Chapter 69 #2
Mary was almost angry with herself at the strength of the emotions her mother’s words provoked.
She knew that to those accustomed to more generous compliments they would seem like very little, but to her, they were praise indeed.
To be accounted merely passable was a great improvement upon being dismissed as plain; and it meant all the more because Mary knew it must be true.
Her mother did not care for her enough to take the trouble to dissemble.
“I suppose it is all my sister Gardiner’s doing,” complained Mrs. Bennet. “Why you paid attention to her when you would not listen to me, I really do not know. No-one can say I did not try. It is very provoking, to be sure.”
Mrs. Bennet grumbled on until Mr. and Mrs. Bingley arrived, when the conversation turned naturally enough to Jane’s situation. Mary was not sorry to sit and listen. She had escaped the full force of Mrs. Bennet’s disdain and felt almost jubilant when finally they went in to dinner.
Mary’s cheerfulness sustained her over the next few days, enabling her to bear Mrs. Bennet’s querulousness with good grace.
She did not allow herself to be provoked by any remarks relating to London suitors, the importance of looking her best at any and every moment when such an exalted being might appear—“a woman like you cannot afford to take chances, Mary, you must always be prepared”—and the absolute, irrevocable necessity of never, under any circumstances at all wearing her spectacles in a man’s presence until they were safely married.
Nevertheless, Mary thought it could not be a moment too soon until they were safely on their way; and her wishes were soon gratified.
The next afternoon, as she sat with the children on the drawing room carpet, amidst a litter of puzzles and card games, Mr. Gardiner strolled into the room, brandishing a letter.
He announced it came from Mr. Hayward, who had left London and was now travelling towards the Lakes, where he would meet them.
“He is in the very of best spirits,” said her uncle, as he handed the letter to his wife. “It seems all that hard work was worthwhile—he has won the legal case that has caused him so much time and trouble!”
Mrs. Gardiner was delighted; the children, who were very fond of Mr. Hayward on account of his great generosity in the matter of sweets, cheered loudly, and Mr. Gardiner, who looked upon Tom Hayward with an almost fatherly concern, beamed with pride.
Mary’s heart leapt at the news. It touched her very deeply to think that Mr. Hayward had achieved this mark of success, which he had so hoped for.
“Will he wear his wig when he next comes to visit?” asked Edward, the elder Gardiner son, who had once been allowed to put it on, and yearned to do so again.
“He will be far too grand for that now,” declared Mr. Gardiner, leaning down to place a piece of jigsaw puzzle in place.
“Next time you see him, he will be the perfect picture of a grave and steady lawyer.” The children looked crestfallen.
This did not sound to them like an improvement in Mr. Hayward’s character.
“Unless, of course,” their father continued, “there is no-one around to see. Then I imagine you might be allowed to try it on, as long as you have been exceedingly well behaved.”
He turned back to Mary and his wife.
“Tom says he is making excellent progress on the road. He warns us, that if he arrives at the inn first, he will have no qualms at all about claiming the best room for his own, and that we shall be obliged to shift for ourselves as best we can.” He took a last look at the letter and put it in his pocket.
“I think he is joking; but with him, you can never be sure. So, my dears, if you don’t want to bed down with the chickens, we must rise with the sun tomorrow and crack on. ”
When dawn arrived, the travellers were up and ready to go.
The children, who were to remain with the Bingleys, had been kissed and hugged and wished loving goodbyes; their hosts had been heartily thanked; and by six o’clock, they were on their way.
They had not been in the carriage long before Mrs. Gardiner fell asleep, her head leaning on her husband’s shoulder.
When he swiftly followed her example, Mary pulled from her bag her copy of Wordsworth’s Guide to the Lakes, followed by her spectacles.
These she put on boldly regardless of the offence they might give to any potential suitor happening to pass by.
The idea amused her, and she was smiling as she opened the little book.
She had already read it so often that it was very familiar to her; but the scenes it described never failed to excite her, especially now it would not be long before she should find herself amongst them.
She opened the first page and began to read.
In preparing this manual, it was the Author’s principal wish to furnish a Guide or Companion for the Minds of Persons of taste, and feeling for Landscape.
Taste, feeling, landscape. Mary lay back against her seat.
Surely no words could more powerfully conjure Mr. Hayward into her mind?
Yes, she thought, he will approach the wild northern country with the right spirit, eager to be amazed by the awesome, or silenced by the sublime.
Mr. Wordsworth could not wish for a more willing disciple.
But what of herself? Was she capable of giving way to a similar intensity of experience?
Sleep began to steal over her. But before she abandoned herself to it, she understood that if she was ever properly to allow her feelings free rein, the Lakes were surely the place to do it.