The Unexpected Miss Bennet (14 page)

‘I suppose it would be a diversion,’ Charlotte said. ‘If there is anything scandalous, of course we would stop.’

‘It’s a silly little novel, as Georgiana said,’ Lizzy said, with a hint of impatience. ‘There is nothing scandalous about it, except for the extreme absurdity of the story.’

Georgiana handed the book to Mary with a little happy cry, and for the second time, Mary began at the beginning of
Udolpho
.
I am beginning to know it by heart,
she thought.

She settled in, leaning back to catch the best light from the window. In truth, she enjoyed reading aloud, and the romantic sensibilities of the novel lent itself to great emotion. She often felt she could have been a curate had she been a boy, and when she was younger she would go out into the fields outside Longbourn and orate to the beasts and the birds. Only, one of the Lucas boys had caught her and teased her and she still burned with embarrassment to think of it. Now she read precisely and with clear enunciation, losing herself in the grand words.

She looked around now and again at her audience. Charlotte and Lizzy listened gravely, as befitted their matronly status and their personal natures. Georgiana attended with bright-eyed delight. Anne sat very still, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her back slumped as usual, as if the weight was too much to bear. Her gaze was very distant, and Mary wondered whether she even listened. She read fluently, clearing her throat now and again, lost in the long story with its tale of a virtuous, accomplished heroine, everything a young woman should be in form, manner, and mind. It is easier for the beautiful to be good, she thought, because everyone expects it of them and forgives them for their lapses.

At last her voice gave up the ghost, just as young Master Robert woke up with a lusty cry. Everyone was startled and everyone laughed, including Miss de Bourgh. Mary was surprised to see how dark the room was – the sun had left the window and the shadows lengthened. The little room was almost dark without any candlelight.

‘That was fine, Miss Bennet! That was very fine! Oh, what do you think will happen next?’

That was Anne. It was the most animated response that any of them had ever seen from Miss de Bourgh. But what happened next had nothing to do with young Emily of the novel. Instead, they heard the front door open, and the men came home, the deep voice of Mr Darcy and the more excited one of Mr Collins coming down the corridor to Charlotte’s parlour. Mary closed the book with a snap.

‘My dear Charlotte,’ Mr Collins said as he pushed open the door. ‘We have had a day of fishing, I tell you. Mr Darcy is a great fisherman, my dear. Mrs Darcy, your husband knows how to fish. Why, he had us separated and fish opposite ends of the pond, just so we could divide the catch between us. I caught quite a few, though I did need help in untangling my line from the willows once or twice. But Mr Darcy assured me, it happens to us all.’

He fell silent at last, as he looked at all the women, counting them all in the dimness. When his eye lit upon Miss de Bourgh, he gasped almost with fright.

‘Why, Miss de Bourgh! I did not see you in the shadows at the end of the sofa. Charlotte, why does Miss de Bourgh not have the armchair by the fire? Miss de Bourgh, where is Mrs Jenkinson?’

Miss de Bourgh rose to her feet. She opened her mouth to speak, took a deep breath, gave an awkward curtsy and fled, brushing past Mr Collins and Mr Darcy, neither of whom had the chance to bow. Mr Darcy looked gravely astonished. Mr Collins was near to tears.

‘What were you doing?’ he cried out. ‘Oh, if Lady Catherine is to find out. Mrs Collins, what did you say to Miss Anne to put her to flight?’

‘I? I did nothing,’ Charlotte countered, dandling the baby, his long gown wet and limp down her front. ‘It was Mary! She was just reading from a novel. Miss de Bourgh enjoyed it and she was startled when you came in.’

Mr Collins stared at her. Mary knew Charlotte hadn’t meant to cast blame. Still, Mr Collins stared at her. She had to force herself to steel her nerves and show neither resentment nor contempt. Under her calm and steady gaze, Mr Collins’s bumbling nature reasserted itself. He tittered and coughed.

