The Unexpected Miss Bennet (17 page)

How very odd, to go from houseguest to something between servant and companion. For how long will Anne de Bourgh want me? Mary thought. She hoped she and the other young lady could be friends. She did not much have the habit of friendship, and perhaps that was why something was wanting in her own life. Mary Bennet and Anne de Bourgh – it would be an unlikely alliance, but there was something about the other girl that, when she became animated, was pleasing. Certainly she, Mary, was here not so much for herself, but for Anne, to help draw out that best part of her that appeared cowed by her mother and her own frailty, Mary thought. She thought of her own life and how she had just recently moved beyond her own small society into the larger world. She even enjoyed dancing. Maybe much the same could happen for Miss de Bourgh.

Well, Mary thought, straightening her dress and smoothing back her hair. She smiled at Lizzy and Charlotte and they went back down the grand staircase. Bennets had a way of surprising one. She herself was surprised at the turn her life had taken.

At the top of the stairs Mary halted a step behind the other two. She was not given to flights of fancy, but for a moment her thoughts flew to the heights of the decorative ceiling, painted in gilt, red, and blue. How would it feel to be mistress of Rosings, and not just a poor companion under its roof? Then she giggled.

She would, at least, read all the volumes that her servants brought back from Europe.

‘Mary?’ Lizzy said, looking back at her with a quizzical eye.

Mary started, and hurried down the stairs.

‘Lizzy, you must not let me languish here,’ she whispered so that Charlotte couldn’t hear.

‘I will not,’ Lizzy said. ‘But it would not be right to leave just yet.’

‘I know. I will tolerate it for a few weeks. If Anne is as unbearable as her mother, perhaps just one week.’

Lizzy tucked her hand under her elbow. ‘Mary, why are you doing this, really?’

Mary bit her lip. Charlotte, hearing them speak in confidence, quickened her pace down the stairs, letting them talk in private. They stood on the landing, sister to sister.

‘It’s an adventure, in its way. I’ve never been on my own, among people outside my own family.’ She added with daring, ‘It is my pilgrim’s progress.’

Lizzy arched a brow. ‘And Rosings is your Slough of Despond?’

Mary blushed. Was Lizzy making fun? ‘Don’t tease, Lizzy. I haven’t been anywhere or done anything, as you have. This is the most of the country I’ve ever seen. You all may think that I care for nothing other than my books, but I too would like to see fine things. Even London, though I am not so enamoured of balls and teas, but to see the Court of St. James and Parliament and all the grand buildings. London is more than just the Season, Lizzy.’

She stopped herself from telling Lizzy exactly how London was, acutely aware that she had never been there, and that Lizzy, as the wife of Darcy, was more acquainted with London than she would ever be. She must think I am a little fool, as always, Mary thought. Thinking this is a stepping stone to London when I am nothing more than a lady’s maid. She will tell Darcy and I will be exposed once more to his astonishment. She sighed. She should be used to it by now, but she had only become more aware of it.

Lizzy said nothing, just looked at Mary.

‘Well,’ her older sister said at last, and she gave Mary’s hand a little squeeze. They began to descend the stairs. ‘Even the pilgrim had to start somewhere.’

WHEN AT LAST they reached the entrance hall, they found that all was in uproar. Darcy and Georgiana were waiting for Lizzy so that they could all leave for Pemberley. Mr Collins paced anxiously with his wife, looking up at the staircase and wondering what could have kept Lizzy and Mary. And Lady Catherine was in a deep displeasure. She held an opened letter in her hand and when eventually she saw them, she shook it at Lizzy.

‘I cannot understand what it means,’ Lady Catherine said, and it was clear that she had been saying it for some time. Both Lizzy and Mary looked at her with astonishment and confusion. Lady Catherine thrust the letter at them as if they would learn its contents just by gazing upon it. She looked reproachfully at Lizzy as if it were her fault. ‘What can your parents mean by coming here with your sister’s things? For she will want for nothing while she is here, and I do not propose to support a houseful of her possessions. She will have to be satisfied with what she brings. And now, Mrs Darcy, your mother is bringing a trunkful of belongings? I cannot understand such a thing. And what do your parents mean by coming? It puts me out, Mrs Darcy. It puts me out indeed.’

Mother and Father coming here? Mary looked at Lizzy, astonished.

‘I think, ma’am, that my parents mean to bring Mary her books and other things because they are hers and she should have them,’ Lizzy said. ‘I cannot think that there is any other intention.’

‘But it does not suit me, Mrs Darcy. It does not suit me. And they are already on their way, so I cannot tell them not to come.’

Mary gave a small smile that she hid by bowing her head. That was her father, she thought. He must have known that he would be unwelcome to Lady Catherine and rather than wait for permission had decided instead to seek forgiveness.

But she herself was pleased by their decision. To come themselves, rather than sending her trunk, made her realize that she missed them and they her.

