The Other Bennet Sister

by Janice Hadlow

  “I should be very happy,” she went on, in a confiding tone, “to offer any other small suggestions for the arrangement of your rooms. My taste is generally accounted excellent, and nothing would please me more than to put it at your disposal.”

  Mr. Ryder thanked her for her offer; and promised that if the occasion should arise when he was in need of such assistance, he would not hesitate to call upon her.

  This was enough to please Miss Bingley, who was emboldened to ask if she might take a look at the dinner table, before the guests sat down, “just to cast my eye across it?”

  Mary had not understood that Miss Bingley and Mr. Ryder were on such intimate terms. Nor it seemed, had Mr. Ryder, who appeared somewhat nonplussed by Miss Bingley’s familiarity. But he followed her obediently as she headed to the dining room. When they returned, a short time later, Mary was careful not to catch Miss Bingley’s eye; but it was impossible not to notice the look of satisfaction on her face as she swept past her, which Mary was sure did not bode well for someone amongst their number.

  It did not take long to discover that it was she herself who was Miss Bingley’s victim. When the guests were called to the table, Mary was disappointed to find herself situated far away from all her friends. As he led her to her chair, Mr. Ryder, clearly bemused by her placement, explained that Mary had originally been seated closer to himself and Mr. Hayward, but that Miss Bingley had insisted she would be happiest alongside Mr. Hurst.

  “She said you did not often have the chance to talk to him,” he murmured as he pulled out her chair, “and that you’d be delighted to do so now. Of course, I was pleased to oblige.”

  As she sat down, Mary looked around the quickly filling table. At the other end, too far away for them to speak, sat Mr. Hayward, who looked at Mary quizzically, puzzled by her exile. Between him and Mr. Ryder sat Miss Bingley. When she saw Mary look at her, she returned her gaze with a cool, contented smile, before turning to address Mr. Ryder, her hand, Mary noticed, frequently touching his sleeve.

  At first, Mary’s disappointment was acute. The promise of lively conversation had been the principal reason she had wished to come, and there was little chance of that, situated amongst a circle of unremarkable talkers. On one side of her was the husband of a married pair up from Mr. Ryder’s native place in Kent, civil enough, but with none of the bantering wit she had come to enjoy. On the other was Mr. Hurst, who as yet had done no more than nod grimly in her direction before pouring himself a large glass of wine. She was about to abandon all hope when she noticed Miss Bingley once again look in her direction, too well bred to display her victory openly, but too delighted to hide it entirely. Suddenly, Mary felt a flicker of anger. Why should this scheming, vengeful woman enjoy the satisfaction of watching her sit mute, whilst she basked in the company of her two irrepressibly talkative neighbours? Why should she give Miss Bingley that pleasure?

  She turned to Mr. Hurst with a new determination. There must be some subject in which he was interested? Whatever it was, she would make it her business to discover it. This was partly for her own sake—Mary was resolved that when Miss Bingley next turned to look at her, she would see her, not awkwardly silent, but deep in conversation—but also from pity for Mr. Hurst. It was true his manners did little to recommend him; he was gruff, almost speechless, and drank with a steady application that Mary found alarming. But her sympathies were always roused by those who seemed lonely and disregarded. She remembered how painful it had been to sit at her father’s table, longing for someone to be kind to her. She recalled too, how at Longbourn, a simple willingness to listen and take notice had transformed even Mr. Collins into a far more congenial being. All any of us want is a little attention, she thought, as she turned towards Mr. Hurst with a civil, enquiring expression, and set herself to work.

