After an excellent luncheon and tea at Netherfield, neither was inclined to dine; in any case, Mrs Bennet had not expected them back, and there was nothing prepared for them. So they contented themselves with a cup of tea while everyone else was at dinner and Elizabeth could finally ask Jane for her news.
Jane sighed. “Mr Bingley is very agreeable, and he certainly feels as he ought with regard to his duties to the estate,” she said.“If it were not for poor Papa, I am sure we could in time come to an understanding, but the fact remains that there is no time. I feel as though I ought to draw him on somehow and have not the remotest idea how to do so.” The two sisters sat in silence for a time before Jane continued. “He is, I am sure, a good man; whether or not he is therightman, I cannot tell, but I am well aware that it is my duty to marry him if I possibly can.”
There was nothing Elizabeth could say to this and, while she deprecated the change in Jane, she could hardly quarrel with her conclusions. Whether Jane had yet realised her sister’s possible fate, Elizabeth did not know, and she was certainly not going to be the one to enlighten her.
They both managed to spend the rest of the evening with their father, Jane in reading to him and Elizabeth seeing to some neglected correspondence. They had the satisfaction of seeing him more settled than he had been for some time, although he continued weak. Elizabeth missed the caustic humour that had once been so evident. She had often wished that he would not sharpen his wits on his neighbours and family, but its disappearance underlined how changed he was by his illness, and she wished with all her heart that she could hear him describe Mr Collins with all the acerbity that had once been his.
That night, as she listened to her sister breathing in sleep, Elizabeth lay awake remembering the scene in the hall at Netherfield, the captain sitting with his head back, the white of his stock and the paleness of his face against the dark wood of the wainscoting. It seemed most unfair that such a gallant gentleman was obliged to return to sea before he was wholly recovered. It spoke well of him that he was nevertheless prepared to do his duty.
The next day, the house was set upon its ears by Mr Collins who was—or fancied himself to be—ill. The apothecary was sent for, the details of his digestion discussed in public and atlength, and Elizabeth scarcely knew which was more annoying: Mr Collins’s complaints or her mother’s angry rejection of the suggestion that he might have eaten something unwholesome. “We are all perfectly well, and it is a great nonsense to think that anything in my kitchen would have singled out Mr Collins.”
“Perhaps Cook has poisoned him,” suggested Lydia. “And I am sure I do not blame her, for he has been perfectly horrid since he got here.” Her sisters cried out at the suggestion, but Lydia was not to be silenced. “As far as I am concerned, if I could find a way to do so without being caught, I should be tempted to do it myself.”
“Lydia, if you cannot say anything sensible, you had better go visit your aunt Philips,” said Mrs Bennet. Elizabeth reflected that this was all apiece with her mother’s idea of controlling her wayward younger daughters: rewarding them for behaving badly by sending them where they were anxious to go.
The weather had turned fine again and she hoped the captain would have good roads all the way into London. When it came on to rain towards evening, she could not help worrying just a little.
Luckily, Mr Collins kept to his bed for several days, and while this caused a great deal of inconvenience to the household, it was agreed by everybody, albeit tacitly, that this was preferable to his company. The two youngest sisters, when not visiting their friends in Meryton, were consumed with preparation for the ball, rumour having running riot as to the arrangements and their probable cost.
Mrs Needham had told Sukey who told Mrs Philips that all the militia officers were invited, as was half the county, a band had been brought from London at enormous expense, there were to be ices and French champagne and enough white soup to float a man o’ war, Mrs Hurst’s gown had cost a hundred guineas, and Miss Bingley’s had cost two hundred—at which point Elizabeth had refused to believe another word. She contented herself with refurbishing her old gown with some ribbons Aunt Gardiner had sent from London and with stitching the soles back onto her old dancing shoes. It would have been a great waste of money to do more, but one did not want to look like a complete antidote.
The ball was set for the full moon on Saturday, and the family coach and horses were prepared. To everyone’s dismay, Mr Collins had recovered from his indisposition and squeezed his way amongst his ‘fair cousins’, for as he said, “Lady Catherine says that dancing in respectable company is a perfectly acceptable activity for a clergyman, being both healthful and tending to restrain the company from light speech and overly high spirits.”
As they were removing their wraps in the withdrawing room at Netherfield, Elizabeth remarked to Jane that he gave one a very clear picture of the entertainments countenanced by that august lady.
While rumour had inevitably exaggerated the scale of the arrangements, they were nevertheless more lavish than usual for the neighbourhood. The rooms were full of light and hothouse flowers, the wine was much better than they were used to, and the band in quite another class from the one they had all heard at too many assemblies.
