by Clara Benson
‘Well, I am very glad you chose to walk down the lane at the time you did, for had you not, I might still be there now. I beg your pardon—I believe I was so confused that I forgot to thank you.’
He waved away her thanks and then conversation was at an end for a few moments as they attended to the dance.
‘Is that your sister, dancing with Mr. Wilcox?’ said Maria, when they were once again at liberty to converse, then, as he assented, ‘How fine she is! And who is that gentleman near them, dancing with Mary?’
‘That is my friend Sands,’ said Mr. Fairhead. ‘He is staying at Netherfield with us at present. I have not known him long. We met a year ago and took a liking to one another. He is much cleverer than I, especially in the matter of the stocks.’
‘I am glad that such things are left to men,’ said Maria. ‘I know nothing of stocks.’
‘Nor do I,’ he said with a smile. ‘But Sands is wild about them, and fancies himself an expert. He has been talking of a scheme of his to invest in some certificates in India in the eight per cents. I should not touch it myself, for I never understand such things, but he is going all in, and, I have no doubt, will do very well out of it.’
There was little more to be said on a subject about which neither of them knew anything, and so they fell silent again.
‘How pleasant it is to have new people here,’ said Maria after a few minutes. ‘I love my home, but I confess that the time passes slowly sometimes. Your arrival has caused a great deal of excitement in the neighbourhood.’
‘I fear we are but plain, dull people, and will not justify anybody’s excitement,’ said Mr. Fairhead. ‘My father in particular brought us here because he was tired of the noise and bustle of London, and was anxious to live in the country.’
‘Oh, I am sure you cannot be plain and dull if you bring news of London with you. Although, of course, a gentleman cannot give news of the latest fashions.’
‘No. You had better ask my sister about that, for I fear I could not do the justice to the subject which it deserves—unless you would be content with my telling you that such and such a dress was red, or such and such another blue.’
‘Oh! No, that would not do at all,’ said Maria with a laugh. ‘Then you need not fear my asking you about it.’
They continued down the dance, each very pleased with the other as a partner. Maria thought how agreeable it was to dance with such a handsome gentleman who had such beautiful manners, while Thomas Fairhead admired Maria’s artlessness and clear complexion, and was relieved that she did not seem to be at pains to demonstrate more wit than he was able to understand—for he was a young man of simple tastes at heart, and too much clever repartee puzzled him. He felt a little regret that Miss Lucas seemed to have been spoken for by Mr. Thripp, but he was a philosophical man and determined not to let himself be downcast by it. There was no harm in enjoying her company for a few minutes at a ball, and presumably she knew what she was about and would not encourage any attentions she was not permitted to accept. Without looking any further, Mr. Fairhead was pleased that he had obeyed his father’s wishes and come to the assembly that evening, and felt that perhaps life in the country might turn out to be pleasanter than he had anticipated.
SEVEN
Meanwhile, Miss King had two causes for vexation. The first and most immediate one was Mr. Sands, who would detain her with his idle prattle following their dance. Would he only have limited his observations to the ball and other general matters, she would have minded it less, but he was at present engaged in a lengthy and minute description of some transaction in which he had doubled his income, bested a friend of his, and proved beyond doubt his superior judgment in all things. Mary was listening with only half an ear, and did not understand above a quarter of what he was saying, but she was forced to smile and appear interested—an ordinary display of manners which he chose to take as encouragement to begin the story over again once he had finished it. Mary’s second cause for vexation was the sight of Maria Lucas and Thomas Fairhead, standing not ten feet away, laughing together. Mary knew not how Maria had succeeded in detaining Mr. Fairhead after the dance, but the sight irritated her, for she felt that their positions ought to be exchanged, and that Maria ought to be the one standing with Mr. Sands and listening to his nonsense, so allowing Mary to continue with her scheme to draw in Thomas Fairhead.