‘My dear cousin, I think you might be unaware of the fragile and delicate nature of the sensitive Miss de Bourgh. I cannot think that a novel, the reading of which is a pastime I do not favour for young ladies, would do her good. I know you mean well, but I fear that you may have frightened her unduly with your forward ways. And you my dear,’ he turned with grave disappointment to his wife. ‘I am sure you did not approve of this diversion, for you know that we do not keep novels in this house.’

Charlotte’s eyes flashed with anger as she dandled the baby. She did not look chastened at all. Lizzy stood up.

‘Mr Collins, really! It was a quite respectable novel by a respectable authoress. Charlotte said you would not approve, but Anne herself asked Mary to read.’

That was not quite true, but it was true enough. Mary glanced once at Georgiana, who looked as if she wished to run away from her part in the misdeed. The girl kept her head down and her hands folded as if she had taken some of Miss de Bourgh’s nature. Mary saw Mr Darcy look at his sister with a considering eye, as if he didn’t believe her sudden meekness.

Mr Collins looked most astonished.

‘Miss de Bourgh asked Mary to read a novel? Why should she do that?’

‘Perhaps it is my voice she wanted to hear,’ Mary said.

With visible effort, Mr Collins gathered himself. ‘My dear cousin. You have no idea of the damage – the turmoil you could have caused.’ He attempted a smile. ‘It might be best – you see, Lady Catherine is quite protective – perhaps, Miss Mary, you will not join us at Rosings, lest you upset Miss Anne again. You will be quite happy here on those evenings in which we are out, and perhaps, perhaps you can stay with young Robert, as he has grown to like you, I daresay.’

Mary was torn between her very natural inclination to feel slighted and her more honest response of relief. To be freed of visits to Rosings was almost worth the insult. But it was not to be.

Even as Georgiana gasped, Charlotte stood up angrily. ‘Mr Collins! What do you mean, to say that Mary cannot go with us to Rosings?’

At the same time, Lizzy took a step towards him, bright red on her cheeks. She looked wild and angry. ‘Mary did nothing untoward. Miss Anne asked her to read. How dare you imply that Mary injured her in any way!’

Confronted by two angry women, Mr Collins turned between his wife and his cousin and sought to placate them both. ‘My dear wife,’ Mr Collins said, flapping his hands. ‘My dear cousin. I meant no insult or accusation. I merely thought that Mary was not aware of how delicate Miss Anne is. After all,’ he gave a small titter again, ‘she does not flee at my sermons.’

No one said a word; no one had to.

Mary stood up and handed him the book while Georgiana made a faint noise of protest. ‘I am sorry, sir. Perhaps you should put this in a safe place so that I cannot use it again. If my crime is to be punished with exile from Rosings, be assured I will not dispute your decision.’

Mr Darcy coughed and they all turned to look at him, but he waved them off.

At Mary’s apology, Mr Collins softened. ‘You see, Mary, I feel that we all must play our roles to the best of our ability, and not endeavour to reach above them. Your passion for the written word is unseemly, if I may say so. Your father and mother have failed you as much as they failed your – well, we will not speak of
her.
They indulged your precocious reading when they should have turned you toward greater rewards. A woman should go to church, do good works, and not clutter her head with novels and poetry, but only concern herself with virtue and that modesty that is the best adornment of her mind and her form. Scholarship is for men, novels their province for amusement and education.’

‘To improve themselves, you mean,’ Mary said, and he beamed.

‘Yes, exactly, cousin! Exactly.’

‘A pity it does not always work,’ she said.

T
HE COLLINSES AND Mary were not invited to Rosings to dinner that night or the next, an omission for which Mary, according to Mr Collins, was to blame. Mr Collins could be counted on to allude to Mary’s indiscretion at every meal, until one day, as he broached the subject, Charlotte stopped him with a sharp look. He looked abashed, muttered some thought or other about giving to his wife that honour that was due to her, and didn’t bring it up again. He didn’t speak much to Mary though. She felt his silence keenly, although with relief.

