The Pursuit of Mary Bennet (3 page)

Chapter 4

T
wo days later we departed, planning to break our journey at the home of friends the first evening. Before we left, Lydia displayed all her ill temper by accusing Jane of being “high and mighty” and “butting in” when her “advice was not wanted.” Mama took to her room and refused to come down to say good-bye. Papa emerged from his library long enough to wave us on our way, and I felt a rush of sympathy for him, being left alone to deal with both Mama and Lydia.

“Are there other guests at High Tor?” I asked after we’d set off.

“Mr. and Mrs. Ashton. I regret the timing of the visit, but there is nothing to be done.”

“And they are?”

“Friends. Acquaintances, really. We don’t know them well, but they seemed most eager to visit High Tor, so Charles thought we should invite them.” She glanced out the window for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. “Regarding Lydia’s situation, I think we must all guard our words when anyone outside of family is present, including the servants.”

I nodded. When Kitty didn’t acknowledge Jane’s edict in any way, the latter said, “Kitty, do you understand?”

“Of course. Have I met Mr. and Mrs. Ashton before? Do they like to dance and play cards?”

“They have never stayed with us, so no, I do not believe you’ve made their acquaintance. I suppose they like dancing and cards as much as anybody else.”

I groaned inside, picturing long evenings forced to make up a whist table. At least I could get out of dancing by situating myself at the pianoforte and providing the music.

“But who will be my dance partner, now that Mr. Walsh is no longer there?” Kitty asked.

“Perhaps you will have to content yourself with other pursuits,” I said. “Like reading, sewing, or walking.”

“One can’t walk at night!” Kitty said. “Oh, why did Mr. Walsh have to leave?”

As indifferently as I was able, I asked where that gentleman had gone.

“He had business to see to at his estate, but he promised to return sometime soon.”

“He must be exceedingly fond of you and Mr. Bingley,” I said, “to stay with you so often.”

Kitty giggled. “There may be another he is fond of!”

Jane looked dismayed. “I beg you not to make any assumptions on that head, Kitty. Mr. Walsh has shown no particular preference for you.”

“What? He always asks me to stand up with him, and sits beside me during evening entertainments.”

“No more so than with other young ladies who have been present,” Jane cautioned.

“More than with Mary when
she
was present,” Kitty said.

“That is unkind and unworthy of you, Kitty.” Jane gave her a severe look, and she had the decency to look ashamed.

“I am sorry, Mary,” Kitty said.

I inclined my head to acknowledge the apology, even while my thoughts were drifting. Had no one else noticed Mr. Walsh watching me that evening? It was entirely possible I imagined his attentions
.
It had only been the one time, in any case.

“He and Charles are great friends,” Jane said, looking at me. “They both love riding and shooting. And he is advising Charles regarding estate management. Now that he owns High Tor, Charles has a great deal more responsibility.”

When Mr. Bingley first came into the country, he had let Netherfield Park, near Meryton, from its owners in London. As it turned out, they had possession of several properties—High Tor in Derbyshire being another one—and wished to divest themselves of some of them. Jane and Charles had hoped to live near Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy; it was thus to the satisfaction of all when they purchased High Tor. Charles had made many improvements to the land in the past few years.

“I thought only Mr. Darcy advised Charles,” Kitty said, turning up her nose.

“Not at all. When he and Lizzy stay with us, though, the two men ride about the estate with the steward and single out areas that need improvement of one kind or another. And Kitty, please be more respectful when you speak of Mr. Darcy,” Jane added.

It would be a tedious journey, trapped in the chaise with Kitty for two days. I pulled out a book from my reticule and began to read, thankful I was not one of those people who suffered from nausea in a carriage.

O
n the second evening, to Jane’s surprise and delight, Charles met us at the inn where we were staying to escort us the remainder of the way. Papa had notified him by special messenger that we were en route. We dined early, in a private room.

“What news?” Jane asked. “How is my little David?”

