Chapter 9
The crowd of people gathered at the entrance to the rooms seemed immense, as forbidding and impenetrable as she had feared.
Mary was buffeted from side to side, almost deafened by the shouted greetings that echoed over her head as she struggled to make her way through the knots of excited guests huddled in the hallway.
Desperate not to lose sight of her sisters—whose progress through the scrum was, she noted, followed by a number of appreciative male gazes—she pushed onwards with all the courage she could muster until, at last, she emerged into the open space of the ballroom.
For a moment, she stood quite still, amazed at what she saw.
The old rooms, as she knew them, were unrecognisable.
There were candles everywhere, not, it was true, of the most expensive kind, and a distinct smell of tallow hung in the air; but the flickering light they cast transformed the scuffed walls and lit up the boughs of autumn leaves hung upon them as decoration.
In the distance, through a pair of double doors, she could see the inn servants laying out the supper table, the footmen polishing the serving spoons on their aprons.
Upstairs, perched on the balcony, the musicians were tuning their instruments and drinking a last glass of beer before beginning their work.
On the floor itself, impatient couples had already begun to gather, pacing up and down, keen for the dancing to begin.
Kitty and Lydia were quickly swallowed by the throng.
Mary looked about but could see no-one she knew.
For a moment, she considered putting on her glasses.
She scrabbled in her little bag, and her fingers clasped around them, but then she imagined Lydia’s expression if she were to see her wearing them, triumphant, as if the sight of Mary’s spectacles more than compensated for the insult of her new dress.
Mary hastily withdrew her hand from her bag and was just beginning to panic when she felt Elizabeth’s touch on her shoulder.
“Over here, Mary, we’ve found a place to sit where we shall be quite comfortable.”
Lizzy led her deftly through the press of people, towards a row of chairs, arranged so that their occupants could comfortably survey the dancing without being obliged to join in themselves.
Their mother had already found a place there, alongside Lady Lucas, her particular friend.
They spent much of their time together, for each found in the other exactly what they sought in a companion.
Mrs. Bennet required an acolyte; and Lady Lucas, timid and deferential, was happy to play the role of obedient disciple.
Only once had the natural order of their intimacy been disturbed.
When Mr. Lucas, a wealthy Meryton merchant, had been honoured with a baronetcy, it seemed as though all must change, for how could a mere Mrs. Bennet continue to patronise the newly minted Lady Lucas?
But to her immense relief, Mrs. Bennet soon discovered that her friend’s title had done nothing to alter her docile temper; and that she was as prepared as ever to submit without complaint to the condescension that was an inescapable ingredient of Mrs. Bennet’s fond and unalterable regard.
Behind Lady Lucas’s chair stood Charlotte, her eldest daughter.
She was an open-faced young woman of medium height with no great claims to beauty.
Her unremarkable appearance was a source of great satisfaction to Mrs. Bennet, who frequently drew to Lady Lucas’s attention the contrast between Charlotte’s scanty attractions and those of her own daughters.
Nor did she hesitate to dwell, with all the sympathy at her command, upon the disappointment her friend must feel at Charlotte’s still remaining unmarried at the age of twenty-six, especially as there seemed so little chance of her changing her situation.
Lady Lucas was too fainthearted to contradict Mrs. Bennet, nodding resignedly on such occasions; but her pliant nature was not without benefits for her otherwise unfortunate child.
Lady Lucas was too mild-mannered to summon up the angry petulance which came so readily to Mrs. Bennet; and Charlotte had been subjected to none of the recrimination and complaint which had been Mary’s lot.
Perhaps for that reason, Charlotte did not hang her head, ashamed at her failure to become a beauty, but greeted the world with a clear-eyed, watchful gaze.
She had no illusions about her looks, but her bearing suggested she had no intention of apologising for them.
Instead, she acknowledged her situation with a wry amusement; and those who did not know her well were often surprised by the acuteness of her perceptions and the sharpness of her wit.
These were the qualities that had recommended her strongly to Elizabeth, who had for some years counted her as her closest friend.
It was towards Charlotte’s welcoming presence that Lizzy now steered Mary, before seizing for herself the last remaining empty seat.
“What a rout! I swear the crowd gets bigger every season! Soon we’ll have to take turns on the dance floor. The managers will issue everyone with a number, and call us out, couple by couple.”
“Or perhaps,” replied Charlotte, “they could limit admittance only to those young ladies fortunate enough to have secured partners for more than half the dances. The rest of us could be left in the hall, like so much unwanted baggage, to be called for when required.”
“Oh,” declared Elizabeth, “I won’t listen to that kind of talk. I don’t believe you have no partners. And if you don’t, it’s because you greet everyone with such a baleful stare that no man would dare approach you.”
“You’re quite right,” agreed Charlotte. “I have partners aplenty lined up for me—two cousins, home from school, just old enough to be here, and an ancient friend of my father’s, who will squire me onto the floor with the greatest courtesy, all the time wondering with ill-disguised anxiety when supper will be served! ”
Elizabeth reached out and took Charlotte by the hand.
“I think you’ve been sitting far too long amongst the matrons.
That’s enough to dampen anyone’s spirits.
Now you have put the thought of eating into my head, I can’t dislodge it!
Shall we go and look at the food and see if we can persuade them to give us a little something in advance of the crowd?
Mary, why don’t you stay here? We shan’t be long and we might even bring back a morsel or two for you! ”
Mary watched as her sister carried her friend away, their arms entwined, heads bent towards each other, sharing a joke.
Her courage had been shaken even further by Charlotte’s words.
If she could not secure proper partners, what hope was there for Mary?
Just at that moment, the little orchestra finally struck up, and with a thunder of feet, the dancers rushed onto the floor.
The noise was quite extraordinary—the music, the laughter, the acclamations—and for an instant, Mary could barely hear herself think.
Couples marched, strolled, and trotted up and down the line, some with more enthusiasm than skill, but all with the greatest determination to enjoy themselves.
In their midst Mary soon spotted Lydia, flushed, loud, excited, arm in arm with an officer whose regimentals were all she could have desired.
Mary felt a sudden pang. Why could she not be there too, lost in the shared delight of it all?
Instead, she stood amongst the seated circles of mothers, aunts, married sisters, whose dancing days were over.
At first, she had thought them a cheerful, companionable group, happy to watch the proceedings and chat amongst themselves; but as a second dance began and she remained unclaimed, she thought she felt their eyes directed towards her.
She was sure they were discussing her, some with pity, some with scorn; she imagined them weighing up the likelihood of anyone presenting himself to ask her, and deciding the odds were low.
Where were Lizzy and Charlotte? Were they never coming back?
Mary looked about her with mounting unease.
Her mother, she was thankful to see, was engrossed in conversation with Lady Lucas and seemed not yet to have noticed her lonely state, but she doubted this could continue for very long.
She knew Mrs. Bennet would not be pleased to see a daughter of hers so shamefully circumstanced.
Growing increasingly self-conscious, she did all she could to seem unconcerned, to convey a nonchalance she was very far from feeling.
Then just as the music struck up for the next dance, a hand was extended to her.
“I would be grateful, miss, to have the pleasure of dancing with you.”
She looked up, surprised. She did not recognise either the voice or the face of her rescuer.
“I am William Lucas, Miss Mary, cousin of Miss Charlotte, your sister’s friend.”
So this was one of the youthful relations whom even Charlotte had not considered a creditable partner.
It was true he was young, perhaps not even sixteen.
But that was not so far off her own age.
Why should she not accept him? She smiled at him with genuine gratitude and allowed herself to be led onto the floor.