It had become abundantly clear that Mr Collins could not have been the husband for her, even if he had succumbed to her simple charms upon his first visit to Longbourn a year ago. She could not bear to be in the same room with him. His obsequiousness masked an inferior mind, made all the more proud because he had so little understanding. She flinched at the thought. How many times had she expounded in exactly the same way on a subject of which she knew little, but of which she had read something or other?

Oh to be a man, she thought with some hollow humour. No doubt Mr Collins had never been taken to task by his family but had been allowed to dwell in his misperceptions of his own superiority.
He should have had sisters. They would have taken care of him
.

Even if the Collinses were left wondering at their being cast out from the inner circle at Rosings, they were not left to wonder for long. Lizzy, Georgiana, and Mr Darcy visited every day. Mary knew from Lizzy and Georgiana that Anne could not have told her mother anything and that their exile had little to do with the escapade of
Udolpho
.

‘She is her same imperious self and speaks not at all of Mr Collins or Charlotte or you in any particular way,’ Lizzy said, when they walked arm in arm in the park at Rosings. There was a little wilderness there that she had become acquainted with on her last visit to Rosings and she introduced Mary to it. Mary enjoyed the peacefulness.

‘And Miss de Bourgh?’ Mary asked with some trepidation.

Lizzy smiled. ‘Anne says nothing. Anne is the same as she ever was. She sits with her head bowed, and Mrs Jenkinson dotes upon her. So unanimated! I pity her, Mary.’

‘And Lady Catherine,’ Mary agreed. At her sister’s wondering glance, she said, ‘She must see how wanting Anne is. Anne must feel it, the difference between who she is and that which her mother is so desperate that she should be. Every compliment would be a cut, every praise an insult. Anne is the one thing Lady Catherine cannot change to suit herself.’

Lizzy smiled at her. ‘Mary! Now you make me sad and I wish to be merry! At least, as much as I can be until I get home.’

Mary wanted her home as well, but she knew Lizzy meant Pemberley, not Longbourn. ‘Do you know when Lady Catherine will release us?’

‘Ah, no one knows. Darcy waits upon her, and therefore so must Georgiana. I am merely the wife, so I must wait upon the others.’

‘I fear I am imposing too much on Charlotte and Mr Collins,’ Mary admitted. Lizzy’s face darkened.

‘I know, and if Lady Catherine were not Darcy’s aunt, I would call her a wretched, spiteful woman. Is it so bad, Mary?’

‘Charlotte is kind, but Mr Collins cannot stand the very sight of me. And I think it has begun to tell on Charlotte.’

‘Cannot stand the sight of you! Mary! He was going to fall in love with you next, you know, if Charlotte hadn’t stepped in to save you.’

‘Charlotte saved herself,’ Mary said. She
had
half-expected that Mr Collins would pay his respects to her next, and she
had
wanted a beau for herself, even if he had professed his love for her sisters first. To hear that Charlotte had swooped in ahead of her was both a shock and relief. ‘But it was at the expense of her own happiness.’

‘Perhaps,’ Lizzy said. ‘I was dreadfully shocked and angry with her at first. How she could marry a man of such poor understanding, one whom she could hardly esteem, was not the Charlotte I knew. But she is happy in her way, she has a great deal of independence for a married woman, for he follows her lead in most things, and she has a child. I begin to think that Charlotte had the right of it after all.’

‘Lizzy!’ Mary said. Lizzy laughed, but she turned grave and held Mary’s hand tight under her arm.

‘Mary, that is not to say that I think you or Kitty should make such a choice. I would not wish it of you.
You
can be easy now. You can make a choice of a husband based on love and esteem, and a compatible nature.’

Mary sighed. ‘I have not studied men much, you know, but sometimes I think they have more of Mr Collins in them than of your Darcy.’

‘Women live quietly, it is true, and often are not able to compare all the samples of the species that they should. But I think you should not judge all men by Mr Collins or by Mr Darcy, just as, it must be hoped,
we
are not all judged by the worst or the fairest of our sex.’