When Mary and the Gardiners arrived at Mr Ryder’s apartments for dinner, Mary was amused to discover it was situated at very much the right end of Brook Street. There was no danger of his having to endure as a neighbour the fortune-hunting gambler Mr Hayward had so gleefully conjured up at Vauxhall. Mary was not surprised. Although he liked to declare himself indifferent to the strictest moral conventions, she thought Mr Ryder unlikely to disobey the rules of fashion. He was sure to prefer a small dwelling at the best address to a mansion elsewhere; and as they were ushered into his rooms, she saw she had been right.
Mr Ryder met them as they entered, exclaiming how pleased he was to see them, and showing them every possible attention. The drawing room was not large, but it was gracefully proportioned, with tall first-floor windows and lofty ceilings. Its furnishings were tasteful but not showy, creating an impression of comfort which pleased Mary very much. Through a pair of open double doors, she glimpsed the shine of a well-polished dining table and the dull shimmer of two fine silver candelabra. Mr Ryder ushered them towards the warmest part of the room, where a small knot of people were congregated. It was there they discovered Mr Hayward, already engaged in a lively exchange with two equally animated companions; but on seeing Mary and the Gardiners arrive, he hastened over to greet them.
‘I cannot say I know many of the guests, but would be pleased to introduce you to these gentlemen, fellow lawyers of my acquaintance. We are discussing the competing merits of the verse of Lord Byron and Mr Wordsworth.’
‘I suppose we need not ask whose part you take, Tom?’ said Mr Gardiner mildly.
‘No, indeed, sir,’ observed one of the eager young men. ‘Tom has been defending his hero with the greatest possible stoutness.’
‘Are all you legal men such great lovers of literature, then?’ asked Mr Gardiner. ‘I had not imagined that to be so.’
‘We think of little else,’ declared the second young man. ‘We must have something to distract us from our work. It is either poetry or the bottle, I’m afraid.’
Mary laughed; and Mr Hayward was about to reply, when a great bustle at the door silenced them all. Into the room walked Caroline Bingley, tall, stately, head held high. Her gown was a deep red silk, throwing her white shoulders into stark relief. Garnets shone in her dark hair and at her throat. Mary thought she had never seen anyone look as smart or as terrifying. Mr Ryder stood at her side, leading her in, almost insignificant beside her.
Mr and Mrs Hurst followed in Miss Bingley’s wake, quite eclipsed by her chilly hauteur. She unbent a little, as Mr Ryder introduced her to some of the other guests. To those she considered her equals, she condescended sufficiently to be almost gracious; but she did not waste much time on cultivating the good opinions of those who did not matter. Instead, with her most engaging smile, she took Mr Ryder’s arm and bore him off, halting before a large portrait which hung above the chimney piece. Mary, who had not been able to turn her gaze away from Miss Bingley’s glittering progress, recognised the portrait’s subject as Mr Ryder’s relation, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. As the room was not large and Miss Bingley’s voice was high and clear, it was impossible to ignore what was said, unless one was conversing with someone else; and as Mary stood somewhat apart from the others, she was able to hear everything that passed.
‘My dear Mr Ryder, I am so glad you took my advice. Lady Catherine looks magnificent there.’
‘She does look very imposing – quite her natural state, one might say.’
‘The air of dignity about her is only to be expected for a woman of her rank and position.’
Mr Ryder seemed unable to find a reply to this, but Miss Bingley did not seem to mind.
‘I should be very happy,’ she went on, in a confiding tone, ‘to offer any other small suggestions for the arrangement of your rooms. My taste is generally accounted excellent, and nothing would please me more than to put it at your disposal.’
Mr Ryder thanked her for her offer; and promised that if the occasion should arise when he was in need of such assistance, he would not hesitate to call upon her.
This was enough to please Miss Bingley, who was emboldened to ask if she might take a look at the dinner table, before the guests sat down, ‘just to cast my eye across it?’
