As Mary and Mrs Gardiner stepped out of the front door, Mary had a thousand questions; but her aunt was adamant she would not answer them until they reached the park. With some effort on Mary’s part, they spoke of other things as they walked up Gracechurch Street, and into the maze of streets beyond; and it was only when they were seated on a small bench in an enclosed green space beneath some very fine trees that Mrs Gardiner was ready to explain.
‘I must tell you that I have been in correspondence with Lizzy since you first arrived to stay with us.’
Mary kicked at the gravel of the path with the toe of her boot.
‘About me?’
‘Yes. She was concerned when she heard you’d left Longbourn so suddenly. It was not what you had planned. She thought perhaps something had happened there to upset you.’
Mrs Gardiner paused expectantly, but Mary stared fixedly at two pigeons contending for a crust of stale bread. She could not bear to discuss with anyone, even her aunt, what had driven her to leave her old home.
‘Anyway,’ went on Mrs Gardiner, seeing that Mary was not to be drawn out. ‘She wanted to know how you did, and I was happy to tell her I thought you were settling down very well.’
‘That was kind of her.’
‘Indeed. But her letters were so frequent that I began to wonder whether there was something more to them than merely solicitude. It struck me there was perhaps the faintest hint of guilt about them. As if she thought she had done you some wrong and wished to be assured you were not suffering for it.’
Mary leapt up from the bench, alarming the pigeons. They flew off in a flutter of wings, leaving the crust on the ground.
‘These are not matters I find easy to discuss.’
‘I have no wish to pry,’ replied Mrs Gardiner mildly. ‘Come, do sit down. I shan’t press you to say more.’
Mary seemed not to have heard her. Preoccupied, she walked over to the patch of ground the pigeons had abandoned.
‘It is true Lizzy once caused me a great deal of pain. It was some time ago, before our father died. It affected me very deeply, but I did not imagine she had thought much of it since.’
‘I think we can safely say that she does think of it,’ replied Mrs Gardiner. ‘Indeed, it explains a great deal.’
Again, she indicated the empty place beside her; this time Mary sat down.
‘Lizzy often asked me if there was anything she could do to make your situation with us any easier. When she posed the question for the third time I told her the truth – that you were in need of outfits suitable for London, and that I suspected you would not accept them from our hands. I’m sure you won’t be surprised to hear she has generously offered to pay for them herself.’
‘I cannot take her money.’
‘Then let me attempt to protect you from your own good intentions,’ urged Mrs Gardiner softly. ‘Lizzy is rich enough not to notice ten times the amount she intends to give you. And it would please her very much to think she had been the means of making you happy.’
‘So I am to be embarrassed in order to make Lizzy feel better?’ cried Mary, angry now.
‘As I do not know what occurred between you, it is difficult for me to say. But unless she has done you some unforgiveable wrong, I cannot agree it is shameful to accept a gift from a sister who, for whatever reason, wishes to make you happy.’
Mrs Gardiner opened her bag and took out a letter.
‘She has written you a little note, which I am to give you, to make her case directly.’
She passed the letter to Mary, who pulled out her spectacles and opened it.
My dear Mary,
The fact you are reading this is proof that you have done exactly as I predicted and have refused my present. It is entirely to your credit that your delicacy makes it hard to accept; but I hope you will change your mind. It would please me very much if you would allow me to be generous to you. I should like to make some small amends for a moment when I know I was unkind. I think we both know what I mean. I don’t flatter myself that this gift excuses my behaviour, but I hope you will consider it as an apology – and indulge me accordingly.
E
Mary held the letter in her hands, not knowing what to think. It touched her very deeply to know Lizzy was aware of the pain Mary had suffered that night at Netherfield, and acknowledged the part she had played in inflicting it. It moved her even more to discover Lizzy regretted her actions, even to the extent of seeking a kind of forgiveness from her. But for all that, she was still not sure it obliged her to accept Lizzy’s money. She looked sombre as she folded the letter and took off her spectacles. Her aunt looked at her expectantly.
‘I understand that Lizzy means well,’ Mary began. ‘But it is a hard thing to accept charity, even from a sister. Not only because it reminds me of my own dependence, but also because of what it implies about how I am perceived. Does everyone think I look so very dowdy? Is my appearance so odd, so very much in need of improvement, that it is considered a subject for discussion throughout the whole family?’
Her voice shook a little. She was afraid she might exasperate her aunt, but Mrs Gardiner did not seem angry.
‘As you clearly wish to hear the truth rather than some easy platitudes, I shall answer as honestly as I can. It is pitching it a little high to say you look odd; but nothing in the way you carry yourself suggests you set much store by your own value. I am very far from suggesting a woman is to be judged solely by how she dresses. There are some amongst us who pay no attention at all to what they wear and do so with a cheerful nonchalance. But that is not the case with you. Your appearance does not suggest a blithe indifference but an acute awareness of your choices. You dress as you do because you do not believe you deserve anything better; and in doing so, you communicate that low opinion of yourself to everyone who sees you. If you were to embrace a few improvements, I believe it would signify something more than merely a desire to look a little smarter. I think it would suggest a willingness to allow yourself the self-respect you deserve, and which you have been reluctant for so long to grant yourself.’
Mrs Gardiner did not seem to expect a reply, and Mary did not offer one. After a while, her aunt resumed the conversation in her usual cheerful tone.
‘I think I’ve said quite enough for now. But I have one small task to perform before we leave.’
She pulled her bag towards her once more and withdrew from it a muslin-wrapped bundle, which she undid to reveal several large pieces of stale bread. With some gusto, she threw them towards the grass, watching with pleasure as a crowd of pigeons descended from the trees and eagerly pecked away at them.
‘I always bring them something when I come,’ she remarked, brushing the crumbs from her dress. ‘I like to think they know me. Well – shall we go home? I shan’t press you any further about the clothes. If your conscience is too tender to accept Lizzy’s gift, let us leave it alone. But please think a little about what I’ve said before you decide.’
She held out her arm, and Mary took it. They walked back to Gracechurch Street, both very thoughtful but saying little on the way.