  Mr. Hurst seemed to have lost the habit of talking for its own sake, and there were many false starts before Mary eventually hit upon the one subject which animated him. When the first course was served, she knew nothing at all about horse racing. But by the time the dessert was cleared, her knowledge had expanded a hundredfold. She learnt not only the different qualities of horse required to succeed on the flat or over the jumps; but also exactly what was to be looked for when assessing a yearling, and why Newmarket was always to be preferred as a racecourse to York; and she had made a promise never to wager any significant amount on a likely prospect without first taking Mr. Hurst’s advice. She could not pretend the experience was as pleasurable as it would have been if she had remained in the place which Mr. Ryder had intended for her; but she acquitted herself well, even though, as Mr. Hurst might have said, the going had been rough at times. By showing a little spirit, she had avoided the misery of staring silently at her plate for the course of the dinner; and had also been able to show a little indulgence to a man not used to receiving such consideration. As the ladies rose to take coffee next door, leaving the gentlemen to their port and brandy, she was pleased with herself; and certainly, Mr. Hurst bade her farewell with every appearance of regret.

  Chapter 64

  When Mary entered the drawing room, she headed straight for her aunt, in whom she longed to confide the story of her dinner-table exertions, and the underhand manoeuvres that had made them necessary; but her progress was interrupted by Miss Bingley, who, much to Mary’s surprise, took her arm much as she had done Mr. Ryder’s, and led her in the opposite direction. She stopped at the fireplace and sat down upon one of two sofas which faced each other before it. Reluctantly, Mary took a place opposite her.

  “I hope you will excuse me leading you away,” said Miss Bingley, “but I can’t let this evening pass without having had the chance to talk to you properly, a privilege I have not enjoyed for some time.”

  “Yes, it was a great pity we were sat at such a distance from each other,” replied Mary. “If only we had been nearer, we could have conversed as often as we wished.”

  “Ah, the mysteries of placement, who can understand them?” Caroline Bingley’s smile dismissed the subject as she gestured expansively at the room around them. “Tell me, what do you think of Mr. Ryder’s apartments? They are very elegant, are they not?”

  “They are certainly very well arranged.”

  “Much of the furniture comes from Rosings. Lady Catherine graciously presented it to Mr. Ryder when he moved here to Brook Street.” Miss Bingley’s glance moved caressingly from the small table beside her to an inlaid sideboard standing upon slender legs. “She is very fond of him, you know.”

  “That is very fortunate for Mr. Ryder.”

  “When I was last in her company, Lady Catherine told me she had made your acquaintance when she visited Longbourn.”

  The room suddenly felt uncomfortably hot. The idea of Miss Bingley and Lady Catherine engaged in conversation about her could only be upsetting; but Mary knew it would be fatal to display any weakness. She took a single steady breath, imperceptible to anyone but herself, and replied as calmly as possible.

  “We met when I was staying with Mr. and Mrs. Collins. She paid us a visit one afternoon.”

  “So I heard. Lady Catherine confessed herself astonished at the great difference between you and your sister. She said you were nowhere near as handsome as Elizabeth—but nor were you so provoking.”

  “That was very candid of her.”

  “She is well known for her frankness,” observed Miss Bingley, turning to Lady Catherine’s portrait, as if she expected it to confirm what she was about to say. “In fact, she was extremely interested in you. She thought you had great potential—as a governess.”

  Mary was horrified. It appalled her to discover that Miss Bingley was privy to the details of that shameful conversation. To give herself some occupation whilst she considered what to say, Mary reached into a Chinese bowl placed on the table beside her and drew out a few sprigs of dried lavender, clasping them in her hands.

  “But unfortunately,” continued Miss Bingley, “it seems you left before Lady Cath
erine could conclude the arrangements. She was most disappointed. She thought it an excellent opportunity for you.”

  “I was very grateful for Lady Catherine’s concern,” Mary replied, “but as I explained to her, I don’t think I’m suited to becoming a governess. It isn’t the kind of life I should choose for myself.”

  “You surprise me. It would have made excellent use of all those accomplishments you have worked so hard to acquire. Well, if it isn’t to be the schoolroom, you must intend marriage, I suppose.”

  “I did not say so. Those are your words, not mine.”

  “But as you have declined to join the ranks of one of the few occupations open to respectable females, it is hard to see what other destiny you have in mind. Unless you positively hope to end up as a spinster?”

  A memory sprang unbidden into Mary’s mind, of her piano teacher, poor, harassed Miss Allen, hurrying up the drive to Longbourn in her shabby black coat, her music books heavy under her arms.