At last, to her relief, she was rescued by Sir William, who had overheard something of what Mr. Sands was saying and wanted to hear the story over again. Mary might have chosen that moment to escape, but instead she was struck by an idea, for she had just seen Mr. Thripp approach Maria and Thomas Fairhead and enter into conversation with them, and so instead she remained where she was. Mr. Sands finished his story and went to look for someone else who had not yet heard it, and Mary immediately took the opportunity of saying to Sir William:
‘What a pleasant ball we are having, Sir William! I declare there is nothing like dancing to swell the heart and lift the spirits. You see, even Mr. Thripp is enjoying himself as much as anybody. I have often pitied him, for he is such a good man, and his sermons are quite inspiring, and yet how lonely he must be!’
‘Do you think so?’ said Sir William, who had never given the matter much thought before.
‘Why, yes, of course. Do not you agree? All men and women must be lonely who have never married, and Mr. Thripp is sadly a little past the age at which he might easily find a wife, for who would think of him for their daughters? And yet he is hardly forty, and with a little more care for himself might almost be called handsome.’
This was an exaggeration at best, for Mr. Thripp inclined towards the stout, and had long been resigned to the gradual disappearance of his hair, but Sir William was not the doubting sort, and was only too happy to agree with anything a fair young lady might tell him.
‘However, I have lately begun to hope that he might find a woman worthy of him,’ continued Mary slyly. ‘Sir William, you know I am the last one to gossip, but I wonder whether you are quite aware of what people have been talking about this evening. I think it only fair that you be told, for it affects your daughter directly.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Sir William in surprise.
‘Do not you know?’ said Mary, directing an arch glance towards the little group wherein stood Maria, Mr. Thripp and Thomas Fairhead. Mr. Thripp was at that moment addressing Maria earnestly, while Maria was flushed and bright-eyed and seemed not unwilling to listen. ‘I have for some time suspected that Mr. Thripp harbours a secret admiration of which he dares not speak for fear of your anger. Naturally, I should not have revealed his secret for the world, except that it seems now that other people have begun to notice it and talk.’
‘Indeed!’ said Sir William. ‘But are you quite sure of this?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Mary assured him. ‘Have you never noticed how he sighs after her whenever he sees her? Think, Sir William: has there been any occasion on which he has visited Lucas Lodge and seemed unwilling to leave? I think I need not tell you the reason.’
Mr. Thripp had a great love of other people’s hospitality, and especially their port wine, and so Sir William had no difficulty in remembering a number of occasions on which Mr. Thripp had outstayed his welcome.
‘And do not you remember how he complimented her looks once to Mrs. Philips? Ah—perhaps you were not there, but I certainly heard him speak of her as a pretty girl.’
Here Mary was not straying too far into falsehood, for Mr. Thripp was apt to describe all young ladies as pretty whenever he believed it required of him. But it was not in Sir William’s nature to suspect a ruse, and he now began to consider the information Mary had given him with some interest.
‘You think he admires Maria, then?’ he said in wonder.
‘I am certain of it,’ said Mary. ‘But the question is, does she admire him? I know her to be a dutiful daughter, and I am sure that she would never intentionally permit herself to engage her affections in such a way as to p
rovoke your disapproval, but I also know you to be the kindest of fathers—she has told me so herself. That being so, what do you think of it, Sir William?’
Since Sir William had thought nothing of it at all until that very moment, he knew not how to reply. He made some answer, then bowed and moved away, and Mary was left to reflect in satisfaction on her evening’s work, for she shortly afterwards saw him speaking to Lady Lucas, who looked surprised and immediately directed a sharp glance across the room, towards where Maria was standing. The idea had been planted in their heads, and while Mary could not say whether it would take root, she felt that by directing the Lucases’ attention away from the Fairheads and towards Mr. Thripp, she had placed another obstacle in the way of Maria and cleared the path further towards attaining her own ends.
