Life with Mr. Collins would never be like that, she thought; but then she could hardly expect to meet a John Sparrow again, a man who had, for the first time in her life, made her feel carefree and at ease. Those few happy hours with him had been but a little thing, she told herself, quickly snuffed out by the sneers of those around her and by her own timidity. But it had given her a glimpse of what happiness felt like; and that was hard to erase from her mind. Now it was over, dead and buried, never to be repeated. John Sparrow was many, many miles away and would not return. It did no good to repine. It was not long since she had assured Lizzy every impulse of feeling should be guided by reason. Now she must apply that lesson to herself. Her choices were few and of too much importance to be influenced by unruly emotions. Sense and not sensibility must be her guide.
Chapter 23
In the morning, as Mary was pushing extra pins into her hair in an attempt to secure it, Mrs. Hill came quietly into her room.
“So your cousin is arrived, miss.”
“He is indeed.”
“And what do you think of him? What kind of man is he?”
“I’m afraid he hasn’t won many friends in the house. My sisters think him dull and my father has decided he is a fool—but you are not to repeat that, I beg.”
“But what about you, miss? I asked your opinion of him.”
Mary peered into the mirror. Her hair was not a success. Without a word, Mrs. Hill picked up a brush, took out the pins, and let it down. As she worked, Mary decided to speak as candidly as she could. She trusted Mrs. Hill, and thought it would help to express her thoughts aloud.
“He does seem absurd at times,” she began, “but I don’t believe there is anything really wicked about him. I think he is unsure and uncertain and that makes him inclined to talk too much to no good purpose. He believes his flattery will please those to whom he speaks, but the result is often the exact reverse.”
“You feel sorry for him, then?”
“A little. He is such a tempting target for my father’s teasing that it is impossible not to feel some sympathy for him, although I admit no-one else seems to think as I do.”
Mrs. Hill was now twisting Mary’s hair into a smooth knot with practised skill, anchoring it securely at the nape of her neck.
“Does that mean you might look at him … in a friendly manner?”
“That’s a very direct question.”
“I’m sure you know what I mean,” replied Mrs. Hill, unperturbed. “I wondered whether you have thought about him … in a marital way. He talks like a reading man, and he’s already asked to use the library—your mother wants me to make sure it’s dusted this morning. You’d have your books in common. He isn’t a showy sort of gentleman … not someone to value a pretty face above all other considerations.”
Mary took a green-and-gold ribbon from her dressing table and began to run it absently through her fingers.
“You say that, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off Jane since he arrived.”
“Well, we know her thoughts are elsewhere, and likely to stay that way, I should think.”
“If Jane refused him, I’m sure he’d think of Elizabeth next. I should be a very poor third choice.”
“I shan’t reply to that—you know it makes me sad to hear you so hard upon yourself. But I doubt Miss Elizabeth would have him. You might still have a chance. Would you like me to put that ribbon in your hair?”
Mary looked at it, surprised, as if she had not known it was in her hand.
“Oh, no, I don’t think so. It’s too bright for me.” She placed it hurriedly back on the dressing table. “But even if he could be persuaded to make me an offer—what kind of happiness do you think I could look forward to with him?”
Mrs. Hill considered her handiwork, pushing a last pin into Mary’s hair.
“They say marriage is a lottery and none of us knows if we’ve drawn a winning ticket until it’s too late.” She passed Mary a small mirror, so that she could see her head from the back. “But whatever you think of him, as his wife you’d be mistress of Longbourn—and that’s something to consider, is it not?”
Mary stared into the mirror, contemplating her neatly dressed hair.
“In my opinion,” concluded Mrs. Hill, “you have as good a chance of catching him as anyone. You should think very hard about it before letting someone else steal him from under your nose. A man like him, whatever his little annoyances, won’t be around forever.”
She laid down the combs, and having delivered herself of the point she had always intended to make, left the room. For a few seconds Mary did not move, sitting and thinking before she rose and pulled on her shawl. As she did so, she felt a strand of her hair slip down. Angry, she thrust in a pin with too much force, making her head throb as she walked downstairs to breakfast. She arrived in the hall just in time to see Mrs. Bennet follow Mr. Collins out of the drawing room. He looked self-conscious but pleased with himself; her mother seemed excited, as though she could scarcely contain what she had just been told.
Throughout the meal, she beamed at Mr. Collins, handing him the hottest rolls and helping him to the butter and jam. Mary watched him closely; she thought she could guess at the contents of a conversation that had left both him and her mother so ebullient. He must have spoken to her about his intentions. A shiver of apprehension passed through her, as she contemplated what this meant. She must decide now if she intended to follow her head or her heart—whether she would listen to the promptings of duty and self-interest, or cover her ears and hope against hope for something better. Her mind was soon made up. She said nothing until everyone else had gone and only she and her mother remained. As Mrs. Bennet played idly with the remains of a slice of toast, Mary got up and carefully closed the door.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but I wonder if I might ask you something?”
Mrs. Bennet nodded absently.
“Is it your belief that Mr. Collins has come here to ask for one of us in marriage?”
Her mother looked up, surprised.
“What do you mean by asking me that? Have you been listening at doors?”
