How wonderful is Death,
Death, and his brother Sleep!
One, pale as yonder waning moon
With lips of lurid blue;
The other, rosy as the morn
When throned on ocean's wave
It blushes o'er the world;
Yet both so passing wonderful!

-Queen Mab, Percy Bysshe Shelley

A disadvantage of being Miss de Bourgh's companion that had not occurred to Mary when she agreed to it, but now struck her with undeniable force, was that it involved spending nearly two weeks in a carriage with Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

It was not that Mary disliked Lady Catherine. She found her strength of character and moral certainty inspiring in small doses, and the two of them were on civil terms. But after a while her constant questions and advice began to feel wearying and intrusive.

Before they left Mrs Bennet had been very firm on one point. "Mary is not the prettiest girl in the world," she had said with some regret, "but she is a good girl, and I would see her happily married. I do not understand why she should be squandering her youth in some stuffy old house where she'll never get to meet any men. You must promise me that she will get many chances to go out and meet new people, and if you know any eligible young bachelors, I would greatly appreciate it if you could send them her way."

And so for the whole of the first morning Lady Catherine had been expanding at length about the superiority of Kentish society, and the many balls and parties to which she would make sure Mary was accompanied. This was interspersed with strong admonitions that Mary was not to see this as a holiday, that her first responsibility was to Anne's welfare and that if she was not willing to take this responsibility she should say so at once and save them all the trouble.

Mary's replies were apparently serious-minded enough to mollify her, for she eventually tired of the topic and began enumerating her many dependents and the ways in which she had improved their lives.

"What are you doing?" asked Miss de Bourgh.

Mary started in surprise, since the last time she had looked at Miss de Bourgh she had seemed fast asleep. Lady Catherine was outside dealing with some problem with their accommodation and had instructed Mary to stay in the carriage and watch over Miss de Bourgh, who had been curled up under a blanket in the corner of the carriage for several hours. As much as she was beginning to tire of Lady Catherine's company, it was infinitely preferable to sitting in a stationary carriage with the curtains drawn. It had been so long since she had had a chance to observe the scenery, she was not even sure where they were now. "Reciting poetry to myself," replied Mary, "to pass the time."

"Well," said Miss de Bourgh sleepily, "if you must, then do so a little louder; that way you can keep us both entertained." After a while, Miss de Bourgh rubbed her eyes and said, "It is awfully dark in here; is it night already?" then lay back down and fell asleep.

Having been hearing of its virtues for so long, Mary was glad to finally reach Rosings. It did seem a fine building, although at this point even a humble shack would have seemed like a welcome sanctuary if it promised Mary some time to herself and a chance to read.

When they arrived, Miss de Bourgh was taken up to her room by her lady's maid, and Lady Catherine was taken away by business. Mary was left in the hands of the housekeeper, Mrs Smith, who showed her around the house with brusque efficiency.

She was shown her room, a large well placed apartment on the second floor. Mrs Smith went out of her way to demonstrate some of the less obvious shelving and storage space, but Mary only had eyes for one thing – her own piano! In her own room! But before she had a chance to play it, let alone unpack, she was whisked off on a tour of the rest of the house. This was Miss de Bourgh's room, best not disturb her just now. That was the sitting room, where the family entertained guests. This was the breakfast room, to which she must not be late.

Mary had some trouble keeping up, but made a special note to remember the route from her room to the library, and felt confident that she would figure out the rest as she needed it.

That night she was told that she would dine in Miss de Bourgh's chamber.

"Good evening, Miss de Bourgh," she said softly, unsure if she was awake.

"Good evening, Miss Bennet," replied Miss de Bourgh, lifting her head slightly from her pillow. Laid out on a small table next to the bed was a small bowl of gruel and a dish piled with a generous variety of food. Miss de Bourgh sipped a few spoonfuls of her meal and then asked, "Are you settled in well?"

"Oh yes," replied Mary. "And I am very grateful to have my own piano. I cannot thank you enough."

"Oh," said Miss de Bourgh, "I see. I asked Mrs Jenkinson's family to take what possessions of hers they wanted from her room while I was gone. Perhaps they did not want the piano." She sniffed slightly and then continued. "Well, I am glad to know it will be used. If you will excuse me, I am not hungry and will rest now. Please continue without me and blow out the candle as you leave."

Her first few days at Rosings continued in a similar vein. Mary spent much of her day in Miss de Bourgh's room, either eating or engaged in solitary pursuits like reading or needlework. Miss de Bourgh would sometimes ask her to read whatever book she had to hand, and it was perhaps a sign of her illness that she did not express any opinions on the sentiments contained therein. The rest of the time she spent with her piano or exploring the house and grounds, and soon felt as much at home as she felt she was ever likely to. From time to time she would visit the nearby village. It was not a very exciting existence, but it was at least an undemanding one. Even Lady Catherine was too busy with the estate to require much of her time.

Eventually, of course, Miss de Bourgh recovered enough to start expressing an opinion on Mary's choice of reading matter, and it was not long before she delivered an ultimatum.

