Chapter 92
Mary kept her countenance pretty well over the next few days, during which the house was turned upside down by the preparations for Mrs. Bennet’s hasty departure.
She did not crumple when her mother climbed into her carriage, her whole person stiff with affront, refusing to make so much as a farewell nod to her disobedient daughter as she drove away.
Later, Mary was still tolerably in control of herself when she finally plucked up the courage to read Mr. Ryder’s letter.
It was a gentlemanly epistle, containing neither recrimination nor offence.
Only one line in it caused her a moment’s pause.
Had you taken me as I am, I have no doubt I should eventually have become the man I ought to be.
For that, I am sorry. She bit her lip at that; but there was no point in torturing herself anew.
She had made her choice, taken her gamble, and now she must live with the consequences.
It was not until life returned to its regular rhythm that she really began to suffer.
Whilst there had been crisis and urgency and drama, she had sustained herself tolerably well; but now there was nothing but the everyday and the ordinary to greet her when she woke.
Her spirits plummeted. She could not work, could not settle to her books.
She had no energy to read to the children.
She had consigned herself to an existence whose main, whose only purpose was waiting; and that, she discovered, ate away at her until she could barely force herself to leave her room.
At night she did not sleep but stared into the darkness, when doubts and fears crowded in upon her.
Her mother was right. She was a stupid fool.
She had lost the one man who would have made her truly happy.
There was no reason to think he would appear now.
And she had rejected his friend, who might have rescued her from a future she had feared for as long as she could remember.
She would become that most despised of creatures, an old maid; and this was how it would feel, on and on and on, forever, until she was too old or too sad to care.
As she walked past Mary’s door on her way to bed, Mrs. Gardiner often heard her crying.
She stood outside, wondering if she should go in; but what comfort could she offer?
She asked her husband whether she should write again to Mrs. Hayward or try to discover where Tom Hayward was walking; Mr. Gardiner thought not.
It was a very difficult business all around.
When the law courts opened again in the autumn, Tom must return to his work, then perhaps Mr. Gardiner might try to speak to him; but now it was best not to interfere.
No good would come of it. The young people must be left to resolve it for themselves.
At first, her aunt was relieved when Mary was not to be found in tears quite so often; but soon she was not sure whether her dry-eyed misery was much to be preferred.
In the absence of any other useful tasks with which to occupy her time, Mrs. Gardiner encouraged Mary to take as much exercise as possible.
Walking, she thought, must be good for her; or at least could do no harm; and each morning she urged Mary to take an airing, in the hope that she might return a little less miserable.
Mary did not protest—what else had she to do?
—and it was on one of these aimless walks that she felt someone fall into step beside her.
Looking around, she was astonished to discover her new companion was none other than Caroline Bingley—the very last person likely to be found striding so confidently along such an unfashionable City street.
“Good morning, Miss Bennet. I have been looking for you. Your aunt was kind enough to suggest where I might find you, since you were not at home when I called.”
Her careful politeness gave no hint of the hostility of their previous encounters, but Mary was not deceived into thinking her appearance boded well.
“If I had known you planned to visit us, I would have ensured I was there to receive you.”
“But then I would have missed the pleasure of walking through such a very interesting district,” replied Miss Bingley sweetly. “It is not a part of town with which I am at all familiar. It positively bustles, does it not?”
Mary’s heart was racing, and she knew she must show no sign of weakness or hesitation in Miss Bingley’s presence. She gathered up all her courage and smiled back at her with equal insincerity.
“Since you have found me, I am at your disposal. Should you like to come back to Gracechurch Street, where we could have some tea?”
“Well, that would be charming,” declared Miss Bingley, her tone implying that it would be nothing of the kind, “but the children seemed in a particularly boisterous mood this morning. The ambiance wasn’t entirely conducive to the quiet conversation I had hoped to have with you.”
She touched the collar of her perfectly cut jacket, as if to brush away any specks of City dirt which had had the temerity to attach themselves to it.
