When their carriage pulled up outside Netherfield, the house seemed to Mary more imposing than she remembered. The entrance was lit with several flaming torches, upon which Mr. Bennet directed his most amused smile; but Mary privately thought them rather fine. The interior was even more grand, with some very imposing furniture and pictures. Mary stood before one, trying to identify the artist, when Mr. Bingley advanced to welcome them, radiating his usual good humour to all, although his greeting for Jane was particularly heartfelt. Mary wished Mrs. Bennet had not chosen to remark on the fact by nudging Mr. Bennet quite so noticeably; but she did not think of it any further once they were in the public rooms, which were packed full of people and alive with the noise of excited conversation.
“A positive rout,” murmured Elizabeth, as they looked around for someone they knew. Across the room stood Mr. Bingley’s sisters, imperious, heads held high; and by their side was his reserved and haughty friend, who, catching sight of Elizabeth, made her an unexpectedly gracious bow.
“Look, Lizzy,” whispered Jane, “I believe Mr. Darcy is greeting you. Look, he is bowing directly towards you.”
Elizabeth made the briefest of acknowledgements and turned abruptly away.
“He really is insupportable, teasing me in this way! Let us ignore him. I think I see Charlotte over there beside the fireplace.”
It was a fortnight since Charlotte had been at Longbourn, and there was much news to impart. Having pointed out Mr. Collins to her friend, Elizabeth enjoyed describing his oddities and quirks, retelling all his silliest speeches to so much effect that Charlotte could not help but laugh.
“Is he really so ridiculous a figure? Come, Mary, you shall tell me the truth.”
“He doesn’t always present himself to his best advantage, but I don’t think there is any real harm in him.”
“That is very lukewarm praise!”
“Well, you may judge for yourself,” observed Elizabeth, “for he is approaching us this very moment.”
The musicians had struck up; and Mr. Collins had come to claim Elizabeth for the dance. With many professions of regret for removing her from the company of her charming companions, he led his cousin towards the floor. Charlotte surveyed them keenly as they went.
“He is a clergyman, then. Does he have a decent living?”
Mary explained as fully as possible everything she could recall about Lady Catherine, the generosity of her patronage, her marked condescension, and Mr. Collins’s humble parsonage in Kent.
“I suppose in the fullness of time he will also inherit Longbourn.”
“As my father likes to say, once he is dead, Mr. Collins may turn us all out, whenever he wishes.”
To Mary’s surprise, Charlotte took her hand, holding it for a few moments, then just as briskly removed it. Her gesture conveyed her sympathy more powerfully than anything she might have said. Both were silent for a moment, until Charlotte spoke again.
“So for all the frailties which amuse Lizzy,” she observed quietly, “Mr. Collins is in many ways a very eligible young man.”
“That’s certainly how my mother sees it,” replied Mary. “She is determined he’ll marry one of us. At the moment, her preference—and it would seem, his own—is for Lizzy.”
Charlotte drew back, astonished.
“I should have thought that most unlikely.”
“That is my opinion exactly,” declared Mary, relieved to be able to discuss Mr. Collins with a disinterested listener. “Everything he says annoys her, and she does all she can to avoid him.”
“Poor man,” observed Charlotte wryly. “I would not wish your sister’s disdain upon anyone. But although he has not been so fortunate as to please Lizzy, it is not impossible that another woman might accept him.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” said Mary. “No-one could call him sensible, but he has qualities which might be cultivated by a wife with the right turn of mind. Indeed, if he were to come under the influence of a steady, thoughtful woman, he could be much improved; and she might stand as good a chance as most of ending up tolerably content with her lot.”
“Good Lord, Mary,” declared Charlotte with a laugh, “the conversations we had about marriage have made a great impression upon you! When you talk in this way, I might almost be listening to myself!”
Mary was about to reply, for there was much more she would have liked to say on the subject of marriage and Mr. Collins; but she saw Elizabeth approaching them and knew it could not be pursued in her presence.
