Chapter 10
Neither Mary nor Mr. Sparrow spoke very much whilst they waited for the next dance.
They sat quietly, recovering their breath until the set was called and the dancers lined up again.
This time Lydia was nearby, a few couples behind in the line, victoriously handed onto the floor by Captain Carter.
Her face registered astonishment as she saw Mary take her place.
She turned her head as far as she could to see who her partner might be, and shot her sister a questioning stare; but Mary made no response and allowed herself again to be carried away by the music and movement.
When the dance finished, Lydia looked as though she might walk over and begin an interrogation directly. But Mary was relieved to see another officer approach her, and she was soon too distracted to tear herself away.
“Should you like a cold drink now, Miss Bennet? I would be glad to go and find one for you.”
Mary thought this an excellent idea and watched as Mr. Sparrow marched quickly away to the supper room.
She could not remember when she had last been so happy; a man had danced with her, not once but twice!
She had never imagined such a thing might happen to her.
She looked down at the floor to hide the pleasure she felt she could hold within herself no longer; and for that reason, she did not see Charlotte Lucas approaching her until she was almost at her side.
“It looks as though you’re enjoying yourself, Mary.”
“Why, Charlotte, you came upon me very quietly! Yes, I am indeed! The evening has been very kind to me so far.”
“You have been dancing a great deal. Your partner is the young Sparrow boy, I believe?”
“Yes, he has been very attentive.”
“You have stood up with him twice? And he has gone to find refreshments for you, I imagine?”
She nodded again, a little puzzled by Charlotte’s tone.
“Mary, you are very young, and do not perhaps fully appreciate how these things are understood. If you dance with him again, it will be remarked upon. Two dances in succession suggests a liking. Three might imply something more.”
“He hasn’t asked me to dance again.”
“Oh, but I think he will, if he has taken the trouble to find you a drink. That shows great consideration on his part. It is a positive battleground in the supper room.”
Although she knew she should not do so, Mary smiled again. Charlotte looked at her gravely.
“If he does, I would advise you most strongly to refuse him. Say you are tired or too much heated. That you intend to dance no more for a while.”
“But he’s been so kind to me! And I have loved dancing with him!”
Charlotte regarded her with a faintly pitying look.
“I am afraid I shall have to speak more plainly. No matter how kind he is, he is not a suitable partner for you. His father visits people’s houses and fits them for spectacles. Think what Mr. Bennet would say.”
Overcome with shame, Mary could not at first compose herself to reply. My father barely notices if I am in the room or not, she thought; he hardly speaks to me. Why should he care if I have some conversation with a polite, respectable young man?
“For myself,” said Charlotte, staring calmly out at the dance floor, “I do not mind at all. I am arrived at a time when I think I might look kindly on the man who runs the circulating library if he were to speak nicely to me and offer to keep new books aside on my behalf, for all he is over fifty and blind in one eye. But,” she declared, turning to look at Mary directly, “I am not your mother. And I can promise you that if I have noticed those two dances and the refreshments Mr. Sparrow expects to share with you, she will have done so too.”
She touched Mary’s shoulder very lightly with her fan.
“I mention it only as a friend who understands better than most in your family how rare and how pleasing it is for women like us to be singled out in this way. But, whatever his charms, I am afraid you will find your mother has an altogether different sense of his worth.”
With that, she tipped her head in polite acknowledgement and moved away.
Astonished, Mary stood rooted to the spot.
Charlotte is jealous, she told herself. No-one wants to dance with her.
Because she is miserable, she cannot bear that anyone else should be happy.
She seeks to spoil for others what she cannot have for herself.
But much as she tried to resist them, disturbing thoughts began to take shape in her mind.
It was only too easy to imagine how Mrs. Bennet would respond to the idea of her dancing with Mr. Sparrow.
She pictured her mother rising up from her little gold chair, marching across the floor, declaring to a horrified Mr. Sparrow that her daughter would not be standing up with him in the next set, nor in any other.
She saw him humbled and humiliated as Mrs. Bennet carried her away, saw him standing solitary and ashamed in their wake.
She understood in an instant that this would happen.
How could she have been so stupid? Lydia had seen her; she would make sure their mother knew, would laugh and crow and joke about it.
She swallowed hard. She could not allow it.
She could not watch whilst such a good man was made to look a fool, only for paying her some small attentions.
By the time she caught sight of Mr. Sparrow’s tall figure striding back to her with two glasses in his hand, she knew what she had to do.
“I am sorry to have been so long away, but the crowd fighting for its supper was immense! I never knew Meryton was home to so many hungry people.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Mary, taking her drink, unable to meet his smile. “It is most welcome, for I am very thirsty.”
She looked away, and from the corner of her eye, she caught an unwelcome glimpse of her mother and Lady Lucas, still seated in their sanctuary, with their heads close together in talk.
Were they staring in her direction as they did so?
Mary could not tell. Her stomach lurched with fear.
She peered into the flickering candlelight but could not make out their faces.
“Shall we stand up once more?” John Sparrow extended his hand with the clear expectation she would accept.
“Thank you, sir, but I cannot—that is, I am afraid I must decline.”
He paused and lowered his arm.
“But why not? I thought—I thought…”
She could not bear to see his expression, confused and disappointed.
“I know, I know, and so did I—but—my mother—I fear—” At last she got possession of herself enough to speak sensibly.
“I am very sorry, but I cannot dance with you again. I have very much enjoyed it—really, I have—but cannot do so any more. I am persuaded I have danced enough for one night. I am sorry, but now I must take my leave.”
She handed her drink back to him, and he stood there, two glasses in hand, as she walked blindly towards where Mrs. Bennet and Lady Lucas sat. A few hot tears sprang into her eyes, but she wiped them away harshly. No-one—and least of all her mother—should see she was upset.
When she arrived at Mrs. Bennet’s side, Mary saw immediately that she was extremely displeased.
“Where have you been?” she demanded as Mary approached.
“I haven’t seen you these two hours. Lydia told me you have been dancing—with the oculist’s son!
With the boy who made your glasses! I said it couldn’t be true—that even you, Mary, would have more consideration than to subject me to such an embarrassment.
His father keeps a shop, you know. With a bell on the door! ”
Mary thought it best to say nothing. An argument would only draw attention to her shame.
Instead she took up a position behind her mother, where she could not be seen by the revellers.
She hung her head and smoothed her cream-and-gold dress.
She would not dance again, no matter who asked her.
The time dragged heavily after that. Occasionally, her sisters returned to speak to their mother, or to dab scent behind their ears.
Only Elizabeth noticed Mary’s sad, extinguished presence.
“Are you quite well, Mary? I saw you standing up earlier. You looked in fine spirits. Has something happened?”
“No, Lizzy, nothing at all. I am content where I am.”
“You do not look content. I am going back for a last jog about. Won’t you come with me?”
“Thank you, but no. I shan’t dance again.”
At last, when all the food was eaten and all the decent wine drunk, the ball drew to a close. The musicians played “God Save the King,” and the servants began snuffing out the candles.
Mary followed her sisters into the hall, where the guests rummaged furiously through a mountain of cloaks and coats. At the front of the scrum, Kitty was bravely plucking out any garment she recognised.
“Mary! Are you there? Here’s your cloak!”
She threw it over the heads of those behind her, but Mary was too slow to catch it. Another arm reached out and rescued it. As she looked up, Mary saw it was John Sparrow. He handed it to her wordlessly. She accepted it in equal silence. Then he nodded at her blankly and was gone.