CHAPTER 34 #3
“There had better be,” said Miss Bingley. “If I am to prepare Miss Mary Bennet for musical society, I should like society to justify the labour.”
“It may attempt it,” said Elizabeth.
She thought of Mrs. Pratt in black silk and good lace, of her sharp eyes and sharper standards; of Mr. Pratt’s eager talk of composition; of Miss Hall, who would be there and who praised so sparingly that one almost heard the economy of it.
A room of music, judgment, ambition, patronage, and performance.
A room where London would listen, compare, admit, exclude, remember.
A room where names might travel quickly.
But that thought belonged to Mr. Hartwood’s unanswered inquiry, and Elizabeth would not give Mr. Wickham the satisfaction of entering every room before he had crossed the threshold.
When Jane rose to leave, she embraced Elizabeth with uncommon warmth.
“I am very glad,” she whispered.
“So am I,” Elizabeth said, and discovered that it was true in several directions at once.
Miss Bingley drew on her gloves. “I shall consult Jane before I condemn anything aloud.”
“That is very restrained of you,” said Elizabeth.
“It is not restraint. It is strategy.”
“Do not forget to consult Mary,” Elizabeth said. “She must be comfortable in anything that is ordered.”
Miss Bingley looked faintly tried. “Comfort is a very demanding principle.”
“Only when neglected.”
Jane smiled. “We shall ask Mary. I promise.”
Elizabeth walked with them to the door. Jane looked back once, still smiling. Miss Bingley looked back too, but toward the library, as if the mere existence of covered business papers had confirmed all her gratitude for Charles.
When they had gone, the house settled again.
The fire had sunk a little. The light had shifted. Pom-Pom, tired by social progress, had turned his face toward the hearth. Mrs. Doddridge tied off the green ribbon and held it up for inspection.
“Very fine,” said Elizabeth.
“Yes, miss.”
“You are more confident in green than Miss Bingley is in brown.”
“Yes, miss.”
Elizabeth returned to the writing table.
For a few minutes she did not sit. The papers had not changed. Mr. Hartwood had not answered. Mrs. Pratt’s concert still waited on Friday night, bright with music and company and whatever else London chose to bring into a crowded room.
But the morning had altered.
Jane would write to Mary. Miss Bingley would consult Jane, and, after proper correction, Mary herself. Mr. Darcy would receive papers Elizabeth would not have left open before any caller, and make of them, if he could, one method.
Elizabeth sealed the note to Mr. Darcy and rang for James.
When he came, she gave him the packet with instructions for careful delivery to Mr. Darcy’s chambers, and then took up a fresh sheet for Mr. Bennet.
That letter was easier to begin than Mary’s would have been.
It required no delicacy beyond clarity. Jane and Mr. Bingley wished to invite Mary to London for a visit; if Mary accepted, the education fund might properly answer for a music master, books, and such instruction as could be arranged on good recommendation.
Mary’s board, clothing, and ordinary comfort would be Mr. and Mrs. Bingley’s affair.
Elizabeth paused over the last sentence, then left it in. Plain arrangements were often the only defence against later misunderstandings.
Jane would write to Mary with affection. Elizabeth would write to their father with terms.
Then, because improvement ought not to become fashionable only when Mary was concerned, Elizabeth wrote to Kitty and Lydia together.
My dear Kitty and Lydia,
Jane has been putting us all to shame by thinking seriously of Mary’s music. I write only to remind you that the education fund was not established to sit in Mr. Beaker’s books and grow respectable with age.
If Kitty wishes to continue her drawing, or Lydia her dancing beyond mere enthusiasm, you must say so plainly and be prepared to work when the opportunity is given.
But you are not confined to those subjects.
If there is any other branch you wish to pursue—music, languages, drawing, dancing, reading with a proper master, or any accomplishment likely to be of real use—do not hesitate to apply either to Papa or to me.
When I know what is wanted, I may arrange it directly with Mr. Beaker.
You may tell me what you desire, but you must also tell me what you are prepared to practise. I do not pay masters to be admired from a distance.
Your affectionate sister, E. Bennet
It was perhaps not the tenderest letter ever sent between sisters, but Elizabeth suspected it had a better chance of being understood.
Outside, carriages moved through the wet streets; inside, the fire settled into steadier heat.
In the space of one morning, Mary had been invited, Kitty and Lydia had been warned toward industry, Mr. Darcy had been entrusted with private papers, and Mrs. Pratt’s musical society had become not merely an entertainment, but the next door through which Elizabeth must pass.
It was a great deal of order for one Monday.
Elizabeth hoped London would have the courtesy not to disturb it too soon.