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18

Go North

With the weight
of Mr. Farnsworth’s support to expedite the arrangements, things were presently
in line for an early departure. An express was immediately sent off to the aunt
in Staffordshire, and two more to Jane and Elizabeth, to advise them that they
were to expect guests. The trunks were soon packed and the necessary servants
assigned for the journey. So on the morning of the second day, Gwendolyn and
Grace were waving to their father as the coach pulled away, with their
governess, a footman, two maids, a groom, and a coachman to accompany them.

As the crowded
equipage moved ahead along the gravel sweep, Mary looked back at Netherfield’s
stately façade – and at her employer – with some sadness. For whatever the
outcome of this expedition to the north, things would be altered when she
returned. If she found that Mr. Collins did indeed care for her, her days as
Netherfield’s governess would be numbered. If he did not, it was her
contentment with the position that she feared would be impossible to long
sustain. Having once allowed herself to think of a wider happiness, the
confines of a schoolroom would seem intolerable.

The hope she
clung to – and it seemed a very reasonable one – was that Kitty might have
misinterpreted their cousin’s exceptional amiability as special regard. Of
course, as Mary’s logical mind told her, it was just as likely that she herself
had been the one to fall into that error. When she saw Kitty and her cousin
together, how they were with each other, she would know, but not before.

Gwendolyn and
Grace were both in the merriest of humors as they set off, delighted with the
prospect of new places to see and their favourite aunt to visit. They chattered
almost incessantly about the views along the way and about their varied schemes
for once they arrived. There would be a pair of rarely seen Bancroft cousins to
entertain them, and a lake for boating. These were sure to make for hours of
novelty and delight. 

Mary could not
join wholeheartedly in their high-spirited banter, but neither would she throw
cold water on their pleasure by giving way to her own distress. She kept her
feelings to herself, as she was so practiced at doing, and kept her mind as
much as possible engaged with her current duties, rather than dwelling on what
fate might await her in Derbyshire.

The coachman
knew the route and had exacting instructions from the master about which inns
to patronize along the way. Mary, however, had charge of the purse and of the
girls, and she felt the responsibility most keenly. She felt the compliment
that it represented as well. Mr. Farnsworth had placed his trust in her and,
regardless of whatever else might come of this trip, she intended to prove
herself worthy.

By the middle
of the second day, even the enthusiasm of the young was flagging under the
unfriendly elements of heat, dust, and constant jostling. It took the
coachman’s announcement that they had reached the town of Stafford to revive
the weary travelers, who were then, after one last change of horses, obliged to
press on the little distance that remained to their destination.

At Bancroft
Hall, the girls were greeted like royalty by their aunt, and the needs of all
the others attended to as well. Mary planned to remain only long enough to take
some refreshment and see that her charges were comfortably settled before
resuming her journey. The girls did not make it easy for her to depart,
however, suddenly growing shy of their cousins and desirous of clinging to
their governess’s familiar presence. On the front steps, Mary briefly embraced
each of them.

“Once I am out
of sight, I daresay you will forget all about me for the fun you have in store
with your cousins,” she told them. “Your aunt is a very kind lady. Annie will
be staying on with you here. And I shall return to collect you in a week’s
time, so there is nothing whatever to fear.”

At that, she
straightened herself and raised her chin with a tap of her fingers,
demonstrating by her own posture what she expected from them. Then, with a last
encouraging smile, Mary turned away and climbed into the carriage. She resisted
the temptation to look back over her shoulder, to watch the diminutive figures
on the front porch dwindle smaller and smaller till they faded from view
altogether. A clean break would be easiest, and whatever happened next, she
would see them again in a week.

“Not long now,”
she told Judy, the remaining maid, simply for something to say. “We shall break
for the night at Heatheridge, with my sister Mrs. Bingley and her husband,
before continuing on into Derbyshire.”

“Very good,
Miss,” answered Judy.

Then they fell
into a protracted silence, with only the noise of the road to fill the air
between them. Mary would have much rather been alone, but Mr. Farnsworth had
insisted on sending the second maid so that she would not be unaccompanied on
the last leg of her journey. At least Judy, whom she barely knew, did not seem
the chatty sort – not like Betsy at Longbourn. Mary was able to retreat
unmolested to the privacy of her own thoughts.

An endless sea
of green bounced and rolled along outside her window. It was beautiful country,
especially with the trees dressed out in their summer finery. When she had last
come this way, more than two years past, the bare bleakness of the December day
had not shown the place off to best advantage. Yet it had been a happier
occasion.

