The Other Bennet Sister

by Janice Hadlow

  It might have been imagined that acknowledging sentiments of such intensity would have kept Mary awake all night, tossing and turning as she considered what they meant. But the excitement she felt was produced not by uncertainty, but by confident happy expectation; and very soon she was asleep.

  Chapter 72

  In the days that followed, Mary and Mr. Hayward walked with the Gardiners on the less demanding fells, strolling about the green shores of the lake and riding on the little local ponies, who carried them without complaint over the tough marshy grass of the valley paths. The more they were together, the tighter the bond between them seemed to become, strengthened with every conversation, every shared smile, every small gesture. Mary began to think Mr. Hayward must intend to declare himself—for what else could all his attention and fondness imply, if not a desire to be married?

  It is very common for people who have just discovered themselves to be in love to imagine none but themselves can see their deepest feelings writ plain on their faces; and Mary was no exception to this rule. She was confident her happiness was apparent to her alone; but it was hardly to be expected that her aunt would not notice. Mrs. Gardiner had watched approvingly as her niece and Mr. Hayward grew ever closer. She and her husband could imagine no better outcome than that Mary should be united to their friend; and their pleasure in the likely coming together of the two young people was unaffected and sincere.

  Until now, Mrs. Gardiner had been extremely circumspect in expressing any opinion about Mary’s situation. But now she began to feel matters were sufficiently advanced to allow some comment upon it. She gently encouraged Mary to look favourably upon Mr. Hayward, reminding her of his good nature, so essential in a companion, his kindness, his lively intelligence, and his solid prospects in the law, which were so much enhanced by his recent success. With a host of such delicate brushstrokes, Mrs. Gardiner contrived to paint a picture of Tom Hayward as the very model of a suitable husband for her niece.

  Mary liked nothing better than to hear Mr. Hayward praised and was not afraid to let Mrs. Gardiner see the pleasure she took in hearing him admired. She said little in reply; but secretly, she was delighted by Mrs. Gardiner’s words. They suggested her aunt also thought it likely Mr. Hayward would propose to her; and that thrilled her with a pleasurable apprehension she had never felt before.

  Mr. Hayward was in equally good spirits, pleased with every new hill and valley, talkative, amusing, always ready to please. As a result, their little quartet soon took on an exceptionally cheerful character, tinged with the expectation that even greater happiness might be anticipated, if matters turned out in the way everyone seemed to hope that they would. They were all in an excellent humour, disposed to try anything that might add to their pleasure; so that when, one night at dinner, Mr. Hayward mentioned that he had a new excursion to propose, he was heard with the keenest attention.

  “I have been thinking about Miss Bennet’s desire to view the sea from the top of one of the great hills around us,” he began, “and the more I read, the more I am convinced she is right to want to attempt it. The prospects are said to be quite breathtaking, unlike anything else the Lakes afford.”

  He brushed the crumbs on the tablecloth to one side with his napkin, produced his copy of the Guide to the Lakes, and laid it carefully before him.

  “Mr. Wordsworth says there are only a few places which offer such a view, and it appears we are lucky enough to be near one. It seems to me this is too good an opportunity to be ignored—and that perhaps we might think of walking up it.”

  He handed the Guide to the Gardiners, opened at the appropriate pages.

  “As you can see, it involves a climb up one of the hills—its name is Scafell—and promises the most extraordinary sights from the top.”

  “But, Tom,” cried Mrs. Gardiner, looking up with horror from the little book, “it says here Scafell is one of the highest peaks in England! Mr. Wordsworth calls it a mountain!”

  “He does,” admitted Mr. Hayward. “But if you read a little further, you’ll see that it is not as demanding a walk as its height suggests. The path ascends very gradually. And if the weather is kind, the view from the summit is the finest you can imagine—on a brilliant day, you can see all the way to Scotland!”

  “That must be magnificent,” declared Mary. “A true natural wonder.”

  “And it would not be necessary to go all the way to the top to see it. Look, Mr. Wordsworth prints a letter here from a friend who has walked it, and says the views are just as spectacular from a much lower ridge. That I think we might reasonably try to reach.”

