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10

Vignettes

 

Mary was not
obliged to encounter Mr. Tristan Collins again until supper, when Mrs. Bennet
cheerfully occupied the preponderance of the gentleman’s notice herself with a
running narrative of her own clever devising. Her chief object – other than his
general entertainment – seem to be to acquaint him with the names and
situations of all the principal residents of the vicinity, and to save him the
trouble of forming his own opinions by telling him in advance exactly what he
ought to think of each of his new neighbors.

Mary remained
aloof from the conversation, in so far as she was able. With only three persons
present, however, she could not escape entirely. Although her mother ignored
her well enough, Mr. Collins repeatedly made an effort to include her by
directing questions and comments her way. He was, by these gentle attentions,
trying to make up for the pain he had unintentionally inflicted earlier; Mary
was sure of it, and that knowledge went a long way toward mollifying her
resentment. Still, she was relieved when the carriage arrived to transport her
back to Netherfield and her duties.

On the short
journey, Mary took herself to task for her recent lapse, inwardly reciting all
her usual maxims about invoking logic and exerting will over the ugly chaos
that unrestrained emotion tended to produce. She could not admire such displays
in others, and neither would she permit a similar laxity in herself. Since no
quantity of worry or tears would alter that which could not be changed – a
truth she had in recent months seen tested to the utmost by her own mother – it
was much better to accept these things with forbearance. In that, there was at
least a degree of dignity.

When she
arrived at Netherfield with her self-control firmly reinstated, Mary left her
things in the front hall temporarily to go in search of Mrs. Brand. She found
the housekeeper below stairs, still at her work. “I just wanted you to know
that I am back,” she told her. “Is anything the matter?” she added, seeing the
older woman in a state of apparent agitation.

“Oh, welcome
home, Miss,” said Mrs. Brand. “Have you had your supper?”

Mary nodded.

“Of course you
have; I’m not thinking straight. The master just arrived this half hour past,
and us not expecting him till the day after tomorrow.”

“Mr. Farnsworth
is returned from London?”

“That he is.
Cook is fit to be tied, and Miss Lavinia is all in a tizzy herself for not
having been given any notice either. Well, I guess he can come and go just as
he pleases, being that this is his house. But bless me, it would be a
considerable help to know what he is about sometimes.”

“Well, Mr.
Farnsworth shall just have to put up with things the way he finds them if he
arrives without warning.”

“Brave words,
my dear. Would you like to be the one who tells him so to his face?”

“Not
particularly, no.”

“Nor would I,
so there we are. He says jump, and we can only set to leaping about like a gang
of rabbits with our wooly white tails on fire.”

“I had best
leave you to it then, Mrs. Brand. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,
dearie, and watch your step on the way up. Master’s in fine fettle.”

Sound advice
and Mary took care to heed it, surreptitiously retrieving her things from the
hall and then taking the servants’ stairs to minimize the chance of
encountering Mr. Farnsworth along the way. Remembering the last scene between
them before they parted, she wished to avoid another potentially unpleasant
encounter at the end of what had been a long day. No doubt he would wish to
speak to her after his absence, to hear an account of the children’s progress,
but tomorrow would surely be soon enough for that.

Seeing no one
when she poked her head out from the stairs, Mary tiptoed down the hall and
slipped into her bedchamber unobserved, closing the door softly behind her.
Only then did she become aware that her heart was beating faster than it had
any cause to do, as if she had barely escaped being molested by some fearsome
beast. The thought brought a wry smile to her lips. Mr. Harrison Farnsworth did
somewhat resemble a lumbering bear in manner, the way he prowled and growled
about, and yet she should be ashamed to have him think her really afraid of
him.

In any case, he
had not been lying in wait for her as she had imagined. She had simply got
caught up in her own game, sneaking about the house as if she had something to
dread. Now that was silly, she admitted – infantile even, and it would not
happen again. 

