Chapter 27
Mary sat quietly through the next few sets, waiting with increasing apprehension for her moment to arrive.
Finally, it was time. The dancers left the floor and the musicians, released from their labours, went in search of their supper.
Now was the moment when the musical ladies stepped forward.
Miss Bingley claimed the first place, striding confidently towards the piano, head in the air, to the general approbation of the room.
She had chosen a very lively piece, which she attacked with great verve.
She finished with a flourish, and turned beaming towards her audience, almost daring them not to applaud.
When they did so, she basked in their praise for some minutes, before sweeping back to her seat, her pride evident in every haughty step she took.
Mary swallowed hard. It was now or never.
She stood up, her music in her hand. As she passed Elizabeth, to her amazement, she felt Lizzy grasp her arm.
Her sister looked intently into her face, her hand tight on Mary’s sleeve.
“Give us something simple we can admire, and, I beg you, do not make it too long.”
Mary shook herself free, and walked towards the piano.
The vehemence of Lizzy’s words unsettled her.
She began to feel nervous—anxiety welled up within her—but she rallied her courage and told herself she must be calm.
Once seated, she put on her glasses, placed her music on the stand, raised her hands, and began.
It was easier once she had started. She knew the piece so well that she hardly needed to think about it; and her disciplined fingers flew about the keys just as she wished.
Her spirits rose. Surely she was acquitting herself exactly as she had hoped?
She had made no mistakes—her timing was perfect—then, almost before she knew it, the sonata was at an end.
She lifted her hands from the keyboard, her heart fluttering.
It was over. Relief flooded through her.
She looked up to face the company and was delighted to see signs of appreciation, a scattering of nods and smiles.
A few listeners even offered up a little polite applause.
She could not see Mr. Collins—but she knew he must be somewhere in the audience.
He must have witnessed her success. An unaccustomed euphoria flooded through her.
She would attempt her second piece with new confidence—and she would definitely accompany herself with a song.
She began again with her cheerful Scotch air.
But by the time she reached the second verse, she knew she had made a terrible mistake.
Miss Allen had been right. Her skill was as a player, not a singer.
Her voice was weak, her manner tentative.
She simply could not do it. Fear made her even worse, and she quickly sensed she had lost her audience.
At the far end of the table, a murmured conversation had begun.
When she looked up from her music, she thought she saw the eldest Bingley sister make a mocking face to the younger.
She began to panic—but what was she to do?
To stop would be fatal—there was nothing for it but to press on as best she could.
As she did so, she was certain she caught a meaningful look from Elizabeth directed towards their father—she thought she saw him respond—but she flicked her eyes downwards, determined to think of nothing but the music.
When she finally stopped singing, there was some sympathetic clapping, for which she was profoundly grateful.
Perhaps it had not been as bad as she imagined?
But it quickly died away, and she could not deceive herself she had been well received.
When she lifted her hands from the keyboard, they were trembling.
For a moment, she could not compose herself; then she heard her father’s voice, low and clear above the general chatter.
When she looked up, he was standing beside her, his arm held out towards her.
“That will do extremely well, child. You have delighted us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time to exhibit.”
She was so astonished—so taken aback—that at first she did not know what to do.
It took a moment before she understood. Mr. Bennet was there to stop her playing again, to lead her away from the piano.
He held out his hand and beckoned her gently towards him.
She blinked in confusion. He beckoned again, this time more insistently.
She thought she might faint—but instead she gathered up her music and followed him blindly as they wove their way through the guests, trying her utmost not to catch anyone’s glance.
Immediately, Miss Bingley was on her feet, striding forward to reach the piano.
Soon the room rang once again with her playing, as polished and as glittering as the lady herself.
Mr. Bennet led Mary back to her seat. She sat down heavily.
She could not meet his eye. He stood beside her for a minute or so, but when it was clear she did not intend to speak, he sighed and walked briskly away.
Her face burned with shame. Everyone had seen.
Her mother, Kitty, and Lydia. The horrible Bingley sisters.
And of course, Mr. Collins. They had all watched as she had been so brutally and so publicly shamed.
They had all seen. When, a little while later, Elizabeth arrived and sat next to her, Mary did not acknowledge her presence.
“Come, Mary, don’t be angry. You cannot expect to be the only one to play tonight.”
Her voice was consoling, and she reached for her hand; but Mary, furious now, shook her off.
“This was your doing! You made our father stop me!”
Now it was Elizabeth’s turn to look away. When she finally met Mary’s angry, wounded stare, it was plain she had decided to admit the truth of the accusation. She had the good grace to look a little abashed as she conceded Mary was right.
“I am sorry it was done so bluntly. Our father might have acted with more tact.”
She put out her hand again.
“It was for your own good. I did not want to see you mocked. It really wasn’t my intention to hurt you.”
Overwhelmed with indignation, Mary threw her music off her lap. The pages floated slowly to the floor and landed at her feet.
“How could I not be hurt? Everyone saw. Everyone. And don’t you dare tell yourself you did it for me. That’s a lie. You did it for yourself—to spare you embarrassment in front of people you want to impress.” Tears began to prick her eyes. “I did not think you could be so cruel, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth sat very still; for once, it seemed she had nothing to say. Then Charlotte arrived and placed a comforting arm round Mary’s shoulders, urging her not to cry and offering her a handkerchief to wipe her face.
“Let us go and take a breath of air,” she said softly, “just the two of us.”
