by Nicky Roth
'Aw, don't you look lovely?' Monica, who contrary to her surname stood actually a meagre five foot one, cooed, adjusting her wig. 'Love your hair, Lyddy.'
The thus addressed merely huffed with indignation.
'And Jane, such a beauty. I am sure you will turn all the young men's heads.'
'What young men?', Elizabeth wondered, muttering under her breath so no-one but Jane would hear her.
Young men were scarce at such events as this. Lucky bastards! The youngest man around, in all probability, would be their cousin William and his head she was pretty certain, no-one would want to turn voluntarily.
'You look well, too, Lizzy. And look at your hair! Not your usual messy bun is it?' Mrs Long merrily chattered on.
Her mouth never really stopped working and there were rumours that she spoke even while asleep. It was a strong possibility.
'Thank you, Monica.'
Damn, she should have thought about bringing her MP3...
They were, of course, early, arriving before all the others as always, just as they would leave after everybody else. Which meant that each and everyone would see them upon entering the brightly lit ballroom.
It was actually a lovely room, Elizabeth had to admit. Or it would be if it were not for the glaring, ghastly looking neon lights dangling from the intricately plastered ceiling; the beautifully polished wooden floor had aged and darkened over the many centuries it had adorned this hall and the walls were a pretty cream colour, at least where one could see it, above the dark wood panelling, which went up the wall about half-way. Here and there surprisingly decent pictures and a majority and over-abundance of very ugly ones all painted by local artists had been hung up rather haphazardly on the plastered part of the wall and with that making it almost impossible to look at them properly. Which perhaps, thinking about it, was a good thing. On one end there was a balcony where once the musicians had sat and where now the DJ had built up his equipment, its bannister prettily carved and of the same dark colour as the lower portions of the walls. As said, it could have been a lovely room, if...
But before Elizabeth could marvel any more about the rooms loftiness and its understated original decorations, Mr Collins arrived.
'Ah, I thought I would find you here already,' he grinned, literally from ear to ear. 'Fanny, dear, you have outdone yourself. - Oh, and you as well, of course, Monica.'
Mrs Long gave an awkward curtsy, while Mrs Bennet waved his comment aside with an impatient gesture of her hand, which immediately led the man to begin a whole tirade of compliments of all the work she had put in there.
'No, no, Fanny, don't be so modest. It almost looks like the dining room at Rosings, Lady Catherine de Bourgh's residence, you remember? You know, I go there at least once a year to attend a seminar or two, so I know the place pretty well. It is basically my second home. Lady Catherine is such a great lady and interested in so many things, one never quite knows, what course she will offer next and I, for my part, am always eager to learn something new.'
Lady Catherine de Bourgh, ran an “event seminar”, or at least so she called it. In reality, it was nothing more than a fancier community college charging horrendous prices for ridiculous courses. Said courses were usually of no practical use for anybody with the sole exception of William Collins, that was. Last year, he had taken one in painting pottery, the year before, he had done courses on miniature gardens and creative cooking, the latter, upon coming home, leading to a rather unfortunate event involving the fire brigade, and three years back, he had partaken in a writing course. Since then writing trashy historical romance novels was his main occupation. Penny Morton was his pseudonym, much to everybody's amusement and when not immediately around, that was, what he was called by almost everybody. Well by everybody aside from Jane.
Slowly but surely the ballroom filled with people, all determined to look as if they had put an effort into their attire, while it was blatantly obvious that most had, at the last minute, thrown together whatever they had gotten hold of and of which they assumed looked like something worn two hundred years back. Very few had succeeded. Okay, not many had a Jane around who would actually make dresses just for this occasion, and even less, who would take care of historical accuracy.
Their aunt Mrs Philips, for example, though wearing the right style, had chosen a fabric that on closer inspection sported tiny daffodils, Easter eggs and, naturally, Easter bunnies.
