Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Still early morning
Darcy surveyed the ballroom with a look of disbelief that I am sure was echoed on my face.
The room was empty—well, empty of guests I should say, the servants were already diligently at work cleaning up the broken glass and bits of shredded red taffeta that covered the floor—all our guests had fled excepting the ancient Sir Gregory Davenport, the spectacularly wealthy notorious skinflint who last I checked was still in the refreshment room stealing the cheese out of all the little sandwiches and stowing it in his helmet, (he came dressed as a knight) possibly unaware of everything that has happened.
There is a common belief that if your ball ends before dawn it is an utter failure, destined to be forgotten by the end of the week.
While the success of this ball was certainly up for debate, I felt it was unlikely to be forgotten anytime soon.
I think it will be spoken of for years. Possibly centuries.
"I never realized a little dog could do so much damage," said Darcy somewhat dazedly.
I turned to him in all astonishment and said, "Your uncle tackled a man in our ballroom with three hundred people watching and you are talking about the bloody dog?"
"I am not certain anyone noticed James restraining Henry, I think they were all a bit more focused on Sir Sebastian."
"Yes, he did make rather an ass of himself when Mary slapped him."
"I was speaking of the dog," Darcy paused then, taking in what I said, asked, "Mary slapped Sir Sebastian Seymour?"
"Oh yes," I replied with relish. Minor destruction aside, I really enjoyed most of the chaos. Perhaps there is something wrong with me.
"I missed that entirely," said Darcy, sounding more than a little disappointed.
"Understandable, there was quite a lot going on at the time."
It all began with the scream.
Mrs. Vane, upon turning around to find the husband she had assumed to be dead standing behind her, let out a tremendous shriek.
This alerted James Darcy to his brother-in-law's presence and, because he is a Darcy male and thus is naturally compelled to do the most idiotic thing possible in any given situation, he raced across the ballroom and brought Henry Vane bodily to the floor, despite the vociferous objections of his wife and a heroic, yet ineffective attempt to impede him by his nephew.
If this breach of propriety had been the only thing that occurred tonight it would have been enough to take up the entirety of every gossip sheet in town for a week.
But of course it was not the only thing that occurred because we are Darcys and if we do something we are going to do it to the fullest extent possible, even if the thing we are doing is embarrassing ourselves thoroughly (especially then).
Go Brobdingnagian or retire quietly to your country estate to rusticate. That is our motto.
At the same moment James was tackling Henry Vane, Sir Sebastian the Dog was going mad.
He had missed his after dinner nap, he was dressed as a sheep, and people were shrieking which must have been unbearable to his sensitive little ears; only so much can be tolerated.
After six hours of repressing his inner Bad Dog his true self arouse with hell hound-like savagery. His target: the Queen of Hearts skirts.
It wasn't Mama he attacked (though I would have enjoyed that, too) it was the other lady who was dressed as the Queen of Hearts.
I thought I would see nothing more amusing tonight than the face Miss Bingley made when she first spied Mama wearing the same costume as she.
But I was so terribly wrong. The most amusing thing I saw tonight was Miss Bingley spinning about wildly with Sir Sebastian the Dog attached to her hem.
Mr. Hurst, after much urging by his wife, tried to intervene.
He succeeded only in deflecting the canine's wrath upon himself for a moment.
Sir Sebby bit at his ankles until he back away, stumbling over Mrs. Hurst and sending them both toppling to the floor at which point the dog returned to his previous occupation of terrorizing Miss Bingley.
Mr. Bingley was next to enter the fray. He attempted to gently detach Sir Sebastian with his wooden sword.
I must admit it looked like a rather half-hearted attempt, and I do wonder if Miss Bingley's mendacious letter to Jane caused him to be less efficient in his sister's defense than he might have been otherwise.
Sir Sebastian only relented when the task had been completed to his satisfaction, trotting back to Lydia trailing a long swatch of red taffeta like a victory banner.
It was all around a most helpful spectacle as it distracted from James's abominable behavior so I must be grateful to the dog .