EIGHT
Sir William was not a man of great intellect or discernment, but once an idea had been put into his head he was fortunate by his position to have sufficient leisure time to give it all the consideration it required. Miss King’s information that Mr. Thripp admired Maria had caught him wholly by surprise, and he lost no time in taking the news to his wife and asking whether she had heard anything of it, for it struck him as the sort of matter on which women had a much greater quickness of perception than men—although he should not have expected Lady Lucas to keep it from him if she did have any idea of it. As it happened, Lady Lucas was as unsuspecting as himself, and received the information with astonishment—an astonishment which, however, was soon replaced by a flurry of possibilities in her mind as she looked across the ball-room and observed Mr. Thripp speaking with animation to her daughter. It had never occurred to her before, but there did seem to be a slight particularity of manner, at least on the gentleman’s side. Maria, for her part, seemed much as usual—although perhaps that was because Mr. Thomas Fairhead was part of their little group, for she was undoubtedly too modest a girl to reveal her true feelings before a third. Sir William and Lady Lucas looked at each other and began to consider Maria’s future with more interest than they had done in recent years, for they had given up expecting that their second daughter would ever marry. After their eldest daughter’s advantageous marriage to Mr. Collins, they had hoped that their son-in-law might introduce a curate or two to their circle, one of whom might do for Maria (for it was not to be supposed that she would ever marry so greatly as Charlotte), but their hopes had been disappointed, and they had fallen quite into the habit of forgetting that they had two daughters still to be disposed of. Now, however, it occurred to them that perhaps they had looked too far afield in their search. Might not it be the case that there was a perfectly good prospect for Maria here at home? To be sure, Mr. Thripp was one and forty, and somewhat ill-favoured in appearance, but he lived comfortably and respectably, and there was no reason to suppose him incapable of making any woman happy if he chose. And so, in the breasts of the Lucases there began to dawn a hope that had never been there before. True, until that moment they had had no interest in Mr. Thripp as a possible husband for their daughter—and there is no doubt that their wish to see Maria married had encouraged them to believe Mary King’s information, but the more they considered it, the more they wondered why they had never thought of it before. Mary had planted her lie in fertile ground.
‘You must speak to him, my dear,’ said Lady Lucas the day after the assembly. ‘If he means to marry Maria then we must bring him to the point.’
‘Very well,’ said Sir William. ‘I shall make some excuse to see him and ask him his intentions.’
Accordingly, that very day Sir William set out on his quest, although he hardly knew how to introduce the subject, since no hint had been given on either side that he might use to illustrate his point, and he could only hope that Mr. Thripp would show no unwillingness to talk of the matter. Somewhat to Sir William’s relief (for he had not relished the thought of questioning the man in his own house), he met Mr. Thripp in the lane outside the parsonage. Mr. Thripp greeted him with every appearance of pleasure—for he was going into Meryton, he said, but had been intending to call on the Lucases afterwards. This boded well, and Sir William felt encouraged, and so he turned back and they walked into Meryton together. At first, the conversation remained on general topics, but at length Mr. Thripp began to talk of the assembly and his fondness for dancing.
‘Ah, yes,’ said Sir William, who saw an opening. ‘You danced with Maria, did not you?’
‘Indeed I did, sir,’ said Mr. Thripp, ‘and I hope she was not disappointed with her choice of partner.’
‘Not at all,’ said Sir William. ‘Quite the contrary. In fact, I believe I heard her complimenting your dancing to Miss King afterwards.’
In truth, Sir William was not wholly certain that the remark he had overheard from his daughter referred to Mr. Thripp or not, but it suited him to believe so at that moment. It pleased Mr. Thripp, who despite his heaviness of body piqued himself on his lightness of foot. He puffed up a little.
‘Did she?’ he said. ‘That was like her kindness. I confess I did put an especial effort into my steps, for the Fairheads were there, and I hoped to make a good impression by showing them that, while our assemblies are not as gay or as fashionable as those in London, we can at the very least boast a little society which is adept in the art of the dance. Well, well—and so Miss Lucas praised my dancing, did she? Far be it from me to flatter, but I certainly might return the compliment by confessing my belief that as partners we are exceedingly well matched. Miss Lucas is quite as graceful as myself, and any man who is so fortunate as to stand up with her must consider himself blessed indeed!’
He had made the remark purely for form’s sake, but Sir William immediately seized upon it as confirmation of what Mary King had told him. He coughed.
‘I am glad you mentioned it,’ he began, ‘for there is something I particularly wanted to speak to you about. Perhaps you are unaware that there have been rumours—indeed, I can hardly suppose that it was your deliberate intention to give rise to talk that might harm my daughter, but you know how people will at times attach more significance to a glance or a gesture than it wholly deserves. However, where there is a risk to reputation, I should be failing in my duty were I not to speak to you about it.’
