The Other Bennet Sister

by Janice Hadlow

  “I thank you, Mrs. Collins, for a most enjoyable and, may I say, productive afternoon. Miss Bennet, I shall write to you as soon as I have news, which will not, I think, be long in coming. No, do not thank me now, wait until you are properly settled before conveying your gratitude to me.”

  Chapter 44

  Mary did not accompany Charlotte to the door to see Lady Catherine depart. She crumbled the remains of a piece of cake between her fingers, growing increasingly uneasy as she waited for Charlotte to return.

  “I thought that went very well,” declared Charlotte, as she bustled back into the room. “Lady Catherine seemed very taken with you. I really do believe she will exert herself to find a suitable situation for you.”

  For the first time since she had been at Longbourn, Mary raised her voice.

  “But she is offering me something I do not want, which I am sure would make me unhappy! Charlotte, you cannot imagine I want to become a governess? Why ever did you put the thought into her mind?”

  Charlotte felt the side of the teapot and decided it was just warm enough to risk another cup. She offered one to Mary, who shook her head.

  “If I did, it was quite unintended. But once it was mentioned, I cannot deny I saw its advantages. You have always been proud of your accomplishments and worked hard to perfect them. Why should they not serve to recommend you now?”

  “Because they are being used to usher me into a life I would hate! I do not wish to live in some other person’s house, dependent on their goodwill and with not a moment to call my own.”

  Charlotte sipped her tea.

  “No, I see it is not without its difficulties. But—and I feel I must be blunt, Mary—your situation at present is in many ways not so different. You have no settled home. Neither of the possibilities offered by Jane or Lizzy in Derbyshire is to your liking. I understand your reluctance, but it leaves you few other choices. Kitty has no room, and Lydia—well, that is plainly out of the question. So where will you go? Of course, you are welcome to stay with us as our guest—but I think we both understand that cannot be a lasting solution.”

  She wiped her hands on her napkin and began to fold it neatly on the plate.

  “In such circumstances, I think you must ask yourself whether it would not be desirable to have some occupation, at least until you decide on some other course of action. I must warn you that once Lady Catherine has an idea in her head, it is very difficult to resist her. So if you have some other notion in mind, I would urge you to act upon it as soon as you can.”

  Mary’s face was hot with humiliation. She put her head in her hands to hide her misery. To her surprise, Charlotte pulled her chair towards her, and laid her arm gently on her shoulder.

  “I know it looks as though I am determined to cause you pain, but I assure you that is not the case. I tried once before to make you see the world as it is. I know it took you a while to accept my advice; and I know you felt I had betrayed you by seizing an opportunity you had just begun to appreciate, that I had opened your eyes to a possibility only to snatch it away for myself. I tried my best to explain. I told you then that despite all the sympathy I felt for you, I had no choice but to put my own interests first, that sometimes women like us are obliged to be selfish. And now I find I am obliged to be selfish again. I see only too plainly that you are in a difficult place, and I am sorry for it; but I cannot allow you to disrupt our life here.”

  She removed her arm, sat back and sighed.

  “In some respects, I will admit this—interlude, shall we call it?—has actually been of service to me. It made me look again at my own behaviour. I knew that when I married I was not in love. I told you that I was never romantic. But I see now that I might have been more kind. You have shown me that I have it in my power to make our lives together more pleasant than they have been, which I think will benefit me quite as much as Mr. Collins. He would like to be better friends with me if I would permit it; and I think we shall both go on more happily if I do. For this, Mary, I must thank you. It was not a consequence you intended to bring about, but I am grateful to you nonetheless.”

  Charlotte picked up her teacup and sipped her tea delicately.

  “But I’m afraid there is far more chance of our achieving that contentment if you are not here. There, I have done you the honour of being candid. I have always thought the best help I could do for you was to tell the truth as I saw it. So here is the last piece of advice I will ever offer you. Make a decision and make it a bold one. Perhaps it may be to start a new life as a governess; perhaps not. But I urge you to find some way of beginning again, to put yourself amongst fresh scenes and different people. Imagine a new future for yourself. Only then, I think, will you have any chance of escaping your past.”