Elizabeth did not attempt to stop them or accompany them but remained where she was.
No-one spoke to Mary or Charlotte as they made their way through the crowd.
As they reached the door, they passed Mr. Collins, talking at the top of his voice to anyone who would listen.
If he had been so fortunate as to be able to sing, he assured his audience, he would have had great pleasure in obliging the company with an air.
“For music is a very innocent diversion, perfectly compatible with the profession of a clergyman.” He was in excellent spirits and paid no attention at all as Mary passed him, leaning on Charlotte’s arm.
His indifference was for Mary the final blow.
She supposed it was a proper reward for her presumption.
She did not know why she had allowed herself to imagine she was worthy of any man’s attention, that there was anything she could do to please.
Well, she had been properly punished for her foolishness, slighted and humiliated by those who were supposed to love her.
And despite all she had endured, she loomed no larger in Mr. Collins’s thoughts now than when he had first arrived at Longbourn.
When they reached the garden terrace, Charlotte sat Mary down and spoke to her with the firm kindness with which one might address an unhappy child, urging her to consider that few people but herself would have noticed what happened, and none would have thought Mr. Bennet’s intervention arose from anything but fatherly concern that she should not overexert herself.
As for Lizzy, it was impossible she had meant Mary any real harm.
They had both noticed her agitation earlier in the evening; she was not herself and had acted in the heat of the moment.
But Mary was not to be consoled.
“I think you know that isn’t true,” she replied. “She felt I had shamed her, and that if I went on, I should do so even more. That was her only consideration.”
She breathed in more deeply, trying to control her agitation. “She thought only of herself. I have always loved her the best of my sisters. I knew she didn’t care for me as she used to—but until tonight I never realised she was so bitterly ashamed of me.”
Charlotte squeezed her arm.
“She was ashamed of everyone tonight, and if I know her at all, which I believe I do, she will now be more than a little ashamed of herself as well. Don’t take things too much to heart. You look a little calmer now. Shall we go back in and see whether Lydia and Kitty have left us any ices?”
Mary wiped her eyes one last time, and they drifted back into the house.
But although persuaded to go back inside, she refused to return to her old place near her mother.
She could not bear the prospect of Mrs. Bennet’s curiosity, and instead retreated to a chair at the very back of the room, where there was no danger of her being noticed by anyone.
At first, Charlotte stayed loyally by her side; but eventually, she agreed to rejoin the party, promising she would return regularly to see how Mary did.
Once alone, it was a little easier for Mary to compose herself and gradually, she grew calmer.
To keep her thoughts from returning to the moment of her humiliation, she forced herself to survey the company from her seat in the shadows.
If she could not enjoy the ball herself, she might at least observe what others were doing.
She began to find this strangely comforting.
It soothed her mind to fancy herself above and beyond the emotions that governed everyone else at Netherfield.
In this detached mood, she watched as Jane danced again and again with Mr. Bingley, her eyes cast modestly away from his admiring smiles.
She stared at Miss Bingley, standing as close as she dared to Mr. Darcy, her sharp features consumed with longing when she thought he could not see.
So that was how it was? She smiled bitterly and turned away.
Elsewhere amongst the dancers, she could just make out Lydia and Kitty in the midst of the line, their dresses pale against their partners’ brilliant uniforms, Lydia’s face ecstatic as she whirled around.
Emboldened by the sensation that she was not really there at all, Mary rose from her seat and walked a little further around the dark hinterland of the room.
From there, she saw her mother, talking, talking, talking, holding forth to Lady Lucas, whilst her friend, head bowed, listened obediently.
She caught sight of Mr. Collins, bobbing hopelessly around Elizabeth, his persistence defeating all her attempts to shake him off.
Only when Charlotte appeared at her side did Lizzy finally escape.
Mary’s heart softened as she watched Charlotte bear Mr. Collins away, selflessly conducting him towards supper, chatting as she went.
There was nothing Charlotte would not do to help her friends, even when, like Lizzy, they did not really deserve such consideration.
When she was satisfied there was no more to see, Mary returned slowly to her chair.
There she was surprised to find a small glass of strawberries placed on it, a silver spoon balanced on the rim.
Puzzled, she looked about to see who might have left it there, suspecting it must have been Charlotte; but instead, it was Mr. Bennet’s broad back that she glimpsed, hurrying away into the crowd.
She picked up the glass and turned it round in her hand.
She understood this was her father’s way of making amends, the closest he would come to an acknowledgement that he had hurt her.
She knew he would never willingly speak to her of what he had done.
But if she had pressed him to tell her why he had left the strawberries without staying to present them himself, she could easily imagine his answer.
It has all the virtues of an apology with none of the embarrassment of an explanation.
Despite herself, she almost smiled. He would never feel for her what he did for Lizzy; but he had thought about her enough to bring her some strawberries.
He knew he had hurt her and was sorry. She supposed that was something.
She pulled the glass towards her and plucked one out, biting into it as tears again came into her eyes.
Soon after, the ball drew to a close. It was late, past two o’clock, when the Bennets stood in the hall, waiting for their carriage.
Once they were settled inside, even Lydia’s chatter soon subsided, her head leaning on Kitty’s shoulder as she fell asleep.
Everyone was silent, some from happiness, some from exhaustion, others from a consciousness that the evening had not turned out as they had hoped.
Only Mr. Collins kept up a steady stream of conversation all the way back to Longbourn, quite untroubled by the fact that he received no reply.