B00BKPAH8O EBOK (6 page)

“Ah, Derbyshire,
you say, Miss Bennet. Divine country, that, simply divine! And I have heard of
this place you call Pemberley. A very fine estate, I believe. Of what age is
this child, your nephew?”

“He was five
September last, and very eager to learn, I am told.”

“Well, then,
perhaps something might be arranged. For you, Miss Bennet, I will consider it.
Now then, shall we begin?”

Mary did not
need to be asked twice. She seated herself at the revered instrument and waited
for further instructions.

“The scales, I
think,” said Monsieur Hubert. “Begin with your scales, and then we will move on
to the Mozart.”

Mary obediently
commenced the methodical exercise with both hands, running her fingers up the
keys for two octaves and then down again before moving on to the next scale in
the sequence. She knew the prescribed progression well and had performed it a
hundred times or more. Yet even this routine business, tedious to most, gave
her exquisite pleasure. For this brief interval of time, once every other week,
she could forget her responsibilities and become lost in the music. She could
set aside the duties of a teacher and become the student instead. She could
imagine herself a girl again – a talented and promising young lady with a
bright future ahead… if only for that one hour. 

8

Arrival

It was a Sunday
when he first presented himself at Longbourn, and fortunately so, for thus Mary
was on hand to support her mother through the crisis. The two ladies had been
taking their ease after dinner when they heard a carriage approaching.

“It will only
be my sister Phillips,” said Mrs. Bennet, not bothering to lift her eyes from
the bit of lace she was mending. “She said at church that she might drive
over.”

Mary, her mind
alive to other possibilities, set aside her book at once. She knew very well
that over three weeks had elapsed since the arrival of the letter from America. So the time was right and the important moment might well be at hand. Then Mrs.
Hill corroborated what Mary’s intuition already told her; coming into the sitting
room, she announced the true identity of their visitor.

The effect on
Mrs. Bennet was both stunning and immediate. She froze stock still, momentarily
adopting both the color and character of a pillar of salt, before slowly coming
back to life. “Mr. Tristan Collins?” she repeated, evincing her astonishment at
the news. “He is here? Now?”

“Yes, ma’am,”
confirmed Mrs. Hill, “just this instant arrived all the way from America. Shall I show him in?”

“Are you mad,
woman? I must have a moment to think. Lord bless me, how is this possible,
Mary? We have had no card, no letter, no hint of his coming so soon.”

Mary busied
herself tidying the room, saying, “None of that matters now, Mama. He is come,
and we must make the best of it. Let us not keep him waiting, as if he were
unwelcome in his own house.”

“
His
house?”

“Yes, for so it
is, as well you know. It became his house the moment poor Papa died.”

“I cannot bear
it! I simply cannot bear it, that I should be forced to make way for this… this
undeserving usurper!”

Mary hastened
to her mother’s side, urging her, “For heaven’s sake, madam, speak lower. What
advantage can it be to you to offend Mr. Collins? You will never recommend
yourself – or your daughter – to him by so doing. Remember your plan, Mama.”

“Yes, yes, the
plan,” said Mrs. Bennet with a little more composure and considerably less
volume. “That is the thing to think of now. Mr. Collins must marry Kitty. Oh!
But Kitty is gone off to her sisters. What bad luck! Well, she will be sent for
and made to come home at once. In the meantime, I suppose we shall have to
entertain Mr. Collins as well as may be. There was a time when I
was
considered quite the charmer, and you shall simply have to do your best too,
Mary. I know this sort of thing is not really in your line. That cannot be
helped now. We must each play our part to see that things turn out as they
should.” Mrs. Bennet took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “Hill, please
show the gentleman in.”

Mary was more
prepared than her mother, and not nearly as surprised by so early an arrival of
their cousin from America. Yet she too felt the need to steady herself for the
first sight of this man whose person, situation, and manners had been the
conjecture in nearly every recent discussion at Longbourn. Then, all at once,
the suspense was over. Mrs. Hill opened the door, and the man so long
speculated about, so high in everybody’s interest, was actually before them.

Holding hat in
hand, the distinguished young gentleman walked into the room and made a neat bow,
saying, “Tristan Collins at your service.”

Mrs. Bennet
moved forward to greet him, extending her hand and smiling, her demeanor quite
transformed from what it had been only moments earlier. “Ah, Mr. Collins, you
are very welcome indeed. Did your wife sail with you from America?”

“What? Oh, no,
Mrs. Bennet. I am not married.”

Mrs. Bennet’s
countenance brightened still more. “What a shame that is, sir, for it strikes
me that you are of a very good age for it.”

The most
pressing question already asked and answered, Mrs. Bennet proceeded to
undertake the other necessary civilities as well. Mary was herself too much
overcome to be of any assistance, for before her stood a most pleasingly
featured man, and not at all like the one she had imagined.

