The Other Bennet Sister

by Janice Hadlow

  The walkers took best advantage of the fine weather to be out for most of the day; so it was not until they came down to dinner that they finally found themselves in the company of Mr. Ryder and his companions. When they entered the inn’s public room, Mr. Ryder, who had clearly been waiting for them there, rushed to greet them. He first approached Mrs. Gardiner, to beg forgiveness for his presumption.

  “Madam, I must apologise for intruding upon you in this way—but really, there was no help for it. The prospect of seeing you all here—in this illustrious place—was too strong to be resisted. My only hope is that we might add to your pleasure—or at least not materially diminish it.”

  “I am sure that would be impossible,” she replied evenly. Pleased, Mr. Ryder turned his brilliant smile on Mary.

  “I cannot imagine, Miss Bennet, that when we last met in Cheapside, you expected to see me again so quickly. But once you had put the idea of the Lakes into my head, I could not dislodge it. So here we are; and from what I have seen so far on our journey, it has all been worth it.”

  He was so eager to please that it required real effort to resist his enthusiasm.

  “And, Tom, what about you? I must ask your indulgence too.” He seized Mr. Hayward’s hand, and shook it robustly. “I hear you have won a famous victory in the courts—that you carry all before you in the legal world. I cannot say I am surprised—I expected no less—but I am very glad of it and offer my heartiest congratulations.”

  Mr. Hayward thanked him, a little self-conscious at the exuberance of his friend’s praise. “But really, Will,” he continued, “what are you about? Three hundred miles is a long way to come on a whim, especially on roads such as those hereabouts.”

  “I should not call it a whim,” declared Mr. Ryder, “for that makes it seem like a foolish indulgence. No—I should prefer to think of it as inspired decisiveness. The idea occurred—I acted upon it—and my wish was instantly gratified.”

  “Do you always pursue what you want with such vigour?” asked Mary.

  “Invariably,” replied Mr. Ryder.

  “Will believes anything is to be had by asking for it,” laughed Mr. Hayward.

  “Nothing ventured, Tom, nothing gained. I’m sure you have heard that said before.”

  “Indeed I have, mostly by you.”

  Mary watched the two young men talking with the easy facetiousness of an old friendship, until Mr. Ryder announced that he had taken the liberty of ordering dinner for them all. He had bespoke the best dishes the inn had to offer—a good joint of beef and cheesecakes to follow—and very much hoped that would please. When he saw that it did, he shepherded them to a small private room, where a long table was set with a clean white cloth, behind which sat, rather stiffly, the other members of Mr. Ryder’s party, looking a little less delighted with their situation than their affable host.

  “You will remember Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, I trust,” declared Mr. Ryder, as they entered the room. “And Miss Bingley, of course?”

  Mary was apprehensive as the necessary formalities were exchanged. She and Miss Bingley had parted on very bad terms after Mr. Ryder’s supper; and she could not be sure how much resentment that lady would now choose to display. Mary hoped there would be no open snub, for then her aunt would notice, and explanations would be required. Miss Bingley looked as she always did, perfectly dressed and as imposing as ever. Her eyes swept over Mary with her usual assessing air, as though she had not yet resolved exactly how to treat her; then, having made up her mind, she favoured her with a cool nod.

  So that was how it would be, thought Mary. A pretence of politeness, but no outward breach. That was a relief.

  “I hope your journey northwards was not too trying,” she began, intending to convey her own willingness to make no reference to what had passed between them. “It is a long way to come; but the beauties of the country make it more than worthwhile.”

  “It was no trouble to me,” replied Miss Bingley. “I have long wished to see the place that gave birth to such magnificent verse. A few inconveniences along the way are a small price to pay.”

  “Do you read poetry, then? I did not know you cared for it.”

  “It is a passion I share only with my friends.”

  Miss Bingley looked over Mary’s head and stared about the room as if hoping to discover some more interesting person with whom to converse. Briefly, she caught Mr. Ryder’s eye, favouring him with a charming smile which vanished when she turned back to Mary.

