice and had almost reached the stairs when Mr. Farnsworth’s
voice rang out. “Gwendolyn, stay where you are! You too, Miss Bennet.”

Mary froze in
her tracks and then turned to face her employer, shielding Gwen behind her
skirts. “Mr. Farnsworth,” she said, holding her chin high.

“Miss Bennet.
What is this, then? You refuse an invitation to come in the front door like a
lady, so I find you skulking at the rear like a servant or a common thief.”

Mary ignored
the charge and said, “Your daughter wished to watch some of the dancing. I saw
no harm in that, sir.”

“Is this true,
Gwen?”

The girl
stepped forward. “Yes, Papa. I should certainly have come on my own had I not
been able to persuade Miss Bennet. I heard the music and it reminded me of when
you used to dance with Mama.”

His expression
faltered and then quickly recovered. “Very well,” he told his daughter. “You
got what you came for, and we shall say no more about it. Run along up to bed
now. I wish to have a word with Miss Bennet.”

“Do not be
angry with her, Papa,” Gwendolyn pleaded. “It was all my idea.”

“Yes, yes,
never mind that now,” he said. “Off you go.”

Gwendolyn did
as she was told, disappearing up the stairs.

Mary stood her
ground when Mr. Farnsworth took a step toward her.

“This was not
where I had hoped to see you tonight, Miss Bennet,” he said deliberately. “You
did not accept my invitation to join the party, and I cannot help wondering
why. I am not accustomed to having my invitations go unacknowledged.”

Mary faced
straight ahead, refusing to meet his eyes. “Sorry if I disappointed you, sir. I
was perplexed by your invitation, and I could not imagine you meant it
sincerely. In any case, I would have found it quite uncomfortable to accept
with so many people here that I do not know.”

“You know me,”
he said in a low rumble.

“Do I?” she
said defiantly, looking straight at him now. She saw at once by his reaction
that she ought not to have said it. She had felt cornered; that was her excuse.
She was being called on the carpet as if she were a naughty child caught
stealing sweets.

Mr. Farnsworth
began to pace a constricted arc about her, hands behind his back and looking
very grim. “For the record, Miss Bennet, I rarely say anything I do not mean,
and I would never put falsehoods into writing. As for the cause of your
discomfort, now there you have
me
puzzled, but we shall have to discuss
it another time. I must return to my guests – those persons who
did
see
fit to accept my invitation. You understand.”

“Yes, I believe
I understand you perfectly.”

He turned on
his heel to go and then wheeled back toward her again. “Oh, Miss Bennet, one
more thing. I have arranged an excursion to St. Albans tomorrow for the entire
party, weather permitting, and I will be taking the children with me. Would you
be good enough to see to it that they are ready at ten o’clock sharp? Be not
alarmed, Madam, by any apprehension that I shall renew my offer for you to join
us; I would not wish to be accused of placing you in uncomfortable
circumstances again. And just to prove I harbor no ill will for this little
misunderstanding, you may take the balance of tomorrow to do with as you
please. Consider it a present, a small token of my sincere esteem.” He made a
curt bow and then left her.

Considering the
tone of cutting sarcasm Mr. Farnsworth had risen to during this speech, it was
difficult to believe he felt anything like sincere esteem for her, no more than
she had been accurate in saying she understood him perfectly. For Mary did not
understand him in the least.