Authors: Shannon Winslow
20
To Pemberley
Of course, she
and Mr. Darcy would not be entirely alone. Judy, the maid, would be traveling
in the coach with them. They would behave as if she were not there, though she
would be always present. She would pretend not to hear, though she could not
avoid being a silent witness to their every awkward attempt at conversation.
Her
longstanding acquaintance with Mr. Farnsworth should have prepared Mary in some
measure for this protracted confinement with Mr. Darcy, for it now struck her
that the two men were not unlike in certain ways – the same powerful presence,
the brooding and taciturn tendencies, for example. Yet with Mr. Farnsworth,
Mary had the children in common. They were the starting point for nearly every
verbal exchange between them. What did she have in common with Mr. Darcy? Only Elizabeth, and an appreciation for books and music. She supposed those topics would have to
serve.
As Mary puzzled
over how to begin, Mr. Darcy opened the dialogue himself. Five minutes down the
road, he said, “This seems a very fine carriage. Your employer must be a
gentleman of considerable means. Do you find him a just and principled man as
well?”
“I am not in a
position to judge his character on the whole, Mr. Darcy.” It was true, and yet
it had not stopped her from doing just that in the past, especially for his
tyrannical outbursts of old. Still, a certain loyalty would never allow her to
speak ill of him to others. “I can only tell you that Mr. Harrison Farnsworth
has never been anything but honorable and scrupulously fair – even generous –
to me personally.” Also true, Mary realized.
“That speaks
well of him. The proper measure of a man is not taken by how he treats his
peers and betters, but in how he deals with those over whom he holds
unconditional power – his wife, his children, his tenants, those in his service
and employ. If he treats them fairly when he has no one except his own
conscience to answer to, then he is honorable indeed. Outsiders do not know
what goes on in another man’s house, and yet his servants do. Therefore, it is
their
approbation that is most worth the earning. What praise is more valuable than
the praise of an intelligent servant? I should much prefer it to the
commendation of a lord.”
“Truly? That is
very well said, sir.”
Mary was
struck, not only by the laudable nature of his sentiment, but by its length.
She could not recall hearing her brother-in-law speak so many words together
before. He seemed to have exhausted his full supply at this, however, for not
another did Mr. Darcy utter for a good half hour. The silence was not
unpleasant. It was as if, having together already built a bulwark of
conversation, they were entitled to rest comfortably in its protection for as
long as they liked.
Another
occasional smattering of talk erupted to punctuate the unvarying noise of wheel
and hoof on roadway, the clank and jangle of harness. Mary asked if Mr. Darcy
was expecting a good harvest from the tenant farms that year, which was
followed by his brief answer in the affirmative. He asked whether she had found
anything especially worth reading of late, whereupon Mary described her recent
forays into Shakespeare with the Farnsworth children.
Ultimately,
though, the rocking motion of the carriage, combined with Mary’s lack of sleep
the night before, did its work; she drifted off and did not wake again until
the equipage slowed, indicating their arrival at Lambton. Then she knew it was
only five miles more to Pemberley.
“May we stop at
the first view of the house?” asked Mary when they entered the grounds of the
estate. “I know it is a favorite prospect of my sister’s, and I should very
much like to see it again myself.”
“If you wish,”
said Darcy. He watched for the place and signaled the driver to stop as they
came out of the wood on an eminence twenty minutes later. “There it is.”
Mary looked in
the direction he indicated. “So handsomely situated,” she said presently in
admiration of the grand stone mansion on the opposite side of the valley. “The
builder certainly knew what he was about when he chose the spot.”
“Indeed,” said
Darcy. “I would never argue with you there. I have often blessed providence and
my ancestor’s foresight, for my family has benefited by them these several
generations.”
As they were
gazing at the distant house, a pair of riders on horseback raced across the
vast lawn between it and the lake – a gentleman and a lady, it appeared,
although it was impossible to be certain of more than that from so far away.
“I wonder who
they can be,” Mary mused aloud.