“He’s well, my dear. Teething and fussing, giving his nurse the fidgets, I’d wager. And I’m certain he misses his mother, although perhaps not as much as I have missed you.”

Jane glowed.

“I have some news which might make your sisters happy,” Charles said.

“Oh, do tell us!” Kitty demanded.

“Henry Walsh has returned. The matter he had to attend to was easily dealt with, as it turned out.”

Kitty jumped to her feet and waltzed around the room. I said, “How nice for all of you, Charles, but there is no reason his presence should affect
me
.” A look I couldn’t interpret passed between him and Jane. Perhaps they pitied me, because I was not someone their friend could esteem.

After an early start and a long morning’s ride, we arrived at High Tor. Jane went directly to the nursery while Kitty and I took refreshment. Kitty fidgeted and, after what amounted to a significant amount of time for her, asked one of the servants where the other guests were.

“I believe I saw them walk out earlier, miss,” came the answer.

When I’d finished eating, I took a plate to Jane in the nursery. David, my nephew, was now six months old. A little cherub, all rosy cheeks and rolls of fat, he’d become more lovable than a newborn, in my mind. He smiled, cooed, and fixed his eyes on my face. I played with him while Jane ate, and when he grew sleepy we made our way downstairs.

Since the day was fine, I suggested we walk. Kitty was opposed at first.

“We shall probably meet the other guests,” Jane said.

Kitty reconsidered. “In that case, I shall come.”

“Where has Charles gone?” I asked.

“He is with his steward, I believe. Charles and Mr. Cox are talking of going to the magistrate to complain of the poor condition of the local roads, and the difficulty of getting agricultural crops to market.”

“The poor roads make travel difficult altogether,” I said, “whether by post or private chaise or—”

“For the lord’s sake, Mary, can’t you think of something more interesting to talk about?” Kitty said.

I felt my cheeks flush, because she was right. I always had something boring and stupid to say.

Before I could form an answer, we heard voices in the lane. Approaching us from the other direction was a party of three. Mr. Walsh was one of them. I looked away at once, feeling my pulse quicken. I fancied the other two must be Mr. and Mrs. Ashton.

Jane made the introductions, and we performed all the necessary bows and curtsies. “I did not expect to see you today, Mr. Walsh,” she said.

He looked a bit nonplussed but said smoothly, “Nor did I expect to have the pleasure of your company again so soon. My business was rapidly concluded. I was unaware you had other guests.”

“Oh, say no more, please,” Jane said, smiling. “You are most welcome at High Tor anytime, sir.”

With that, we broke up into pairs so the lane could accommodate us. Mr. Walsh offered his arm to Jane, and Mr. Ashton did likewise to Kitty. That left me with Mrs. Ashton, a petite blonde in a fashionable day dress, who eagerly linked her arm with mine.

“My dear Miss Bennet, I am in transports at meeting you at last,” she said. I could think of many—well, a few—other things one might justifiably be in transports over, but meeting me was not one of them. I was on my guard instantly. “You have other sisters, I believe.”

“Yes, ma’am, two.” I remembered Jane’s caution and offered no further information. “How did you become acquainted with Jane and Charles?”

“We met in Bath, of all places,” she said. “We were there so my husband could drink the waters. He suffers from gout, you see.” I nodded, inwardly drawing back. Mr. Ashton’s condition was surely not meant to be shared with a virtual stranger. She smiled after divulging this, revealing pointy little teeth. They were quite bright and evenly spaced, though.

She went on. “We had the good fortune to meet your sister and Charles in the Pump Room one morning.” I recalled, now that Mrs. Ashton reminded me, that Charles had taken Jane to Bath in the early stages of her pregnancy, when she was feeling ill most of the time, hoping the waters would ease her misery.

Mrs. Ashton continued her story. “Miss Porter, a mutual friend, introduced us. Quite in the middle of a sentence I interrupted her. ‘Who
is
that charming couple over there?’ I asked. ‘Why, that’s Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bingley,’ said she. So we hurried right over. Jane was looking sadly hagged, you know.”