  “Your silence speaks volumes,” shot back Miss Bingley. “Let us assume then that we must all marry in the end. Even clever women like yourself. In that case, perhaps you will allow me to offer you a little advice?”

  “I think you intend to do so, whether I wish it or not.”

  “It seems to me,” began Miss Bingley, “that a great deal of time is thrown away in the pursuit of attachments that can never come to anything. I refer to those where the difference in rank between the gentleman and the lady is simply too wide to be bridged. The most harmonious matches are always those where there is something like an equality of position between the parties involved.”

  Suddenly, they were interrupted by the sound of loud, male voices. The gentlemen had tired of one another’s company in the dining room and had come in to join the ladies. Mr. Ryder was first through the door; he waved happily at Mary and then at Miss Bingley, who threw back her shoulders and smiled invitingly at him in return. There could be no doubt of her intentions towards him. Mary looked from Mr. Ryder back to Miss Bingley, poised and superior in her dark red dress. She felt disinclined to be bullied as she had been so often before.

  “I’m afraid your meaning is a little obscure. I assume you refer to me, but I fail to understand in what connection. As I look about this room, I see no-one here but gentlemen. And as I am a gentleman’s daughter, I perceive no outrageous distinctions in rank.”

  “That you choose not to see them does not mean they are not there,” retorted Miss Bingley.

  “I do not see why that should concern you. Unless you believe, in some way I do not appreciate, that I am an obstacle to your own matrimonial ambitions?”

  “I think you know very well to what I refer.”

  “Do you mean to suggest I am pursuing Mr. Ryder? Or that he is pursuing me? If so, I can tell you both accusations are equally without foundation.”

  This time it was Miss Bingley who looked away first. Her hand flew to her hair, which she patted thoughtlessly, before returning to the attack once more.

  “Really? And yet it seems you do all you can to please him. I cannot imagine why else he would speak of you as he does. Apparently, you have a cultivated mind and take an interest in the world. You have no false manners or artificial enthusiasms. And there is never anything shallow or affected about you. You must have worked very hard to have left such a favourable impression.”

  No woman can be entirely unmoved to learn she has been sincerely praised by a man, especially when she is not used to hearing herself admired; and Mary felt some satisfaction to hear Mr. Ryder’s words reported back to her in Miss Bingley’s resentful tone. But she did not allow it to alter her reply.

  “You are quite mistaken in what you imply. Mr. Ryder speaks well of everyone. It is his way. You, who have made such a close study of him, must have seen this for yourself. It does not signify any particular liking for me. He does not mean anything by it.”

  Miss Bingley was unconvinced.

  “How, then, is your own behaviour to be understood? You always seem very happy to listen to anything he has to say. And you have certainly smartened yourself up since I saw you last. What is the reason for that, if not to improve your prospects, in one way or another?”

  Mary was suddenly so angry that she did not trust herself to speak; and in those few seconds, Miss Bingley recovered much of the self-possession which had briefly deserted her.

  “Confine yourself to your proper sphere, Miss Bennet. Do not trespass where you cannot hope to succeed. Do not embarrass yourself and your friends by pursuing an attachment which cannot be returned. Presumption of that kind leads only to disappointment and humiliation where matters of the heart are concerned.”

  Mary had promised herself she would not allow Caroline Bingley to provoke her, that she would not sink to exchanging insults—but she could contain herself no longer. When Mr. Darcy had so obviously rejected Miss Bingley’s advances in favour of Lizzie, Mary had felt some sympathy for her. She did not think her amiable, but she had been sorry for her humiliation. But now any sense of pity was utterly extinguished.

  “You seem to know a great deal about rejection. Is this a lesson you have learnt from extensive study? Or do you perhaps owe it to experience of a more personal nature?”

  Miss Bingley flinched—she had not expected Mary to land such a blow. Her outrage was unmistakeable—Mary thought she might have struck her if such behaviour had been permitted in polite drawing rooms. But instead, Miss Bingley drew her silk skirt around her, as if to protect her from further insult.

  “I speak only from what I have observed. It is a truth universally acknowledged, I believe.”

