“I like it better than Mary’s playing,” said Lydia, quite as meanly and not so discreetly as Miss de Bourgh.
“You and I have a tradition, Lydia, do we not?” Elizabeth said. She was under no illusion that distracting her sister would constrain her poor manners, but she hoped that distracting Mr Darcy might save him from being mortified by them.
“Yes,” Lydia replied. “I put a pebble in your punch one year in the hope that you would choke on it.”
Mr Darcy almost choked onhispunch, somewhat dispelling Elizabeth’s hopes.
“It does not appear to have been a successful gambit,” remarked Miss de Bourgh.
“No, I found it before I choked and thought it was meant as a gift,” Elizabeth replied. “But Lydia had quite forgiven me for whatever I had done by then, so she made it into a necklace for me instead. Now she gives me a new pebble every year.”
“Then there is hope one of them will work eventually.”
Despite not much liking Miss de Bourgh, Elizabeth was nevertheless inclined to laugh at this. The cause of the woman’s animosity was a mystery, but with four sisters, three of whom had on numerous occasions wished her ill, it was an easy enough sentiment to disregard.
Indeed, Lydiadidlaugh. Mr Darcy did not appear quite so ready to overlook it, but Elizabeth supposed he was ill used to the occasional pettiness of so many women in one place and pitied him even more for being thrust into the thick of it without any practice.
“Do you have any Christmas traditions, Mr Darcy?” Jane asked.
“No, I have not that pleasure,” he replied succinctly.
Elizabeth thought he looked a little saddened by the admission. She felt a little sadforhim.
“We keep to the more conventional, refined traditions of the season in our circle, Miss Bennet,” said his cousin.
Mr Darcy closed his eyes very briefly. It could almost have been mistaken for a blink, but Elizabeth fancied he was close to losing his temper with his cousin.
“I assure you there is quite as much of that going on in our circle as any other,” cried Mrs Bennet.
“Sister,” cautioned Mrs Gardiner in a low voice but to no avail. Mrs Bennet persisted.
“We go to church, rejoice, feast well, drink merrily, and sing jolly carols the same as every other person, regardless of in which sphere they were brought up. In fact—Mary, stop playing that song! Lizzy, play that one you were practising this morning. Girls! Come and sing with your sister. Come along! Let us demonstrate that we know perfectly well how to observe traditional Christmas…traditions.”
“There, you see, Mr Darcy,” called Mr Bennet. “You have made a good effort, but my ladies are by far and away sillier than yours.”
Elizabeth pushed herself to her feet and made her way to the pianoforte. As she passed in front of Mr Darcy, she gave him a satirical smile that she hoped was expressive of their mutual mortification. He did not return it, but she was not offended. He looked so miserable now that she was tempted to think of an excuse to have him sent out of the house. Still, since he had accepted the invitation to come of his own volition, he would just have to bear the ignominy.
Elizabeth played and sang several carols before ceding the instrument to Mrs Gardiner. Miss de Bourgh was invited to play, but she refused. She looked rather dismayed to have been asked, her gaze flicking anxiously between her cousin and the pianoforte. Elizabeth recalled too late Mr Collins’s report that she had never learnt and hastily offered her eldest niece a turn. Even Mr Gardiner was prevailed upon to exhibit his skill, proving to vast amusement that his claim to modest talent had not been exaggerated.
“Think you it is time to allow the children their moment, Sister?” he enquired, closing the instrument in defeat. “I believe my performance has marked a low point in proceedings that only something special will salvage.”
“By all means,” Mrs Bennet replied, “if they are ready to indulge us.”
Upon receiving their enthusiastic assurances, Mr Gardiner leapt to his feet and swept his youngest daughter into his arms. With Jane and Mrs Gardiner’s help, he shepherded the other three children from the room.
Mr Bennet stood with a groan. “I hope this year’s performance is less eventful than last year’s. My banyan still has a burn hole in it.”
Seeing their guests look thoroughly confused, Elizabeth said, “My cousins have prepared a little performance to entertain us.”
“Another tradition?” said Miss de Bourgh in a condescending tone.
“It is only the second year they have done it, and they only wished to repeat itthisyear because last year’s attempt went so very awry. But I sincerely hope it becomes a tradition.”
“You never know, Anne, you might enjoy it,” said Mr Darcy.
Elizabeth looked at him, as did his cousin, but his countenance was a mask of disinterest. “I hope you both will,” she said. “If you would come this way?”
She led them into the morning room, where the furniture had been arranged to give the impression of a stage with seats fanned out in front for an audience. Mrs Bennet had instructed that the best sofa, nearest the door, be left for their distinguished guests, something Elizabeth pointed out to them upon entering. Miss de Bourgh sat on it directly, instructing her ever-faithful companion to do the same.