Mary soon had
opportunity to demonstrate the sincerity of her resolve, for she quickly
discovered her reticule missing, presumably left behind in the front hall by
accident. So down she went, this time using the main stairs and making no
effort to conceal her presence. There it was, next to a potted plant where it
had fallen unnoticed.

Mary stooped to
retrieve the item.

“Ah, Miss
Bennet. I was hoping to catch you.”

And she was
caught indeed.

 

~~*~~

 

Mary jumped at
the first note of the baritone voice from behind. It was not Mr. Farnsworth,
however, only the footman.

“Easy on, Miss
Bennet,” he said. “You are a might skittish tonight. Why, it’s only ol’ Clinton here, come to make himself useful.”

“Good evening, Clinton. Yes, you did startle me, and as you see, there is nothing to be done. I have
already taken up my things and just come back down to retrieve my reticule.
Thank you, all the same.”

“I suppose you
know, then, that the master has returned from London. Quite unexpected, like,
it were too. Very peculiar, if you ask me.”

“Well, I did
not ask, and it is not for you to question Mr. Farnsworth’s comings and goings,
Clinton,” said Mary in the same firm voice she used to reprimand the
children. “You should remember that.”

“I do, Miss,
and that’s a fact. It has been my honor to serve in this house nigh on fifteen
years, and I didn’t rise to my current position by pokin’ my nose in where it’s
not welcome… nor by failin’ to comprehend a thing or two ‘bout human nature
neither. I keeps me eyes open, that’s all. And I knows the master’s wants and
moods better ‘n anyone. A body has got to be always lookin’ about and noticin’
things so as to foresee what’s needed next. That’s what makes a good servant:
the knack of anticipation.”

Mary glanced up
at the footman’s youthfully handsome face, towering above her, and she wondered
if she had badly misjudged him all along. “That is quite an astute observation,
Clinton,” she said. “It might even be considered… profound.”

“I think I have
surprised you, Miss Bennet, which is not easily done.” He winked at her and
tapped his head with his forefinger. “I daresay there’s more goin’ on up here
than you suspected.”

“Possibly so,
Clinton. Now, you really must excuse me. I am quite fatigued.”

“Of course,
Miss. Good night, Miss, and watch out for them bed bugs.”

Making no
reply, Mary turned to retrace her way up the stairs, conscious that the footman
followed her with his eyes as she went. Then she heard his steps starting up
the treads behind her, and she involuntarily quickened her pace.

A voice – it
sounded like Miss Lavinia – rang out from down the corridor of the east wing of
the house, summoning Clinton. After pausing a moment, he relented and went to
answer the call of duty.

Upon achieving
her own apartment once more, Mary shut herself inside and waited for her
heartbeat to return to its normal rate. Although there seemed no more
justification for anxiety this time than the last, the feeling stubbornly
persisted, and it was some minutes before she felt quite herself again. When at
last she did, she went to check on the children. Although Michael was already
fast asleep, and Gwendolyn was settled quietly as well, Grace still had her
candle burning and a book before her face.

Mary came over
to kneel at the child’s bedside. “What have I told you about reading late into
the night, Gracie?” she whispered, gently removing the book from the girl’s
hands.

“Oh, but Miss,
I was just coming to the good part,” Grace protested.

Mary laid the
book aside and with her fingers combed the loose strands of fawn-colored hair
back from the girl’s eyes. “It will keep till tomorrow, I promise you. You must
get your rest so that you will be at your best for your lessons in the morning.
You do not wish to be outdone by your brother and sister, do you?”

Grace’s eyes
grew wide. “No, Miss!”

“I thought not.
Now, go to sleep.” Mary blew out the candle and rose to leave.

“Miss?”

“Yes, Grace?
What is it?”

“Nothing, just
that I am glad you are come back.”

Mary smiled to
herself. “I was only gone for a day.”

“I know, but I
am still glad,” the girl said as she rolled onto her side and closed her eyes.

Mary pulled up
the coverlet, tucked it about the small form in the bed, and quietly retreated
from the room.

