Chapter 16
Elizabeth trailed behind the ladies to the drawing room, noting with mischievous glee that Miss Bingley had claimed the chair closest to the pianoforte. Evidently, the lady was quite confident in her assumption that she must be the most accomplished musician present.
“How diverting that we should have some music this evening,” she commented, flipping up the fall and trailing her fingers over the ivory keys.
“I confess I am always a trifle anxious when asked to play in company outside of town.” Elizabeth only had a moment to wonder if Miss Bingley’s comment stemmed from a grain of modesty, or if her confession had a more self-serving source before she heard the added, “One never knows if the instrument has been properly tuned.”
Lady Lucas, always a gracious hostess, proclaimed that she would be honored if Miss Bingley would play on her instrument, assuring her it had been recently tuned.
But that was not enough to satisfy her guest. Now that Miss Bingley was certain her display would do her credit, she sought to humiliate the other ladies in the room.
“Do none of the other ladies play?” she asked with a raised eyebrow and the slightest hint of a sneer on her lips.
Oh, how the mighty will fall! Elizabeth felt no pity for her when she so dismissively sought to elevate herself at the expense of others.
Lady Lucas replied. “Indeed, they do, and quite well.” She smiled at Mary, who, together with Charlotte, was perusing some sheets of music.
Miss Bingley expressed her disbelief in a delicate snort.
Elizabeth looked down at her hands and bit her lips together to hide her merriment.
Miss Bingley was welcome to believe what she would, too high above her company to credit the other guests with the most basic of accomplishments.
Lady Lucas was too polite to correct her.
Mama had eaten her fill at dinner and was happily humming to herself and sipping on Madeira by the fire rather than paying any attention to a tradesman’s daughter who gave herself airs.
Jane asked, “Have you studied with the masters?”
Miss Bingley smoothed her skirts and sighed as though the conversation she had begun was tiresome to her now.
“My instructor in London studied under Clementi.” She enunciated the syllables of the famous composer’s name, watching for their impressed reactions through her droopy eyelashes.
Elizabeth did not trust herself to open her mouth lest the pressure from her suppressed laughter prove too great.
Jane commented, “Clementi is one of Mary’s favorite pianists.”
Mary snapped to attention. “Clementi? Did you study with him?”
Miss Bingley’s sneer turned sour, and her shoulders stiffened. “My tutor studied with him directly.” It must have pained her to allow her tutor the honor she would rather have claimed.
“Did he teach you how Clementi mastered the staccato?” Mary asked, her interest sincere and absolute.
“Of course.”
Mary leaned forward in her seat, her eyes blinking excitedly, ready to hear what wisdom Miss Bingley might impart.
“He quite despairs when I tell him I must sometimes perform on instruments that have scarcely been touched in months.” She glanced about the room, a martyr demanding sympathy. “But one must do one's part to bring a little refinement to these gatherings.”
Mrs. Hurst added, “I am sure the young ladies here do their best with what resources they have.”
Lady Lucas flushed slightly but maintained her composure. Charlotte caught Elizabeth’s gaze, and the calculating look she saw in her best friend’s eyes made her stomach clench either in excitement or dread… Elizabeth could not distinguish which.
Miss Bingley continued, “I have brought several pieces from London—quite the latest publications from Clementi's music shop on Cheapside. I doubt they have reached Meryton yet. Perhaps, if the company wishes, I might favor you all with something truly fashionable?” She paused delicately.
“Unless, of course, any of the local young ladies would prefer to perform first?”
The gauntlet had been thrown. With a wicked grin, Charlotte finally looked away from Elizabeth to address Miss Bingley. “We anticipate your performance too much to permit any unnecessary delay, do we not?” This was met with unanimous agreement, much to Miss Bingley’s satisfaction.
No sooner had that decision been declared than the gentlemen joined them.
Lady Lucas hustled them in like a mother hen, as eager to be entertained by Miss Bingley’s self-proclaimed skill on the pianoforte as she was for her guests to hear her talented guest play.
Miss Bingley basked in her praise, taking a great deal of time to settle at the instrument, accommodate her skirts just so, and place the music sheets she had conveniently brought with her.