“Indeed, I have not. He has dropped several hints that suggest that might be his intention.”
“And if it is, what has it to do with you? I’m not sure what you mean by questioning me.”
Mary struggled on, trying to suggest a confidence she did not feel.
“I have been thinking very hard about it, and it seems to me that of all my sisters, I might be the most sensible choice for him. I think our interests coincide; we are both of a serious turn of mind and might grow to suit each other well enough. I’m sorry to speak so boldly, but I’ve tried to consider the situation as rationally as I could before raising it with you.”
Her voice shook a little at the end, but she did not waver.
Mrs. Bennet looked at her daughter, speechless; words seemed briefly to have failed her.
“Well, you are full of surprises, to be sure. But you are right, Mr. Collins does intend to ask for one of you girls in marriage. He told me so this morning. Of course, his first thought was Jane; but as I’ve explained, I have every reason to expect she will shortly be engaged to a gentleman of rank and fortune.”
She smiled into the middle distance, the mere thought of such a happy event enough to please her.
“I suggested he transfer his hopes to Lizzy, and he seemed pleased enough to do so.”
“Was that entirely wise? I don’t think there’s any chance of Lizzy accepting him; their dispositions are so very different. She’s in no hurry to marry and can expect many other offers.”
Mrs. Bennet began to grow annoyed.
“If he couldn’t have Jane, it was Lizzy he wanted, and it was hardly the moment to suggest alternatives. What am I to do, offer him around the family like a parcel? I’m sure he would never have thought of you—your name wasn’t mentioned at all.”
Mary flinched. The pin she had pushed so clumsily into her head was hurting her, b
ut this was not the moment to adjust it.
“I’m sorry if I’ve angered you,” she continued. “I didn’t intend to make any claims for myself. I know I don’t possess the attractions of Jane or Lizzy. But I thought as I am the only sister likely to look favourably upon him, it would be sensible to direct his attentions towards me. If he made an offer, I should feel obliged to accept him. It would keep Longbourn for us, besides taking your least marriageable daughter off your hands. Those and those alone have been my motives in speaking.”
Mrs. Bennet was not mollified.
“That’s finely said, but I don’t think Lizzy will refuse him. I intend to make sure she does not. There will be no need for anyone in reserve. You are not to meddle in things that don’t concern you, and you are expressly forbidden to mention any of this to Elizabeth. To be frank, Mary, I’m amazed at your presumption.”
She stood up, indignantly gathering her skirt before her.
“I don’t want to hear another word from you on the subject. And your hair has come down at the back. Please attend to it.”
When her mother had gone, Mary poured herself some tea. At first, her hand shook slightly, but by the time she raised the cup to her mouth, she was calmer. Mrs. Bennet’s words shocked her very much. She knew her mother had no hopes she would make a marriage of the kind she dreamt of for her other daughters; but Mary had not realised until now how little she featured in her mother’s plans at all. Nothing, it seemed, was to be done for her. She was unworthy of any consideration, not fit even to serve as a consolation prize to a disappointed man. If proof had been needed that Charlotte was right when she insisted a young woman must unflinchingly pursue her own best interests, she had surely received it this morning. She could hear the servants outside, waiting to come and clear the table, and knew it was time to leave. For the merest instant, as she got up from her chair, she wondered if her mother’s rejection was in fact a blessing in disguise, that she was being offered a chance to think again, that she was not required to lay herself out to please a man she hardly knew and wondered if she could ever love. But it was a thought she quickly buried. There was no alternative to Mr. Collins. Even Mrs. Hill had urged him upon her. She was foolish to imagine she deserved anything else. If her mother would not help her secure him, then she must do so alone.
Chapter 24
As Mary walked into the hall, she had already begun to turn over in her mind how she might proceed. She knew she had no talent for the playfulness which Elizabeth deployed so easily; she would never learn how to flirt or tease. She could see only one way of attracting Mr. Collins’s attention: she must do everything possible to alert him to the interests they shared, demonstrate to him by every means in her power that in terms of tastes and disposition, she was the only Bennet sister who might offer him a reasonable chance of happiness. So absorbed was she in these thoughts that she hardly noticed her two younger sisters heading towards her along the passage with their usual air of barely suppressed excitement. Lydia seized her arm, and spoke in a whisper loud enough to be heard in every adjacent room.
“Unless you wish to be teased and annoyed by the dullest man in the neighbourhood, go as fast as you can past the library. He is in there, wandering about and pretending to look at books.”
Kitty looked over her shoulder, as if she feared they might have been followed.
“I think he saw us, for he called out as we went past, but we pretended not to hear.”
She caught Lydia’s eye, and they both laughed.
“That was unkind and disrespectful,” declared Mary. “Mr. Collins is a guest in our house and deserves proper consideration from us all.”
Lydia rolled her eyes and pulled a face. “You are very welcome to offer him all the consideration you want, proper or otherwise, but we intend walking into Meryton to escape him. Come with us if you wish—unless you’d rather stay and listen to another of his lectures.”
“I would rather spend the morning hearing Mr. Collins read an interesting book than wander about Meryton mooning after officers.”