  Mrs. Gardiner, still doubtful, handed the book to Mary, who fell upon it with all the enthusiasm her aunt lacked.

  “Yes,” she said, “even from the lower height, it is possible to see the Solway Firth. And in the other direction, we could gaze upon ‘the mountains of Wastdale in tumult.’ We should be in the very midst of one of Mr. Wordsworth’s poems!”

  She shut the book and turned to Mr. Hayward. “How could we go home without having seen such a sight?”

  Mrs. Gardiner, however, was unmoved. “I suppose it may be done by gentlemen, but I cannot believe it is suitable for ladies.”

  Mr. Hayward took up the Guide again.

  “I have it on the best authority that, although he does not name her, the writer of the letter describing the climb was none other than Mr. Wordsworth’s sister. She went up with a woman friend and their female servant and they made it to the very top, far further than we should go, without coming to any harm.”

  “But,” protested Mrs. Gardiner, “they may be experienced walkers, regular mountain goats.” She turned to her husband. “Do you think we should attempt it?”

  “It is a tempting prospect. The chance to see something so remarkable is not to be easily given up.” He picked up the wine bottle and poured the remains of the claret into their glasses. “But I appreciate your concerns. Before we decide anything, we shall take proper advice. In the morning, we will discuss it with the innkeeper and hear his opinion.”

  Later, as Mary brushed out her hair by the light of a single candle, she felt nothing but pleasurable anticipation for what was to come. She did not doubt Mr. Hayward would have his way, and they should soon find themselves on a majestic peak with a distant view of the sparkling sea. She went to sleep quickly and although a few hours later, she was woken by the rumble of a coach as it pulled into the courtyard and the irritable complaints of the servants called out to attend it, the noise did not really disturb her. She was soon asleep once more, quite indifferent to the bustle of the late arrivals and the fretful impatience with which they found their way to their beds.

  Chapter 73

  The Scafell trip was the principal subject of conversation amongst everyone the next morning. Mrs. Gardiner was not at all certain she should go—she did not think she could bear the heights—she supposed Mary might attempt it, but only if a pair of good boots could be procured for her—and a guide, they must take a knowledgeable guide. So intense was their interest in the walk and the practicalities attached to it, that when the innkeeper approached their table, Mary thought it must be to discuss the excursion. In fact, he brought a letter for Mr. Hayward. It appeared one of the guests who arrived so late last night had asked for him by name, and on discovering he was here, had sat down and written it there and then.

  Mr. Hayward took the note and read it with such surprise that Mrs. Gardiner asked him if contained bad news.

  “No, nothing of that kind—but it is very unexpected. Let me read it to you.”

  My dear Tom,

  I daresay you will be as astonished to receive this letter as I am to be writing it. I have been occupied for a few weeks now with some family business in Kent. When it was resolved, I headed for London, wanting nothing so much as good company, preferably your own, only to find you were gone. I then remembered what Miss Bennet told me, that you had travelled north with the worthy Gardiners. When I recalled the exciteme
nt with which she talked about it, I decided that very minute to join you. There was nothing to keep me in town, and I have long wished to see for myself the country which inspired that poetic genius we both revere. So, to cut my story short, I at once took off. I guessed you would be following that great man’s Guide, so I directed myself to all the inns he recommends. I drew a blank at the first two, but at the third, I was rewarded! I understand my sudden arrival must be a surprise—I only hope it will be a pleasant one. And I am sure you will be delighted to hear that I do not come alone. Miss Bingley and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst have happily consented to be my guests on this jaunt. I’m sure you will think this as great an advantage as I do myself, and that we may find ourselves to be a very companionable little party.

  Wm. Ryder

  “Well, Tom,” declared Mrs. Gardiner, “your friend is clearly a most enterprising young man.”

  “I’m not sure what to say,” he replied. “I can only apologise for his inviting himself to join us in this way. I can’t imagine what provoked him to do so.”

  “I’m sure there’s no harm done,” said Mr. Gardiner. “I suppose we may see as much or as little of them as we wish. And perhaps the presence of new people will stop us becoming too set in our ways.”

