I take it for granted, there is no young woman who has not, or wishes not to have, a companion of her own sex, to whom she may unbosom herself on every occasion. That there are women capable of friendship with women, I cannot, for my part, question in the least. I have seen indubitable proofs of it, and those carried as far as seemed compatible with the imperfections of our common nature. I know it is questioned by many men, while others believe, that it happens exceedingly seldom. Between married and unmarried women, I hope it happens very often. Whether it does so between those that are single, I confess myself a little doubtful. - Sermons to Young Women, Dr. James Fordyce
By the end of her piano practice with Georgiana the next morning, Mary had reconciled herself with her fate. For a start, she was gratified by how happy it made Georgiana, who had spent the whole session bubbling with gratitude. But the main reason was the realisation that she would likely soon appreciate the company. It was becoming increasingly apparent that as much as Georgiana sought out her company now, this was only because she was deprived of that of her preferred companion, Kitty. She spoke with increasing animation of her future plans for long walks, carriage rides and shopping trips, and while she always included Mary in these imaginings, given past experience and personal preference, Mary had little doubt that she would end up alone.
Of course this would be nothing new – she had always preferred a solitary existence. But to her surprise she found she had become accustomed to Georgiana's companionship, despite their differences in interests and disposition. She resented her friendship with Elizabeth, and was glad that her sister was often busy, uncharitable emotions she felt ashamed of. While she and Miss de Bourgh were hardly friends, her company was better than none at all.
It was with this newfound determination to get to know Miss de Bourgh in mind that Mary found herself eavesdropping on a conversation about them both. She had heard loud voices coming from one of the drawing rooms and would have walked quickly by, were it not that her name was being spoken so distinctly and in violent tones.
"Mary Bennet," said Lady Catherine forcefully, "seems a decent sort of girl for who she is, but she is not family. Not in any way that counts. While I am sure she would benefit from Anne's company, I cannot see that the reverse would be true."
"It is not Anne's welfare alone that concerns me," began Darcy before being interrupted by his wife.
"I agree," she said sharply, "that Mary and your daughter are not family. I would never agree to my sister being sent away to live with virtual strangers as little more than a servant, far from the support of friends and family. But I also cannot agree that it would be wise for Georgiana either. They are both too young! They should be out in society, seeing the world, not cooped up as nursemaids for an invalid. Surely there is someone else."
Mary did not enjoy Society. She had no interest in the vain fripperies of fashion, refused to engage in the low practice of gossip, and was simply bad at dancing and cards.
Lady Catherine's voice became even louder. "You would have my daughter live with a stranger? She is most distressed by the death of her previous companion; it is too much to expect her to adjust to some unknown woman on top of everything else. I do not ask much of you, Darcy..."
Mary thought of Georgiana stuck in a house with an aunt and cousin who made her miserable. She considered her likely future either here at Pemberley or with her parents at Longbourn. And she considered Miss de Bourgh's question.
She opened the door.
Staring at her, surprised, were Mr and Mrs Darcy, Lady Catherine, and to Mary's own surprise, Miss Anne de Bourgh.
"I will go to Rosings," she said.
"Miss Bennet," cried Lady Catherine, "am I to understand that you have been eavesdropping on a private conversation?"
"Absolutely not!" cried Elizabeth before Mary could reply. "Mary, you must have misunderstood whatever you heard. You would be taking a position as Miss de Bourgh's companion. You would have to move to Kent and spend all your time waiting on Miss de Bourgh, with few opportunities to see your friends or family. Why would you choose such a thing?"
"I intend to get married someday," said Mary. "I will be in much the same situation then. What higher purpose is there to life, after all, but than to be of service to others?"
"Very pretty sentiments," said Lady Catherine, "but that does not change the fact that we do not wish to have you." She was distracted from her rant by an insistent tug on her elbow. A whispered conference took place with much gesticulation on both sides, before Lady Catherine made a sour face and said, "My daughter wishes to speak."
Miss de Bourgh looked briefly at Mary before staring at her hands and saying, "Thank you for your kind offer, Miss Bennet. Based on my own personal preference, I would be glad to have you as my companion. However, I do share your sister's worry that a well bred young woman such as yourself might feel stifled by such a limited and sedate existence. Perhaps it would be best if you took the position for a period of a few months, while my mother and I search for a companion of a more suitable age and station."