  “As soon as Ryder mentioned this trip, I told him he could not be allowed to go alone. My desire to see the Lakes was quite as strong as his own and must be gratified. He straightaway declared he should not think of leaving without me—and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, of course.”

  “That must have been very pleasing.”

  “Yes, but I was not surprised. Ryder has often said he never enjoys an excursion if I am not amongst the party.”

  “Well,” replied Mary evenly, “I hope you will both find much to please you here. We have already seen many very fine views. And the boat trip upon the lake at Grasmere is not be missed. I can’t remember when I saw something quite so lovely.”

  “It sounds perfect for people with mild, comfortable tastes. But, as I’ve said to Ryder, I hope to see something rather more exciting. I have no wish to confine myself to the usual sights.”

  “I think you will find,” said Mary, determined not to rise to Miss Bingley’s provocations, “that even the more familiar prospects have much to recommend them. I have yet to see anything I haven’t admired. Everything has delighted me.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a minute,” murmured Miss Bingley, making no effort to disguise her desire to bring their conversation, such as it was, to an immediate end. “Anyway—unless you have any suggestions of the wilder, untamed variety to offer—you know the sort of thing—I think I will go and see if anything in that line has yet occurred to Mr. Ryder.”

  Before Mary could reply, Miss Bingley drifted away to the other side of the room, stationing herself as close to Mr. Ryder as propriety would allow. Once she was gone, Mr. Hayward appeared at Mary’s side.

  “It is neither polite nor generous of me to say so, but I’m afraid I don’t care much for Miss Bingley.”

  “She is not very agreeable,” admitted Mary. “At least she has never been so to me.”

  “She affects a very superior air. I shouldn’t be surprised if she ordered me to bring her another glass of wine or fetch her cloak. I don’t think she considers me worth the effort of good manners.”

  He watched disapprovingly over the table as Miss Bingley indulged in her favourite ploy, plucking at Mr. Ryder’s sleeve in a manner intended to suggest charming playfulness.

  “To win her good opinion,” Mary mused, “you would need to be in possession of at least ten thousand pounds a year. She would not look at you without it.”

  A servant entered, bearing several bottles, which he placed one by one on the sideboard. The room, which was small, now began to feel crowded. Mary and Mr. Hayward were obliged to move into a corner to carry on their conversation, which he seemed keen to continue.

  “And what about you, Miss Bennet?” he asked. “Do you feel the same? Do you think marital happiness depends on a healthy deposit in the bank?”

  “Lizzie used to say it was only when she first caught sight of Pemberley that she realized how much she loved Mr. Darcy.”

  She had hoped to make him smile; but his face fell and Mary saw she had misjudged his mood.

  “She meant it as a joke, of course. If you saw them together, you’d understand the impossibility of thinking otherwise. His wealth—his elevated situation—well, it is a long story, but neither had anything to do with the love she felt for him.”

  Mr. Hayward did not appear convinced.

  “I imagine there are few women with sufficient strength of character to be entirely indifferent to the promise of a great house and a vast income.”

  “And few men either,”
retorted Mary, a little vexed now to hear her sex disparaged, even by Mr. Hayward. “I have not observed any reluctance amongst male suitors to carry off an heiress if they can.”

  Mr. Hayward’s severe expression melted and he laughed.

  “No, you have me there. Men certainly cannot claim the high ground in these matters. But I must admit to some envy for those amongst us who are so startlingly well provided for. I am afraid I shall never be such a catch as Mr. Darcy and the famous grounds of Pemberley.”

  “There may indeed be some women for whom that would be a consideration,” said Mary quietly. “But I promise you, Mr. Hayward, not all of us think in such a way.”

  She looked at him expectantly and thought he seemed about to speak—when suddenly the dining room door was pushed open, and the innkeeper strode through, carrying the beef under a tremendous covered dish. Two maids followed behind, bearing plates of vegetables and a large jug of gravy. As everyone made their way to the table to begin upon their supper, Mary knew there was no chance now of hearing Mr. Hayward’s response to her words.