Despite true
weariness, Mary lay awake for an hour or more, pondering the singular event of
the day – meeting the heir to Longbourn. On the whole, she had to admit to
being fairly satisfied with him. That he would ultimately take her childhood
home from her, she could not in her heart altogether forgive, though in her
head she knew there was no logic to bearing such a grudge. If it had not been
him, it would have been another. Then there was the chance that her mother’s
plan would succeed in keeping Longbourn within the family. Although Mary dared
not entertain serious hopes for herself, there was always Kitty. And, come what
may, at least Mr. Tristan Collins was a pleasant fellow.

By way of
obvious contrast, Mr. Farnsworth then sprang to Mary’s mind. Although he had
his merits as well – sometimes less apparent than at others – “pleasant” was a
word she would never think to apply to him. The term did not suit him at all,
not even in his most favorable humors, and certainly not when the storm clouds
gathered.

Fair weather or
foul, however, she would see him on the morrow. Perhaps he had already put the
squall that spoilt their last meeting out of his mind. It seemed likely enough,
since the words and feelings of a governess could not be expected to leave a
lasting impression on a man of Mr. Farnsworth’s consequence. Though she
flattered herself that she occupied a position significantly above the
household’s servants, the master himself might not always perceive the
distinction.   

 

~~*~~

 

Mary did not
have long to wait next morning; before breakfast Mr. Farnsworth sent for her.

“Come,” the
familiar voice boomed out when she knocked on the library door.

“Good morning,
Mr. Farnsworth, and welcome home,” she said in her sunniest tone upon entering.
“We did not look for you until Tuesday.”

“Quite right,
Miss Bennet. And depend on it, my sister has already taken me to task for
catching her unawares. I hope you do not mean to scold me as well.”

“Not at all,
sir.”

“Good. I called
you in to make peace, and that would have started us off in the wrong direction
entirely.”

“I have not the
pleasure of understanding you, sir. Make peace? Whatever for?”

“Ah, I see you
are prepared to forget the little skirmish that took place on this very spot,
when we were last in this room together.”

“As you say,
sir.”

“Very well,
then. Perhaps the less said about it the better. Now, how do the children do
with their studies?”

Relieved to
have sidestepped a renewal of hostilities, Mary willingly moved on to the new
topic. Even here, though, a little diplomacy was needed.

Her first
impulse when asked about the children was always to expound on Grace’s rapid
progress – the result of her natural gifts augmented by a superior outlook. But
Mary was careful to mention Gwendolyn and Michael in as positive a light as she
was able to shine in their direction. Neither of them lacked native
intelligence; it was the want of proper application that prevented their
excelling.

At eight,
Michael still had time, and perhaps he would do better once he got to Eton. Or it could be that, like Mr. Tristan Collins, he would come to a proper appreciation
for learning only later on. Either way, she had done what she could, and
Michael’s education would soon be in other hands.

As for Miss
Gwendolyn, most likely she would never need to depend on her wits to make her
way in life. Anybody could see she would be a beauty. All the unmistakable
signs were there, even at thirteen. Her features were delicate and flawlessly
regular, and a light yet womanly figure was clearly emerging to replace the awkwardness
of youth. Her father would marry her off to a rich man who did not care if she
could speak Italian or even keep household accounts.

“So, on the
whole, you are pleased with their progress,” Mr. Farnsworth summarized after
hearing Mary’s report. “You must hope that I am equally satisfied when I
examine them myself. I shall question the children on a few of the points we
discussed when I see them tonight.”

 

 

 

11

In Good Company

 

Mr. Tristan
Collins’s new neighbors were not backward in their civilities. On only his
second day at Longbourn, gentlemen of rank from the immediate vicinity
commenced calling on him to pay their respects. The master of Netherfield was
among the earliest of these.