  Mary wiped her eyes. Charlotte’s frankness had been refreshing in its way. It forced her to think rationally, to gain control of her emotions.

  “Thank you, Charlotte. I will go away and consider what you’ve said.”

  “I have probably said far too much. But I assure you it was meant kindly.”

  Chapter 45

  Mary did not think she could endure dinner that night. Instead, she sat alone in her room, trying to decide what to do. It was clearly impossible for her to remain at Longbourn. Charlotte had been honest, but she was also implacable. But where was she to go? Pemberley was out of the question, and her courage failed her when she imagined returning to the Bingleys’, subjected once more to the complaints of her mother, and Caroline Bingley’s torments. No, she did not think she could bear it. But who else could she ask? It was not until the following morning that a new possibility occurred to her.

  Perhaps the Gardiners might take her? Her uncle and aunt were, without doubt, the most generous of her relations. Mr. Gardiner was everything his sister Mrs. Bennet was not, open-hearted and cheerful, without pretense or affectation of any kind. His wife was equally kind and affectionate. Their residing in London had meant Mary had not seen them herself for some years, but she had heard much from Jane and Elizabeth of the thoughtful consideration which they had extended to both sisters when they had been troubled and needed to escape the confines of Longbourn. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had happily offered them refuge in their home when it had been most needed; perhaps they would be prepared to accept Mary on similar terms?

  The more she considered this possibility, the more hopeful she became. After Mr. Bennet’s death, Mary had received from Mrs. Gardiner a letter of condolence in which her sincere regret at Mary’s loss and her frank appreciation of the difficulties of her situation had touched her very much. It had concluded with an invitation to visit them whenever she wished. Mrs. Gardiner understood that, as Mary had not been much in London, the prospect of staying with them there might seem a very formidable step; but she was to understand that their house at Gracechurch Street was always to be thought of as a second home to her, if she wished to join them there.

  It was quickly plain to Mary that the Gardiners were her best and indeed only hope. She did not find it easy to write the letter proposing herself as a guest to them; but the prospect of another encounter with Lady Catherine overcame any shrinking sense of delicacy that might once have troubled her. She knew she must get away before that lady ushered her firmly into a schoolroom, ignoring all her protests and delightedly closing the door behind her. Mary did not know what might become of her in London, but she was pleased to discover that she had courage enough to prefer an uncertain future to one she knew would make her unhappy.

  By the end of the week, she had her answer, and it was just as she had hoped. Mrs. Gardiner replied they would be delighted to see her and that she should come as soon as she found it convenient. They would give her a room at the back of the house, where the noise of the City was least likely to trouble her; and if she could contrive to get herself on the coach from Meryton, Mr. Gardiner would be happy to meet her at Charing Cross.

  Charlotte received Mary’s news with equanimity. She offered no comment on her deci
sion, other than offering to write to Lady Catherine, explaining that family circumstances had called Mary away from Hertfordshire, making it impossible for her to take up her ladyship’s kind offer to find her a situation. Indeed, now she was certain Mary was leaving, much of Charlotte’s old warmth returned. She made sure her clothes were properly packed, helped her gather up her books, lent her the money to pay the coach fare, and even included a pot of her lavender-scented floor polish as a gift for Mrs. Gardiner. Mrs. Hill was far more distressed to see her go.

  “I should hate to think the conversation we had a while ago was the reason for your leaving. I never intended to make trouble for you.”

  “No, Mrs. Hill, none of this is your fault. If it is anyone’s, it is mine. There were things I did not see clearly, and your words made me more aware of the risk I ran.”

  “You should not take all the blame upon yourself. Excuse me if I say I think Mr. Collins might have acted more carefully.”

  “I think both of us were in error,” said Mary sadly. “I was foolish. I thought I had found a friend, someone with whom to share my interests, who seemed to enjoy instructing me. It never occurred to me that any other construction might be put upon the time we spent together. I am not the sort of woman that men fall in love with.”