“This is my middle
daughter,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Mary, come meet your cousin Mr. Collins.”

They each took
a step toward the other. “How do you do, Miss Bennet?” he said, smiling. “I
cannot tell you how delighted I am to make your acquaintance.”

“I thank you,
sir,” she said, bobbing a slight curtsey.

Mrs. Bennet
continued. “I have four others, Mr. Collins, and they are the most agreeable
girls you would ever care to meet, though I say it myself. Do let us sit down.
Now, my eldest is Jane – Mrs. Bingley, that is… ”

With her mother
conducting the conversation all on her own, Mary had leisure to collect herself
and take stock of their visitor. He was above middling height, with a spare
frame – so unlike what his brother’s had been – and with fairer coloring too.
His features were not classically handsome, perhaps, but not very far off the
mark either. The considerable powers of his person to recommend him were
further augmented by a sincerity of expression and warmth of voice such as
seemed certain proof of his amiability. There was something else too, something
indefinable…

“Mary!” her
mother was saying. “Mary, do try and pay attention. Now, I have just been
telling Mr. Collins how sorry I am that more of the family was not here to
greet him.”

“Yes, you must
pardon the paltry size of the welcoming party,” said Mary. “You see, we had no
idea of your coming so soon.”

“Dear ladies,
you owe me no apology and no special honors either. I am only distressed to
learn that my letter should have gone astray, giving you no warning of my
arrival.”

“It is of no
importance, sir. We are always ready to receive guests to Longbourn.” Mary
colored and stammered, “Oh! I… forgive me. I certainly do not mean that you are
only a guest in this house, Mr. Collins. You are, of course, much more than that.
It is we who… What I mean to say is that… that we stay here only by
your
kindness.”

He laughed
easily. “My dear Miss Bennet, there is no need for us to stand on ceremony, I
trust. We are family, after all. If you had received my letter, you would know
that I have no intention of throwing my weight about and casting you out into
the cold. Your mother has endured enough hardship for one year, surely.”

“You are very
good, sir,” said Mrs. Bennet.

“Yes, and not
at all what I expected from your…” Mary left off clumsily, vexed with herself
for letting her thoughts about his letter pass her lips too freely.

“Not at all
like my brother? Is that what you were going to say, Miss Bennet?”

“No. Yes. I’m
sorry.”

“It is quite
all right. Poor William. Did you know him well?”

“Not so well as
we should have liked to,” offered Mrs. Bennet. “He was a fine, respectable
young man, with very noble intentions, I believe. Because of this awkward
business with the entail, he naturally felt some responsibility toward this
family. Did you know that he came to this house with the express purpose of
choosing a wife from amongst Mr. Bennet’s daughters? None of them was married
at the time, you understand. I thought it an exceedingly good plan. However, in
the end your brother went another way. And so… well, here we are.”

“I trust you do
not hold his choice against him, though, Mrs. Bennet.”

“No indeed,
sir, for one does not like to think ill of the dead. I am only saying that it
was an excellent notion and surely one which would have satisfied the wishes of
all concerned, had it come to pass.”

Feeling
uncomfortable with the direction her mother had carried the conversation, Mary
interrupted. “Mr. Collins, you must be tired from your travels. Perhaps you
would like to rest before supper. If so, you must not allow us to keep you
sitting here talking.”

“How kind you
are, Miss Bennet. Yes, I think I would like that.”

“Hill,” Mary
called out. “There you are, Mrs. Hill. Kindly show Mr. Collins to the guest
room.”

“Of course,
Miss Mary,” said Mrs. Hill. Then turning to Mr. Tristan Collins, she added,
“This way, if you please, sir.”

The gentleman
was barely out of earshot when Mrs. Bennet began relating her opinion of him to
her daughter: what a fine figure of a man he was; not ill-looking either; and
so much more refined than expected of someone who had spent so many years away
from all good society.

“And did you
notice the expensive cut of his clothes?” she continued. “He must be a man of
some fortune after all. What an excellent thing for Kitty! Yes, he will do very
well. Was not it clever of me, Mary, to drop him that hint, just to get him
thinking? Though he may never before have had any idea of finishing what his
brother started, I daresay he will now, especially once he sets eyes on our Kitty.”

Mrs. Bennet,
well satisfied with this good beginning, took Mary’s suggestion likewise,
retiring to her own apartment until supper.

At last, Mary
was alone with her thoughts and with the lively state of her emotions. She was
by no means displeased with what she had thus far seen of her cousin. In truth,
she agreed with her mother’s assessment of his many advantages, excepting
perhaps the idea that Kitty should necessarily be the beneficiary of them.
After all, had not Kitty declared most emphatically that she wanted no part of
Mr. Tristan Collins?