Charlotte understood this too; and when Lizzy arrived, she greeted her in a very different tone, light, bright, and unconcerned.
“So you are released from your purgatory, I see. Do tell us how it was—we were too absorbed in our conversation to pay much attention to you and Mr. Collins.”
Elizabeth groaned and held out her foot.
“Every step in the wrong place, his shoe always ending up upon mine. If he had concentrated more and apologised less, it might not have been so trying, but as it was—well, let us just say I am finished with dancing for a while.”
Charlotte, who had been peering into the far side of the room, suddenly bent her head towards Elizabeth.
“You may be compelled back onto the floor more quickly than you think. Mr. Darcy is coming towards us with such cold determination that it can only mean he is about to ask you to stand up with him.”
Elizabeth protested that such a thing was impossible, objected that it could not be so. But just as she had finished declaring its utter improbability, the gentleman himself arrived and stood before her. In the most formal manner, he begged the pleasure of her hand when the dancing began again; and she was so taken by surprise that she accepted. Immediately, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Elizabeth dumbstruck at her own decision.
“Whatever possessed me to agree? I can’t imagine what I was thinking.”
“I dare say,” said Charlotte consolingly, “that once on the floor, you will find him very agreeable.”
“Heaven forbid! That would be the greatest misfortune of all! To find agreeable a man whom one is determined to hate! Do not wish me such an evil!”
“I imagine you will bear it. I do beg you, Elizabeth, do not be a simpleton and make yourself unpleasant in the eyes of a man of such consequence. There is nothing at all to be gained by it.”
Elizabeth argued the contrary for a while, reminding Charlotte of the many objections to Mr. Darcy’s character, temper, and demeanour; but when the music began, not having contrived a valid excuse to snub him, as she thought he deserved, she went reluctantly to join him in the dance. Mary and Charlotte watched with curiosity to see how she would manage it. At first, she was silent and aloof, but soon she and Mr. Darcy were talking to each other with every appearance of lively animation.
“Your sister has a great deal to say to a man she insists she does not like,” remarked Charlotte.
“Yes,” agreed Mary. “It’s very surprising.”
“Perhaps she doesn’t know her own feelings as well as she thinks. She may not be as accustomed as we are to subjecting them to minute examination. When everything comes to you so easily, there must be little reason to ask yourself why that’s so.”
Together Charlotte and Mary walked towards the supper table and watched the dancing draw to a close.
“I hear you are to play for us later tonight,” observed Charlotte politely.
“I think so, if the company is happy to hear me. I’ve chosen a few pieces I hope will please.”
For a moment, she was tempted to tell Charlotte everything—how, inspired by her words she had begun to think of Mr. Collins as a potential husband, how impossible it had proved to attract his attention, and how, this very evening, she hoped to conquer his indifference with a remarkable performance at the keyboard. It would have been a relief to speak plainly to someone who would understand, who might have sensible advice to offer—but before she could do so, Elizabeth hurried over to them, eager to share
her impressions of her dancing partner. She had only just begun to catalogue his shortcomings when they were interrupted again, this time by Mr. Collins, who bustled into their presence with news he thought they would be as keen to hear as he was to impart.
“Excuse my interrupting you, ladies, but I thought it right you should know I have made a most significant discovery.”
He bent towards them with an air of the greatest solemnity.
“I have found out, by a singular accident, that there is, in this room, a distinguished relation of my patroness.”
“Really, sir?” asked Charlotte. “May we know who it is?”
“You will be surprised to hear,” he announced, “that it is the gentleman fortunate enough to have danced the last set with you, Miss Elizabeth. Mr. Darcy, it appears, is a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. What have you to say to that?”
“I suppose,” began Mary, when no-one else volunteered a reply, “it may be said to show how very small are the circles in which we all move—how close are the ties that bind us.”
“Yes,” agreed Charlotte, “it is remarkable how—”
She did not finish her sentence. Elizabeth broke in, her voice full of the urgency of one to whom a dreadful idea has just occurred.