. . and I suppose Miss Bingley as well. At the very least I must consider Jane avenged and try to make peace with Miss Bingley from here onward (and should she ever direct a catty remark my way again I have only to recall to my mind the image of her dancing with Sir Sebastian the Dog to bring me comfort).
While all this was happening, half of the guests were pushing forward to get a better look at the amusement and the other half were pushing backward to keep themselves out of the chaos.
This, as one might imagine, caused a bit of strife and an argument broke out between two gentleman; some curses were thrown about that shocked even me.
Two young ladies also engaged in an argument in which one accused the other of intentionally tripping her with her shepherdess crook while the other—with a most sly glint in her eye—pleaded absolute innocence.
I fear without the interference of their chaperons it might have come to blows.
It was also during this time that Sir Sebastian the Man did something most ungentlemanly.
Though my view of the incident was partly obscured by guests, if I had to guess I would suggest Sir Sebastian put his hand on Mary's bottom and Mary, with a ferocity I never thought her capable of, slapped him soundly.
Pandemonium aside, the ball might have been salvageable at this point if the fire had not started.
Not to worry, it was only a small, easily contained blaze, not the inferno one might have assumed it was given how quickly the guests cleared out—a silly thing for them to do, really.
They could not imagine they could all leave at once.
Indeed, probably half of them were still crowded in the street outside queuing for their carriages.
I suppose, however, I can understand their fear given how dangerous a house fire can be.
I had taken proper precautions of course, the candelabra I had had placed on the side tables to light up the darkened corners were carefully guarded by footmen as to prevent any accident, however servants are just as easily distracted as anyone else and somehow one of the stampeding guests was allowed to come close enough to one of the tables to send its candelabrum toppling . . . onto Lady Catherine.
She had been wearing a monstrous seventeenth century confection (possibly original)—such a lot of fabric. And all her running about and screaming did nothing to deter the flames. Fortunately Darcy kept his head in a crisis. He had used Mama's thick fur cape to extinguish the blaze.
"It was clever of you, using Mama's cape to put out Lady Catherine," I said to Darcy who was still surveying the damage with an incredulous expression.
"Yes, it rendered Saunders throwing that bucket of water on her rather unnecessary."
"Oh, it was necessary. Perhaps not to put out the flames, but it was necessary," I said thinking of the satisfied smirk on the butler's face as he tossed water onto the still smoking Lady Catherine. He had clearly not forgotten her unfairly berating him some weeks ago.
Darcy and I turned to each other and promptly burst out laughing. There was really nothing to do in the face of such absurdity.
When our laughter subsided I said, "I am glad she was unharmed."
"Yes, that is most fortunate. And it seems we have escaped any serious damage to the house. An act of Providence all around I should think."
I nodded. The only sign of the fire was a bit of singe on some of drapes and I had planned to replace those anyway.
"I think the servants are quite capable of cleaning up without us standing in the way here.
Perhaps we ought to go upstairs and make certain James is not torturing .
. . that man who happens to be married to your aunt. "
I had told Saunders to take them to my private sitting room because I could think of no where else—the drawing room, music room, study, and library had all been used for the ball.
On our way to the sitting room we found Mr. Farthingham in the hall in a most compromising position.
"Please, help me!" he cried upon seeing us.
"What are you doing, Mr. Farthingham?" I asked somewhat sadistically because, really, it was rather obvious. Mr. Farthingham had constructed a very accurate beetle costume and, just like a beetle, having found himself on his back he could not right himself no matter how much he flailed.
"Some fool pushed me down in the rush for the door and now I cannot get up. It is this blasted costume. I cannot move in it. And Miss Darcy didn't even like it. She would not even speak to me. She left me like this, can you believe it?" he asked as Darcy helped him to his feet.
"I can, actually," I replied. I'm cruel, I know, but given his proposal to Dora I can understand her behavior.
"Ladies can be surprisingly vindictive at times," said Darcy with a glance in my direction that dared me to contradict him.