His visit to
Longbourn was soon the talk of the great house and beyond, with there being not
a single servant or tradesman in the area that remained long in ignorance of it
or in any doubt of what must follow. The call would soon be returned, and then
a dinner (or an evening party, at the very least) must be given in honor of the
new arrival.

Mr. Farnsworth,
whatever his rumored propensities to the contrary in town, was known to keep
almost no company in the country since his wife’s death, and not that much
before it. Had there been even a single ball or dinner party of any consequence
at Netherfield in the last two years, the good people of Meryton would have
easily divined it from the size of the orders to the butcher and wine merchant,
and from the traffic of foreign carriages on the roads. Nothing much escaped their
notice.

Among these
good people, the general consensus developed that Mr. Farnsworth could not
shirk his duty forever – in truth, that he could not reasonably hide behind the
shield of mourning any longer. As owner of Netherfield Park, it was his responsibility
to lead the way in local society. If his own conscience neglected to tell him
so, his sister most assuredly did not. Thus being saved from the rigorous
censure of the whole world, he did in fact issue the required invitations.

A dinner party
it was to be, with the guest list pared down from the corpulent figure Miss
Lavinia originally proposed to a character of the barest bones. On that point,
Mr. Farnsworth was immovable. In addition to the guest of honor and his
relations, Sir William Lucas, his lady, and two of his daughters were to
attend, along with Mr. and Mrs. Cavanaugh. A brace of eligible young men were
selected to even out their numbers, and to give the unattached young ladies
someone to flirt with.

Those with
invitations to the august event were soon judged by their neighbors to be the
happiest creatures in the county, and those without the most unfortunate that
ever lived. For nothing could be better than a dinner at Netherfield, except
perhaps a ball.

Mary, upon
learning that she was to be one of the lucky included, could not at first make
up her mind to be pleased about it. Although she would have felt herself quite
equal to attending a stately dinner anywhere else, to attend one at
Netherfield, where she was also employed, seemed peculiarly awkward. How could
she be the household’s governess by day and its honored guest the same night?
How could she follow Mr. Farnsworth’s orders one moment, and dine with him as
an equal the next?

It was an
uncomfortable blurring of the lines. Social conventions existed for a reason,
and within their well-defined strictures, one knew how to behave. There was
security in it, and one ignored those boundaries at considerable peril. That
was the untenable position of a governess, however – existing in some undefined
middle ground between one class and another – so perhaps she had brought this
upon herself.

Another Sunday
visit home to Longbourn taught Mary one cause for joy in the matter. Mr.
Tristan Collins would be at the dinner, and the more time she spent in his
company, the better she liked it. As on the previous Sunday, when he had first
arrived, the long afternoon afforded plenty of opportunity for conversation.
Whilst Mrs. Bennet dominated, all Mary could observe of her cousin was the
extent of his patience, which proved to be considerable. He bore with all the
ill-judged officiousness of the mother, and heard all her silly remarks with
forbearance and command of countenance. Then, as on the previous occasion, Mrs.
Bennet did eventually take herself off.

“Mr. Collins, I
hope you do not think me rude,” she said at the conclusion of their afternoon
meal, “but I feel one of my sick headaches coming on, and I must have a
lie-down before it gets any worse. Please, do excuse me.”

Mr. Collins
rose when she did, saying, “Of course, my good lady.”

“My daughter
will be happy to entertain you in my absence. Mary, you will attend me for a
few minutes first.”

Mary did as she
was bidden, following her mother from the room.

“Now, Mary,”
Mrs. Bennet whispered once upstairs. “I am leaving you alone with your cousin
for a reason. Talk to him about whatever else you like, but you must take care
to work your sister into the conversation and sing her praises a great deal. I
have done what I can, and yet Mr. Collins might well think my opinion of Kitty
prejudiced by maternal solicitude. He can have no reason to suspect
your
good opinion of her, however. And I wish him to be half in love with her by
reputation before they ever meet. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mama.”
There was no point in arguing, however little Mary liked the task assigned to
her. “Have you heard from Kitty to say when she is coming home?”

