Chapter 40
The next morning, Mary watched Mr. Collins closely when he arrived in the library to see if his demeanour suggested Charlotte had confided the source of her irritation to him; but he seemed unaware of any ill feeling. On the contrary, he seemed in buoyant spirits.
“I have a proposition for you, Miss Bennet. As you have demonstrated such a taste for classical learning, I have been reflecting on whether it would be proper for me to lead you more deeply into the study of this great treasury of human knowledge.”
He sat down beside her.
“I have considered it most carefully, and taking into consideration your great steadiness of temper, have concluded no harm is likely to come of it. I am satisfied what I intend will not be productive of any adverse consequences.”
He pulled from his coat pocket a small and rather battered volume and laid it before her.
“This is a dictionary of the Greek language, together with a grammar suitable for beginners. It is old, as you can see, but in my humble opinion, remains the best of its kind. It was mine as a boy. I had an excellent tutor who taught me to love the language, and it was he who gave me this little book. It is not an easy study, but one which richly repays the efforts made to master it. And all attempts to do so must start first with the principles laid out herein.”
Mary put down her pen, astonished.
“Are you suggesting I should learn Greek, sir?”
“Indeed I am. I am aware it is not usually regarded as a suitable subject for young ladies, but, if you will forgive an observation of a personal nature, I have never met a woman with interests as scholarly as your own. I think that you are perfectly equal to it.”
He leant over and opened the pages.
“Look, here is the alphabet in its entirety. This is alpha, and here at the end is omega. You have surely heard of them? And here are all the others in between, with the sounds they make written beside them.”
She rubbed her glasses with her sleeve and stared intently at the unfamiliar shapes.
“What do you think, Miss Bennet? If you are willing, I am prepared to make a trial of it with you.”
For a moment, she hesitated—it would be like learning to read all over again, with entirely new letters to master, and what if she should fail?—but then excitement rose up in her, and she knew she could not refuse.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Collins, I should like it of all things!”
He smiled.
“So should I, Miss Bennet. So should I.”
Mary’s first exercise was to memorise the Greek letters.
She sat alone in the library with the little grammar and a large pile of paper, staring at them till her eyes ached, tracing their shapes with her pen whilst sounding out their names under her breath.
Sometimes Mr. Collins insisted she repeat them to him out loud.
At first, she feared to appear ridiculous, but he would have none of that, and soon she had conquered her embarrassment, speaking up clearly and without shame.
She made excellent progress, and one afternoon, as they all sat at tea, Mr. Collins asked his wife if she would like to hear her friend recite the letters of the Greek alphabet.
“She has worked very hard and I am sure, my dear Charlotte, you will be astonished to hear how she has advanced.”
Mary looked up from her cup, a blush rising in her face.
She caught Charlotte’s expression as she did so, and it was suddenly very plain to her that Charlotte would take no pleasure at all in hearing her perform.
She stumbled through the letters, unsettled by Charlotte’s level, appraising stare, which grew tighter with every low, excited prompt with which Mr. Collins helped Mary towards omega and the end.
When she finished, it was he who alone clapped his hands.
“Well done, Miss Bennet! You are a tribute to the value of hard work and an ornament to your sex! What do you think, Mrs. Collins? Has she not done well?”
Charlotte gazed at Mary with an expression of mild curiosity, as though she was seeing her clearly for the first time.
“I see you have been making excellent use of your time in the library. I had not understood before quite how you occupied yourself there, but I see now what you have been doing. Well done, indeed.”
“We will make a scholar of you yet, Miss Bennet,” exclaimed Mr. Collins. “I am quite sure of it. But I shall hear no more from you today. Mrs. Collins, you will recall I shall not be in to dinner tonight, as I have business in Hertford. I must leave you two ladies to entertain yourselves.”
Still smiling with pleasure at the progress of his pupil, Mr. Collins rose and left the table. Once he was gone, Charlotte poured the last of the tea into her cup. She did not offer any to Mary.
“As Mr. Collins will not be here, I think I will go to bed early tonight. I do not feel like eating. I’m sure Mrs. Hill will bring something up to you if you want it.”
“I am sorry you are so tired, Charlotte. Is there anything I can do to help? I am quite at leisure for the rest of today.”
“No, thank you, I’m sure I will manage well enough on my own. But we may not see much of each other, as I expect to be very busy.”
After that, Charlotte was silent, and soon, with a rather chilly nod, she too took her leave.
Alone at the table, Mary felt a growing sense of apprehension.
This time there could be no mistaking Charlotte’s displeased tone—nor, Mary feared, the source of her irritation.
She resented the time Mary spent in the library with Mr. Collins.
The word “jealous” sought to make itself heard in Mary’s mind, but she would not allow it to do so.
It was such a ridiculous idea, so foolish and so fantastical that Charlotte could not seriously entertain it.
It was hard to imagine two people less likely to be guilty of any impropriety than Mr. Collins and herself.
She was not the kind of woman to whom men made themselves agreeable; and he was hardly the man to attempt it.
Once her anger had subsided, Charlotte would surely see the truth of this.
A little cool consideration must persuade her of the injustice of her suspicions.
Mary had always thought of Charlotte as the calmest and least emotional of beings; and her feelings for her husband did not seem passionate enough to have overwhelmed her capacity for rational judgement.
Her indignation could not last. Charlotte would soon be her usual self once more, dry, measured, and collected, able to laugh at an idea that was really too preposterous to imagine.
Mary would say nothing about it at all. Not a hint, not a word of anything untoward had ever passed between herself and Mr. Collins.
This was the truth. She would not dignify any other supposition by even attempting a denial; and indeed, resolved to think of it no further.
In search of distraction, she wandered into the library, took out pen and paper, and prepared to practise her Greek letters.
She pulled out the little dictionary, and hesitated for a moment before opening its pages—what if Charlotte should see and ask her where she got it?
But this was ridiculous. She had done nothing wrong and would not be made to feel a guilt she did not deserve.
She leant the book against another and began to write, speaking the names of the letters very quietly under her breath.