"You may read whatever you wish in your own time, Miss Bennet," she said firmly, "but I reserve the right not to have to listen to anything that makes staring at the wall alone seem preferable."

Since Miss de Bourgh was unwell, Mary felt it would be kind to let her have her choice of what was read. But after a week of reading nothing but heavy symbolic poetry extolling the virtues of death, Mary felt it her duty to intervene.

"Do not embrace death, Miss de Bourgh," she said seriously. "I know that you are unwell, and it might seem like a release to join your friend and be free of the shackles of mortality. But as much as we might anticipate with joy our reunion with Our Lord at the Gates of Paradise, it is our duty while living to embrace life, and find what joy we can in this earthly domain for however long our loving Father feels it is right we should inhabit it."

"I am not embracing death," replied Miss de Bourgh curtly. "I am merely melancholy. I do not know how you deal with melancholia, Miss Bennet, assuming that you have ever known such sorrow, but my spirits are lifted by poetry. I apologise if my attempts to increase my own happiness have been of any detriment to yours." She glowered at Mary in a very unapologetic seeming way before adding, "And do not be under any misapprehensions about my health. I am not some sighing consumptive about to fade away into the hereafter. I come from a long and proud line of dyspeptic but durable de Bourghs; there is every likelihood that I shall outlive you."

"Oh," said Mary. "I apologise if I have spoken out of turn. If reading these poems does you good, then I am of course ever ready to oblige. But I must admit that they do oppress my own spirits a little."

They eventually decided on a compromise: they would alternate choosing what was to be read each day in turn. In addition, any work must be in a language they both could understand, and there was to be absolutely no theology, at least not while Miss de Bourgh felt unfit for the task of adequately defending her point of view.

"What," asked Mary shortly after they had come to this agreement, "of novels like Pamela, which seek to morally educate their readers through the medium of fictional prose?"

"You wish to read Pamela?" asked Miss de Bourgh incredulously. "Well, I do not object to such novels in principle. It would be hard to find any novel which does not hide some moral in its plot somewhere. But I do object to any such "educational" text which claims that a young girl should find her employer attempting to force himself upon her and then locking her up to be endearing. I am sure you would not appreciate such behaviour from me."

Mary blinked at the incredibly odd mental image this statement produced. "No," she replied, "I would not. Although the situations are hardly equivalent."

"That is true. I prefer my women a little older, not to mention willing."

"Miss de Bourgh," said Mary, "I had thought you above such humour."

"And indeed I am," she replied, "I am sorry I spoke so."

A little discomfited, Mary returned to her current and much less controversial book, an introduction to the plants and animals of Kent.

It was not long until Miss de Bough felt able to eat meals with Lady Catherine in the main dining room. This was the first time for a while that Mary had had much of a chance to speak to them both at once, and when she was given an opportunity to speak, turned to Miss de Bourgh and said, "I have been thinking of our conversation the other day, about Pamela."

Miss de Bourgh froze in the act of bringing a spoon to her lips.

"I was hoping Lady Catherine and yourself could clarify my position for me: am I an employee? I am aware of and grateful for the fact that you are providing me with room and board, and that I am to have my usual allowance, but was not sure if this was simply on behalf of my father or if it is in fact a salary."

Miss de Bourgh let out an almost imperceptible breath.

"Well," replied Lady Catherine, "that depends on how you define an employee. Certainly, I am paying for your room and board, and intend to pay you an allowance and supply you with whatever money you might require for trinkets and so forth. But your sister was quite insistent that you came here as our guest, and that you be treated as if you were Anne's equal. So in that sense you are not an employee."

Employee or not, it quickly became clear that while Miss de Bourgh herself was not very demanding, when they were both in the company of Lady Catherine there were suddenly a very many obligations that Mary had towards Miss de Bourgh which needed to be attended to.

Could she not see that poor Anne was cold, why had she not gotten her a blanket? Why was she sitting them so far from the window when she could be looking outside at the bright sunny day? Why were they sitting so close to the fire when Anne was so clearly oppressed by the bright light and heat?

Mary found herself conflicted. On the one hand, she respected Lady Catherine's opinion. On the other, she did not see how she could be expected to know these things, especially when she had only been there for such a short time.

Waiting until they were alone, Mary asked, "Were you indeed in need of a blanket this morning, Miss de Bourgh? I would not wish you to be uncomfortable."

"I was a little cold," she admitted, "but to be honest, with the blanket on I was a little too warm. Perhaps it would have been better to have closed the window instead."

"I would suggest asking, then," replied Mary. "That way you would be more comfortable, and Lady Catherine would not take me to task for my inattentiveness."

"Mrs Jenkinson would have known to open the window," said Miss de Bourgh. "And if she was not sure would have asked me my preference."

"Well, I am not Mrs Jenkinson," replied Mary, "and I am not very observant of such things."

"Indeed you are not," replied Miss de Bourgh.