Chapter Nineteen #4
“I am quite resolved to remain at Netherfield for as long as it takes,” Mr. Bingley replied.
“That is, as long as I require to fully acquaint myself with the running of the estate, and then I am sure that I shall purchase this, or some other estate – whatever is pleasing….” His gaze had drifted to Marianne, and he turned to offer Lady Lucas a civil smile.
The visit did not last much longer, though every moment of it was an affront to Marianne’s sensibilities. She reigned in her outrage, merely shaking her head in displeasure. Mr. Bingley grinned at her. “You have saved me once again,” he whispered to her.
“I am sure I would spare even your sisters from such a viper, if I could. The conceited audacity of claiming she has forgiven Lizzy! I did well to burn her letter, for I am sure she only wishes to make amends with Lizzy in the vain hope of some profit in the reconciliation!”
“Marianne,” Elinor gently admonished.
Lady Rebecca chortled. “Spare his sisters? No indeed, Marianne! I should think Miss Lucas’s aspirations are just what they deserve to have inflicted upon them!
Or better still, your indignation, Marianne.
I should very much like to see you as defiant to them as you are to everybody else who wrongs your friends and relations. ”
“Upon my word, I can well imagine it,” Mr. Bingley cried. “Indeed, I would love to see it – shall I invite them to our party, Rebecca?”
The humor instantly vanished from Lady Rebecca’s face. “I daresay that would go as badly for you as it did the first time. And I am sure I would never speak to you again if all my endeavors were wasted on a fete they only sneered at, subsequently spoiling my own amusement.”
“It is astonishing to me that neither of you have ever given them a thorough set down before,” Marianne mused. “I am perfectly willing to oblige you, though I should likely take more pleasure in it than I ought to admit.”
“Well, I should by no means suspend any pleasure of yours, Miss Marianne,” Mr. Bingley said, giving the ladies a roguish wink before declaring that he ought to return to the activities that had been interrupted by their callers.
They all spent the rest of that day as they had done the day before, engrossed in their preparations for the grand party.
The third day was much the same, though they were not plagued by any unwanted visitors.
Lady Rebecca often exclaimed that she was vastly content to have her new friends at Netherfield, and just as Marianne predicted, she began to speak of their coming to stay there after Jane and Elizabeth returned to Longbourn.
Elinor would defer the decision to her mother, but Marianne declared it impossible that her mother could object to such a felicitous scheme, for it was vastly superior to the prospect of returning to Barton Cottage.
And though Marianne was fond of her cousins, the comfort of a bed all to herself and the many luxuries of Netherfield far outstripped the merriment at Longbourn, of which a little went a long way.
Marianne was affected by a mournful sentiment as the sun set on her final day at Netherfield.
After the day of festivities on the morrow, she knew not what to expect, and her faith in her mother’s agreement to remain there began to waver.
Having passed such an amusing month in Meryton, the prospect of returning to Devonshire was as dismal as when first they went to the cottage.
She was determined to enjoy herself over dinner, for they were to sample every dish and delicacy to be served for the party the following day, as the cook wished to practice everything once over.
The four companions soon all found themselves in exceedingly high spirits, and all of Marianne’s private doubts were vanquished, for nearly every dish had been cooked with wine or brandy.
It was with high humor and unabashed mirth that the four companions realized the effects the delicious fare may have on the party guests, and yet they laughingly agreed they could countenance no alteration.
As they had done the two nights before, the four companions retired to one of the smaller parlors, where a blazing fire in the hearth made the room warm and cozy.
There was little to do now for the party; everything Marianne and her friends had imagined was meticulously planned and embellished – ice skating, cards and other games, performances at the pianoforte and harp, and a grand dinner to be followed by dancing.
There was only one activity Marianne had hoped to include in the festivities, which Elinor had observed that their neighbors may not appreciate as they were inclined to enjoy, and would thus feel the woes of disappointing her.
Reading aloud together had ever been Marianne’s favorite way to pass an evening at home with her family, since she was a girl and her father introduced the custom.