As always, the first couple of dances went anything but smoothly. Many people stood around chatting in the middle of the dance floor, standing in the way of those who at least attempted to dance at a ball and at any rate, everyone most eagerly awaited the mysterious Mr Bingley, who was yet to come. And finally, he did arrive. Like Moses parting the Red Sea, the crowd split in two to make way for him and his entourage.
He was surprisingly young and actually looked very friendly, his blue eyes sparkled with glee and good humour, and it was quite obvious, that he was determined to have a good time. His companions, however, more than made up for his amiable personality.
'Wow, he is cute!' Kitty exclaimed breathlessly, once it had been established that indeed this very young and charming man was the illustrious Mr Bingley.
'Yep, would not throw him off my bed either,' Lydia retorted, loud enough for half the people around them to hear. 'And look at that bloke with him... - Yummy! Let's hope they aren't gay.'
Said “bloke” was another young man, perhaps a little older than Mr Bingley, with dark curly hair, grey eyes and an indignant expression. Elizabeth immediately disliked him, even though she had to admit, that he was quite a hunk. Yes, okay, she, too, wanted to be anywhere but here, but heck, did he need to make it so very obvious that he detested his present company? Well, looking at the young lady by his side, perhaps it had little to do with them and very much to do with her. She was the only person not wearing a costume, for at least there the stranger had made a real effort just as his friend had, and in her high heels and flimsy little red dress, that looked so cheap it must have been very expensive, appeared as if the kind of dancing she normally was accustomed to involved either a pole or a table, or probably both.
'Hi!' someone suddenly piped up behind them and wheeling around, Elizabeth came face to face with her best friend Charlotte Lucas, wearing a black skirt, white blouse, little white waitress' apron, the one that was fashionable about thirty years ago, and a tiny bonnety thing on her short pixie cut.
'Whoa, I didn't know you would be here, Lottie.'
'Yeah well, had I known, I would have told you, but Jessica fell ill and I was only called this very evening to help out. I hadn't even had the time to change into something suitable, I fear, so I just quickly grabbed whatever I could find. Not that it matters, if I look around,' Charlotte answered sardonically, shrugging her shoulders.
Said Jessica was in Kitty's class, though she should have been in Mary's and she also happened to occasionally job as a waitress, though more often than not was calling in sick at the last minute only to be found in the one or other club hanging out with her friends, usually piss-drunk. No need to guess, what her priorities were.
'It is just as well since I can do with a bit of extra money. Well, hopefully, my application at Netherfield gets accepted,' Charlotte carried on, looking over her shoulder lest Mrs Bennet should see her idling around. 'I went there yesterday for an interview, and I at least want to believe that it went well...'
'I don't think they could find anybody around here better suited to run a restaurant, sweety,' Elizabeth replied encouragingly.
'They could bring in someone from London.'
'Well, yes. But why would they do that when they can have you?'
'Dunno.'
'You said you went there for an interview yesterday, do you happen to know who all these people are?'
Turning slightly, Charlotte began to point discreetly at the respective figures: 'Mr Bingley, his sister Caroline, those two I haven't met, and that is Mr Darcy, a chum of his.'
> 'Ah!'
Unfortunately, at that moment, Mrs Bennet spotted the two of them and with a stern glance at Charlotte steered across the room.
'Charlotte, could you please have a look at the buffet? Mrs Goulding managed to tear all the cold cuts apart to see which slices are the leanest in order to not ruin her diet.'
With raised eyebrows, the two friends parted and Elizabeth was about to walk over to the bar, some things were just too hard to bear without a certain intake of alcohol, when she was held back by her mother.
'Lizzy, wait, I have to ask you something,' she cried out, then glanced pointedly over at the dance floor and beyond, right where the ominous looking Mr Darcy stood.
Elizabeth's gaze followed her and with some pleasure, she also saw that Mr Bingley was presently dancing with a serenely smiling Jane.
'Yes?' she inquired when her mother did not carry on, choosing to ignore the sinking feeling she had.
