Chapter 26
Mrs. Hill was delighted when Mary asked her to iron the gold-and-cream dress as she intended to wear it to the Netherfield ball.
“I was afraid you were going to be stubborn and refuse it. This is exactly the right occasion to show yourself off.”
The next few days passed in a flurry of practice and preparation.
When the night of the ball finally arrived, Mary felt she was as ready as she would ever be.
She had devoted every spare hour to the piano, rehearsing her pieces until she knew them so well that she could have played them in her sleep.
She had been more circumspect with her singing, partly as she was afraid of tiring her voice; but also because she did not wish to reveal to her family her intention to sing as well as play.
Miss Allen’s response to her suggestion had not been what she hoped to hear.
She would not risk any further discouragement by announcing it to anyone else.
The surprise would be all the greater when they heard her perform.
The knowledge that she had made every possible effort, that no-one could have worked harder, soothed her nerves somewhat as Mrs. Hill helped her get ready.
When she put on the dress, it too felt right.
Turning this way and that in front of her mirror, she saw that its bright airiness still flattered her, that its simplicity worked well alongside the plain style in which Mrs. Hill had arranged her hair.
Mary was satisfied. She would not provoke gasps of admiration, but she looked neatly put together.
She took a final glance at her reflection—and as she did so, all unbidden, a memory flashed into her mind of John Sparrow smiling at her.
It was a pang to the heart—but with a great strength of will, she suppressed it.
It would not do. She breathed a little faster as she left her room and walked down the stairs, but she forced herself not to dwell upon it.
She could not allow herself to become agitated.
Nothing was to interfere with the serene state of mind her performance would require.
When she arrived in the hall, she found her parents, Kitty, and Lydia waiting there, ready to leave.
Mrs. Bennet’s temper had not been improved by standing about, and she relieved some of her anger by scolding Mary vigorously for her tardiness; but when, a few minutes later, neither Jane, Elizabeth, nor Mr. Collins had appeared, her patience was exhausted.
“I shall be extremely vexed if Lady Lucas arrives before we do. Lydia, go up and ask them what they are about!”
“I’m sure they are busy beautifying themselves,” declared Mr. Bennet, “eager to look their best for any marriageable young men who might be found at tonight’s entertainment. I should have thought such close attention to their interests would have merited your entire approval, my dear.”
“That might be pardonable in Jane,” replied Mrs. Bennet, “for she has Mr. Bingley to consider, but who has Lizzy to please?”
“Perhaps Mr. Wickham?” suggested Lydia, with a look of mock innocence which provoked her mother still further.
“If you knew how my nerves are troubling me at this very minute, Lydia, you would not say such things. And where, pray, is Mr. Collins?” she wailed. “I thought he, at least, had more consideration!”
“He is no doubt hard-pressed to choose an outfit that will suggest both his high opinion of himself and his readiness to flatter his superiors at every possible opportunity,” observed Mr. Bennet smoothly.
“It is a considerable requirement to ask of a coat and shirt. We may be here for quite some time.”
Mrs. Bennet had no opportunity to reply, as, at that very moment, the three latecomers arrived together in the hall.
Indeed, neither she nor any of the other Bennets were required to speak for quite some time, as Mr. Collins at once began upon a profuse apology and a lengthy account of a lost cravat, a soliloquy which, being so often repeated, occupied most of the journey to Netherfield.
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.”