"I accept," said Mary.
And despite the objections of everyone else in the room, and then of Mr and Mrs Bennet, in the end this was the agreement that was come to.
The next few days were very busy. It seemed that urgent business called Lady Catherine back to Kent, and it was only by much persuasion that she was convinced to delay their departure until Mary had had a chance to say goodbye to Kitty.
The much anticipated return of her younger sister finally came, Kitty arriving in a wave of enthusiasm and happy anecdotes, filled with excitement over her time away. She had stayed with a large group of friends in a manor house in Shropshire, and if her account was to be believed, they had spent every day engaged in a different variety of adventure, and everyone involved was the kindest, wittiest and most wonderful of people. She saved her particular praise for a Mr Hewitt, the younger brother of their host, and his friend Mr Fletcher, and did not seem to be able to decide which of them she liked more. Every time either name came up Georgiana would stifle a giggle and Kitty would blush.
Mary did not end up feeling as alienated as she had expected – Mr Hewitt was a priest, and as a result Kitty kept asking her questions about theology, having apparently felt her ignorance during her conversations with that gentleman. She and Georgiana did indeed seem more fond of each other's company than they were of Mary's, and they spent much of their time engaged in pursuits she did not wish to share, but they did make some effort to involve her where they could, and she was forced to admit that her brother-in-law was right, Kitty had indeed changed for the better.
When Georgiana was busy there was always Mrs Annesley. She was an agreeable enough woman, placid and polite and well suited to Georgiana, but she was not especially fond of reading, religion, or music, and thus was of little interest to Mary.
"I am glad for you, Miss Bennet," said Mrs Annesley, on yet another afternoon when the two of them had been left to their own devices. "The role of companion is, to my mind, one of the highest purposes to which one may dedicate oneself. I myself have been so happy at Pemberley. I am not ashamed to admit that I had become quite desperate when Mr Darcy offered me the role; there are so few respectable ways for a single woman to support herself, even a widow. And Georgiana is such a lovely girl. I do not mind helping her overcome her little bouts of nervousness, or offering her advice; it is as if she were the daughter I never had. I am sure you will become quite as fond of Miss de Bourgh."
"She is too old to be my daughter," said Mary.
"Well, yes," said Mrs Annesley, smiling blandly. "But she is an invalid, so she will need your help all the same. And since you are of an age you may become closer friends."
"We may," said Mary, though she found it hard to imagine ever being as fond of Miss de Bourgh as Mrs Annesley was of Georgiana. She found it hard to imagine being that fond of anyone.
Mrs Annesley considered Mary carefully. "I would recommend trying to be her friend," she said. "While meaning no insult to Lady Catherine, she seems a very exacting sort of person, and very protective of her daughter. I suspect your life at Rosings will likely be more agreeable if Lady Catherine believes you to care about Miss de Bourgh's interests. Look after her when she is unwell, of course, and read to her as needed. But there are also many little things one can do to make life more congenial for the household: encouraging conversation when your hosts are feeling dull, helping with the servants and so forth. It is good to be useful."
"Yes," said Mary. Was she expected to do all that? She had not noticed Mrs Annesley putting herself to so much trouble for Georgiana, but nor had she been paying much attention.
Regardless, Mary was committed to her role. Miss de Bourgh was much absorbed by the preparations for their departure, and spent much of the time staring into space fretfully while Mary read the newspaper. She would occasionally exclaim with impatience at some unwanted political decision, but since Mary did not attend to politics she had nothing to say in return.
To Mary's surprise, one thing Miss de Bourgh shared with Kitty was a common desire to see her and Georgiana play, as well as a stated regret that they could not play themselves. "It seems unfair," said the younger Miss Bennet, "that here is Georgiana practicing diligently every day, and she is stuck in a house with lazy do-nothings like Lizzy and me who never practice if we play at all. It is a pity you are leaving so soon; perhaps the two of you together might be enough to get us to play."
The duet itself, held on the night before her departure, felt rather anticlimactic. She and Georgiana played well, and their audience was most appreciative, but her mind was overcome by thoughts of her future. Would she have a chance to play for others at Rosings? Would she be forced to entertain when she did not wish to? The many unknowns of her situation began to strike Mary for the first time. Just what had she signed herself up for?