She placed her fingers on the keys, took a deep breath, and then she attacked.
Darcy tensed as Miss Bingley launched into a vigorous performance of a Clementi sonata.
If asked his opinion of her performance, he would have to praise her technique for there was nothing complimentary he could think to say about it.
His ears hurt from the first note, and by the end his head ached.
The audience clapped politely, and Miss Bingley preened and sneered from her perch on the piano bench.
“Delightful!” cheered Sir William. Lady Lucas, too, praised their performer, her hand over her heart (although Darcy suspected that gesture was more to calm her nerves than to express how moved she had been).
Mrs. Bennet fanned her face. She looked stunned, but not from pleasure. “Invigorating performance, was it not, girls?” Her daughters dutifully agreed.
Miss Elizabeth nodded wordlessly and caught Darcy’s eye, allowing him a glimpse of her humor.
He had to look away before he laughed aloud.
Unfortunately, Wickham caught her glance next and did not bother to conceal his grin.
She covered her smile with her hand, disguising her laugh with a cough before focusing on her clasped hands in her lap. Miss Bingley noticed.
She narrowed her eyes at Elizabeth. “Will not Miss Elizabeth play?”
Darcy wanted nothing more than for Miss Elizabeth to put Miss Bingley in her place. He would stand and applaud the simplest piece, for what Miss Elizabeth might lack in technique she would more than make up for with spirit and heart.
She stood, bowing her head meekly. “I suppose that if my playing will give you any pleasure at all, I ought to play right now.”
Miss Bingley tittered. “What can she mean? I hear that the young ladies at Longbourn are as accomplished as the ladies in town, or have I been misinformed?”
Elizabeth simply smiled and walked to the instrument, her shoulders straight and her head high. Darcy’s feet moved to meet her by the pianoforte. “May I help you turn the pages?” She did not need his help, but he wanted to be close to her.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Mrs. Bennet replied before she could accept. “Thank you, Mr. Robinson, but Mr. Wickham has not had the privilege of assisting Lizzy as you so often do, since you are Mr. Bennet’s secretary.”
Elizabeth cringed. After shooting her mother a glare which was met with the warning look often given by vexed mothers, she looked apologetically at him.
Wickham was the son of a steward and therefore Mr. Robinson’s social equal.
How quickly they overlooked that. Wickham’s charm and his claimed connection to the Darcy family had effectively raised his status in Mrs. Bennet’s estimation.
Seeing how Mrs. Bennet’s disapproving stare fixed on Elizabeth, Darcy backed away with a bow. He would not cause her any trouble.
Wickham drew near, lowering his voice. “My apologies for contributing to this awkward situation. I did not see Mr. Robinson step forward, or I would not have presumed to put you in this position. Mrs. Bennet must have forgotten that I am a humble son of a land steward.”
The effect on Elizabeth was immediate and favorable.
Darcy’s desire to punch him in the nose was also immediate, but he resisted.
Wickham had finally revealed his strategy, and Darcy would have to behave with the utmost caution lest Wickham turn him into the villain.
It was the same game he had played when they were children—a game Wickham played well.
Backing away, Darcy took a seat beside Sir William as Elizabeth placed her fingers on the keys, took a deep breath, and began to sing.
It was a merry tune which she played well and sang with joy.
She soon had most of her audience tapping their toes and clapping along, the exceptions being Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, who whispered behind their fans.
Criticize all they would, the applause at the end of Elizabeth’s performance was enthusiastic and heartfelt.
Miss Bennet sang after her, a duet with Wickham.
Miss Elizabeth looked on in admiration of her eldest sister.
She did not see what Darcy did—a sister intent on outperforming her.
Finally, after all the ladies had displayed their musical talents, Miss Mary was convinced to play. She sat at the bench, plucking at the keys to warm up her fingers the same way she always did at Longbourn.
Miss Bingley whispered loudly enough for all to hear, “Oh dear, I do hope that is not the best she can do.” She and Mrs. Hurst tittered behind their gloved hands.