“I passed a respectable-looking pastry shop a few steps back. It appears they have private rooms upstairs for ladies. I suggest we take ourselves there instead.”
They walked in silence to the very shop where Mary had been taken by Mr. Ryder in what now seemed a lifetime ago. Miss Bingley swept into its precincts, commanded the best table on the first floor, and ordered China tea, sliced lemon, and a plate of macaroons.
“It is not exactly Gunter’s—one could hardly expect that, so far from the West End—but I think it will serve our purposes,” murmured Miss Bingley, dismissing the waiter and pouring out the tea herself.
Mary had decided to say nothing until she had some idea of Miss Bingley’s intention in bringing her there. She did not have long to wait.
“I don’t think there is anything to be gained in making idle conversation, Miss Bennet, so I will come to the point directly.”
She wiped her mouth delicately with a napkin.
“I understand that Mr. Ryder came to visit you not long ago. I should be grateful to know what he spoke of whilst he was there.”
Mary looked up, nonplussed. She had not expected such a direct approach. She was surprised to find her apprehension falling away, replaced by resentment that Miss Bingley should see fit to question her in such a manner.
“It was a private matter. It seems odd you should ask about it.”
Miss Bingley inclined her head, as if to indicate that although she had heard the displeasure in Mary’s voice, she did not choose to acknowledge it.
“He mentioned to me that he saw you.”
“Then you should ask him about what was said.”
“But I am asking you.”
“I’m not sure with what aim.”
“Was there a declaration of some kind?”
At this, Mary finally awoke from the miserable lethargy which had engulfed her so long.
Who was this woman to interrogate her in this way?
What right did she have to demand answers from her?
All the humiliation and misery of the last months suddenly turned into a kind of rage.
She would not be treated like this. She had had enough and would no longer bear it.
“That is an extraordinary question. I cannot imagine why you think you have the right to ask it.”
“That was the impression Mr. Ryder gave me.”
“I am amazed he felt able to discuss our conversation with one whom it did not concern. Did he volunteer this information freely? Or did you demand it of him?”
Mary was pleased to see Miss Bingley’s composure waver a little.
“I saw he was upset. When I asked why, he seemed happy enough to tell me. He is not a man who hides his feelings from himself or others. He implied you had not given him reason to hope.”
“If you have had that from him, I do not see why you require anything further from me.”
“Because I wish to understand from you directly if it is true. Or whether it is just a ploy to whet his interest, to make him even more eager to have you. After all, that was a ruse that worked very well for your sister. Darcy never wanted her more than when she was clever enough to refuse him!”
Mary was really angry now but determined not to show it. Miss Bingley should not have the satisfaction of knowing she had provoked her.
“That is as ignorant as it is insulting,” she replied deliberately. “Elizabeth would never trifle knowingly with the affections of a decent man. No more would I.”
Miss Bingley leant across the table, her face taut with bitterness.
“Yes, you Bennets all talk a fine game, but in practice, you’re as hard-headed as the most consummate husband-hunters.
You have a remarkable record of reeling in the men you want, and then looking around as if it was all an amazing accident, nothing to do with you at all, just love finding a way!
I’ve seen it happen twice, in front of my eyes, so please don’t play the innocent with me. ”
“As I do not love Mr. Ryder, it would make no sense for me to marry him.”
Miss Bingley laughed out loud.
“Oh, come, Miss Bennet, we are not children! When you think of the alternative, marrying a man one does not love may be the most rational decision a woman can make. Do not pretend you haven’t considered it.
Especially now that Ryder is to be so rich.
I cannot believe you were unaffected by that piece of news. ”
For the first time, Mary was genuinely surprised by Miss Bingley’s words. To give herself something to do whilst she marshalled her thoughts, she took the napkin off her lap, folded it carefully, and placed it on her plate.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“Please don’t treat me as a fool.”
“I do not know what you are talking about. If you will not enlighten me, I do not see how we can continue this conversation.”