Authors: Shannon Winslow
24
Returning Home
The party for
Longbourn prepared to quit Pemberley the following morning, the farewells
taking place in the entry hall instead of out of doors due to inclement
weather. A heavy rain had begun at dawn and showed no sign of subsiding. The
dark skies promised a wet passage to Heatheridge – their first day’s
destination – and Mary’s mood was decidedly gray as well.
Under these
gloomy auspices, the parting took place and the journey began. Although her
stay at Pemberley had turned out far less agreeable than she had hoped, Mary
did not quit the place without feelings of regret. Looking back at the great
house once more as the carriage drew away, she could not deny its appeal. The
sincere hospitality found within its walls, the daily comforts afforded by a
family with a generous income, the vast expanse of natural beauty out of doors,
and the tasteful elegance in: all these were reasons to lament leaving.
Her chief
regret, however, was the loss of the Pemberley family itself. She had now
become acquainted with her Darcy nephews, forming an attachment to Bennet
especially. She had enjoyed seeing Elizabeth well settled into motherhood, and
what a different model of the office she made from their
own
mother. And
her relations with Mr. Darcy continued to improve with each additional
exposure. Mary had discovered that she could abide his presence composedly,
almost cheerfully, after all. The little awkwardness that remained between them
was nothing compared to what she would face on the three-day journey ahead.
~~*~~
They came and
went without incident from Heatheridge and Bancroft Hall in turn. Then the
three uncomfortable days predicted stretched into five with the great
misfortune of the carriage breaking down, causing them to limp along for miles
and miles before reaching the next town with a coaching inn, where repairs
could be undertaken.
Kitty’s
continual presence did not trouble Mary as much, or at least not in the same
way, as she had supposed it would. Since they were seldom alone together, Kitty
could rarely loose her tongue to expound on her secret passion for Mr. Tristan
Collins and their plans together. However, she did made an irksome habit of
conspicuously watching him out the carriage window as he rode alongside.
“Is not our
cousin a fine horseman, Mary?” she asked on more than one occasion.
Mary simply
agreed with her the first time, ignored the question the second, but could not
keep silent when it came still again. They had collected Grace and Gwendolyn by
then, so she asked them, “What do you say, girls? Is Mr. Collins the finest
horseman you have ever observed? I think not. In fact, I believe your own father
is a bolder rider and much more comfortable in the saddle.” This was nothing
more than what Mary had already been thinking.
“Well,”
rejoined Kitty, “I cannot answer for that. I see no reason to compare the two
in any case.”
“You opened the
subject yourself. I was simply offering an opinion to further the discussion.
Yet perhaps you are right, Kitty. It is an unfair comparison. After all, Mr.
Farnsworth rides nearly every day, whereas Mr. Collins may not have had the
same opportunity, being so occupied with his farm in Virginia. He may have been
obliged to spend more time working the ground and less on the back of a horse.”
Kitty never
returned to the topic of Mr. Tristan’s riding again.
Mary had tried
telling herself she should be happy for Kitty, and that she must draw her own
comfort from the fact that she had done her solemn duty. For that one moment at
least – when faced with the choice whether or not to spoil her sister’s joy by
revealing her own ruined aspirations – her finer impulses had prevailed. Upon
further reflection, however, Mary had begun to question her noble response and
nearly everything else, including Kitty’s claims to Tristan Collins.
A person of
integrity would never tamper with a solemn engagement. That was not the case
here, however. And really, other than Kitty’s own assertions, what evidence was
there to establish a definite attachment between the two? Nothing that Mary
could perceive or recall. An ember of hope flared to life. What she had taken
for discretion on Tristan’s part could just as reasonably be interpreted as
indifference. And had he not continued to show the same affectionate regard for
herself as he had at Longbourn? The more Mary considered it, the more she
became convinced that it was at least possible that Kitty was the one who had
deceived herself, and that the contest for Tristan’s heart was not yet fully
decided. No, she would not give up on him just yet.
From that point
on, Mary made more effort to be civil to Tristan – civil and a good deal more,
to her sister’s obvious consternation.
~~*~~
The Farnsworth
girls proved an invaluable resource as the friction between the Bennet sisters
increased day by day and mile by mile. Mary hardly knew how they would have
managed through the long hours of confinement without Grace and Gwendolyn. She
kept them talking about their games and adventures with their Bancroft cousins,
and the many little kindnesses of their aunt. Mary had brought her Shakespeare
with her as well, and all four of them took turns reading aloud from it to pass
the time.