“We shall soon
find out, I should think,” said Darcy, signaling the coachman to drive on.
They descended
the hill, crossed the bridge, and drove to the door of Pemberley House. All the
while, Mary’s apprehension increased for what she should discover there, as
well as her anxiety for how she should behave. Was it pure selfishness even to
try for Mr. Collins, or was it truly an act of kindness if it spared Kitty the
unhappiness of finding herself mismatched in marriage? Would anything she could
do or say affect where Mr. Tristan chose to plant his affection? How far should
she go to promote her own cause at the expense of her sister’s? Since no
answers presented themselves, Mary had to trust that her own conscience, as
well as the behavior of the other two involved, would guide her rightly and
rationally.
She did not
have long to wait for the first test of this philosophy. Immediately upon
alighting from the carriage, she saw Kitty and Mr. Tristan Collins approaching
side-by-side on horseback, confirming that they were the two Mary had observed
earlier. Their flushed complexions and high spirits bespoke either their
enjoyment of the exercise or their pleasure at seeing the new arrivals – no
telling which.
“Mary, how
delightful!” Kitty exclaimed as she drew near. Tristan quickly slid from his
saddle and then, with a firm hold about her waist, helped Kitty to dismount.
“We were overjoyed when we received the message that you were coming,” she
said, embracing her sister.
“So good to see
you again, Miss Mary,” added Mr. Tristan with a bow and a smile. He then
reached out to shake Mr. Darcy’s hand, glancing into the carriage and saying,
“Welcome home, sir. Your lovely wife is not is not with you, though?”
Mary was glad
the others were momentarily occupied with Darcy’s explanation and the
civilities that followed, for she was at first too overcome to speak. Despite
her determination to remain cool-headed, uninvited emotions had instantly
assailed her. Tenderness and longing welled up within her breast upon seeing
Tristan again. But when she turned to her sister, her rival, her chest
tightened to the point of aching. For a moment, she felt as if the combined
pressure would burst her heart wide open, and it seemed impossible that her
companions should remain unaware of her painful inner turmoil.
Mary’s senses
were on edge as she watched Kitty and their cousin, alert for signs of intimacy
between them. Their mutual affection she shortly verified. The rest was more
difficult to judge. Possibly there was more than friendship in the looks and
pleasantries the two exchanged. There could be no doubt on her sister’s side;
Mary knew that from her letter. But was Kitty’s love returned?
Reasserting
some control, Mary joined the conversation as best she could, saying, “You two
have been riding, I see.”
“Yes, Miss
Mary,” said Mr. Tristan Collins. “Your sister was so good as to consent when I
proposed the idea shortly after I arrived, and we have been several times since
without yet exhausting all the beauties to be seen hereabouts. It is wonderful
country, Derbyshire. Reminds me somewhat of my home in Virginia.”
“So, Kitty, you
are become a great rider as well,” stated Mary. “This is rather sudden, is not
it?”
“I suppose it
is, for I would wager that I have been riding nearly as many times in the last
few weeks as in the whole course of my life together before. I really cannot understand
why I failed to appreciate the benefits of it sooner.”
Mary struggled
for some appropriate response. “Perhaps it is… the fine environs or better
horses of Pemberley that have inspired this new passion. Longbourn can hardly
compare.”
“You wound me,
Miss Mary,” said Tristan, clapping his hand over his heart.
“How so, sir?”
“I had
convinced myself it was my sterling company that your sister found so
irresistible, but now you have unearthed the truth: merely horses and scenery.
My pride may never recover from the blow.”
Kitty laughed
at this. Mary could not, for she knew that his idea was far nearer the truth
than her own suggestion.
As the four of
them ate and talked together that evening, Mary had further opportunity to
observe the interaction between Mr. Tristan and her sister. There was no
billing and cooing apparent, no overt sign of peculiar regard. But perhaps they
were being careful to conceal it. What remained with Mary into the night was
the first sight of them together – that picture of Kitty on horseback at
Tristan’s side, her countenance aglow with happiness.
