A Match for Mary Bennet (8 page)

The following day all the guests were allowed to enter the transformed ballroom to behold a feast for the eyes. It was all much grander than Mary could have imagined during the preparations. She recalled Netherfield's ball of some years ago, grand on a lesser scale, when Elizabeth first danced with Darcy. From the assured way that Elizabeth smiled and welcomed her guests, Mary surmised that Elizabeth would be happy to dance at this one, even with Mr. Darcy. From a chair near the small pianoforte, Mary watched the noble Lady Catherine across the room as she directed servants to place cushions and a lap robe in a chair next to her for her daughter Anne. Miss de Bourgh had seemed out of sorts since her arrival before Christmas, and Mary wondered what could ail her. Perhaps the arduous journey had overtaxed her delicate health. Mr. Collins had spoken of her as a wondrous, sweet girl, and of Lady Catherine as noble indeed. Mary searched in vain to discern these qualities. She had seen Lady Catherine once before, at Longbourn, but never had she seen Miss de Bourgh until she arrived at Pemberley. Mary studied the two of them, strongly tempted to think that, had she met them as strangers, she might have deemed them insolent. But she knew they must be grandly noble ladies because Mr. Collins had said so.

Some of the arrivals from the villages nearby placed themselves near her, and Mary smiled at the one of the group that she recognized, Miss Alicia Johnstone. Mary had once helped Mrs. Reynolds keep watch on the wandering Miss Johnstone during a morning visit. Now that lady of prodigious proportions regaled her friends with authoritative information about the Pemberley household. “You would think, from this splendid array, that Mrs. Darcy always entertains perfectly. You should see her at-homes! Why, she does not even pour tea from the table near the hearth, as the former Mrs. Darcy used to do. There is one of her sisters.” She pointed to Mary. “And that is Mrs. Reynolds, chief of the household staff, watching me as usual.” Indeed, Mary noted, Mrs. Reynolds's alert eyes were full on that lady. “And that most beautiful lady before the fireplace is Mrs. Bingley, another of Mrs. Darcy's sisters. Her husband attends her adoringly, as always. They purchased Ilkestone Park, you know, between Eastwood and Newstead Abbey in Nottingham.” Miss Johnstone certainly revelled in her superior knowledge, and indeed Mary herself was enlightened by her speech. Though she and Mrs. Bennet had stayed there last year for the holidays, she knew Bingley's estate only as Otherfield.

Miss Johnstone chattered on, her wide, red face aglow, her chins quivering as she spoke, reminding Mary of a Gillray cartoon. “There is the widow Heatherton, also of Nottingham. Her husband used to work on the grounds here. He once captured a throstle for her, and she still keeps it in a cage.”

A thin lady in her party objected. “And does the poor bird never get out?”

“Oh, sometimes on fine days she takes the cage outside.”

Mary's sympathy, like the thin woman's, was all for the bird. She strained to discern the woman spoken of, and she supposed it to be the stately, silver-haired woman near Elizabeth, wearing grey muslin with long sleeves. Admiring her good taste, Mary wandered closer to her. Just then, the starched looking lady in purple next to the regal one complained, “Yes, it is hard to find servants of integrity. Just last month I had to dismiss a scullery maid for drying used tea leaves and selling them to the greengrocer. But I blame the grocer even more. He certainly knew that they were not fresh tea.”

The lady in grey muslin concurred. “It is unfortunate that one must go to London for genuine tea at Twinings.”

The orchestra tuned up, and Mary turned her attention to the set beginning to form. The Darcys and the Bingleys led the way, followed by Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Bingley. Catherine Bennet placed herself in the way of Mr. Oliver as he passed, and he bowed politely and took her to the dance.

Mary now felt a kinship with Miss de Bourgh, as the set grew down the length of the hall and neither she nor Anne danced or seemed to desire to do so. Mary rose and edged toward her, meaning to engage Miss de Bourgh in conversation. She stopped at the refreshment table and watched as a servant brought a tray to Lady Catherine, who accepted a cup of punch, nodding stiffly. Anne, however, refused even to acknowledge the servant's offer, but fixed her stony gaze above the heads of the dancers. Mary bethought herself and moved no nearer.

When the music stopped, Elizabeth and Jane sat down to visit, while Bingley went, as if on cue, to bow before Miss de Bourgh. She rose woodenly to join him in the next dance. Darcy drew near Lady Catherine, who had beckoned, but she remained seated as on a throne, hoarsely intoning, “Lord David did not come this year?”

Darcy shook his head. “No, Lord Exbridge remains in mourning, inconsolable still, though all his friends have urged him otherwise.”