Mr. Thripp was at a loss to understand what Sir William was referring to, and he said so politely.
‘Then the talk has not reached you?’ said Sir William. ‘That is good. Perhaps it is not known by everybody, and we may yet keep it to within our little circle.’
‘Pardon me, Sir William, but if there is malicious gossip going on here in the parish then I beg you would let me know of it, for it is my duty as a clergyman to put a stop to any such evil.’
‘No, no, I assure you it is nothing of the kind,’ said Sir William. ‘There is nothing malicious in it, but I fear that tongues have begun wagging about your intentions with respect to my daughter. Lady Lucas and I are not the sort of parents to interfere with the affairs of our children—Maria well understands her duty, Mr. Thripp, and I know she would never give her heart away in such a manner as to disappoint or disadvantage her family—but naturally, such secrets cannot be kept forever, and so I came this morning to find out the truth of the matter for myself—on the friendliest terms, you understand. I would not have you think that I am in any way angry about it.’
Mr. Thripp was astonished.
‘Why, I—’ he began, then stopped in confusion. ‘I beg your pardon, Sir William, I fear I may not have understood you correctly. Can it be that people have been saying that I—that your daughter—’
He stopped, for he knew not how to finish.
‘It appears so,’ said Sir William. ‘I was informed of it myself only last night. Did you know anything of it?’
‘Upon my word, I knew nothing at all,’ said Mr. Thripp.
‘And can you say there is no foundation for the rumour?’
Mr. Thripp did not answer for a moment, for he was thinking hard. He had been a single man for
many years, and had expected to remain so. He was well provided for, although by no means rich, and lived a life of ease in his parsonage, where he was looked after by an excellent woman who served as both cook and housekeeper. Had an opportunity for marriage ever come his way, it is possible that he might have taken it for the sake of convenience, but as it happened, he had been saved by his looks from the burden of being sighed over by the ladies, and so had resigned himself with little regret to a life alone, in which he was able to please himself in his domestic arrangements without having to defer to anyone else. Lately, however, an event had occurred which had thrown a shadow over his comfortable existence and caused him no little alarm: Mrs. Partridge, his housekeeper, had, in the summer, been struck down by an attack of rheumatic fever from which it had taken her some time to recover, and even now, several months later, she was still a little weak from it. She had a son who lived in Bedfordshire, and this son had begun to talk of bringing her to live with him, for as he said, he did not wish to see his mother working through age and infirmity when she might so easily come and live with him and his family, where she would be well cared for. Mrs. Partridge would not hear of it at first, but lately, since the weather had turned damp and cold, she had begun to talk wistfully of moving to Bedfordshire one day. Mr. Thripp saw that the idea had been put into her head, and was fearful that one day would at length become very soon, and then he knew there would be no more comfortable life for him, for how could he find such another who understood him so well?
But now it appeared that Providence had thrown an opportunity in his way, and his surprise was great. He knew not what had given rise to the rumour of which Sir William had just told him, but he could only assume that it had originated on the lady’s side, for he was certain he had never shown any particularity of manner towards her. It appeared that Sir William and Lady Lucas had no objection to the match, however, and the more he thought about it, the more it seemed the very thing designed to save him from any future disruption to his domestic comforts. To be sure, the Lucases had no money and Miss Lucas no fortune, but Mr. Thripp supposed young ladies did not eat very much, and imagined that two people might be fed just as cheaply as one. He had never thought to inquire into Maria’s housekeeping abilities, but he seemed to remember from various remarks of Lady Lucas that her daughters had all been brought up to know what they were about in the kitchen, and he trusted that Miss Lucas might take over from Mrs. Partridge with little deficiency. Above all, however, was one very great advantage, in the shape of Sir William’s son-in-law, Mr. Collins, and Mr. Collins’s great patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Who knew how many favours she had it in her power to bestow? Once she had advanced Mr. Collins as far as he could go in the church, perhaps she might have some beneficence to spare for Mrs. Collins’s family—and Mr. Thripp, as a diligent clergyman, had no objection to being the recipient of it.
