Chapter 17
The Meryton rooms were as hot and as crowded as she remembered them.
The green boughs on the walls were just as charming, the candles just as numerous and, as the strong smell of tallow suggested, bought just as cheaply as before.
Through the great double doors she saw, as she had done before, a generous supper being laid out; and in the centre of the ballroom, couples were beginning to take their places for the next dance.
It was all as it had been when she was last there; but this time, she knew better where she belonged.
She walked decidedly towards the chairs where the mothers, aunts, and grandmothers had established themselves and looked for a place to sit amongst them.
Her sisters claimed seats here too, but Mary knew they would use them only as perches to rest upon between dances, poised to be seen to most advantage before another partner presented himself and whisked them away.
Mary, who suspected her stay would be of longer duration, settled on a chair set a little away from the front, where she hoped to feel less exposed.
Here for some thirty minutes she remained, uninvited to join the lively throng on the dance floor.
As she sat, her eyes strayed upwards to the musicians on the balcony, playing with such energy that she could almost feel the heat of their efforts.
Perhaps, she thought, that was where she should be—occupied in a task she enjoyed, safely removed from the probability of failure below.
As she brooded, however, she became conscious of a ripple of interest in the conversations around her, a twitter of activity amongst the seated mothers.
Following their glances, nods, and gestures, peering across the room she saw that a small party of people had arrived and stood surveying the scene.
She did not recognise any amongst them, but their clothes and bearing suggested there could be no doubt who they were—Mr. Bingley and his friends had arrived at last.
Mr. Bingley—for, as he stood at the front of the little group, urging them forward, there could be little doubt of his identity—was a good-looking young man, with a cheerful, engaging expression.
Behind him stood two women dressed in the first fashion who Mary concluded must be his sisters.
They looked less eager than their brother to plunge into the crowded room.
Neither smiled. Two further gentlemen accompanied them.
One, who was later discovered to be the husband of the eldest sister, was not much noticed; but the other quickly drew the attention of everyone in the room.
He was tall, he was handsome, and he was known to be the possessor of a fine estate in Derbyshire.
For a while, his appearance and his history attracted the approval of the men and alerted the interest of the women; but Mr. Darcy’s manners soon turned the tide of his popularity.
His expression was grave and severe. He made no effort to conciliate the assembly and, unlike his friend, seemed to take no pleasure in his situation.
Mr. Bingley’s willingness to please and be pleased was much to be preferred.
He allowed himself to be introduced to as many people as wished to meet him, praised the look of the rooms, the liveliness of the music, and the prospect of supper; and when he made known his intention to dance every dance, his ascendancy over his remote and silent friend was complete.
It did not escape notice that Mr. Darcy took to the floor only with the women of his own party, whilst Mr. Bingley chose his partners from amongst the Meryton ladies.
Mary watched as he led Charlotte Lucas onto the floor.
This was an unexpected gesture; his choice of her sister Jane for the next dance seemed far more in keeping with the natural order of things.
Jane, she thought, looked particularly handsome, her cool, unruffled beauty appearing to great advantage amidst the noise and heat of the ball.
Bingley danced with her with obvious enjoyment and seemed reluctant to let her go, claiming her company after the set was over and talking to her with great animation, as Jane modestly looked away from his appraising smiles.
He will ask her again, thought Mary, if not now, then later.
This will be a triumphant night for Jane.
She was surprised when Charlotte Lucas sat down next to her.
Mary had avoided her since the last ball.
She did not doubt that the fault for what had happened then was in most respects her own; but she thought Charlotte a little guilty too.
Had there been a hint of relish in the way she had delivered her warning about John Sparrow?
A touch of jealousy in her insistence that Mary abandon him?
These were unworthy thoughts, which Mary was ashamed to entertain; but as she had been unable yet to drive them from her mind, she had chosen not to put herself in Charlotte’s company until she could get the better of them.
However, as Charlotte greeted her with every appearance of friendship, Mary resolved to do all she could to return it in good faith.
“You have tucked yourself away in a very secluded place here,” she began. “Is this a wise decision? No-one will ask you to dance if you are invisible to the human eye!”
She smiled as she spoke, but behind her good humour, her face was taut.
“Oh, I’m quite well where I am. I can see everything here. I don’t miss a thing.”
“I’m not sure that’s quite true. Watching what happens isn’t the same as being part of it. You are missing something, of that you can be sure.”
“This feels like the best place for me.”
“Perhaps, if you have already decided to withdraw from the fray.”
Unsettled by the turn of the conversation, Mary tried a lighter tone.
“Well, your own good fortune won’t have gone unnoticed tonight. You were the first woman Mr. Bingley stood up with—what an honour, to be marked out in such a way!”
She tried to sound as sincere and as playful as she could. She did not much care for Charlotte, but she did not like to see her in so bleak a mood.
Charlotte looked towards the dance floor, where Mr. Bingley was leading Jane out again for a second dance.
“Yes,” she replied thoughtfully. “I was the polite choice, the evidence, if you like, of his good manners and willingness to charm us all. But he didn’t look at me as he already looks at Jane.”
Mary followed Charlotte’s glance. It was true, Mr. Bingley was now utterly absorbed with her sister, his eyes following her as she moved up the line of dancers.
“I know very well what I must do and say next,” continued Charlotte.
“I must smile and nod and look unconcerned at my dismissal, whilst laughing and teasing Jane about her new conquest. And that is what I will do. I’m used to it.
But I tell you what it is, Mary—I’m not sure if I can do it for much longer. ”
Mary shifted uneasily in her seat. Charlotte’s sudden candour disturbed her, and she was uncertain how to respond.
“I am nearly twenty-seven years old. I have been coming to balls like this for ten years. And not once has anyone looked at me with the admiration Mr. Bingley is now directing at Jane. Not once have I been the one around whom other women gather, congratulating, and exclaiming. No—it is always my lot to cheer on the triumphs of my friends.” She pulled at her gloves distractedly.
“Lord knows, I don’t expect much. But I should like to have something of my own before it is too late.
Some mark of affection, some sign I have been wanted and preferred. ”
“You have parents who love you,” ventured Mary, “and brothers and sisters to care for.”
“Yes,” replied Charlotte, “and I know that should be enough, but with every day that goes past, I find that it isn’t, quite.”
Mary moved her hand uncertainly towards Charlotte’s arm.
She did not trust herself to speak, recognising in Charlotte’s words the same fears that had begun to loom large in her own darker moments.
What if no-one ever wanted her? Her spirits fell as she looked around the room; none of the men she saw there seemed likely to prefer her to the prettier, louder, livelier women who paraded and coquetted about the floor with so much confidence.
This was only her second ball, and she already felt she had failed.
Could she endure a decade of humiliation and rejection with the fortitude Charlotte had shown?
Mary withdrew her hand, afraid her touch might provoke in Charlotte an outpouring of emotion to which Mary would not know how to respond.
She felt the power of Charlotte’s despair, and it saddened her.
But then Charlotte looked up and arranged her features into her usual expression of pleasant expectation.
“But here comes Lizzy! And at just the right moment to dispel this gloom.”
Mary screwed up her eyes, just as John Sparrow had told her not to, and spotted Elizabeth winding her way through the stragglers at the edge of the dance floor, striding towards them. With the briefest of acknowledgements, she pulled a chair towards them.
“I have such a tale to relate that it really wouldn’t wait, so I came straight to find you. It can’t be said to reflect particularly well on me, but it is so good a joke that I have decided to purchase your laughter at the expense of my dignity—such as it is!”