by Clara Benson
ELEVEN
Miss King and Miss Fairhead continued very pleased with one another, and Miss King, in particular, was in a state of some complacency about the degree of intimacy which she had reached with Miss Fairhead in only a short time. The two ladies met frequently, and Louisa, who had observed her brother and Miss King in conversation, took care to invite Mary to Netherfield once or twice a week, for a plan had begun to form in her head. She wished her brother to marry, and her friend was the woman she had chosen for him. Mary King was amiable and clever, and would make him a perfect wife, for she had many of the qualities he lacked. In Louisa’s opinion, Thomas was too inclined to take the easy path in life, and she wished to see him shine, and who better to help him do it but Miss King?
Had Miss Fairhead known that Mary had got there long before her, and had decided to marry Thomas Fairhead before she had even met him, she might have hesitated, but she was pleased with her scheme, and resolved to try it as soon as the opportunity arose—which it soon did. She and her brother were sitting alone together one day, and talking about marriage, when Thomas said:
‘It is a pity, Louisa, that the fine gentlemen are a little thin on the ground here in Hertfordshire, for I should like very much to see you settled.’
‘Oh! You need not mind about me,’ said Louisa. ‘I do not care about marriage.’
‘That is what everybody says, up until the moment the engagement is announced.’
‘Perhaps. But in my case it is true. I do not say I will never marry, but I do not want to fall or be persuaded into marriage merely for the sake of convenience. I should like to marry for love, and so far I have seen no-one hereabouts to whom I should even think of giving my heart.’
‘I cannot blame you for your wish,’ said Thomas. ‘Everyone ought to marry for love, if they can. Well, well, I hope you will soon meet someone and be happy.’
‘Thank you. But what about you, Tom? I am not the only single person in this house. You too must marry one day.’
‘And I dare say I shall. I do not suppose it is possible to escape it, even if I wished to,’ replied Thomas with a laugh.
‘And have not you seen any woman here in Hertfordshire whom you might believe capable of capturing your affections?’
‘I hardly know,’ said Thomas, in a little embarrassment. ‘We have been here but a short time, and it is early to be thinking of such things.’
‘What say you to Mary King?’ said Louisa, for she knew her brother, and knew that it was best to be as direct with him as possible, since he was quite capable of missing even the strongest of hints.
‘Mary King?’ said Thomas in surprise.
‘Yes. Do not you find her agreeable?’
‘Why, yes, she is a pleasant enough girl, from what I have seen of her,’ said Thomas.
‘Her hair is not the fashionable colour, of course, but she is pretty, and clever, and the more I see of her the more I admire her. I believe she would be the very woman to make something of you, Tom. You have yourself confessed that you lack ambition, but I should like as a sister to see you do well in life and be happy, and if you marry judiciously you may manage both. Mary is a doing sort of woman, and she would make you know what you were about.’
‘Yes, and so would end all chances of a quiet life,’ said Thomas. ‘So you have been arranging it all between you, have you?’
‘No, not at all,’ said Louisa. ‘Miss King knows nothing of it, for the thought came to me only yesterday. And yet I do think she might be a suitable wife for you. Her manners are polished and captivating, and she has all the acuity you lack. She has ten thousand pounds, too, so there could be no argument from our parents on that head, but I know that kind of thing matters nothing to you.’
‘You are right,’ said Thomas. ‘How I hate all this talk of money when one comes to think of marriage! Our father and mother married for love, when they had but little, and I do not like to be considered a prospect.’
‘My dear brother, I do not suppose for a second that Mary King considers you a prospect, as you call it. She is artless enough, and indeed has always declared that she intends never to marry—but if she were to change her mind, I have no doubt that she would bring excellent qualities to the marriage, and perhaps that is what you need.’
‘I believe she is a little too clever for me,’ said Thomas. ‘You know I am not one for wit, and I should much prefer a girl who says what she means, instead of dressing up her remarks in puns and bon-mots.’
‘You need not worry about that. Miss King is sharp-witted, it is true, but she is also intelligent enough to moderate her conversation to suit. When a woman marries she looks to her husband to guide her in all things, and she will soon learn that it does not do to appear too clever if she wants to maintain domestic harmony. I am certain, therefore, that you need not fear her repartee.’
‘I dare say you are right, Louisa,’ said Thomas smilingly. ‘You always are.’
He then went away and Louisa was left to think about what had been said. The conversation had caused her to see the subject in a clearer light—or so she thought—and she was now firmly convinced that what her brother needed was the sort of wife who would guide him gently and kindly towards a more useful life. At present Thomas spent much of his time in idle pursuits—for since the family had left London he had discovered a love of the country, and liked nothing better than to take his dog and go out shooting or fishing, or walking in the lanes around Netherfield—but Louisa was certain that marriage to a woman such as Mary King would do him good and force him to accept his responsibilities. She was certain that his twelve thousand pounds—an unexpected bequest from a distant relative—had made him a little lazy, and it pained her to see him idle his life away without useful result. Fond as she was of her brother, and anxious to act in his best interests, Louisa did not see that her wishes for his future might not align with his own wishes for himself, and although she said it was no concern of hers how he chose to dispose of himself, in reality she did not believe him capable of doing what was best, and could not help but try to influence him despite her avowed intention not to interfere.