“Just as you like,” replied Lydia nonchalantly. “We obviously have very different ideas about what is interesting. Kitty and I will go and put on our boots and leave you to be improved.”
They bustled away, and Mary, conscious she had yet again been made to look a prig, continued on her way to the library. There she found Mr. Collins, a large folio open on the table before him. He looked up as she entered, his expression registering neither pleasure nor surprise at her arrival. He wished her good morning and returned to his book. Mary took up her usual position at her little table and opened a volume of her own; but it was soon evident, from his sighs and fidgets, that he was not engaged by his reading. Mary plucked up her courage. This was exactly the kind of opportunity she must learn to seize.
“Excuse me, sir, but it doesn’t appear you’re quite satisfied with the book you have chosen. I know my father’s library very well and would be happy to help you find something more to your liking.”
“That is very polite, but I assure you, I am happy with what I have.”
“My father’s system of cataloguing is of his own devising, and the logic is not always apparent to those who do not know it. I could point out where he keeps works of moral and philosophical interest.”
“Thank you, but I will content myself with this for the time being.”
He turned the pages one after the other, his attention clearly elsewhere. Mary made herself try again.
“I was very sorry you weren’t able to finish your reading from Dr. Fordyce yesterday. I found it most instructive.”
Mr. Collins inclined his head very slightly in acknowledgement.
“I should be very glad to hear more, if you ever felt moved…”
Before she could finish her sentence, Mr. Bennet came into the room. Mr. Collins stood up, all attention, and made a formal bow.
“I hope, sir, you will excuse my intruding into your place of study. I took the liberty of acceding to the invitation extended by you with such generosity last night, to think of your library as my own.”
Mr. Bennet murmured the briefest acknowledgement, and seated himself at his desk.
“Anyone is welcome here, provided they abide by the rules of the house. As Mary may have told you, I encourage the preservation of a companionable silence, as being most conducive to civilised reflection.”
Mr. Collins expressed his eager willingness to comply; and for a few minutes, nothing was heard but his page-turning. But Mary saw he was still unsettled, and it was not long before he addressed Mr. Bennet directly.
“Your library, sir, is blessed with very elegant proportions and a quantity of natural light.”
Mr. Bennet looked up, a hint of irritation discernible in his expression.
“It has neither the size nor the scale of Lady Catherine’s library at Rosings Park,” continued Mr. Collins blithely, “but it is of very respectable proportions for a gentleman’s residence such as your own.”
“I am glad it meets with your approval.”
“Indeed it does, sir. And your gardens are admirable too. Although their size must limit their ambitions, they are extremely well kept and make a very pleasurable sight.”
“Again, I am indebted to you. I imagine, however, that the grounds at Rosings are of a different degree of excellence?”
“Yes, Lady Catherine always says the long walk and the parterre exceed in perfection anything to be found in the county. I have often agreed with her that this is so. Nothing is as noble as the view from the north terrace towards the ha-ha.”
Mr. Bennet closed his book.
“Your thoughts seem more directed towards the pleasures of the outdoors than to study this morning. It seems most unfair that you should confine yourself inside. Lydia and Kitty are, I believe, readying themselves to walk into Meryton.”
Mr. Collins looked uncertain.
“Elizabeth and Jane intend to accompany them. I suggest you join them. It will be a
very cheerful party for you all.”
At the mention of Lizzy’s name, Mr. Collins hastily stood up.
“I should be delighted to attend them. I shall go and find them directly.”
He did not look at Mary as he hurried from the room. Should she follow him? She was not certain whether it would be fitting to rush after him. She laid down her book and tried to make up her mind. But before she could do so, Mr. Collins was heard in the hallway begging his fair cousins to wait for him. There was a clatter of boots, a flurry of voices, the front door was heard to shut, and then all was again silent.
“You did not wish to go with them, Mary?” enquired Mr. Bennet.
“I don’t think my presence was required.”
“At least you have the consolation of being spared your cousin’s company for an hour.”
“I think he means well, Papa. His manner I agree is unfortunate, but I believe his intentions are sincere.”
“Do you think so? If that is indeed the case, then I think I would prefer the company of an insincere man of sense to … well, I shall not say fool, because he is such a close relation.”
He returned to his book in a manner intended to suggest that further conversation was at an end. Mary picked up her own volume, but now it was she who was distracted.
For the rest of the morning, she brooded on what she should do next. Her thoughts went this way and that, but finally she stirred herself to action. She went to her bedroom, fetched her copy of Fordyce, and carried it to the drawing room, where she stood looking about for a few minutes before putting it on a small table, where she thought it most likely to catch Mr. Collins’s eye. Beneath it, she placed Mrs. Macaulay, in case his tastes ran towards history. Satisfied, she walked to the piano and searched through her music, choosing pieces she thought he might enjoy, nothing too frivolous, and arranged them next to the keyboard. If an opportunity to play for him offered itself, she would be ready to grasp it. Then she sat down and waited for the walking party to return. After a while, she heard her mother’s voice directing the laying of the table for luncheon; and a moment later, Mrs. Bennet slipped silently into the drawing room, closing the door firmly behind her.
The Other Bennet Sister Page 13