But Mrs Bennet, too, had spotted her oldest daughter dancing with their new “neighbour” and for a moment appeared slightly confused before recollecting what she had been about to ask.
'Oh, yes, I almost forgot. See, that man there is called Darcy, and he is quite rich, some say he is even richer than Mr Bingley.'
'And?' Elizabeth dug deeper, wondering where this was going.
She had an inkling, but hoped she would be wrong in that, but nope!
'Well, Lizzy, go over there and dance with him! He might not be a pleasant man, but he is our guest. I cannot have him stand there all evening without anyone asking him to dance.'
'I was under the impression that it is the men who ask the ladies to dance, not the other way around.'
'Oh, come on, don't be silly. Who cares about these old-fashioned rules nowadays?' her mother replied indignantly.
'Considering that this is supposed to be a Regency ball, I thought...'
'Codswallop!'
That particular expression on her mother's face, Elizabeth knew all too well. There was no point resisting any longer. Fanny Bennet would not waver, no matter what arguments she would bring forward.
Resigned to her fate, Elizabeth manoeuvred herself across the dancefloor towards the other end of it where Mr Darcy stood. By the way, where the heck was Mr Bingley's sister? Oh, over there, trying to shake off Penny. Good luck with that. Knowing her father's cousin, that could be a while. And oops, there the man was already. When had she come so close?
'Mr Darcy?' she asked tentatively, even curtsying awkwardly.
All his answer was a raised eyebrow and yet another indignant look.
'May I have the next dance?' she curtsied again, feeling immensely silly.
Surprised he looked at her, then inclined his head slightly and with a grimace answered: 'I don't dance.'
Funnily enough, his rejection spurned something in her. How dare he! Too fine to dance at an assembly as this, was he? And that after she had basically been forced to make an utter fool of herself!
'Neither do I actually, but since this is a ball, some might think it offensive if we don't.'
'I already told you that I don't dance,' he repeated with an exasperated mien as if she were slow to understand his meaning.
'But...' she tried again.
'What is there to misunderstand, Miss whatever-your -name-is? But let me spell it out for you: I DO NOT DANCE!'
Wow, what a wanker!
'Then suit yourself, Sir all-high-and-mighty,' she smiled overly sweet, curtsying once again just for good measure, before departing to find her friend and a drink.
As it was, Charlotte was still busy at the buffet.
Not only had Mrs Goulding tried to find the leanest pieces of meat it seemed, but Lydia had managed to spill her coke over most of the table, and the cheese-platter, as well as the smoked salmon, which now swam in a brown puddle of fizzy drink. Several paper napkins had been used in an attempt to clean up the mess, without much success before unceremoniously discarding them; and dirty dishes and half eaten food was all over the place. In short, the buffet looked like a battlefield, just not quite as organised.
'Wait, I'll give you a hand, Lottie,' Elizabeth sighed.
Hopefully doing something active would pass the time.
'Thanks, Eliza. And? What did Mr Darcy say?' her friend gratefully accepted her help. 'I presume you have been told by your mum to dance with him?'
'Yep, and he refused point blank. I swear either he really is the most unpleasant fellow I have ever met, or his breeches pinch his privates.'
'He did not look much of a happy bunny yesterday either.'
'Shame. I had hoped for the later.'
'With breeches like this, it is not very likely that anything gets trapped there, Lizzy,' Charlotte smirked.
'And there I was hoping for a well-endowed man at last,' Elizabeth sighed theatrically, making Charlotte laugh out loud.
'Excuse me, do you know where the toilets are?' the older lady of the Bingley party suddenly approached them.
'Loos are down the corridor and then to the right.'
'Ah,' the lady replied dismissively, and Elizabeth wondered if she had said something wrong.
Oh, yes, of course, snobby people used “toilets”, “loos” were for the plebs...