9

Mr. Tristan

Mary was still
in the sitting room an hour later when Mr. Tristan returned. “Ah, there you
are, Miss Bennet. I found that I was not so very tired after all. May I join
you?”

“I should be
glad if you would, Mr. Collins,” said Mary, laying aside her book again. “I
hope you find your room comfortable. You may, of course, have your choice of
any in the house. It is your home now.”

“Nonsense, no
need to throw your well-organized household into upheaval on my account,” he
said, sitting down across from her. “I am very happily installed in the guest
quarters, and there I shall remain until everything is settled.”

Mary reflected
a moment on his words before choosing to take the next logical step. “If I may
be so bold, sir, may I ask what are your future plans for this house? It is not
so much for myself that I wish to know; I reside primarily at Netherfield, an
estate near here where I hold the position of governess. But provision will
need to be made for my mother and my younger sister. With your coming sooner
than expected, I am afraid no firm arrangements are yet in place.”

“I appreciate
your straightforwardness, Miss Bennet. We are all in a very awkward situation
here, and we had best acknowledge it openly. As for my plans, I hardly know
them myself. My life has been in America, as you are aware, and I still hold
interests there – personal as well as business,” he said thoughtfully. Mr.
Collins then rose from his seat, stepped to the window, and gazed out at the
western horizon before continuing. “I have been happy there… for the most part…
yet I cannot say when, or even if, I shall ever return.”

Mary felt
certain there was more to the story, which perhaps her cousin would disclose in
due course. For the time being, however, she had to be content with
generalities. “What is it like… in America, I mean? One hears tales of all
kinds of horrors.”

“Horrors, Miss
Bennet?” he said, turning to face her again and laughing good-humoredly. “Let
me guess. You are envisioning something very primitive indeed – dense jungles
inhabited only by wild animals, barbarians, and godless savages. Am I correct?”

“I cannot
precisely say, sir. I prefer to depend on facts rather than imaginings. And, as
I never before spoke to anybody who set foot in the new world, I have had very
little opportunity to form an educated opinion.”

“Quite right,
Miss Bennet. I am pleased to hear that you place your confidence in what can be
known by observation instead of on rumor and wild speculation. We could use a
deal more of that philosophy, according to my view. I shall be happy to satisfy
your intellectual curiosity on the subject of America. It is far too seldom
that I find myself a singular expert on any topic.” He peered once more out the
window. “Can I persuade you to take our discussion into the garden? It is a
fine day and, if you will not think it in bad taste for me to mention it, I
should like to be made a little familiar with the grounds. In that field,
you
are the expert.”

Assenting to
his proposal, Mary accompanied her cousin on a walking tour of the small park
belonging to Longbourn. She began by showing him the outbuildings at the rear:
the poultry house; the stables, which shared a common roof with the dairy and
cheese house; and the other barn, where the pigs and farm implements were kept.
Then, from the top of a little knoll, she pointed out the orchard, the kitchen
garden, and the approximate extent of the property. Along the way, she took
care to draw attention to anything interesting or otherwise worthy of special
note.

Mr. Collins
observed all these, as well as the cultivated fields round about, with the
strictest composure; nothing more animated than a mild compliment to their
upkeep or a general nod of approval did he offer for any of the things he was
shown.

Mary’s natural
pride in her lifelong home initially felt slighted by such cool restraint,
thinking he was displeased by what he saw. Soon, however, she began to
appreciate her cousin’s forbearance in the proper light. Too much praise for
Longbourn must have been more offensive to her than too little. Then it would
seem as if Mr. Collins were congratulating himself over so fine an inheritance
and counting the days until he could have it to himself.

They next
passed through the little wilderness at the side of the lawn. Then the
hermitage and the front flower patch were explored, followed by the walled
garden. Mary had deliberately saved it for the last stop on their tour, as it
was a particular favorite with her.

“I often come
here to read,” she said, taking a seat on one of the benches there. As her eyes
revisited each familiar prospect – the moss-covered stone of the high walls;
the canopy of quaking oak leaves overhead, waving at the bright sky; the gravel
path underfoot and the slightly unkempt lawn; the sight of the house framed by
the open gateway – she could not help thinking how very much she should regret
not being able to come there ever again.

Netherfield had
many beauties, and yet she had not allowed herself to become attached to them
as she had her childhood home. She knew from the start that Netherfield was
temporary, whereas it had seemed as if Longbourn would always be there waiting
for her. It would not be, of course. In future, she would be admitted only at
Mr. Collins’s good pleasure.

“I can see why
you do, Miss Bennet,” he said, likewise sitting down. “It is a very pleasant
spot. You are a great reader, I collect.”