  Chapter 75

  Mr. Ryder took his duties as host of the little dinner with great seriousness, and exerted himself tirelessly to thaw the remaining reserve of the Gracechurch Street party. He listened to Mr. Gardiner’s fishing stories with every appearance of interest, begged Mrs. Gardiner to tell him more about the butterflies she had seen on her last walk, and encouraged Mary to recount the pleasures of their recent outing on the lake. When she had finished, he raised his glass to her.

  “Well done, Miss Bennet! You describe it brilliantly. I see it perfectly through your eyes—it is as if I was there myself.”

  From across the table, Mrs. Gardiner caught Mary’s eye; but Mary refused to respond.

  “I did not catch quite everything you said, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Hurst. “I missed the part about the islands. Could I beg you to repeat it, please?”

  “Perhaps on another occasion,” interrupted Miss Bingley. “I’m not sure I’m ready to sit through it again, illuminating as it no doubt was.”

  “Do you have any sketches or drawings you made on the lake?” asked Mr. Ryder.

  “I’m afraid my talent doesn’t lie that way,” confessed Mary. “I am no great hand with a pencil.”

  “What a shame,” said Miss Bingley. “I should have longed to see them otherwise.”

  Mr. Ryder indicated to the servants that the plates could now be cleared, and more wine brought in.

  “I must say,” he declared, “your stories have properly whetted my appetite. Do you have another adventure planned? Or must we consult Mr. Wordsworth’s Guide?”

  “As a matter of fact,” replied Mr. Gardiner, “there is an excursion we have been considering. It promises amazing sights but requires a great deal of stamina on the part of the walkers. Tom, why don’t you say more?”

  Everyone fell silent as Mr. Hayward described the Scafell climb, outlining the drama of the ascent, the wild beauty of the landscape to be passed through, and the majestic prospects to be enjoyed once they had reached the ridge. When he began upon the view of the sea with which they would be rewarded if their climb was successful, Mr. Ryder declared he had heard enough—his mind was made up—if it were left to him, they should set out tomorrow, or the next day at the very latest. Mr. Hayward, who was used to his friend’s enthusiasms, waited until his excitement had diminished a little before commenting mildly that it was not a trip to be undertaken lightly, for although the path itself was not too steep, it was long and strenuous, and said to be rocky.

  “But,” he continued, “the landlord here has recommended a trustworthy guide. He assures us, that if his advice is followed in all things, there is no reason why it should not be attempted.”

  “Then surely everything is settled?” cried Mr. Ryder. “Why did we come here, if not to experience adventures such as this? If we are too fainthearted to try it, we had far better have remained at home. Come, Tom, when do we set out?”

  “Not before we have made proper preparations,” replied Mr. Hayward firmly. “Yes, we are here to experience adventures—but not to fall victim to them. I have walked a little on the fells nearby and have seen how harsh and difficult they can be.”

  “Mr. Hayward would rather we confined ourselves to smooth lakes and the calmest of views,” murmured Miss Bingley. “I am with Mr. Ryder. I’m sure I long to stand on top of a mountain.”

  “You misunderstand me,” replied Mr. Hayward severely. “I am keen for anyone who wishes it to walk up the fell; but no-one should attempt it who does not appreciate the risks, or who will not take trouble to prepare for them.”

  “Ah,” exclaimed Mr. Ryder, “there speaks the cautious lawyer! My dear Tom, we are a long way from Chancery Lane, thank God! Let us not bring its dusty, tedious habits to the very place we have come to escape them. Come, what would Wordsworth say? He would urge you on, as I do.”

  Mr. Hayward said no more; and Mary saw he was stung by his friend’s suggestion that he was dull and unenterprising. Once the dinner was over, and everyone had begun to disperse, he approached Mary, clearly uneasy at the turn of events.

