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 excitement 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.”