The spirits of the holiday party never properly recovered from Mr Hayward’s sudden departure. His absence was keenly felt. He was much lamented by the Gardiners, although Mrs Gardiner took care not to be overly extravagant in her regrets. She was too astute not to perceive that some breach or misunderstanding had occurred between him and her niece, and did not doubt it was that which had led to Mr Hayward’s leaving them; but she had no wish to add to Mary’s obvious unhappiness, and therefore gave no direct hint of her suspicions. Mr Ryder seemed oblivious of such a possibility, although whether that was by design or innocence was impossible to say. His manner was as easy and as open as ever, with nothing to suggest he thought of his friend with anything other than sympathy for his situation, and slight incredulity at his bearing it so well.
‘Tom has always been of a very conscientious turn of mind,’ he declared as they sat round the inn’s dinner table a few nights later. ‘He is a prodigious worker. It is not in his character to leave anything undone, or to throw off a responsibility he believes is his.’
‘I am glad to hear it,’ observed Mr Gardiner firmly. ‘Such an attitude is essential in business, and I imagine it is the same in the professions. There are times when the demands of one’s occupation must take precedence over private pleasures.’
‘As I have cause to know,’ murmured Mrs Gardiner.
‘Come, my dear,’ her husband replied. ‘You understand how it is. Sometimes a man has no choice but to attend to such matters, however much he may wish it was not so.’
‘It must be very unpleasant to be at everyone’s beck and call,’ said Miss Bingley smoothly. ‘Of all the many aggravations involved in pursuing a trade, the knowledge that one is not one’s own master must be the most trying.’
She favoured the table with a brilliant, unapologetic smile, while everyone around it silently absorbed the sting of her remark. Mr Gardiner frowned. Mrs Gardiner was clearly taken aback at such a very obvious snub. But Mary was outraged. She had learned to ignore Miss Bingley’s jibes when they were directed towards her; but she could not bear to hear them aimed at those she loved.
‘I imagine you must have seen many such occasions yourself at first hand,’ she remarked, with a bland calmness quite equal to that of Miss Bingley. ‘As your own father was deeply engaged in business, he must often have been called upon to subordinate his wishes to the requirements of his trade.’
It was a moment before Miss Bingley collected herself sufficiently to reply. ‘I cannot recall examples of that kind,’ she said, looking a little agitated as she applied herself to buttering her bread. ‘My father had been long removed from any such necessities by the time I was old enough to know about them.’ She quickly recovered her usual assurance; but Mary knew too that in so publicly reminding her of her origins she had only intensified the lady’s hatred for her, that her remark would not be forgotten, and that she should eventually pay for it some way she could not yet imagine, but she did not care. She was glad she had spoken.
When dinner was over and the others left the table, Mary remained, brooding once more over the question of Mr Hayward’s departure. She had thought of nothing else since he left; and had quickly arrived at conclusions identical to those of her aunt. She was convinced that she herself was the reason he was gone. She knew he had been bitterly disappointed by her refusal to take his part during the argument on Scafell; and she was painfully aware her ill-judged support for Mr Ryder on the ridge had both shocked and hurt him. But had that really been enough to drive him away?
She did not know what to think. She could not persuade herself he was entirely indifferent to her. His leaving as he had, rushing away at dawn with no polite goodbyes or apologetic farewells, was not the act of a man who did not care; on the contrary, it suggested passions strongly and deeply felt. She supposed he might have been driven by the jealousy she thought she had detected; but how was that to be reconciled with the marked tenderness and consideration he had shown to her on their descent down the fell? The careful concern he had displayed for her then did not suggest either resentment or dislike. He could not have been more kind, more solicitous for her safety – but at this, she felt herself about to cry, and did not allow herself to think any more of his steadying arm, linked so firmly with her own. Why had he simply not opened his heart to her then and there, explaining the truth of what he felt? If he had spoken, she would not have hesitated to have given him the answer she still believed would have pleased him; but instead he had left with nothing explained, abandoning her to make what little sense she could of his behaviour. What could he have meant by it? She thought of nothing else, but as day followed day, she was no closer to arriving at a conclusion, no matter how many hours she spent considering it.
She did everything in her power to hide her mounting unhappiness from those around her. She refused to be drawn by Miss Bingley’s frequent speculations on the probable reasons for Mr Hayward’s departure, greeting them with an expression of studied indifference that revealed nothing of her inner misery. She declined Mr Ryder’s frequent invitations to take the air with him, knowing she would be utterly unable to match his air of cheerful unconcern. It made no sense, Mary told herself, to blame Mr Ryder for what had happened – he had never disguised the principles by which he lived. She could hardly complain when he acted upon them, as he had done on Scafell. It had been her choice to decide whether to follow his example or not; and now she must deal with the consequences of her judgement. But when she watched him go about his business, his natural affability untouched by any sense of guilt or regret, she could not entirely suppress her resentment. He had followed his inclinations and had paid no price at all for doing so – while she was left mired in misery and regret. So, no, she would not walk down the hill with him, or even take a short stroll round the inn. Instead, she wrapped herself in politeness and found a thousand civil ways of refusing him.
It was much harder to disguise what she felt in the presence of her uncle and aunt. Mary knew they were concerned about her. She had several times come upon them deep in discussions which they broke off as soon as she arrived, the subject of which was only too plain to them all. Only once did her aunt attempt to broach it directly, asking Mary if she did not think Tom’s leaving them so suddenly had been most out of character? But when Mary showed herself disinclined to speak on a subject which was so painful to her, her aunt did not press her. Mary was grateful for Mrs Gardiner’s discretion; and on more than one occasion, she was tempted to confide everything to her. But for all her aunt’s kindness, Mary knew it would do no good. The only conversation which could relieve her distress was one between herself and Mr Hayward; but that could only happen if they returned to London. So when Mr Gardiner finally suggested it was perhaps time for them to go home, Mary was obliged to conceal her eagerness to do so, lest it seem she was ungrateful for having been brought on holiday at all.
She was not the only one to feel their stay at the Lakes had come to an end; everyone agreed it was time to leave and soon all was in readiness for their departure. Mr Ryder’s party was the first to go. Miss Bingley was coolly civil as she climbed into the carriage, clearly hoping she would not be forced into Miss Bennet’s unwelcome company again. In contrast, Mr Ryder was keen to ensure they would meet again soon once back in London.
‘I very much hope to see you in town, Miss Bennet. Perhaps we could make up a party and return to Vauxhall? I should be very happy to arrange it, if you say the word.’
‘It is very kind of you, but I don’t intend to go abroad too much when we return. I think I shall stay close at home for a while.’
‘Then perhaps I may come and visit you there? We could read a little poetry together.’
‘Of course, if that would please you.’
It was not the most enthusiastic invitation; but Mr Ryder was satisfied. He sprang into the carriage, the driver cracked his whip, and as Mary watched them disappear, it occurred to her she had been right to have found their unexpected arrival in the Lakes unsettling. They had brought nothing with them but trouble.