Page 33 of Such Persuasions as These (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

J ane entered the small parlour to which her father had consigned the old pianoforte.

There, as usual, she found Mary practising before breakfast. They and the servants were the only ones yet about this morning, and Jane decided this would be her best chance to have a relatively private conversation with her younger sister.

“Mary, dear,” she began as she took a seat upon the bench next to the purposely plain girl.

“Jane,” she said with some surprise. “Good morning. You do not usually awaken this early. Are you well?”

“I am well; I only wished to speak to you on a particular subject, and I knew I would find you here,” Jane assured her.

“You wish to speak to me? Why?” Mary was incredulous, and Jane was rightly chastened.

She had not shown the interest in Mary that she did in Elizabeth, and it was wrong.

No matter how little they shared in common, they were sisters, and Mary deserved her attention and affection just as much as the others .

“Am I mistaken, Mary, in believing that you enjoy Mr Collins’s company?” she asked carefully, not wishing to embarrass her.

“Excuse me?” Mary choked, clearly shocked that her sister would speak to her on such a matter.

“I only ask because I have seen you often in conversation with our cousin, and as his purpose here has been made clear to Mama and Papa, I wonder if you are beginning to entertain… hopes …towards him.”

“I confess that I have allowed my mind to wander to that possibility, yes,” she answered guardedly, her gaze intent on her hands, which had left the ivory keys to sit firmly in her lap.

“So, if Elizabeth and I were to attempt to…help things along in that vein, would you have any objections?”

“Do you think I need helping along? Should not a sensible man, a man of God, know a sensible, God-fearing woman of education and application when he encounters one?” Mary looked earnestly into Jane’s eyes as she made this argument.

“Ideally, he should. And indeed, if you were looking for a friend, you would see such estimable qualities and value them above all things. But men are men. They see what is on the outside before they bother to look at what is on the inside.”

“Are you saying I am not pretty enough to attract him?” she fairly huffed.

“I know you are beautiful, Mary. I am saying that you are logical and pragmatic, and I believe because of these qualities, you have convinced yourself that your beauty does not matter. I am saying that, along with your talented fingers and brilliant mind, you should let him see the glory you so strive to hide.” At this, she lifted a hand and pulled a taut strand of hair from her sister’s severe bun and placed it to fall gracefully over her face.

“But if that is all he cares about, then is he the kind of man I should wish to marry? Someone so superficial?” Mary contested.

“Appreciating a fine face and figure does not necessarily make one superficial, my darling Mary. We were created to enjoy lovely sights, were we not? It is natural for a man to be taken with a woman’s appearance,as well as her inner excellence.

Did not Adam, upon first seeing Eve in all her perfection, take to waxing poetic?

It is no sin. But if it makes you uncomfortable, dearest, then you must be true to yourself.

And, you are right, if he cannot love you for who you are inside and out, he does not deserve you. ”

Moments passed as Mary seemed to contemplate her sister’s assertions.

Jane waited patiently, inwardly determining to show all her younger sisters more personal attention.

Perhaps if she had done so for Mary earlier, she would not now be so hesitant to listen to her thoughts.

At length, Mary looked up from her lap and responded.

“I take your meaning, Jane. And I know you only mean to advise me for my good. I shall meditate on what you have said,” she promised.

At that, feeling she had done as much as Mary would allow at present, Jane left her sister to her practise, noting that it was a touch more halting than it had been previously.

“Cousin Jane, have you seen Cousin Elizabeth? I hope she has not become ill, for she seems to be taking exceedingly long to come down.” Mr Collins’s grating voice could not but catch Elizabeth’s ear as she strode towards the drawing room.

“I believe she will be down soon,” Jane answered sweetly. “She and Mary were almost finished when I checked on them a quarter of an hour ago.”

At that moment, Elizabeth stepped into the room.

Starting towards her, Mr Collins’s welcoming smile turned into a grimace as he saw that her hair was pulled back in a tight bun and her neck, bare of jewels, was covered by a thick chemisette, pulled high and tucked in neat, so as to hide every inch of feminine skin.

Her dress was a simple linen shift, rather shapeless and a drab tan, which tended to wash every trace of colour from her complexion.

Jane, too, was dressed plainly, and her face was, by design, lacking the smile that usually brightened it.

Elizabeth had tried to cajole her elder sister into dulling her natural rosiness with powder, but that was too much like guile to the ever-pure Jane.

Elizabeth, however, needed no cosmetic assistance to appear wan, tired, and worn—her sleeplessness the night before had accomplished that.

Behind her, dressed in a most becoming lavender muslin and with her hair in a lovely braided pile atop her head, a clearly uncomfortable Mary stepped into the room, blooming with a becoming blush, which brightened her rich brown eyes.

Elizabeth gave her cousin a cursory greeting before stepping over to her elder sister.

Mary, as they had rehearsed, opened with, “Ah, Mr Collins, how nice to see you this morning,” and with a smile and an outstretched hand asked, “How do you do?”

“Cousin Mary? Eh,” he began before the power of speech left him.

Then, remembering himself, bussed her proffered hand with a kiss, swept her a most formal bow, and answered, “I am quite well, thank you. You are certainly in looks this morning, Cousin Mary. I say,” he began as he raised his arm to lead her to the sofa, “did you ever find the script you mentioned yesterday, the sermon by the Reverend Sir Matthew Grunyan?”

“I am afraid I did not,” she answered, shooting her sisters a look of panic at this unexpected turn in conversation. This was not what they had envisioned at all.

“Sir Matthew’s sermon?” Elizabeth volunteered. “You know that almost by rote, do you not, Sister?” Turning to her cousin, Elizabeth added in her best Lydia style, “La, Lord knows I have no use for such ramblings-on, but Mary always was more inclined towards religiosity than I.”

“Religiosity, you call it, Cousin Elizabeth? No, I have observed that there dwells within your sister a genuine devotion, much more than just a claim to be religious. She is a true student of Christian capability.”

“You flatter me, Mr Collins.” Mary said, embarrassed by his attentions whilst appreciably revelling in them.

“Our cousin speaks only the truth, Mary,” Jane told her with an encouraging smile. “I am glad Mr Collins has the good sense to recognise these amiable qualities in you. Your modesty simply baulks at receiving such praise.”

Seated now, Mary demurred sincerely, and her two elder sisters retreated to a distant corner.

Mr Collins, as if on cue, took the seat next to her and asked if she truly did know Sir Matthew’s sermon by heart.

Upon a rather bashful nod, he prodded her to regale him.

After a slow start, she soon fell into a comfortable recitation, becoming engrossed as she evidently realised how thrilling it was to have as an audience one who actually wished to hear what she had to say.