Although not
without taxing every resource of patience and comfort, Mary and her companions
survived the ordeal and arrived in Hertfordshire with all their limbs and
faculties intact.
The carriage
stopped briefly at Longbourn to unburden itself of Kitty and her belongings.
Mr. Tristan Collins dismounted immediately to lend assistance, and Mrs. Bennet
came rushing out to greet them.
“Oh, thank the
Lord you are safe!” she exclaimed. “When I did not see Mary in church, I
thought sure the carriage had been overset or some other terrible calamity had
occurred. How good you are, Mr. Collins, to ride escort. And Kitty, I must say
it is high time you returned home. I hope you found your long stay at Pemberley
worthwhile.”
“Very
worthwhile,” she said with a coy smile, taking Tristan’s hand to alight from
the carriage.
“I am glad to
hear it. You must tell me all about it over tea. Perhaps the young ladies would
care to come in for some refreshment,” Mrs. Bennet said with a nod to the
Farnsworth girls.
“No, Mama,”
replied Mary. “We may not stay. Their father will be anxious for their safe
return since our arrival is overdue. We must continue on to Netherfield without
delay.”
The footman
folded up the step and closed the door so they could get underway again. Mary
glanced back as they moved off, and then wished that she had not. Now the
picture left in her mind was that of Kitty close by Mr. Tristan’s side,
standing in front of what might be their home together in the future. Should
Longbourn and Mr. Tristan both to fall to her sister in the end, Mary did not
know which of the three she should regret the loss of most. For lost to her
they surely would be then.
25
Rest Disturbed
A reception
party quickly assembled at Netherfield upon their arrival – half a dozen
servants, and then the master himself strode forward to hand the ladies out of
the carriage.
Mr. Farnsworth
stiffly embraced Gwendolyn and Grace in turn as they alighted. Then he offered
his assistance to Mary. “Welcome home, Miss Bennet,” he said sternly. “It is
good to have you all returned…
late
but well, it appears. I will want an
accounting from you presently.”
“Yes, sir. I
can explain the delay.”
“And you shall,
but not right now.” He turned from her to rejoin his daughters, softening his
tone with them. “Now, girls, let us go in. I want to hear all about your
travels, and about your cousins at Bancroft.”
Mrs. Brand said
to Mary, “Never mind, Dearie. The master will be himself again afore long. He
has been half out of his wits these last two days, a’ waiting and a’ worrying.
Off his food and everything. Now all’s turned out well, he shall soon rally, I
expect.”
“Thank you,
Mrs. Brand. I am sure you are right.”
Mary was not at
all sure, nor could she be bothered to care at that moment. A sudden weariness
had overtaken her, and she could not get to her own chamber quickly enough.
Once there, she prayed she would not be disturbed. Solitude, precious solitude:
that was what she desperately craved after so many days in constant company. No
more putting on a front for others. No more pretending that all was well when
it might never be so again. Mary shut herself in, dropped fully clothed onto
her bed, and was asleep within minutes.
It was dusk
when she at last awoke, and it took her a moment to remember where she was.
When her eyes cleared and could focus, she let out a muffled shriek at seeing
the shape of a man, five feet away and silhouetted against the dim light of the
window.
“You mustn’t
take on so, Miss. ‘Tis only me.”
Mary recognized
the voice and her fears were a little allayed. “What do you do here, Clinton?” she asked cautiously as she swung her feet to the floor.
“I brung up
your trunk for you, see, and then I just stayed to watch over you a minute. You
was laid out so comfortable like.”
A chill raced
across Mary’s shoulders and down her arms, and she could feel the hairs on the
back of her neck prickle. She was careful, however, that her voice should
remain calm. “I did not hear you knock.”
“I let myself
in real quiet like, so as not to disturb you. I figured you might be asleep,
and so you was.”
“Nevertheless,
you should have knocked and waited for an answer. Please go now, Clinton. You have completed your task, and I thank you.”
“Well, if
you’re sure there ain’t nothin’ else I can do for you.”
“Nothing at
all.”
He hesitated,
and for a moment Mary thought he might not obey. But then he turned and left
her. When the door was shut between them, Mary closed her eyes and exhaled.
What was the man thinking, coming into her room like that, uninvited? How long
had he been standing there, and what were his intentions? In the poor light,
reading his expression had been impossible. Perhaps he meant no harm, although
this was not the first time he had behaved improperly towards her.
