Chapter 25
Miss Allen, Mary’s piano instructress, was thin, grave, and silent, a woman who had perfected the art of self-effacement to such a degree that when she was not at Longbourn, Mary found it hard to recall exactly what Miss Allen looked like or how old she might be.
She was the unmarried daughter of a curate, living in lodgings above the milliner’s shop, from which cramped and dingy rooms she strove night and day to preserve her precarious hold on gentility.
It was Miss Allen’s fate that haunted Mary’s darkest hours, her sad and anxious face which sprang into her mind when she imagined what the future held if she did not marry.
For that reason, Mary had called upon Miss Allen’s services rather less in recent months than before.
But today, here she was, toiling up the Longbourn drive, her shabby cloth bag heavy with sheets of new music for Mary to consider.
Together, they spent the morning studying them; and by midday, they had decided on three pieces.
Mary would begin with a sonata by Haydn, intended to display her hard-won proficiency at the keyboard; go on with a few Scottish airs, designed to make her listeners smile; and finish with a selection from The Harmonious Blacksmith.
“Your choices feel entirely right,” concluded Miss Allen, as she packed up her things and readied herself to walk the two miles to her next lesson. “The Haydn will impress everyone who hears it, and the airs will be very cheerful. Everyone will have the words to ‘Robin Adair’ in their heads.”
Mary closed the piano lid. An idea had occurred to her earlier in the morning, and she wished to find out Miss Allen’s opinion of it.
“I have been asking myself if I’m offering enough to the company by merely playing the song. I thought I might venture to sing it too. The effect would be very fine if I could manage both. What do you think?”
Miss Allen buckled her bag and fussed with her gloves.
“I’m not sure your vocal talents are as strong as your playing. If you wish to show yourself to the greatest advantage, I suggest you concentrate on what you do best and confine yourself to the keyboard.”
Usually this would have been enough to quash Mary’s ambitions; but not today. She had set her mind on achieving something spectacular, and was not to be easily deterred.
“Other ladies will play and sing.”
“We cannot all excel equally at everything we do.” Miss Allen looked tired as she stood up to leave.
“Miss Elizabeth’s abilities might be said to be the exact opposite of your own.
Her voice is strong, but her playing lacks discipline.
You, on the other hand, are an extremely competent player, but your voice is not your greatest asset. ”
“You are very candid, to be sure.”
Miss Allen sighed.
“I don’t think I would be serving you by telling you only what you wish to hear. Your playing will please everyone, but your singing is perhaps best enjoyed by your family alone. I mean it kindly and have no wish to offend you.”
Mary assured Miss Allen that she did not take her words ill; but as she stood at the window, watching the music teacher make her way down the drive, Mary knew she would not follow her advice.
She went back to the piano and placed a new sheet of music on the stand with a most determined air.
For once she would not be told what to do, would not meekly accept that Elizabeth must always surpass her in everything she undertook.
She would practise for three hours every morning until the day of the ball, exercising her voice until it matched the proficiency of her fingers.
Hard work and dedication should supply what nature had not, making it impossible that Mr. Collins, and indeed everyone else, should not be amazed by the virtuosity of her performance.