Chapter 3:
The infamous Horsham Stick Dance
There is a time at every party, and especially an awkward one, where people start to wish to go home but don't quite dare do so for fear of offending. The result normally is a fairly querulous atmosphere, and Mrs Bennet with astonishing skill had chosen exactly that time for Meryton Morris, the local morris dancing group, to perform. One could almost call it ingenious. But only almost.
Mary and all the other dancers had changed into their costumes a while back already and were obviously eager to start. And no, the costumes were not one of these still fairly cool affairs with the rags attached to a tunic and blackened faces, oh no, a bright green frock with tiny white polka dots awkwardly reaching just a little lower than the knees, with a yellow and light blue stripy pinafore and ruffled bonnet as well as wooden clogs was their chosen attire. The ensemble, with its bright and cheerful colours, would have been very charming on a group of pre-schoolers, but looked decidedly odd on the mainly middle-aged and elderly lasses. Mary was the youngest member of Meryton Morris by a good two decades.
When after a particularly tedious rumba the DJ finally took a break, the fiddler, as well as the lady playing the melodeon, stepped onto the stage and promptly began to play an annoyingly cheerful tune. Okay, that was to be expected. Morris tunes were bound to be grating, right? But thinking about it, perhaps it was more the fact that the fiddler was already deep in his cups. Whatever. Never mind.
From the recesses of the assembly hall, the rest of the group, cheerfully waving their handkerchiefs at the crowd, hopped onto the stage and enthusiastically began their performance. Hankies whirled through the air, one or two of the dancers in their wooden clogs slid slightly on the polished wooden floor of the stage, but aside from that, all went well enough. So far so good.
But next was to be the Horsham Stick Dance, and that had always been a sure recipe for disaster. As far as Elizabeth was aware as yet it had frequently ended in at least a minor catastrophe. For some, handling one stick was already tricky enough, while two were bound to wreak havoc, for sure. Elizabeth watched with some mortification as Mary accidentally used the longer stick firmly held in her right hand, when she should have used the shorter one in her left, hitting her current partner firmly on the wrist. Yelping the woman let go of her shorter stick only to be struck again by Mary, a little slow in her reactions.
Closing her eyes Elizabeth hoped a hole would open beneath her, but as always, such luck was not for her. All she could do was watch on as slowly but surely chaos ensued.
Mary, now completely out of step, turned the wrong way, and consequently one of her sticks collided with the back of the head of another member of her group, while her actual partner stood slightly bedaz
zled trying her best to carry on without an opposite, her sticks whooshing aimlessly around in the air where they should have been met by her sister's.
The room was erupting with laughter while poor Mary tried her best to ignore her mishap and dance on, only to stumble over the stick that had fallen from her other partner's hand and end up in a sorry heap on the floor creating some kind of chain reaction.
Enough was enough! Unable to watch the performance any longer, Elizabeth turned and almost stumbled herself when she became aware that Mr Darcy was standing right behind her, watching on with mirthful eyes and a twitching lip, desperately trying not to burst out laughing. Miss Bingley was not so courteous and her spiteful cackle sounded particularly irksome.
'Dear me, Mr Darcy, what a spectacle! Seriously, these people shouldn't even be allowed to walk down the street unsupported by a responsible adult, for one must fear they'd stumble over their own feet at any given moment and end up in front of one's car,' she whispered audibly as soon as she saw Elizabeth's face flush in apparent shame.
Mr Darcy only shrugged his shoulders almost unnoticeably, whether it was in acquiescence or to oppose his partner's statement was not entirely clear, but Elizabeth was quite sure it was the former. Actually, looking at the mismatched pair, he in his prim and proper Regency attire looking quite regal, and Miss Bingley in her scanty little négligé looking like a prostitute, Elizabeth thought they, and Miss Bingley in particular, had little reason to make sport of others. Her eyes shot daggers at them both before she, at last, brushed past them and outside.
A breath of fresh air was more than needed, at this point, it was the only thing that assured her survival of this damn evening. Well, that and a couple of shots of Tequila.