Thomas, for his part, loved his sister, and although he believed himself capable of acting independently without reference to anyone else, his affection for her meant that he was frequently influenced by her. Accordingly, he reflected on Louisa’s words, and wondered whether she might not be right, and whether he ought not to be guided by her in his choice of mate, for he was fully as cognisant as she of his deficiencies—although, unlike Louisa, he was not disturbed by them, and on the contrary had always been secretly glad that he was not so intelligent as to make people expect great things of him, for he much preferred a peaceful life.
Although he had not said as much to his sister, there was a woman he had found himself disposed to admire more and more since his arrival—and it was not Miss King. In all their encounters, Maria Lucas had shown herself to be just the sort of girl he liked, for she was uncomplicated and artless, and pleasant to talk to, and gave no sign of having a much greater power of intellect than himself, or of demanding that he accomplish grand deeds in life. The more he knew of her, the greater his disappointment at the knowledge that her affections were engaged elsewhere—for Miss King talked of it frequently, and often spoke of how she liked to drop hints and give encouragement to Mr. Thripp whenever the opportunity arose. Mary could not, she said, be easy in her conscience if she did not do everything in her power to forward the match, which she had no doubt would be accomplished very soon.
Had Miss King but known it, her attempts to draw Thomas Fairhead’s attention away from Maria and towards herself had had the opposite effect, for each time she talked of the future marriage between Miss Lucas and Mr. Thripp, she merely turned Thomas’s thoughts towards Maria even more—and there is no saying but that he might not have shown his admiration openly, had it not been for the expected engagement. As it was, he had to content himself with talking to Miss Lucas whenever he could—wh
ich was not as often as he would have liked—and trusting that something would come along to prevent the marriage at last, although he hardly knew what that might be.
TWELVE
As the weeks went by, Miss King and Miss Fairhead’s intimacy advanced. They had early begun to call one another by their Christian names, and they met almost every day at Netherfield Park to while away the rainy hours—for November had arrived and with it a series of squalls. During her visits, Mary took every opportunity to further her acquaintance with Thomas Fairhead, and she was certain that he would be brought to the point at last, although he seemed a little slow in understanding what was expected of him. He was polite and friendly enough, but however hard she tried Mary could discern no softening in his manner towards her. She wanted to believe it was due to his natural shyness and reserve, but was forced to admit that if he did have such qualities then he displayed them before no-one but herself. Perhaps he was not the sort to fall in love very deeply—or perhaps he had a great ability to hide his feelings. Whatever the case, Mary could not foresee any likelihood of receiving a proposal in the near future, and began to ponder ways of encouraging him into action.
Fortunately for her, she soon discovered that Louisa was on her side. They had been talking of Thomas one day while alone together, when Miss Fairhead suddenly said:
‘Now, I believe I am about to surprise you with my latest scheme, Mary. Mind, you must promise not to laugh at me when I tell you what it is.’
Mary was all attention.
‘Why, I have decided that you and Thomas shall marry,’ said Louisa. ‘Now, what do you think of that?’
Mary had many thoughts, none of which it was fitting to express before her friend. She hid her triumph and gave an exclamation of surprise.
‘What? I, marry your brother?’ she said, laughing. ‘Why, Louisa, what an odd notion! What on earth made you think of it?’
‘You do not immediately say no, I see,’ said Louisa archly. ‘Then the idea is not unwelcome to you.’
‘Now you are teasing me,’ said Mary. ‘I am only surprised, that is all, for the thought of such a thing had never entered my head. Now, come—you must tell me everything. Has this come from your brother himself? For if it has, then I shall not know how to look the next time I see him.’
‘No, the idea springs entirely from my own fancy,’ replied Louisa. ‘I assure you he has said nothing to me about it. It is only that on seeing the two of you talking and laughing together yesterday, it suddenly came to me that it would be the very thing. Only think, Mary! We should be sisters. Does not it sound a delightful scheme to you?’
‘Upon my word, it is a scheme indeed,’ said Mary. ‘For us to be sisters would please me of all things—but you forget, Louisa, that I have vowed never to marry.’
‘That is nothing. I know you better than you think, and I am certain that you made your resolution only because there were no gentlemen in the place agreeable enough to induce you to change your mind. But now—you cannot say Tom is not agreeable. Nobody could possibly think him anything less than perfectly pleasant. I am his sister, and therefore partial, but confess it: do not you find his manners pleasing?’
‘Oh! He is beyond comparison the most amiable man of my acquaintance, certainly. But what I think does not matter. Whether I find him charming or not, it is not for me to speak. That is entirely the prerogative of your brother—and, pardon me, you have said nothing about whether he approves of the idea. Even supposing I were to change my mind and declare myself in favour of marriage, it is not simply a case of to speak is to have. Nor will your desire for us to be sisters change anything; it all depends entirely on the whim—or let us say, the inclination—of Mr. Thomas Fairhead.’