Mary wondered
if she should speak to someone about it, that someone of necessity being Miss
Farnsworth. She hated to get Clinton in trouble unnecessarily. After all,
nothing untoward had actually happened. On the other hand, she dared not wait
until it did before taking action. It also occurred to Mary that if he were
this forward with her, Clinton might well be harassing other female members of
the household more overtly, girls who had less standing and little chance of
protecting themselves. Perhaps she ought to speak out in their defense if not
in her own. After debating the question back and forth in her mind the whole
evening, Mary ultimately decided to report the incident to Miss Farnsworth
first thing in the morning.
“You caught him
looking at you?” said Lavinia Farnsworth from behind the ornate desk where she
managed her correspondence. “Well, that is hardly a crime.”
Mary stood
opposite, with her hands clasped behind her back. “It was the circumstances
that made it improper, Madam, not the fact that he was looking at me. He was in
my bedchamber without leave, watching me sleep! Does that not strike you as
odd? And as I said, this is not the first time something like this has
happened.”
“So you have
therefore concluded what? That Clinton is in love with you, or that he intends
to murder you in your bed? Which is it? Really, Miss Bennet, what a fevered
imagination you must have. Perhaps you should be flattered rather than
offended; I daresay it is not every day that a man pays you so much attention.”
Mary felt her
face growing warm, half in embarrassment and half in bitter annoyance. “I do
not consider this a joking matter, Miss Farnsworth, and I would appreciate it
if you did not either.”
“Very well;
have it your own way. I will see to it that Haines speaks to the man, but more
than that I will not do. You said yourself that he has yet to lay a finger on
you. And if I were to dismiss every servant who looked at another sideways or
uttered an impertinent remark, there should soon be no one left to do our bidding.”
“Please…”
“That will be
all, Miss Bennet! Now, I suggest you return to the schoolroom, where you
belong… and where I trust you will be unable to tempt anybody else to
misbehave.”
Not trusting
herself to speak, Mary gave a curt nod and left without saying another word.
There was no more to be done at present. Should something more serious occur,
she would not hesitate to bypass the acting mistress of the house and go
straight to the master. To do so now, however, would only make of Miss
Farnsworth a more violent enemy without cause.
Mary did indeed
return to the schoolroom and took some comfort in the familiar surroundings
there. Grace was eager enough to resume her studies. Michael, not surprisingly,
was more difficult to reign in after being largely left to his own devises for
over a week. But Gwendolyn was the mystery.
On their
journey home from Staffordshire, Mary had noticed in her oldest pupil periods
of distraction and seeming wistfulness. Now, however, she was positively
melancholy, moping about and unable to take an interest in anything save
Shakespeare. She had taken up a copy of his sonnets upon their return and
refused to part with it, even during their period of outdoor exercise that
afternoon. When Mary insisted that she walk rather than sit in the shade,
Gwendolyn simply took her book of verse with her, alternately studying it and
staring at the sky, paying no attention to where she was going. Mary could not
help worrying she would end by stumbling into a ditch or briar patch.
“It is Phillip Bancroft,”
Grace presently volunteered in explanation.
Mary had again
turned her watchful eye from Michael, who was scaling the lower limbs of his
favorite tree, back to his wandering eldest sister. “Phillip Bancroft?” she
repeated.
“Yes, he is our
second cousin on our uncle’s side, and he came to visit whilst we were staying
at Bancroft Hall. Gwendolyn began behaving very silly the moment she set eyes
on him, and then she told me she is in love.”
“Is that so?
And of what age is this young man?”
“Two-and-twenty!
And the book he likes best in all the world is Shakespeare’s sonnets. He read
out his favorite one to us the second night he was there. Gwen looked nigh on
to fainting by the time he had finished.”
“Ah, I see.”
“It is
completely ridiculous, of course. He is far too old for her.”
“For the time
being, yes, but perhaps not in another four or five years. She will be a beauty
then, and old enough for a gentleman still in his twenties to consider.”
Grace rolled
her eyes and made a sound of disgust. “Do not tell me we shall have to put up
with
this
…” She gestured to her sister. “…this dreadful mooning about
for another four or five years!”
Mary had to
smile at the girl’s dramatics, which were so unlike her usual reserved self. “I
fear you may, my dear Grace. Young ladies of your sister’s age and older are
often prone to such nonsense. You must be thankful, then, that you have only
one sister. Pity me, for I lived with four.” Thinking back, Mary recalled all
too well her own disgust at Kitty and Lydia’s wild enthusiasm over every man in
regimentals, and how Jane had for months suffered love-sickness in her own
quiet way. At last, belatedly and painfully, she had now herself acquired some
empathy for their affliction.