“I am sorry for it. So few my age are here, and none who remember Lewis de Bourgh as he would. But I mean to consult with you.” Lady Catherine stood grandly and took Darcy's hastily-offered arm. Mary turned toward a general hubbub from the L-corner, near the cards. There among folk from Kympton and Lambton stood Lydia! The effrontery of it! Surely Wickham had not insinuated himself here as well. She looked over the whole room as best she could, and decided he had not. Kitty, with Mr. Oliver in tow, wended her way over to Lydia, who had laughingly detained a young, red-faced gentleman. He seemed rather bent on rejoining an elegant-looking young lady waiting nearby. Lydia, saucy as ever, boldly teased as if she thought nothing remiss in her behaviour. Mary felt the whole affair had turned to a scene of dissipation and corruption.

She found the warm ballroom stifling. She tried to catch the eye of Mrs. Gardiner, who, she imagined, must share her disgust. Perhaps Lydia had seen her and read her reaction. Indeed, she hoped so, for how else would Lydia ever bethink herself and repent her misdeeds unless someone reminded her how reprehensible they were? Still, Mary would not approach Lydia. She adhered to the dictum of First Corinthians: “In respect to evil, be like infants, but in your thinking be mature.” She would avoid as much as possible even knowing the frivolities of her erring sister, as Mr. Collins had so often adjured. She knew Lydia prided herself on being first in the family to have caught a husband, with never a thought to how sinfully she had done so, and Mary would never condone such behaviour.

Mary moved to the familiar corner, now quiet and relatively empty, and slipped through the door to her refuge, the library balcony. She no longer cared for festivity, and though the balcony was dark, she would light no candle. Obscurity suited her, and soon she could grope her way to her wonted chair to ponder the distressing situation. Had Elizabeth known that Lydia would be there? Had she come with the Bingleys? Was she actually staying in the house? Mary did not recall any room being readied for her. Certainly she had not been at the Christmas service or breakfast, nor had she been at last year's ball or the first one. But had she grown so brazen as to attend this one? No doubt Mama would be pleased to see her frivolous favourite. Mama did not mind the infamous way Lydia had run off with Wickham, no matter how tardy their marriage was. To Mama, a husband was a husband, and the sooner got the better.

Slowly the muted music from the dance soothed her ruffled dander, and a musing solitude engulfed her. She started from near somnolence when the library door opened below, sending a wide beam of light from the hall through the room. She crept noiselessly from the chair to the door, but shadows under the door and voices from the ballroom warned her that slipping in unnoticed was impossible just then, and light from the ballroom might reveal her presence to those who had entered below.

Light flickered as one candle flame rose and then another. She could make out Mr. Darcy as he stoked the fire in the grate and added a small log. Lady Catherine's voice, never timid, burst through the silence. “Darcy, you must save her. She is so timid, so spiritless. Witherspoon is but an opportunist, a cringing sycophant now, but when I am gone he will rise up, and she hasn't the strength of will to refuse him. Of course, now he appears docile, bowing to Mr. Collins and me, and so courtly and smiling to Anne. I insist that you come to Kent and see for yourself.”

Darcy had made a few grunts of understanding while she spoke, and Mary gave up trying to escape. She slipped back into the chair, where she tried to block out the voices to no avail. Darcy finally said, “Have you learned anything about him?”

“Only what he tells Mr. Collins. He has not taken orders. He is a mere verger who rings bells and tidies vestments and altar vessels. I am certain, however, that he is not the simpleton he pretends to be. Anne smirks and simpers and calls him Howard and in every way encourages his cloying attention. Nobody we can find in Kent knows his family or even where he lives. He presented himself to Mr. Collins one day some months ago and offered to work around the church on weekends, saying he ‘just wants to be near such a holy man.' Any fool can see there is something suspicious about the fellow. Mr. Collins may have earned a reputation for something or other, but anyone knows it is not for holiness.”

“Does Witherspoon gamble?”

“Oh, I do not know. He has not been seen in Kent to do anything but follow Collins to the church door and sidle up to Anne as soon as Collins engages me in conversation. His gamble, no doubt, is to get his hands on the de Bourgh property.”

“Can you read his intent so clearly?” Darcy did not seem, by his tone, so anxious as Lady Catherine might wish him to be.

“It is worse since my illness. During that time, Anne went to every Sunday service with Mrs. Jenkinson and, by Mrs. Jenkinson's account, left that lady conversing with Collins while she walked a bit with Witherspoon. When they returned, Mrs. Jenkinson had to report that she could not observe them after they walked off into the woods, and Anne returned glowing—or gloating. She is smitten, Darcy, and you must talk her out of that nonsense.”