“Sir, please tell me you do not plan to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy?”
Mr. Collins looked a little affronted.
“Of course I shall. Indeed, I feel I must apologise for not having done so earlier. I shall explain I was unaware of the connection between us.”
In vain did Elizabeth attempt to dissuade him. Mr. Darcy was of a proud disposition, she explained, and would not welcome uninvited familiarity. If the connection was to be acknowledged, then it fell to Mr. Darcy, as the superior in consequence, to make the first approach. But Mr. Collins was not to be swayed. Adopting an expression which seemed to Lizzy to combine supplication and presumption in equally shameful measure, he made his way to the group amongst whom Mr. Darcy stood and began to speak.
It was perhaps fortunate that they were too far away to hear exactly what was said; but Mr. Collins’s voice was strong and carrying, and the words apology and Lady Catherine de Bourgh were frequently repeated and impossible to ignore.
Elizabeth closed her eyes in horror.
“How could he expose himself in this way?”
Charlotte watched with amusement.
“I think a snub has very definitely been administered. It appears that poor Mr. Collins has been soundly dismissed.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” agreed Mary. “Mr. Darcy has not deigned to notice him. Poor man, I’m sorry for him.”
“How can you say that,” cried Elizabeth, smarting with humiliation, “when his behaviour reflects so badly upon us all? Look at Miss Bingley, smirking at her sister! Nothing could have pleased them more than to see one of our family show themselves to be so ill-bred!”
Charlotte took Elizabeth’s arm. “Come, Lizzy, there is no need to be so cross. I’m not sure why you set such store by the opinions of those you do not respect.”
Elizabeth was silent with anger; but she allowed herself to be gently led away from the scene of Mr. Collins’s embarrassment.
“Let us find somewhere a little quieter to sit,” murmured Charlotte soothingly. “We shall have a glass of wine and put it out of our minds.”
By now, most of the chairs were full, and the only vacant seats were closer to Mrs. Bennet than either Charlotte, Elizabeth, or Mary would have preferred. From their places, they could not help but overhear everything she said; and Elizabeth’s temper did not improve as her mother loudly informed Lady Lucas of her confident expectation that Jane and Mr. Bingley would very soon be married. When Mr. Darcy and the Bingley sisters, also in search of refreshment, happened to station themselves close by, Elizabeth’s misery was almost complete. Mary watched her grow more and more agitated as Mrs. Bennet’s conversation went on and on, audible to anyone around them. The music could not silence her. Instead, she simply raised her voice, all the better to assure her friend that, in her view, not the least advantage of Jane’s marrying so well was the likelihood of it throwing her younger daughters in the way of other rich men. At this, Elizabeth could bear no more and stood up. Mary saw her dart a glance towards Mr. Darcy, who stared back, grave and disapproving.
“Please, ma’am, I do beseech you to speak less audibly. Mr. Darcy is quite close by and cannot help but hear you.”
“And what is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him? I am sure we owe him no particular civility as to be obliged to say nothing that he might not like to hear.”
Elizabeth stood up abruptly, and walked away.
“I’m not sure why Elizabeth is so angry,” whispered Mary to Charlotte, as she watched her sister force her way through the crowd. “Our mother’s behaviour does not usually affect her so powerfully.”
“I think she is ashamed,” replied Charlotte. “That is a new sensation for her, because I do not believe she has ever felt such a strong desire to make a good impression on those around her. Her own talents and vivacity have always been sufficient recommendation. But now I think she feels she is being judged by the actions of her relations. A most uncomfortable idea.”
They watched as Elizabeth reappeared from the throng on the far side of the room, where she caught sight of her father, for whom she had clearly been searching. She approached him very decisively, and addressed him with great feeling. He looked towards Mrs. Bennet, still gossiping with Lady Lucas; and then at Mr. Collins, who was now seen attempting to converse with a freezingly aloof Miss Bingley. To his daughter’s imploring expression, he returned only his usual detached smile. Even from a distance, it was plain to Mary that he had declined to act upon Elizabeth’s appeal to rein in the behaviour of his family. He laughed and touched her shoulder; but Elizabeth was not to be placated. She left him without a word. Her face was stony as she returned to her seat. She sat a little apart from Charlotte and Mary, making it clear she did not wish to talk.