‘But he admires you, Mary, I am sure he does. To be sure, he is a little uncertain of himself and does not always know what he is about, but I am convinced that he may be made to know it. He needs a woman such as yourself—someone clever, who will guide him. Now, do not deny me; think about it, I beg you. The scheme has come as a surprise to you, but I am sure that when you have had time to think about it, you will agree with me that it is a delightful one. I know I shall succeed with you at last.’
Mary laughed and shook her head, and out of seeming modesty turned the subject, but inwardly she was delighted, for she was now certain of an ally in her campaign. She and Louisa between them would work on Thomas Fairhead, and before the year was out she trusted she would be preparing to leave her old name behind her in favour of a new.
THIRTEEN
Now that Miss King and Miss Fairhead were become the greatest of friends, Maria Lucas found herself left increasingly without company, for it seemed that Mary had no time for her any more, caught up as she was in almost daily visits to Netherfield. When they did meet, Mary did nothing but talk in glowing terms of Louisa, and about how they had done such and such a thing or had been to such and such a place. Thomas Fairhead’s name was inevitably mentioned often, for it seemed he was frequently in company with them, and Maria longed to be able to confide in Mary and relate to her what Sir William had told her. Her parents had avoided the subject altogether since that day, and she supposed they were keeping their promise to give her time to consider it. She was glad of it, for she had not the courage to speak of it to them—and indeed, was by no means so sanguine about Mr. Fairhead’s affection as they seemed to be. The Fairheads had been invited to dine with the Lucases once or twice, and they had all been together at the usual evening-parties, at which, if Mr. Fairhead had wished to speak, he might easily have found the opportunity to do so; but somehow it always seemed to happen that Maria was placed next to Mr. Thripp, who appeared to think it his duty to engage her in conversation to the exclusion of everyone else. He was particularly animated on the subject of her sister, and of Charlotte’s happiness in having married a clergyman, and returned to it again and again—with occasional asides in which he declared his conviction that of all professions, the clergy was by far the most respectable and worthy of admiration, and informed her that Sir William himself had stated it to be his firmest opinion that a woman ought to prefer a clergyman over anyone else for a husband. Maria listened to him politely, for he seemed to require no contribution from her beyond the occasional, ‘oh, yes,’ or ‘oh, no,’ but she wondered how any man could be quite so devoted to his profession as to have seemingly nothing else to talk about as Mr. Thripp was.
Whenever she managed to escape from Mr. Thripp, she did sometimes have the impression that Thomas Fairhead would have liked to speak to her, for he not infrequently drew near enough to begin a conversation; however, at such moments, she was invariably saved from the disadvantage of his seeing her struck dumb with embarrassment in his presence, by the arrival of Miss Fairhead and Mary, who, on each such occasion, would arrive and capture him for themselves. Then she had nothing to do but remain silent and listen to their witticisms, for she could not but admit with an inward sigh that the two of them were much cleverer than she. As she stood in silence, she could not help observing that Miss King seemed to pay Mr. Fairhead a great deal of attention, and this surprised her, for Mary had often spoken of her disdain for men and her resolve never to marry. It was evident that she did not find Mr. Fairhead’s company unpleasant, however, and Maria, doubtingly, began to wonder whether Mary were quite so determined against marriage as she had always declared herself to be. In addition, she saw that Louisa Fairhead did everything in her power to further all attempts at conversation between her brother and her friend. Maria knew not how to account for this except by supposing that Miss Fairhead was in favour of a match between the two. But how could a sister presume to throw a prospective bride in the way of her brother, if not expressly permitted by him to do so? It seemed to Maria that Mr. Fairhead must have no objection to it, or he would not have allowed her to take such a liberty.
Left to think on the matter, Maria was therefore forced to the conclusion that Thomas Fairhead did not admire her, and that Sir William must have been
mistaken in what he had heard. But it was strange! Her father was, perhaps, not the cleverest of men, but she had never known him to lose all power of understanding entirely, and he had been quite certain that Mr. Fairhead had declared his affection for her and his wish to marry her. How could he have been so mistaken, in that case? Had Mr. Fairhead perhaps been referring to someone else, when he spoke to her father? It seemed much more likely that if he had fallen in love with someone, that that someone was Mary King, for they were thrown together so often in company, and Mary boasted so openly of their intimacy, and seemed so pleased with him, that who else could it be? Yes—that must surely be what had happened: Sir William had come upon Mr. Fairhead and had somehow surprised him into a confession of his love for Mary King. Maria could not say quite how her father had received the impression that Mr. Fairhead had been talking about her, but it was the only thing which seemed to make sense. Perhaps Sir William’s affection for her had over-ridden all else, and he had been only too happy to interpret Mr. Fairhead’s words as referring to Maria. Whatever the case, it was almost certain that Mr. Fairhead cared nothing for her, and that Sir William was wrong.