Mary had not understood that Miss Bingley and Mr Ryder were on such intimate terms. Nor it seemed, had Mr Ryder, who appeared somewhat nonplussed by Miss Bingley’s familiarity. But he followed her obediently as she headed to the dining room. When they returned, a short time later, Mary was careful not to catch Miss Bingley’s eye; but it was impossible not to notice the look of satisfaction on her face as she swept past her, which Mary was sure did not bode well for someone amongst their number.
It did not take long to discover that it was she herself who was Miss Bingley’s victim. When the guests were called to the table, Mary was disappointed to find herself situated far away from all her friends. As he led her to her chair, Mr Ryder, clearly bemused by her placement, explained that Mary had originally been seated closer to himself and Mr Hayward, but that Miss Bingley had insisted she would be happiest alongside Mr Hurst.
‘She said you did not often have the chance to talk to him,’ he murmured as he pulled out her chair, ‘and that you’d be delighted to do so now. Of course, I was pleased to oblige.’
As she sat down, Mary looked around the quickly filling table. At the other end, too far away for them to speak, sat Mr Hayward, who looked at Mary quizzically, puzzled by her exile. Between him and Mr Ryder sat Miss Bingley. When she saw Mary look at her, she returned her gaze with a cool, contented smile, before turning to address Mr Ryder, her hand, Mary noticed, frequently touching his sleeve.
At first, Mary’s disappointment was acute. The promise of lively conversation had been the principal reason she had wished to come, and there was little chance of that, situated amongst a circle of unremarkable talkers. On one side of her was the husband of a married pair up from Mr Ryder’s native place in Kent, civil enough, but with none of the bantering wit she had come to enjoy. On the other was Mr Hurst, who as yet had done no more than nod grimly in her direction before pouring himself a large glass of wine. She was about to abandon all hope when she noticed Miss Bingley once again look in her direction, too well bred openly to display her victory, but too delighted to hide it entirely. Suddenly, Mary felt a flicker of anger. Why should this scheming, vengeful woman enjoy the satisfaction of watching her sit mute, while she basked in the company of her two irrepressibly talkative neighbours? Why should she give Miss Bingley that pleasure?
She turned to Mr Hurst with a new determination. There must be some subject in which he was interested? Whatever it was, she would make it her business to discover it. This was partly for her own sake – Mary was resolved that when Miss Bingley next turned to look at her, she would see her, not awkwardly silent, but deep in conversation – but also from pity for Mr Hurst. It was true his manners did little to recommend him; he was gruff, almost speechless, and drank with a steady application that Mary found alarming. But her sympathies were always roused by those who seemed lonely and disregarded. She remembered how painful it had been to sit at her father’s table, longing for someone to be kind to her. She recalled too, how at Longbourn, a simple willingness to listen and take notice had transformed even Mr Collins into a far more congenial being. All any of us want is a little attention, she thought, as she turned towards Mr Hurst with a civil, enquiring expression, and set herself to work.
Mr Hurst seemed to have lost the habit of talking for its own sake, and there were many false starts before Mary eventually hit upon the one subject which animated him. When the first course was served, she knew nothing at all about horse racing. But by the time the dessert was cleared, her knowledge had expanded a hundredfold. She learned not only the different qualities of horse required to succeed on the flat or over the jumps, but also exactly what was to be looked for when assessing a yearling, why Newmarket was always to be preferred as a racecourse to York; and she had made a promise never to wager any significant amount on a likely prospect without first taking Mr Hurst’s advice. She could not pretend the experience was as pleasurable as it would have been if she had remained in the place which Mr Ryder had intended for her; but she acquitted herself well, even though, as Mr Hurst might have said, the going had been rough at times. By showing a little spirit, she had avoided the misery of staring silently at her plate for the course of the dinner; and had also been able to show a little indulgence to a man not used to receiving such consideration. As the ladies rose to take coffee next door, leaving the gentlemen to their port and brandy, she was pleased with herself; and certainly, Mr Hurst bade her farewell with every appearance of regret.