They had spent
a very enjoyable Christmas, the whole family at Pemberley, not knowing it would
be for the last time with all of them together. Darcy and Elizabeth had been
the consummate host and hostess. Jane fairly glowed to be surrounded by all her
loved ones, with her husband by her side. Papa – quite in his element – had
made sardonic jokes at the expense of his two sons-in-law, tickled his six
grandchildren silly, and savored every luxury Pemberley had to offer. Even Mama
had set aside her customary frets and Lydia most of her mischief to be content
for that brief season of delight.

Those days
would never come again. Her family seemed to be all dispersing in different
directions. Papa was gone forever and Mama left at loose ends. Lydia had flown off to Plymouth upon her precipitous marriage to Mr. Denny. Jane and Elizabeth had
their own growing families to occupy them here in the north, with Jane due to
bring her fifth child into the world very soon. As for Kitty and herself, Mary
wondered how they could possibly remain friends should they come to blows over
Mr. Tristan. To win him at the expense of her own sister would sadly tarnish
the victory; to lose them
both
would be unthinkable.

Upon first
receiving Kitty’s letter, it had appeared clear as crystal to Mary that she
must act decisively, that she must intervene, that she must do something to
secure her cousin to herself. Yet now that she was almost arrived, she had very
little idea what – or even if – it ought to be attempted.

So deep in
thought was Mary that she failed to notice the approach of Heatheridge until
the house itself was immediately before her. Then the momentum of the carriage
grinding to a halt nearly sent her sliding from her seat. Mary recovered
herself and hastily checked that her hair and hat were in order before exiting
the carriage and making her way to the front door, which opened at once.

 “Good evening,
Miss Bennet,” said the butler. He then directed a footman out to assist with
the luggage. “You are expected,” he continued. “Please make yourself
comfortable, and I will notify the family that you are here.” He pulled wide
the richly paneled door of the drawing room for her.

Mary entered,
discovering that the room was not unoccupied as she had supposed. “Mr. Darcy!
What do you do here?” she asked in surprise.

19

Heatheridge

Darcy was
already on his feet and coming forward to greet her. “Hello, Mary,” he said,
taking her hand briefly and bowing over it. “We have been expecting you, although
I daresay you had not thought to see me here.”

She immediately
searched his face for signs of alarm, saying, “No, indeed. Has something
happened? Jane?”

“Have no fear.
Mrs. Bingley has been delivered of her child earlier than anticipated. That is
all. And naturally Elizabeth wished to be with her.”

Elizabeth
herself hurried into the room then and embraced her sister. “Mary, how
wonderful that you have come exactly now! You are just in time to see Jane’s
newest – another boy, born only a few hours ago.”

Her sister’s
smile and animation went a long way toward dispelling Mary’s worries. Still she
asked, “Jane is well? And the baby?”

“Yes, very
well. She will be so happy to see you. You must go up to her without delay.”

“Oh, I would
not wish to intrude at such a time. She will be tired.”

“A little,
perhaps. But she asked for you most particularly the moment she heard you had
arrived, so you cannot refuse. Mr. Darcy, you will excuse us,” said Elizabeth, taking Mary’s arm.

Darcy
acquiesced with a nod.

“You see, Mary,
my husband is fond of no infants other than his own, and he would much rather
sit here by himself. So come, let us leave him and go to Jane.”

Elizabeth escorted Mary from the room and up the stairs. Then, as they approached the
family bedchambers, a tumult erupted in the corridor. Four small and noisy
bodies emerged through a doorway, followed by one larger: Mr. Bingley.

“Come along,
children,” he cajoled as he shepherded the brood before him. “You will see your
mama and your baby brother again tomorrow. Now, however, it is time for your
supper and for bed.” He looked up and smiled. “Ah, Mary, there you are! Come
say hello to your nieces and nephews before I take them off to the nursery.”

Mary stepped
forward to meet them.

“You remember
the twins, Charles and Frances Jane,” he said with obvious pride, tousling the
ginger-colored hair on the heads of each in turn. “And Phoebe, who is… how
old?” he asked the little girl.

“Four!” she
shouted, displaying the corresponding number of digits.

“Quite right.
And here is John,” said Mr. Bingley, picking up the toddler, “whom we must now
stop calling ‘the baby,’ I suppose. Say hello to your Aunt Mary, children.”

They did, and
Mary returned the greeting, remarking upon how much they had all grown since
she last saw them. Then, with little John squirming in his arms, Mr. Bingley
excused himself to continue down the corridor with his offspring in tow.

“Mr. Bingley
seems to be… a very happy and patient father,” said Mary.