It had become even dearer to her in recent months; a lively recitation of verse, a chapter from a novel, or even the enacting of a scene from a play had warmed the cold and lonely nights in the isolated little cottage that would never feel like home.
Since this was not to be a part of their lengthy and varied celebration, Marianne had continued her habit of reading aloud with Elinor and their friends at Netherfield, and her sister had been happy to oblige on the two evenings prior.
Tonight, Mr. Bingley declared he wished to amaze them all with his talent, for he had been practicing in secret.
Mr. Bingley had selected a few verses from the first canto of one of Marianne’s favorites, The Lady of the Lake.
He gave a rousing performance, even by Marianne’s high standards of feeling and expression; she was only obliged to interrupt him twice to coax a greater passion into his address.
She applauded heartily at the end of it, and even Lady Rebecca declared that she was impressed – which Elinor observed was likely due to their inebriating meal, and the wine they had all consumed afterward.
When they agreed it was time to retire for the evening, Marianne had begun to conceive a little scheme in her mind. “I am far too eager for tomorrow to come – on such occasions, I can never sleep a wink! Perhaps a little brandy, so that we might sleep easier?”
Only Elinor demurred, but Marianne smiled to herself as Mr. Bingley and Lady Rebecca joined her for a parting drink.
When they all made their way upstairs, Marianne hung back.
She watched Mr. Bingley disappear down the bachelors’ corridor, while Elinor and Lady Rebecca went into their separate bedchambers.
“Yes, sleep well – and swiftly,” she murmured.
Left alone in the corridor, Marianne helped herself to one of the candles from a wall sconce and crept stealthily back downstairs.
Her object was the ballroom; in all their preparation, Marianne had detected that Mr. Bingley and Lady Rebecca seemed determined to keep her from entering the space, though Elinor had spent many solitary hours decorating that space.
Thinking to satisfy her curiosity with a glimpse of what they wished her not to see, Marianne held her hand carefully to keep the candle from extinguishing, and slowly moved through the downstairs rooms that had swiftly begun to feel so familiar to her.
And then, as she reached for the door to the ballroom, she heard movement behind her, and when she turned round to see if she had been caught out, her candle flickered and the room went dark.
There was just enough moonlight seeping into the room for Marianne to see a silhouette, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she recognized the man standing so near her. “Mr. Bingley, I… forgot my… book….”
“In the ballroom? But you have not been in that room; I have made sure of it.”
“But why? Elinor has seen the decor – I know there must be an inordinate quantity of gold flowers – I shall only sneak back here later, if you send me off to bed now.”
He chuckled softly. “I can hardly argue with that, Miss Marianne. But… well, if you insist, then I would have you see it properly. Wait here – I will go and get some light.” He tripped over an ottoman and shambled to recover himself, then hurried from the room.
He returned a minute later with a small lantern, and he held it up so that she could see him making a very droll face at her. “I have anticipated that you would make such an attempt; I have grown well-accustomed to your character these three days, have I not?”
She rested her hands on her hips and shook her head, smirking at him. “Perhaps I comprehend you so well that I knew if you tried to stop me, I could easily persuade you to let me have my own way.”
He laughed again. “I shall at least insist upon displaying the room to advantage – you must allow me a moment of preparation.”
Marianne nodded her agreement, and he slipped into the ballroom, closing the door behind him. She waited for what felt like an eternity, her excitement increasing as she wondered what his efforts would reveal. When he finally returned, holding the door ajar, he said, “Very well, close your eyes.”
“No! That would defeat the object!”
He screwed up his face and then covered her eyes with his bare hand, slowly ushering her into the room. After a few paces, they came to a stop, and he pulled his hand away to reveal… the most magical sight she had ever beheld.
Whole trees had been hauled into the room, lining the walls at intervals, disappearing into the darkness at the back of the room.
Raw wool dyed in shades of green had been arranged about the bases of the trees, like a mossy forest floor.
In the space nearest to the door, lanterns were lit, hanging from a branch above them.
And twinkling in the flickering candlelight, the golden silk flower the ladies had spent so many days crafting had been fastened to the branches where leaves might have been, creating an altogether ethereal effect.