“But if she likes him, and you know no real harm of him, why not relax and let her choose as she will? Do not suppose I will mind losing any claim to the property. Surely you would wish, above all, for your daughter to find happiness?”

Up in her balcony, Mary frowned, remembering the proud Darcy of former days. She remarked his calm and the almost romantic turn of his views. Had he changed so completely?

Lady Catherine exploded in new fury. “Oh that Anne! Her health is poor, her mind too easily influenced, and her will is as porridge. Any firm resolve is beyond her powers. She is defenceless against that conniving flatterer. I alerted Colonel Fitzwilliam to the danger to Rosings, but he played deliberately obtuse. Tonight he fawns over the Bingley woman, so I perceive that avenue soon to be lost. Promise me that after I am gone you will look after her affairs.”

“Of course, Aunt, as much as may be. But I will be neither inclined nor able to turn her mind from anyone she truly loves. And pray, do not imagine that you will be so soon gone.” Darcy's tone remained calm, soothing, as to a child. “And you could do as you wish with the property now. Engage your attorney and attach an entailment so that only Anne or her children may inherit. You might even leave it to Hunsford, should Anne die without issue.”

Lady Catherine snorted. “Without issue indeed! Do you think such a sickly mite could survive childbirth? She would die and leave that good-for-nothing Witherspoon to bring up any heir she would have.”

“Please, Aunt. Anne is not yet married, and you may be all wrong about his intentions or hers.” After a pause, in which Lady Catherine only grunted, Darcy went on, “And I believe the music has stopped. I must lead my guests to supper.”

“Wait! Before you go, promise to visit in the spring as you used to do. You may bring Mrs. Darcy and my grandnephew, if you will. See the situation for yourself, and I know you will agree with me. I am never wrong about such things.”

Darcy extinguished one candle. “Aunt, I will promise to look into the Kent situation as soon as I can—by proxy if not in person. I will not rush Elizabeth into any arduous journey, and Charles is much too young.” The other candle went out, the door opened, their voices died out below, and only the crackling of the dying fire sounded through the library. Mary made her way to the door and watched the outline of light beneath it until no moving shadows darkened it. Then she slipped back into the bright hall, blinking against the glare, and mingled with guests moving toward the staircase to the supper room.

Once downstairs, Mary was accosted by a frowning Mr. Oliver. Bowing, he greeted her solemnly. “I saw you briefly when dancing began but not afterward. Are you so invisible in a crowd, Miss Mary Bennet, or do you so disapprove of dancing?”

Fortunately, Mary had time only to respond, “No sir,” before Darcy and Lady Catherine passed and she could excuse herself to join her sisters, trusting that Lydia would not choose to be one of the party. Lydia had never cared to be among those who might frown upon her lack of decorum. Jane and Catherine sat at a table with Bingley, and Mary joined them. Elizabeth, with Miss de Bourgh and Mrs. Jenkinson, looked around for Lady Catherine. Elizabeth smiled as Darcy escorted the dowager to her table and then turned to care for their other guests. After the meal—which had progressed amid praise for the sumptuous banquet, the Bristol glass, and the new Spode china—Elizabeth became free to join her sisters and parents, just as Jane explained to Kitty, “Lydia visited us a fortnight ago, and I mentioned this ball. The poor thing had not been to any festive gathering for so long, I did not think it improper for her to join her sisters. She and Wickham are staying at the inn at Lambton, as the Gardiners always do. Naturally, Wickham does not dare to show his face at Pemberley, but that need not prevent Lydia from her enjoyment.”

Kitty nodded as she said, “Lydia stayed upstairs in the card room. They just began a round of piquet when supper was announced. She said she had eaten enough from the refreshment table and would forgo supper. Perhaps I should do that.” Elizabeth arrived and sat next to Mary, across from Jane and Kitty. Bingley stood behind Jane, searching for Darcy. Kitty made to rise, saying, “If there is sufficient room at the card table, I can watch them play.” Jane put a hand over hers and whispered to her, and she sat down again. Mary rejoiced that Kitty showed no resentment at being curbed. Across the supper room, Mr. Oliver joined Reverend and Mrs. Wynters, and Mary relaxed, preparing to listen to Jane and Elizabeth, as she usually did, allowing herself a comfortable, unobtrusive reverie. But soon Elizabeth turned to her. “Why did you not play for the group this evening? Georgiana looked for you in vain and finally had to play alone. And you practised so often with her.”