“Oh, yes,”
agreed Elizabeth. “And a great deal more involved with his children than the
average man. I think I must give him the nod even over Darcy on that score, for
Mr. Bingley has no reserves to overcome.” Elizabeth tapped softly on the door
and then opened it. “Jane, dear, here is our sister Mary.”

Mary went at
once to Jane’s bedside, kissing her cheek and then inspecting the small bundle
in her arms. Mary had never seen a babe so newly born before, and she was quite
at a loss for what to say on the subject. She could not call the red and wrinkled
face beautiful; all she could politely mention was its size. “He is so very…
small,” she finished lamely.

Both her
sisters laughed at this.

“For once,
Jane, I think our more learned sister is at a loss for words,” remarked Elizabeth.

“On the contrary,
Lizzy,” said Jane. “Mary is exactly right. ‘Small’ is by far the best word to
describe little Christopher.”

“So Christopher
is his name?” asked Mary, leaning in for a closer look.

“I think so. We
are trying it out to see if it suits him. Would you like to hold him, Mary?”
Jane lifted the swaddled infant towards her. “You need not be afraid; you will
not break him.”

Mary cautiously
took the sleeping child into her arms. “Why, he weighs no more than a kitten,”
she observed. “I would not have thought it possible.”

“’Tis a
miracle,” Jane affirmed.

They all three
fell quiet. What more was there to be said? Mary certainly had no inclination
to argue the stated fact, not with what seemed like irrefutable evidence before
her. She studied the flawlessly formed lips and nostrils, the barely visible
fringe of golden lashes along the closed eyelids. When she pulled the swaddling
cloth back a bit, a miniature hand came into view, each exquisite finger capped
with a transparent nail, thin as a butterfly wing. What other than a miracle
could account for such perfection?

Minute by
minute, Mary grew more comfortable, and she even began to gently pat and rock
her little bundle as she had so often seen other women do. All was well until
the child started coming to life. The tiny body strained against its bindings,
and the face grew crimson and contorted, finally erupting into a plaintive cry
that broke the spell. Mary quickly handed the infant back to Jane.

“He is hungry,”
said the experienced mother as she untied the ribbon of her nightdress.

Mary averted
her eyes and turned to Elizabeth. “Did not Kitty come here to Heatheridge with
you?”

“No, she has
not the nerves for the sickroom. Besides, I think she felt it would be impolite
for
all
of us to abandon our houseguest.”

“You mean our
cousin, Mr. Tristan Collins,” said Mary flatly. “So Kitty generously
volunteered to stay on at Pemberley and… entertain him.”

“Something like
that,” said Elizabeth with a sparkle in her eye. “Although I do not believe she
considered it much of a sacrifice.”

“No, I cannot
suppose that she did.”

Now, knowing
that Kitty and Mr. Tristan were comparatively alone together there, Mary became
more eager than before to get herself to Pemberley. Yet there was no question
of traveling further that same night. Darkness was already closing in, and it
would be unforgivably rude to fly off after so brief a stay with the Bingleys.
She could do naught but stifle her worries, bide her time, and pray.

And pray she
did when she retired to bed that night – prayed that Kitty and Tristan would
not commit themselves hastily, that she would be in time to intervene if
necessary, that she would know how to act when she arrived, and that God’s will
would be done. The last petition was only grudgingly offered, however, for even
if it were God’s will for her sister to have Mr. Tristan, Mary could not
honestly desire it. Perhaps in time it might be possible. For the moment,
though, she could not countenance accepting such an outcome graciously.

When Mary came
down to breakfast the next day, she found Elizabeth already there.

“Good morning,
Mary,” said she. “Did you sleep well?”

“Tolerably
well,” Mary hedged, not wishing to reveal how long she had tossed and turned,
or the reason for it. “I am never totally easy the first night in a new place.”

“And yet you
intend to press on to Pemberley today?”

“That is my
plan, yes.” Mary perused the excellent fare spread on the sideboard, and found
nothing that could tempt her meager appetite. She settled for tea and toast.

“Then would you
mind terribly taking an extra passenger with you?”

Mary gave Elizabeth a quizzical look and waited for an explanation.

“You see, I
would like to stay another day or two with Jane, but Mr. Darcy is impatient to
return home. If he can go with you, then I am free to travel in my own good
time. You can spend a couple of days with Kitty, and I shall join you later.
Would that be acceptable?”

“Your husband
is very welcome to travel with me, of course. It is the only sensible
solution.” Mary tried to appear pleased when she made this answer, although
inwardly she was thinking something entirely different. Three hours alone with
Mr. Darcy? What in heaven’s name would they find to talk about?