“There is nothing to be done but humour her as best we can,” whispered Charlotte. “Whilst this mood is upon her, I think it essential not to provoke her further.”
Chapter 27
Mary sat quietly through the next few sets, waiting with increasing apprehension for her moment to arrive. Finally, it was time. The dancers left the floor and the musicians, released from their labours, went in search of their supper. Now was the moment when the musical ladies stepped forward. Miss Bingley claimed the first place, striding confidently towards the piano, head in the air, to the general approbation of the room. She had chosen a very lively piece, which she attacked with great verve. She finished with a flourish, and turned beaming towards her audience, almost daring them not to applaud. When they did so, she basked in their praise for some minutes, before sweeping back to her seat, her pride evident in every haughty step she took. Mary swallowed hard. It was now or never. She stood up, her music in her hand. As she passed Elizabeth, to her amazement, she felt Lizzy grasp her arm. Her sister looked intently into her face, her hand tight on Mary’s sleeve.
“Give us something simple we can admire, and, I beg you, do not make it too long.”
Mary shook herself free, and walked towards the piano. The vehemence of Lizzy’s words unsettled her. She began to feel nervous—anxiety welled up within her—but she rallied her courage and told herself she must be calm. Once seated, she put on her glasses, placed her music on the stand, raised her hands, and began.
It was easier once she had started. She knew the piece so well that she hardly needed to think about it; and her disciplined fingers flew about the keys just as she wished. Her spirits rose. Surely she was acquitting herself exactly as she had hoped? She had made no mistakes—her timing was perfect—then, almost before she knew it, the sonata was at an end. She lifted her hands from the keyboard, her heart fluttering. It was over. Relief flooded through her. She looked up to face the company and was delighted to see signs of app
reciation, a scattering of nods and smiles. A few listeners even offered up a little polite applause. She could not see Mr. Collins—but she knew he must be somewhere in the audience. He must have witnessed her success. An unaccustomed euphoria flooded through her. She would attempt her second piece with new confidence—and she would definitely accompany herself with a song.
She began again with her cheerful Scotch air. But by the time she reached the second verse, she knew she had made a terrible mistake. Miss Allen had been right. Her skill was as a player, not a singer. Her voice was weak, her manner tentative. She simply could not do it. Fear made her even worse, and she quickly sensed she had lost her audience. At the far end of the table, a murmured conversation had begun. When she looked up from her music, she thought she saw the eldest Bingley sister make a mocking face to the younger. She began to panic—but what was she to do? To stop would be fatal—there was nothing for it but to press on as best she could. As she did so, she was certain she caught a meaningful look from Elizabeth directed towards their father—she thought she saw him respond—but she flicked her eyes downwards, determined to think of nothing but the music. When she finally stopped singing, there was some sympathetic clapping, for which she was profoundly grateful. Perhaps it had not been as bad as she imagined? But it quickly died away, and she could not deceive herself she had been well received. When she lifted her hands from the keyboard, they were trembling. For a moment, she could not compose herself; then she heard her father’s voice, low and clear above the general chatter. When she looked up, he was standing beside her, his arm held out towards her.
“That will do extremely well, child. You have delighted us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time to exhibit.”
She was so astonished—so taken aback—that at first she did not know what to do. It took a moment before she understood. Mr. Bennet was there to stop her playing again, to lead her away from the piano. He held out his hand and beckoned her gently towards him. She blinked in confusion. He beckoned again, this time more insistently. She thought she might faint—but instead she gathered up her music and followed him blindly as they wove their way through the guests, trying her utmost not to catch anyone’s glance.
The Other Bennet Sister Page 15