  He smiled encouragingly around the table; but met with little enthusiasm in return. Mr. Hayward’s expression did not suggest that he welcomed any additions to their number, and Mrs. Gardiner, who had no love for either the Hursts or Caroline Bingley, looked equally severe. Mary was troubled by Mr. Ryder’s having mentioned her name. Was his arrival in some way her fault? If she had not described their trip to him with such excitement, perhaps the idea of following them would never have occurred to him.

  “I am very sorry if I spoke about our plans to Mr. Ryder with too much eagerness. I assure you, I gave him no reason to believe he should join us.”

  Mrs. Gardiner instantly declared that it was nonsense even to think of such a thing. Her husband patted Mary’s arm and told her she fretted far too much; Mr. Hayward, however, did not speak, but picked up the letter and studied it closely, as if attempting to extract some hidden meaning from it. No more was said on the subject, and shortly after, Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Hayward excused themselves, and went in search of the innkeeper, to find out his opinion about the Scafell walk. Once they were gone, Mrs. Gardiner reached for the last of the hot rolls.

  “These are really very good. I am only glad we have so much walking to look forward to, or my figure would never survive them.”

  She spread her butter more thickly than she was used to doing at home and began to eat, with every appearance of enjoyment.

  “You don’t seem very happy at the prospect of our unexpected visitors.”

  “We have been so happy and comfortable together,” said Mary, “that I find it hard to imagine our enjoyment will be improved by additions. I confess it requires more good nature than I possess to think kindly of Miss Bingley. And the Hursts have little more to recommend them.”

  Mrs. Gardiner put down what remained of her roll and poured herself more tea.

  “I wonder—is it only the presence of the two wicked sisters that disturbs you? Or does Mr. Ryder’s arrival have a similar effect?”

  For a moment, all that could be heard was the clatter of plates as the inn servants cleared the other tables.

  “Mr. Ryder? I’m not sure I understand. Why should he disturb me?”

  “I think he likes you. And the obvious, undisguised liking of a handsome man is a very unsettling experience.”

  Mary tried to protest, but her aunt held up her hand.

  “It provokes all manner of emotions, especially when that man is being pursued by another woman. The knowledge that she wants something we could have with ease, if we chose to exert ourselves to obtain it, cannot help but make that object seem more valuable. And the more she shows she wants him, the more desirable he becomes.”

  Mrs. Gardiner examined the pots of jam left on the table, took a teaspoonful of raspberry jam, and placed it delicately on the last of her roll.

  “I’m afraid it does not reflect very well on our sex, but there it is.”

  “You speak very plainly.”

  “Sometimes I think we are obliged to do so. It was clear to me in London—and to you as well, I imagine—that Miss Bingley had set her cap at Mr. Ryder. Her coming here confirms it. I don’t imagine she has travelled some hundreds of miles on bad roads for the pleasure of our company.”

  “I agree that is unlikely,” admitted Mary.

  “She is determined to have him if she can. And I think she sees clearly who stands in her way.”

  “If you mean what I think you do, both you and Miss Bingley are quite wrong. I consider Mr. Ryder as a friend, nothing more.”

  “When he is absent, I’m sure that is true. But you may find it harder to preserve that indifference when constantly in his company. He is a man of considerable charm. He is lively, with a very winning manner. And I imagine he is capable of speaking very persuasively about matters of the heart—unlike others, who, for all their talk of sensation and emotion, struggle to say what they really feel, or indeed, to act upon it.”

  Mary felt as if a cold hand had seized her heart. She took a discarded piece of bread, and began to roll it on the tablecloth.

  “I am not sure I understand,” she ventured. “I think you know that I—well, that I have grown to think very highly of Mr. Hayward. I very much hoped—I have allowed myself to imagine—that my fondness might be returned.”

  Mary felt herself colour as she said her most secret thought out loud.

  “But now you seem to suggest that he may not speak—that he may not have the courage or the conviction to do so. Have I misunderstood his feelings, then? Am I wrong to believe he has some liking for me?”

  When she looked up from the table, she seemed so desperate, so anxious that Mrs. Gardiner reached over the table and took Mary’s hand.