  With a contemptuous nod, Miss Bingley rose and strode quickly away, over to where Mr. Ryder and the other gentlemen stood. Mary watched as she moved as close to Mr. Ryder as she dared and began to practise upon him all the little flirtatious teases with which she had once sought to attract Mr. Darcy. Even from across the room, Mary could sense the archness in Caroline Bingley’s tone, could imagine the playful scolding with which Mr. Ryder was charmingly rebuked, and could almost feel the repeated light touch of her fan on his arm, a gesture so suggestive of her possessive intent that Miss Bingley might as well have shouted out her intentions to the entire room.

  Mary remained on the sofa, disturbed by the vehemence of the encounter. The lavender stems were still in her hands and she rubbed them together more until they released their strong, pure scent, which she breathed in deeply to calm herself. She could not believe what had just happened. It was scarcely to be credited that Miss Bingley should consider her, of all people, a rival for Mr. Ryder’s attentions; and it was even more to be wondered at that she had not meekly absorbed the insults with which Miss Bingley accompanied her accusations. She had fought back—and with some asperity too. Had she been too cruel? She considered the question seriously for a moment, before recalling the numerous petty humiliations to which Miss Bingley had subjected her, the many small indignities she had suffered at that lady’s hands. No, she did not think so. She tucked the lavender sprigs into the sash of her dress, rose from the sofa quite calmly, and went to find her aunt and uncle, entirely satisfied with her conduct.

  Chapter 65

  Mary discovered Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner seated comfortably in the quieter part of the room, in conversation with the couple from Kent. Her aunt beckoned her to sit beside them; and as soon as politeness allowed it, took her niece to one side, and, in a low whisper, asked what had occurred between herself and Miss Bingley.

  “I saw you speaking to her just now,” she began, “and I was quite concerned. I hope she was behaving herself?”

  “Oh, she was much as she always is,” said Mary. “There were a few matters she wished to discuss with me.”

  “Really?” replied Mrs. Gardiner. “That seems most unlike her. She’s never shown any desire to speak to us before.”

  She looked at her niece questioningly. Mary was unsure how much of Miss Bingley’s conversation she should reveal. Part of h
er was tempted to confide in her aunt, as there was no-one she trusted more. But she knew any confession would result in adverse consequences. Mrs. Gardiner was already wary of Mr. Ryder and what she regarded as his excessively free and plausible manner. If Mary were to tell her about Miss Bingley’s jealousy, that would only add to her aunt’s prejudice against him, for his being admired by a woman she disliked was not calculated to improve her opinion of him. She supposed Mrs. Gardiner might even discourage him from visiting Gracechurch Street; and when Mary contemplated that prospect, she was honest enough to acknowledge she did not welcome it. If Mr. Ryder were no longer to call at Gracechurch Street, there was no doubt that Miss Bingley would consider that a great victory. She would tell herself that for all Mary’s bluster, she had quickly capitulated to Miss Bingley’s will and had obediently forbidden Mr. Ryder her company. Mary’s expression hardened as she imagined the pleasure this would afford Miss Bingley, and decided this was not a satisfaction she was prepared to grant her. She would say nothing to her aunt that might result in Mr. Ryder’s exclusion; and would instead do all she could to ensure he came just as often as before.

  Mary was honest enough to admit that her reluctance to see less of Mr. Ryder did not arise solely from her desire to disoblige Miss Bingley. He was a very entertaining visitor, amusing, lively, intriguing; even his frank declarations, which had so provoked her aunt, were exciting to her. She had never met anyone quite like him before, so confident in his own opinions and so untroubled by the criticisms of others. There was something refreshing in the uncomplicated sunniness of his character, which turned effortlessly away from any difficulty, gravitating instead to what was pleasurable and, of course, gratifying to himself. She hastened to remind herself that he had none of Mr. Hayward’s finer qualities; but it could not be denied that Mr. Ryder was naturally happy, and Mary had discovered it improved her state of mind to be amongst happy people. For that reason alone, she would have been sad to see him no more at Gracechurch Street.