“Not a single
word, which has vexed me greatly. Perhaps my letter has gone astray. The post
seems to be alarmingly unreliable of late! At all events, they shall meet very
soon, for Mr. Collins, as it turns out, plans to venture into Derbyshire
himself in order to visit his sister. You remember Ruth Sanditon, do not you,
Mary? Of course her name is something different now. What was it he told me?
Thacker? No, Thornton! And she is wife to the rector of the parish under Mr.
Darcy’s patronage. So, you see, Mr. Collins will go and stay at Pemberley, and
he shall be very often in Kitty’s company. It will all work out exactly as I planned!”

Mary returned
downstairs with her assignment and fresh topics for conversation. She found her
cousin in the sitting room, on his feet and staring out the window. At the
sound of her approach, he turned and quickly replaced his pensive look with an
open smile. But in that brief glimpse of his unguarded expression, Mary had
read much. She felt a rush of compassion for the man as she considered his
position. He was away from all his friends and from the wide-open expanses of
the new world, and now confined to a modestly proportioned manor house in a
small village with only her mother for company. The walls must truly be closing
in about him.  

“I am sorry,
Mr. Collins,” she said instinctively.

“Why, Miss
Bennet, whatever for?”

“Oh… perhaps
for imposing myself on you,” she answered, hardly knowing what she was saying.
Mary looked about the undersized room as if seeing it for the first time – the
outmoded furniture, the faded wallpaper peeling at the edges, the unnecessarily
heavy draperies blocking what little sunlight managed to penetrate the overcast
sky. “You have been cooped up in this house for a week with barely a moment to
yourself since your arrival, I should imagine. And now, were it not for me, you
would have had your chance for a little peace.” Although it was an honest
thought, Mary immediately reproached herself for speaking so freely to this
man, who was still, she reminded herself, a relative stranger.

“I thank you
for your sympathy so candidly expressed, Miss Bennet, but I have not suffered as
badly as you suppose. I must keep my time and my mind occupied, and I am
delighted that you are here to assist me. I so enjoyed our conversation last
Sunday.” He glanced once more out the window. “Perhaps we might safely venture
out of doors again. Would that be agreeable to you, Miss Bennet? Or may I call
you Mary? I am afraid I quickly lose patience with all this ‘Miss-ing’ and
‘Mister-ing’ at every turn. Do not you?”

“We have only
recently met, Mr. Collins.”

“As cousins,
the brief duration of our acquaintance should not signify. I have known of your
existence all my life, and our people – two branches of the same family – have
a long history together.”

“Long, perhaps,
but the association has not always been a happy one, I believe,” she said,
leading the way to the door.

“Quite right,
Miss Mary – there, how is that for a suitable compromise? No doubt you refer to
the dispute between our two fathers, which, sadly, was never resolved.”

“Yes, never
resolved and the origins never explained either, at least not to me. Papa
refused to speak of it.”

“I have only
the vaguest knowledge of the business myself.
My
father was exceedingly
long in his complaints but rather short on the details. I believe the gist of
his quarrel with your father was this. He felt wronged by the manner in which
their mutual grandmother settled her affairs. She was a woman of some means at
the end, having outlived and inherited the assets of two husbands – my
great-grandfather first and then yours. Apparently the property of both was left
to her in such a way that she could do as she pleased with it, and she chose –
for what reason, I do not know – to bequeath most everything, including the
Longbourn estate, to the son of her second family, your grandfather Bennet,
instead of to mine.”

“That would be
highly irregular, and yet in no way my father’s fault.”

“Which is
precisely my view of things. If anyone is to blame, it is the matriarch
herself.”

“Besides, the
injustice is now corrected,” said Mary in a satirical tone. “The estate has
come over to the Collins side after all, thanks to the entail.”

“Ironic, is it
not? I think our granny entirely outfoxed herself there. Well, shall we walk
towards Meryton? Though the shops will be closed, it is a charming village and
it gives us a destination of sorts. Or are you too tired for such an
undertaking, Miss Mary?”