  “That isn’t what I meant at all,” she said, her voice gentle now. “It is my honest opinion that Tom cares for you very much indeed. I have observed a thousand little evidences that suggest it. But I have known him for very many years now, long enough to know that beneath the playful, confident surface he presents to the world, there is hidden a much more diffident young man. He is not at all as certain of himself as he likes to suggest. There is a delicacy about him—a lack of presumption, if you like—that causes him to hold back where others have no such reservations.”

  She withdrew her hand; and noticing she had left a smudge of jam on Mary’s fingers, attempted to dab it off with her napkin.

  “I truly did not mean to imply that Tom does not feel real affection for you; but I suspect he may be slower and more cautious to act upon it than those with more impetuous natures. I wished only to warn you that those who speak with the greatest freedom about their emotions are not always those who feel most deeply. I should not like to see Tom fall at the last hurdle—as Mr. Hurst might have it—because others are more fluent and more persuasive in making their case.”

  Mary drew back, shocked.

  “You cannot really think I would behave like that!”

  “No,” replied Mrs. Gardiner, “I don’t believe you would ever intend to do so. But we are told that hope deferred makes the heart sick. And in such a situation, the appeal of a man like Mr. Ryder might be very dangerous. I would not say any of this if I thought he might suit you,” she continued, “but I believe you will only ever be happy with a man whose affections are as strong and steady and unalterable as your own. And sometimes men of that character act more slowly than their rivals.”

  Before Mary could reply, a servant appeared at their table, and asked permission to clear their plates. Neither she nor her aunt spoke again until it was done, when Mrs. Gardiner rose from the table, and came to sit next to her niece.

  “As usual, you have borne my lecturing with the greatest patience,” she said, “and I will not tease you with my opinions again. But I
do beg you, do think about what I have said. The man who declares his affections most readily is not necessarily the man who feels them most profoundly.”

  Mary was about to exclaim that her aunt’s warnings were quite misplaced, that she was quite immune to Mr. Ryder’s powers; but before she could do so, Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Hayward returned to the table.

  “All is decided,” announced Mr. Gardiner triumphantly. “The innkeeper assures us that the walk to the lower ridge of Scafell is quite manageable in fine weather; and he can provide a guide, a steady, sober man who knows the path well and will take no foolish risks.”

  “He says it will take the better part of a morning to reach the ridge,” said Mr. Hayward, “so if we leave the inn promptly, and the weather is kind to us, we might catch sight of the sea by midday.”

  He looked expectantly at Mary; but she was distracted, her mind still turning upon Mrs. Gardiner’s words.

  “Imagine it, Miss Bennet—we should see for ourselves what Mr. Wordsworth saw, stand exactly where he stood!”

  “I should like that very much,” she replied, rallying her spirits. “But would it not be correct to say where she stood—for you told us it was Mr. Wordsworth’s sister who made the ascent described in the Guide?”

  “You are quite right,” said Mr. Hayward, relieved that Mary appeared to have recovered her enthusiasm for the trip. “I am very happy to tread in the footsteps of a lady, especially one as intrepid as Miss Wordsworth.”

  Mr. Gardiner laughed.

  “It sounds as though enthusiasm alone will be enough to carry you two up the hill. The rest of us may be obliged to make use of a stick.”

  “And a pair of proper boots,” added Mrs. Gardiner. “I cannot think of your going without them.”

  Chapter 74

  The Gracechurch Street party spent the rest of the day walking on mild and undemanding hills, rehearsing, as Mr. Hayward had it, for their grand excursion. As they marched down green paths and strolled along the banks of fast-flowing becks, Mary applied herself to studying Mr. Hayward’s behaviour towards her, attempting, in the most disinterested way, to gauge the warmth of his feelings for her. She did all she could to be sceptical; but everything about his bearing suggested the strongest attachment—his conversation, his smiles, his many considerate attentions. When he presented her with a sprig of honeysuckle to wear in her hat, she thought the matter settled. Gradually, the uncertainties raised in her mind by Mrs. Gardiner’s words ebbed away. Mary did not think her hopes would be deferred, or not for very much longer; she had every reason to believe Mr. Hayward would declare himself before they went back to London.