  “When it was just ourselves I was not so concerned. But now we are to be a larger party, I am less certain we should attempt it. Will Ryder is my friend, and he is good-hearted and generous to a fault. But he does not consider consequences, especially if they stand in the way of the excitement of the moment. And his manner is so persuasive, he makes those who do not share his enthusiasms feel foolish for not following his example.”

  “Yes,” said Mary, “I can see he is impulsive.”

  She sensed from Mr. Hayward’s preoccupied air that he was actively considering whether the climb should be abandoned. In most circumstances, she would have entirely endorsed his judgement. But on this occasion, she was not so sure. If the excursion was given up, she would lose the opportunity it offered to spend time alone in his company. That alone was enough to prejudice her in its favour. But she was also aware of an excitement that had begun to grip her as she had listened to talk of the ascent. Perhaps it was the influence of the landscape around them, so harsh and yet so beautiful, that had encouraged her to imagine abandoning her habitual prudence and throwing herself headlong into the unknown. Perhaps it was the fault of Mr. Wordsworth—she had spent so long seeing the world through his eyes that now she truly longed to experience for herself the sensations he described with such passion. She only knew she very much wanted to walk up the fell and behold for herself the landscape laid out beneath her. It would be dreadful to be denied it now. But she did not think she could explain any of this to Mr. Hayward, at least not in the cramped dining room of an inn, with servants carrying dirty dishes passing them on all sides. Instead she was circumspect.

  “I understand the need for caution,” she began, “and you are right to insist on our being properly prepared. But if that can be achieved, then, I wonder if we should not simply take the chance. Perhaps those of us naturally inclined to prudence might benefit from being shaken up a little.”

  Her reply was clearly not what Mr. Hayward had expected; but before he could ask her to say more, they were joined by Mr. Ryder.

  “Well, Miss Bennet, what do you say to this stride up the hill?”

  “It is more than a hill,” retorted Mr. Hayward. “Not quite a mountain, as I told Miss Bingley. But something in between.”

  “Well, whatever it is—mountain, fell, or molehill—shall we climb it or not? Come, Miss Bennet, tell me your thoughts.”

  “I think Mr. Hayward is right to warn us of the challenges we might face,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “And it is of the first importance that we take every possible care. But I confess I should like to try it. The sight of sea in the distance must be something not easily forgotten.”

  Mr. Ryder clapped his friend on the shoulder.

  “There, even the thoughtful Miss Bennet finds you too timid! And I would trust her judgement implicitly—no-one’s more
so.”

  He looked at her admiringly. Mr. Hayward, meanwhile, seemed disconcerted. It was plain that, for all her private misgivings, he had not expected Mary to take his friend’s part. Mr. Ryder went triumphantly on, oblivious to his friend’s silence.

  “When we reach the ridge,” he declared, “as I am fully determined we shall, I intend to stand beside you, Miss Bennet, at the exact moment when you catch your first glimpse of the sea. I should not miss it for anything.” And then, without waiting for an answer, he turned to Mr. Hayward and addressed him in a very different tone.

  “Tom, I wonder if I might beg the favour of a quiet word with you later tonight? There are some family matters on which I should like to ask your advice. Legal questions, you know. Perhaps we might take a glass together when everyone has gone to bed? The landlord has some decent claret hidden away which might make amends for my talking business at such an hour and in such a place.”

  Sometime later, when Mary followed the others upstairs, she looked over her shoulder to see the two men settle themselves in a secluded corner. The landlord brought out their bottle himself and placed it before them. In her tiny room, once she had undressed and brushed out her hair, she lay on her bed for a while, but sleep would not come. She hardly knew what she was doing as she put on her wrap and crept down the corridor to the top of the stairs. From there, quite hidden from the sight of those in the public room, she looked down on Mr. Hayward and Mr. Ryder, who had made short work of the good wine. Mr. Ryder was speaking with great animation, whilst his friend listened intently, every now and again interrupting with what appeared to be a question. He looked sombre. Mary watched them for a while, before the ridiculousness of her position drove her back to her bedroom, faintly disturbed, for reasons she could not explain.