“I am not tired
in the least, Mr. Collins.”

“Tristan,” he
corrected her

“Mr. Tristan,
then. Still,” with a glance at the sky, “I fear it will rain.”

“Then we shall
have to adopt a lively pace in order to return to Longbourn before it does. It
will add adventure to the scheme.”

Persuaded by
his enthusiasm, Mary consented and they set off together at a brisk rate, as
proposed. An easy silence rested between them some minutes as they gave themselves
over to the enjoyment of the day, which, as Mr. Collins had suggested, held the
tacit promise of adventure. The glowering nature of the sky lent a dramatic
contrast to the occasional shaft of sunlight breaking through, and the air held
a charge of anticipation at the threat of an approaching storm.

Remembering her
mother’s explicit instructions, Mary, almost regretfully, resumed their
conversation. “I understand you have another, far grander destination in view,
Mr. Tristan. I hear you are to visit Pemberley and to there meet with your
sister as well as two of my own – my elder, Elizabeth, who is Mrs. Darcy, and
my younger sister Kitty.”

“You have heard
correctly. I am for Derbyshire on Wednesday, the morning following this dinner
party at Netherfield. As you might imagine, I am most anxious to see my dear
sister Ruth again after so many years.”

“Of course you
are.”

“And your
mother was extremely insistent that I should stay at Pemberley whilst I am in
the neighborhood. She has sent a letter on to your sister, and she assures me I
will be most welcome. There is a good deal more room for guests at the great
house than at the parsonage, Mrs. Bennet pointed out. She is thinking of my
sister’s comfort and my own, no doubt.”

“No doubt.”
Mary pressed ahead with her assigned task. “I believe you will find both my
sisters very amiable creatures.”

“I am sure that
I shall. Tell me; is either of them much like yourself?”

Mary could not
contain an ironical little laugh at the idea. “Not one bit, I promise you, so
you are bound to like them both exceedingly well. Elizabeth is considered
spirited and witty, and Kitty exceptionally good-natured. What is more, they
are both allowed to be very pretty.”

“You are too
modest of your own good qualities and accomplishments, Miss Mary. This
commendation of your fair sisters is admirable, and yet it need not come at
your own expense. I must say I admire you exceedingly – for having the wits and
wherewithal to secure a highly respectable situation of your own, not depending
on chance or wealthy relations to rescue you from unlucky circumstances.” They
walked on and, after a thoughtful pause, he added solemnly, “Besides, beauty is
not what a prudent man values. It is a trap, and something
never
to be
trusted.”

Mary glanced
sidelong at him but, seeing his grave expression, she knew not what reply to
make. She therefore remained silent and returned her eyes to the road ahead.
Still, she was pleased with the sentiment, which seemed to her a specimen of
singular insight.

They were just
passing the tree-lined lane for Lucas Lodge, when suddenly the clouds united
over their heads, and a driving rain set full in their faces. There was only
one thing to be done, to which the exigence of the moment gave more than usual
propriety; it was that of running with all possible haste back the way from
which they had come. Laughing, Mr. Tristan grasped Mary’s hand without warning
and compelled her along the road at a gallop. She held her skirt, put her head
down, and raced along at his side, drawing deep draughts of the freshening air
into her lungs as she went.

On they ran in
unison, stride for stride. Neither of them proved fleet-footed enough to
outstrip the rain, however, and they ended huddled together on the front porch
of Longbourn, soaked clean through.

Too winded to
speak, they could do nothing more for a long minute than breathe and stare at
one another. Mary soon grew disconcerted by Mr. Tristan’s proximity, and she
averted her eyes to inspect the damage done to her exterior. Her half-boots were
caked with dirt, and the hem of her charcoal-colored muslin was likewise
muddied. She could imagine the rest. “I must look a sight,” said she,
cautiously lifting her eyes again to receive her cousin’s opinion.

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