  “You think too little of yourself. It makes me sad to hear it.”

  “Well then, I will say no more. But I am glad to see that Mr. and Mrs. Collins seem far more contented with each other than used to be the case.”

  Through the window, the couple were just visible in the garden, occupied as ever around the little arbour. Charlotte stood, plans in hand, whilst her husband positioned a sapling. William ran around them, laughing and shouting at the top of his voice.

  Mrs. Hill suddenly seized Mary’s hands and held them tightly.

  “One day I shall see you come back here as a married woman. I’m sure of it. It is what you deserve. And when it happens, I shall drink to your health, with the greatest joy.”

  Mary leant over and kissed her cheek.

  “Shall we ask Mr. Hill to come up and take down my bags?”

  A short while later, Mary stood on the front steps, watching as her possessions were loaded onto the coach. Soon she was ready to go. All the family were assembled to see her off. William gave her a sticky kiss; Charlotte pecked her cheek and urged her to write as soon as she reached London; and Mr. Collins made his usual bow. He had said very little to her since she announced her intention of leaving. She supposed he felt a little ashamed now of the intimacy they had shared in the library. But he held out his hand to help her into the carriage, and once she was settled, without a word he placed a small parcel on the seat beside her, before returning to stand alongside his wife and child.

  All three waved as the carriage pulled away. Mary waved back, gazing back at the house as it receded slowly into the distance. As she watched the figures of Mr. and Mrs. Collins grow smaller and smaller, it struck her that Charlotte’s new attitude to her husband in many ways resembled her ambitions for Longbourn itself. She had acquired both as unimproved properties. There were exterior elements that did not please, but she was astute enough to appreciate that the basic structures of both were sound. A woman of vision and patience might shape something of value from such raw materials; and although the result might never aspire to the heights of fashion, or display a thousand graceful details, it could be made solid and dependable, offering comfort and security to those satisfied with such unobtrusive virtues. Charlotte dearly loved a project, and Mary had no doubt she would succeed as admirably with Mr. Collins as she had done with Longbourn.

  The coach was well onto the Meryton road before Mary remembered the little package. She undid it carefully, peeling back the wrappings before revealing the little Greek dictionary. A small slip of paper poked out from between its pages. On it was a line of writing in Mr. Collins’s hand. She had to slip on her glasses before she saw that it was in Greek. It took a few minutes and recourse to the dictionary before she was certain she understood what it said. But she recognised the quotation. It was one they had often discussed together.

  “Happiness depends on ourselves.”

  She took off her glasses and leant her cheek against the cold window. She had been determined not to cry when she arrived at Longbourn, and would not give into tears now she was leaving. She took the slip of paper, placed it carefully in the dictionary, and put both safely in her bag. The carriage rolled on through the countryside as she tried not to think of what might lie in front of her. Tomorrow she would be in London, and Longbourn would seem very far away.

  Part Three

  Chapter 46

  It was dark when Mary arrived at Gracechurch Street. The coach had been full, the journey long and tedious. Mary was exhausted as she was ushered into the Gardiners’ dining room, convinced she could not manage supper. But the lively greetings of her four small nephews and nieces cheered her; and the genuine affection with which her uncle shook her hand and her aunt embraced her buoyed up her spirits. To her own surprise, she found herself able to consume a surprising amount of toasted cheese before gratefully climbing the stairs to bed.

  Mrs. Gardiner had been as good as her word and given Mary a room at the back of the house. It was indeed quieter than those at the front, but Mary’s countrified ears were nevertheless aware of a distant bustle of human activity taking place just out of earshot. As she finally drifted off to sleep, she could be in no doubt that she was really in London now. She had asked for this opportunity and it had been granted her. She must do all she could to be worthy of it.