“I believe I
am. I do not say it as an idle boast, but because books have been my constant companions
from a tender age until this day. It is well that I like it, I suppose, for
extensive reading is a necessity in my current vocation.”

“Do your little
charges share your thirst for knowledge? Are they good students who hang upon
your every word? I ask because I well remember how resolutely I resisted my
father’s every attempt to instill in me an education. What fits I must have
given him in those days! It was only later that I came to appreciate the value
of instruction, and I like to think I have since made up for my former
indolence.”

“That is most
commendable, sir. To answer your question, only one of my three pupils could be
rightly called a true lover of learning. The other two get by with as little
trouble about it as they can, although perhaps they will be converted in time
as you were, Mr. Collins.”

“Yes, you
mustn’t give up; there is hope even for the most reluctant student. What I
could not abide as a child, I have since learnt to like exceedingly –
mathematics, science, novels, histories, and even plays. The one thing I cannot
quite make up my mind to enjoy is poetry. What about you, Miss Bennet? Are you
fond of all kinds of verse – Shakespeare, Cowper, and the rest of that lot?”

“I am,
decidedly so.”

“I wish I were
too. I read it a little as a duty, but it tells me nothing that does not vex
and weary me. Will you now think the worse of your cousin for this admission?
Has he confirmed for you what you already suspected – that he is a barbarian
after all?”

“I would never
say so.”

“Ah, and yet
you are thinking it.”

Mary, flustered
at not being sure if he spoke in jest or in earnest, answered with the simple
truth. “Not at all. I was thinking that any man who can write as you do could
never be thought a barbarian.”

“Indeed? I
thank you for the compliment, but you presume more than you know. Although I do
compose a tolerably good letter – a talent you have had no opportunity to
verify – the only other time I put pen to paper is to scribble entries into a
business ledger. That will hardly serve to establish me as a gentleman.”

It had been a
stupid blunder on her part, which she now did her best to disguise. “You are
correct, of course; I am in no position to judge. I only meant that, by the way
you express yourself in speech, I assumed you would write at least as well.”

“Now, there I
must caution you, Miss Bennet. Trusting assumptions is nearly as perilous as
depending on rumor and wild imaginings, something you said you never do.”

Mary only
nodded her assent and then turned the conversation to another line, reminding
Mr. Tristan of her interest in hearing something of America.

Apparently
pleased by the renewed request, Mr. Collins talked at some length on the
subject. He began by assuring his cousin that, although there were vast,
untamed regions farther west, the part of Virginia from whence he came was
quite civilized indeed, the last of the red Indians having decamped decades
earlier.

“I own a wheat
farm, and some livestock on the side, which I have built up from modest
beginnings. It is a sizable and rather profitable enterprise now, I am happy to
say. I have left it all in the care of my good friend Calvin Beam. He and his
sister…” Tristan trailed off.

“His sister?”
said Mary, prompting him to continue.

“Yes, his
sister. Polly is her name. They have the farm adjoining mine, and were some of
the very first people I met when I arrived in the Shenandoah Valley, fresh from
the boat, as you might say. They took me under their wings.”

Mary waited for
him to continue. When he did not, she volunteered, “It must have been difficult
to leave such good friends behind in order to come here.”

He seemed to
remember himself and returned his attention to his companion. “True enough,
Miss Bennet, but then sometimes one has to turn one’s back on the past in order
to make a new start. Do not you agree?”

“I hardly know
how to answer you, Mr. Collins. I suppose I can envision circumstances that
would make it necessary or desirable to begin again elsewhere. If that be your
situation, however, do you mean to sell your holdings in America? To make a clean break of it?”

“That would no
doubt be the sensible course of action, and yet I cannot countenance the idea
so soon. Virginia still feels like home, and memories – whether good or bad –
must make it painful to permanently part with one’s home. Can you understand
that, Miss Bennet?”

Mary stared
back at him, suddenly confused, uncertain, and cut to the quick. 

After a moment,
he hastened on. “Oh, forgive me, my dear! What a dim-witted thing to say – to
you of all people. Of course you would understand. Thanks to me, you understand
all too well what it is to contemplate leaving your home forever!”

Mary could not
keep a hint of bitterness from coloring her voice. “The difference being, sir,
that you leave your home by choice, and we only by necessity.” She rose to go.
“Now, since you have had your tour of your new property, I trust you will
excuse me.”

Not waiting for
a reply, Mary walked off in the direction of the house, feeling angry with
herself as well as with her cousin. For months, she had schooled her mind to be
entirely practical about this situation. She had vowed that her behavior would
be civil, even cordial, to the inheritor of Longbourn. She had strictly charged
her emotions not to interfere. And still she had failed in her resolve. This
unexpected assault of sensibility was most unwelcome, and for inflicting it
upon her, Mr. Tristan Collins must have the blame.