All Mary could
think of was that it ought to have been she herself in that place.
21
Heart to Heart
The next
morning, Mary sought out Charlotte Collins, who was still employed at Pemberley
as head housekeeper, to renew their acquaintance. “You should have joined us
for dinner last night,” Mary said, pressing her hand. “You would have been more
than welcome.”
“I know,” Charlotte answered. “Elizabeth always invites me, and I do sometimes. But I thought I had
better not on your first night here. Tomorrow perhaps.”
Mary nodded in
understanding. “You walk the same fine line here as I do at Netherfield – not a
servant, and yet not quite family either. It sometimes makes it difficult for
one to know how to behave. At least in your case, you can be sure that the
master and mistress of the house are true friends and have your good at heart.”
“Yes, there is
no question of that. I am well satisfied with my position here, believe me,
Mary. There is plenty to keep me occupied. I take a great deal of pride in my
work. And I have many dear friends, here in this house and in the parish round
about.”
“And what do
you think now you have met your brother-in-law?”
“I must admit
he is not at all as I expected, not at all like my poor late husband. More like
his sister Ruth, I suppose. At any rate, he is a most agreeable young man, and
I am happy to know him.”
The two women
spent a few more minutes exchanging news and civilities before parting ways for
the time being – Charlotte continuing with her duties and Mary joining the
others in the breakfast room. Afterward, the men turned each to his own
affairs. Mr. Darcy closeted himself in his study with his steward Mr. Adams,
and Mr. Tristan rode off to Kympton parsonage to visit his sister again,
leaving Mary and Kitty to themselves.
“Had you a
pleasant trip from Hertfordshire?” Kitty asked a few minutes after they had
settled together in one of Pemberley’s spacious drawing rooms.
“Tolerable,”
Mary answered. “The roads were dry, although it is too great a distance for
true comfort.” She trailed off and then added, “As well you know, having made
the trip many times yourself.”
“Yes.” After a
considerable interval, Kitty continued. “And you said that Mama is well… and
all those at Netherfield.”
“Quite well, I
assure you.”
“Such good news
you brought us about Jane,” said Kitty presently, without looking at her
sister. “Another boy.”
“Christopher.”
“Christopher?”
“That is what
they plan to call him.”
“Ah.” Kitty sighed
and pulled a pillow from behind her back, tossing the offending object aside.
Mary examined
the brocade fabric on the settee most earnestly, tracing the intricate pattern
over and again with her finger. She had never felt such awkwardness with her own
sister before. Here they were, ensconced in the most comfortable room
imaginable, and neither one of them could be easy, not whilst this unspoken
question loomed between them. Yet Mary could not bring herself to open the
topic.
“Take pity on
me, Mary, for heaven’s sake!” Kitty exclaimed at last. “You can guess how
anxious I am to hear your reaction to what I told you in my letter. Do not keep
me in suspense any longer.”
Mary shot to
her feet as if pulled up on puppet strings. “Let us go out into the garden
first,” she insisted. “I have a great desire to see it again.”
“Surely not,”
Kitty objected, “for it looks like rain.”
“We shall stay
near the house, if you wish, but I simply must get out of doors.” Mary felt she
could better bear hearing whatever her sister might next tell her if she were
out in the open. Should the news be bad, even the cavernous spaces of all
Pemberley House would not contain enough air to revive her. “We can talk just
as well there.”
Kitty obeyed,
and their conversation was suspended until they reached their destination.
There they strolled by the China, Damask, and Gallica roses at the perimeter
before entering the maze of precisely clipped hedges making up the heart of the
formal knot garden.
“Well?”
demanded Kitty, whose forbearance was utterly at an end.
Mary took a
deep breath and plunged into the depths. “Very well then. I must tell you I was
surprised, even a little alarmed by your letter, Kitty. The idea that, after
all your protests, you should end by liking Mr. Collins seemed to me so
incredible.”