Mr Bingley immediately solicited Jane’s hand for the first dance, and they opened the proceedings in fine style. Elizabeth looked round for the captain and Miss Darcy, and she was eventually reduced to asking Miss Bingley. “The captain is about somewhere, but he thinks his sister too young to be out.” Unfortunately, at that moment Lydia and Kitty could be heard roaring with laughter in a group of young officers, and Miss Bingley’s expression said everything she was perhaps still too well brought up to say aloud.
Elizabeth said nothing. She was about to go and attempt to restrain her sisters when Mr Collins arrived and asked to be her partner in the next set. There was no way she could avoid the invitation, and so did her best to accept politely. To her horror, he seemed to be adopting an almost proprietary manner towards her. Her mother had begun, over the past few days, to speculate whether he would get round to choosing one of her daughters and had taken it upon herself to warn him away from Jane. Elizabeth wondered whether Mrs Bennet had finally decided it was her duty to nudge him in Elizabeth’s direction. While they stood waiting for the next set to begin, Mr Collins favoured Elizabeth with his views of the current state of the war and the political situation, interspersed with awkward compliments to herself and her family. She did her best to listen politely, but her attention kept wandering, and she had to prevent herself from looking around for the captain.
Mr Collins could not dance, which was bad enough, but what was worse was that he could not accept direction without apologising at length, which sent him further astray in the set. Elizabeth could see Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley, heads together, enjoying her predicament, so she set her teeth, held her head high, and did her best to carry the situation off with an air.
During one evolution of the dance in which Mr Collins, having led with the wrong hand, had then gone the wrong way up the set and had to be called back, she saw her mother and Lady Lucas sitting together, her mother looking extremely pleased with herself, and she knew that, to Mrs Bennet at least, her marriage was as good as made. Since Mrs Bennet’s wishes soon became Mrs Bennet’s facts, Elizabeth had no doubt that the neighbourhood were all being told that the Bennets’ fortunes had been saved. A slightly soiled glove met hers, and she suppressed a shudder.
Down the dance, she saw the captain standing near the fireplace, talking, or at least listening, to Sir William. The captain was wearing his green spectacles again, and she could not see his eyes, which was a pity for they were quite his most striking feature. She hoped he was not unwell. She would have liked a word with him, but Mr Collins seemed determined to monopolise her company. As she stood up with him for the next dance, she had to listen to his breathless comparisons between Netherfield and Lady Catherine’s seat, Rosings.
“For although the pictures here are very fine, they are nothing compared to those at Rosings. The portrait of the late Sir Lewis de Bourgh cost over three hundred guineas and...” There was much more of this. Every time the pattern brought them back together, he seemed to have another comment to the detriment of Netherfield and the aggrandisement of Rosings.
There were more candles than she had ever seen in one place, and the room grew increasingly hot. Frantically, she tried to form an excuse to get away from her cousin. The set was coming to an end, and she knew that, if she did not think of something, she would be unable to avoid his company for supper as well. The music ended, the couples exchanged bows and curtseys, and she had thought of nothing. She saw her cousin open his mouth, but to her utmost relief, she heard a familiar deep voice at her side.
“May I have the pleasure of the next set, Miss Elizabeth?” It was Captain Darcy, looking composed and elegant.
Something unknotted in her chest, and she dropped him a grateful curtsey. “I should be delighted, sir,” she said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Elizabeth took his hand, and they threaded their way through to a position halfway down and waited for the music to begin. She could see Mr Collins watching her with a strange expression, combining his usual, awkward social smirk with a distinctly thwarted look. She hurriedly turned her attention to her partner.
“I had hoped to see Miss Darcy tonight,” she said.
He smiled. “She is only sixteen and not at all accustomed to large social gatherings. When I proposed that she not attend, she was only too grateful to stay upstairs with her mother.”
The music began, and they exchanged bows. Elizabeth suddenly felt happier than she had in weeks. Her life was fraught with difficulties that would soon come to a head, but she did not have to think about that now. The music was lively, her partner handsome and considerate, and when she caught sight of her own reflection in the great mirror over the fireplace, she thought she looked as well as she ever had in her life. They joined hands, his warm and firm, the scar on his wrist between cuff and glove evidence of a life of energy and adventure, and she smiled up at him brilliantly.
They parted, proceeded down the set, and met again at the bottom. She thought of asking him whether he was still to leave shortly and swiftly decided not to. There was a strange bubbling sensation under her ribcage, her heart was beating fast, and she had no desire to dampen the mood. “You can have no idea,” she said, “how pleasant it is to have a partner who knows what he is about.”
“You can thank my sister and Mrs Hurst,” he replied, extending a hand for her to take. “I only knew two dances: the two I danced at the assembly. They assured me that was not nearly enough and drilled me most severely all yesterday afternoon. They were more exacting than any admiral.” They changed hands and turned in the opposite direction.