THAT FIRST NIGHT at Rosings, the house spread out in darkness all around her, Mary slept ill. The bed, though grand, was uncomfortable, and the window let daylight in early, as it faced east and the curtains were not thick enough. As a result, she woke at dawn and sat up in her dressing-gown at the little table, her dark hair coming out of her braids because she had tossed and turned so on her pillow. She decided to write of her experiences and, accordingly, she pulled out some letter paper she had brought with her, wet her pen, then paused. What could she say? Was it really her own pilgrim’s progress that had led her here? What could Anne expect of her, or Lady Catherine for that matter? Not quite guest, yet more than servant, she thought.

What do I expect for myself? The thought arrested her pen still further. This first step, a journey away from her home, could, if she were not careful, imprison her even more securely than if she remained an old maid at home. The first necessity, then, was a strict timetable for her sojourn.

She dipped the pen again and set it to paper.

And what will she have learned by then? She considered once more, and then wrote,

And what would she try to accomplish?

And what would she do well to remember? Lady Catherine would say, her place. Mary smiled, and wrote instead,

Such sentiments may not please Lady Catherine, Mary reflected, but Lady Catherine was not her only judge.

T
HE DECISION OF Mr and Mrs Bennet to pay a visit to Rosings caused the party’s leaving to be delayed further. It was decided that the Darcys would stay a few more days, until the Bennets came. It could have been no surprise that Darcy expressed his displeasure to Lizzy that they could not depart for Pemberley any sooner. Lady Catherine too was quite ungracious about having her guests linger far beyond the time she thought it necessary for them to stay, not quite unreasonably, Mary thought. It was now two months since the visit had begun, and Michaelmas was drawing near. The travellers were all anxious to leave. At least, no one had to stay with Charlotte and Mr Collins, except for Mr and Mrs Bennet when they arrived. And they would stay no more than one night, for neither of them enjoyed being away from Longbourn for very long. For Mrs Bennet, it was her nerves. For Mr Bennet, it was Mrs Bennet’s nerves.

Still, they managed to cause great hubbub when they alighted from the carriage at Mr Collins’s house. Charlotte came out to greet them with great feeling but equally great uncertainty. Mrs Bennet kept her feelings in check, but it could be seen that she looked over the small house with narrowed eyes and a pursed mouth. The only balm to her soul was that Lizzy and Jane lived in far greater houses, but there was still the matter of the entail. Young Robert Collins was another cause of smarting pain, but Mrs Bennet took a deep breath, announced him a dear little boy, and made much of him.

Mr Bennet shook Mr Collins’s hand, ignored his blandishments, gave Charlotte a heartfelt greeting as befitted his daughter’s best friend of so many years, and then gave each of his two daughters a hearty kiss.

‘And so, Mary,’ he said, eyeing his daughter from beneath his thick eyebrows. ‘You have decided that it’s better to live in the grandest house in the country even as a servant than to come home to comfortable old Longbourn?’

‘Do you not wish me to stay at Rosings, Papa?’ Would her father put his foot down and tell Lady Catherine she could not have Mary? She half-hoped he would, half-feared it, but his next words relieved her own indecision by their professed indifference.

‘You, my dear, can live wherever you like. If Longbourn is not to your liking, then Rosings may keep you.’

He gave her another brisk kiss and Mary bit her lip as he went off to greet his son-in-law as best he could with Mr Collins bobbing around them as if eager to insert himself between Mr Bennet and Mr Darcy.

At length the family moved inside the house, filling Charlotte’s front parlour with laughter and conversation. Mary’s plain trunk was pulled down from the top of the carriage and left waiting by the door, to be carried up to Rosings. She looked through it while the others talked, curious to see all of her belongings in this new setting.

There were her few books, her winter clothes that she had not expected to use since she was to have returned to Longbourn before the summer ended, and a few pretty things that she possessed. Gloves, with small pearl buttons. A garland of dried flowers. She remembered that. She had been no more than ten years old when all her sisters made garlands for some pretty play or other. She lifted it to her nose; perhaps it was her imagination but she thought she could smell the faintest remnant of sun-warmed straw and sweet roses. There was an old fan, its colour faded like the garland’s. It was stiff and she tugged it open gently. She had meant to carry it to her first ball, but there had never been a ball grand enough, and then, when there was – Bingley’s ball at Netherfield – she had found out that she was not meant for sentimentality. She smarted at her remembrance of the embarrassment of that event, when she had hoped and practised so hard at the piano so that she would, at last, be noticed for her own accomplishments, meagre though they were. Instead, she had reaped only laughter. It would be a long time before the sting would fade. She set the fan aside. It would not have done, in any event – the fan was so cracked and faded that carrying it would have only garnered its own ridicule. I am not meant for balls and such entertainment, she thought. Though dancing with Mr Aikens had been pleasurable enough, it had been more an exercise in stamina than a graceful dance.