“I believe she felt unwell at the beginning of her pregnancy.”

We continued in silence for a few minutes, until Mrs. Ashton spoke again. “I simply adore Jane and Charles. They are both so exceedingly friendly and cheerful, one cannot help taking to them. And I do hope you and I will be great friends, Mary. May I call you Mary?”

“Ah, if you wish it.” On such slight acquaintance, this was unusual. But I could not refuse without seeming impolite. Indeed, I could barely get a word in.

“And you must call me Amanda. I won’t have you calling me ‘Mrs.’ or ‘ma’am’! Reserve that for the old ladies!” Again, she smiled. This time I judged it to be more a stretching of the lips over her brilliant teeth than a genuine smile.

“One of your sisters is wed to Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. What an auspicious match that was for her.” And for him, I wanted to say, but did not. “Upon my word, the Darcys are known to be one of the wealthiest families in England! And you have yet another sister married to an army officer, if my recollection is accurate.”

I made no reply, but Mrs. Ashton kept up her barrage of questions anyway.

“Where is he quartered at present? Is your sister with him?”

This cursed woman did not give up easily, I realized. “He is in Newcastle, but Lydia is presently with my family at Longbourn, in Hertfordshire. She is expecting a child, and since her husband’s duties could take him away at any time, it was deemed best that she come to us for the birth.”

“And what is her married name, if I may inquire?”

“Mr. George Wickham is her husband.” Before she could ask another impertinent question, I asked one of my own. “Of what duration is your stay at High Tor, ma’am?”

“
Amanda.
I insist!” She squeezed my arm to get her point across. “I would like it above all things to stay at least a fortnight, perhaps longer. But, however, we would not wish to be the type of guests who wear out their welcome!” In truth, I wondered at their receiving an invitation for a visit of any length. Had Charles taken leave of his senses?

We continued walking toward the house, Mrs. Ashton still clinging to my arm. Jane and Mr. Walsh were conversing cordially, his head bent toward hers. With alarm, I realized that Kitty was laughing, in a rather wild and uncontrolled manner, at something Mr. Ashton was saying. He, as Mr. Walsh had done with Jane, bent his head toward Kitty, but not in order to hear her. He rather seemed to be teasing her. “Flirting” would not be too strong a word. To my chagrin, Kitty showed neither command of herself nor good judgment. I saw Jane glance quickly her way and noticed the sudden increase in our pace, so that we were inside the house in only a few more minutes. I could not help wondering if Mrs. Ashton had noticed her husband’s conduct. If so, it could only have caused her pain.

W
e all retired to our chambers to prepare for dinner. I lay down on my bed and stretched until most of the knots in my back and shoulders, put there by the lengthy carriage ride, had eased. Once I overcame my reluctance to be in society, I felt far more relaxed when I stayed at High Tor than I ever did at home. Although I enjoyed a degree of solitude at Longbourn, I carried a surfeit of anger and resentment in my chest—against my parents, against Kitty, and even against myself—and it sometimes burst out at inappropriate times. Mocking, and on occasion even cruel, thoughts spun inside my head, waiting for a chance to pounce on some unsuspecting victim. Most of the time they stayed trapped inside, but it demanded the utmost restraint to keep them there. Here, among people I admired and respected, I could often rid myself of such thoughts altogether.

Whenever I stayed with Jane, she shared Sara, her lady’s maid, with me, and I saw she’d already been in my room and laid out a gown for me to wear that night. A pretty confection of sprigged muslin in a pale green, it was a cast-off from Jane. Her clothing fitted me well, as we were roughly of the same height and proportion, and I was glad to have something special to wear. I was seated at the dressing table pulling pins from my hair, so that Sara might arrange it for me, when I heard a soft knock at my door.

Jane came through, looking worried.
Oh, please, no more bad news.