Elizabeth glared at them, as did Miss Lucas, who suggested, “Mary, pray delight us with some Mozart.”
Lady Lucas added, “Oh, yes, dear, that would be lovely.”
Mary had her pick of gentlemen to turn the pages for her, but she chose Darcy.
He understood the compliment she granted him, and he determined to contribute what he could to her performance.
She was certain to shine. Of course, Mrs. Bennet suggested that Wickham take his place, and he confidently stepped forward toward the instrument.
Miss Mary, however, shook her head firmly. “Forgive me, sir, but I have not played with you before, and I require someone who knows the music and can anticipate when to turn the pages.”
Wickham froze mid-step, his mouth open, but he recovered with a jovial bow and a warm smile. “I assure you that I am proficient at reading music and shall give you my full attention.”
“I thank you for your willingness. All the same, I prefer Mr. Robinson’s assistance on this occasion. He is familiar with the piece and has turned pages for me at Longbourn.”
With another bow, this time directed at Darcy, Wickham said, “Far be it from me to insist against the lady’s pleasure.”
“Thank you, sir. I am decided.” At that, Miss Mary’s eyes flickered up to Darcy’s, and after a deep breath, she nodded confidently.
He did not need to read the title of the piece she had selected to know that she was going to do something spectacular.
Flexing her fingers, she poised them over the keys, took another deep breath, and began.
The opening notes of Beethoven's Appassionata fell like hammer strikes—dark, urgent, relentless. Darcy dared not look away from the pages. He had an important task to perform, and he would not disappoint Miss Mary. But he imagined all manner of sour expressions on Miss Bingley’s face.
This was no pretty drawing-room piece meant to showcase nimble fingers and fashionable taste.
This was music—real, serious, demanding music that required not merely accomplishment but mastery.
Miss Mary's hands flew across the keys with a precision that turned Miss Bingley's earlier performance into a child's recital. The pianist’s face showed no awareness of the room; she made no performative glances to gauge her audience's admiration.
Miss Mary disappeared into the music entirely, her usual stern expression transformed by fierce concentration and unbridled joy.
The first movement's tempestuous passages rolled through the room like thunder. The performer’s fingers never faltered.
This was what genuine dedication to craft looked like.
Unassuming Miss Mary, with her deft fingers, produced an enormous power from the instrument.
The final movement's presto raced toward its conclusion, the pianist’s hands a blur.
When the last crashing chord fell, silence filled the room like a held breath.
Only then did Darcy look away from the music sheets.
He took in the audience’s reactions in a glance.
Sir William’s mouth hung open; his wife brushed a tear from her cheek.
Mrs. Bennet beamed with pride, and even Mr. Bennet considered his middle child with something approaching wonder.
Mr. Hurst, who had been slouched half-asleep on the couch before, now sat upright.
Mr. Bingley’s cheerful fidgeting had stilled.
Miss Bingley sat stiffly on the sofa, her self-aggrandizing triumph replaced with alarm.
Miss Elizabeth wore her pride openly, her hands spread over her heart as she smiled at her sister. What a contrast with Miss Bennet, whose polite smile was marred with the slightest pinch. Darcy saw it, and it confirmed his suspicions of her character.
Sir William began to applaud, upsetting a porcelain figurine on the side table in his excitement, and the room erupted.
His page-turning duties complete, Darcy turned to Miss Mary and bowed.
Her eyes met his in question, as though to ask Did I do it well?
In response, he applauded louder and longer than the rest. Miss Bingley's tight smile suggested she knew she had been utterly, irrevocably outmatched.
But it was Mr. Hurst who surprised everyone by calling out “Encore!” with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, his ruddy face animated for the first time all evening.
Mrs. Hurst's fan snapped open with an audible crack, and Miss Bingley's glare could have curdled milk.
Miss Mary rose from the bench, a faint flush of pleasure coloring her cheeks. “I thank you, but I think we have all heard quite enough from me this evening.”
It was a perfectly rational reply which brought the musical exhibitions to a perfect end. The Bennet sisters had carried the evening triumphantly, and everyone knew it.