“You said
yourself that you admire him.”
“Yes, but when
have you ever agreed with my opinion about what is good and valuable? In the
past, you have liked nothing half so much as a red coat and a ball, whereas I
have always preferred music and books. And to be already contemplating
marriage, after so sort an acquaintance! How can that be prudent?”
“It is not time
alone that determines intimacy, but also disposition. Seven years would be
insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are
more than enough for others. I know what I feel for Tristan. It is real and
true; I have not invented it.”
Mary perceived
then that her sister was not to be easily discouraged. She was not to be talked
out of her attachment to their cousin by bringing reason to bear. “I collect
that this thing between you is serious, then,” she said. “And you have no doubt
of his returning your affection?”
“None
whatever,” Kitty declared with her chin raised. “Nothing could be clearer.”
“I see.” Mary
gathered her courage. The next question was critical. What little remained of
her hopes hung on its answer. “Tell me straight out, Kitty. Are you engaged to
him?”
Kitty hesitated
only a moment, and yet it seemed an eternity to Mary.
“No, we are not
engaged, not exactly. I am still in mourning for Papa, after all.” This much
she stated without emotion. Then she turned pleading eyes on her sister. “Shall
we have your blessing when we are? That is what I am desperate to know.”
Now it was
Mary’s turn to take pause, and for longer than a moment. She bent her head and
walked further into the maze of the knot garden, contemplating her response.
Other than the fact that Tristan and Kitty were not finally engaged, she had
learnt nothing encouraging. So what could she say now that was both kind and
truthful? Mary chose her words with extreme circumspection. “As your sister, I
want nothing other than what is best for you, Kitty. Should I become convinced
that your marrying our cousin
is
the best thing, I shall wish you both
very happy.”
“Oh, thank
you!” Apparently unaware of Mary’s equivocation, Kitty spontaneously embraced
her. “And please tell me you had not thought of marrying Tristan yourself. It
was only friendship you felt for him.”
A hysterical
little laugh escaped Mary’s lips. “What a question! How could I not at least
have thought of marrying him when you yourself insisted that I should?” she
demanded sharply.
Kitty gasped
and looked appalled.
With a sigh,
Mary turned away, crossed her arms, and studied the clouds hovering overhead.
They had darkened considerably, just in the last minutes, and a deluge could
not be far off now. There was nothing for it but to seek what shelter might be
had and wait out the storm.
“Never mind
that,” Mary said presently. She placed her arm about Kitty’s shoulders and
ushered her toward the house. “That is all in the past… and with no harm done.
I admit that, upon first meeting Mr. Tristan, I thought something more than
friendship might not be unpleasant, especially if it would also benefit you and
Mama. However…” Mary swallowed the bile that rose up in her throat before
continuing. “However, it is not enough that a woman should find a gentleman
agreeable. He must find her so as well. Then together they might hope to build something
more substantial – a future. It seems that is to be
your
story, Kitty –
yours and Mr. Tristan’s.”
“Oh, Mary, I
can scarce believe it myself, that he should love me. It is too wonderful! He
shall make you a very charming brother, I promise. You shall always be welcome
to Longbourn.”
“Yes… a very
charming brother indeed. And what could I want for more than that?” Mary could
feel her sister scrutinizing her and took care to keep her expression
impassive. “You know my practical turn of mind, Kitty. I am hardly the romantic
sort. You should not imagine that I lay awake pining over one man and then
another.”
“Of course
not,” Kitty answered, exhaling deeply. “Dear Mary, you are not at all the kind
to fall in love, are you?”
“I never was.
Perhaps it is not in my nature.”
“Then you are
safe. I see now I had no reason to worry for your heart.”
“No, no reason
at all.” Mary continued putting one foot in front of the other without seeing
where she was going, her features frozen in an unreadable mask.
Kitty, with her
last scruple finally swept away, grew cheerful as a lark, and such was the
brilliance of her felicity that it blinded her to every symptom of dullness and
ill health in her sister.