  The Gardiners’ house was built of yellow London bricks, and rose tall and thin behind black railings, with a dark green door and high windows on each floor. It stood in a side road, but a few steps carried you quickly into Gracechurch Street, whilst a longer stroll delivered the walker into the very heart of Cheapside. Mary had long ago heard her uncle declare that these were the two finest shopping streets in London, possibly in all of Europe; and anything that could be desired, from the homeliest necessity to the grandest indulgence, was to be had in one or the other of them, if the customer had the money to pay for it. As they sat at breakfast and Mary sipped her coffee, Mr. Gardiner proudly repeated this boast. Mary suspected it was a favourite theme of his, but his wife gave no sign she had heard it before. She smiled as her husband continued, describing in ever greater detail the range of goods which could be purchased, the luxury of the establishments that sold them, and the ingenuity of the merchants who supplied them. Mr. Gardiner’s little quirks and habits do not vex and annoy her, observed Mary; they provoke her indulgence, not her anger.

  “Well, Mary,” declared Mrs. Gardiner, as she folded her napkin and placed it on her plate. “You have heard so much talk of these wonders that you must long to see them for yourself. You were a mere child when we last took you amongst them.”

  “I remember a great toy shop,” said Mary wistfully. “A vast palace of dolls as I recall.”

  “Ah, yes, that would be Dunnett’s,” replied Mr. Gardiner, “a place with which our children are very well acquainted.”

  As soon as the magical name was uttered, a loud clamour arose at the younger end of the table, with four voices begging to know if they were to be taken there today, for they surely deserved it, as they had been so very good. Leaving her husband to adjudicate on the rights and wrongs of their case, Mrs. Gardiner pulled her chair away from her children and towards Mary, the better to make herself heard.

  “Mr. Gardiner is quite right,” she said. “The City shops truly are one of the great sights of the town. Shall we go this morning and take a look?”

  Mary readily agreed; and an hour later, she found herself hurrying in Mrs. Gardiner’s wake as her aunt launched herself into the crowds thronging Gracechurch Street. Some shoppers marched briskly forward with a clear purpose, their minds set on a particular purchase; but by far, the greater number seemed happy to saunter about, moving idly from one shop to a
nother, lingering to peer into their well-stocked windows. As she dawdled behind her aunt, Mary found herself joining them, transfixed by the sheer number and variety of the goods on show. In little more than a few paces, she was lured in by stockings, hats, fur tippets, and stoles to fine shoes, gold jewellery, watches, and even ironmongery—how Charlotte Collins would have enjoyed half an hour amongst those grates and firebacks, thought Mary, almost fondly. At the door of every shop, smartly dressed young men invited customers politely to step in, it was impossible to show all they had in the window, there were even finer things to be seen inside.

  Mary thought she had never seen so many people. It was amazing that they did not trip over each other; and yet everyone seemed to know exactly where to move so as not to collide with each other. Gradually, she began to fall into their pace—it was rather like a dance, which made sense once the steps had been mastered—and the bustle and busyness, which had at first intimidated her, began to feel invigorating. She had just begun to enjoy herself when Mrs. Gardiner came abruptly to a halt before an especially magnificent frontage.

  “There,” she declared proudly. “What do you think of that?”

  It was at least ten years since Mary had last stood before the premises of Edward Gardiner & Sons, purveyors of fine household linens. It had seemed imposing even then, with its many floors and grand, pillared entrance. Now it was much smarter than Mary remembered, with an elegant frontage which had not been there before, and striped awnings extended over the pavement to protect customers from the rain. Behind one of the large glass windows were displayed sweeping lengths of plain linens in every shade, from a milky cream to a sturdy brown. A second window was full of patterned jacquards, arranged from deepest red to palest pink. A printed notice, prominently positioned, begged to inform customers that all requirements could be catered for, from the most elaborate damasks to the hardest-wearing calicos—even stuffs not presently on show might be obtained if requested. Mrs. Gardiner stood, slowly contemplating the building floor by floor, from roof to basement, as if she had never seen it before. Finally, she turned to Mary with an expression in which pride and satisfaction were equally combined.