The Darcys Give a Ball

by Elizabeth Newark

  Charlotte Collins sat with Mrs. Darcy and her gentle sister, Mrs. Bingley, in the long saloon overlooking the lake, whose northern aspect rendered it delightful for summer. There also were gathered Lady Charles Baluster and, a little later, Miss Morag Douglass, a cousin of Lady Moira Fitzwilliam, who was acting as companion and chaperone to Catriona Fitzwilliam. Meanwhile, the older menfolk, comprising Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, and Lord Charles Baluster, had made their way to the stables.

  Miss Caroline Bingley, to Eliza’s dismay, came and went between the two groups of women, relishing her importance as a guest at Pemberley, but unwilling to relinquish her self-designated post of guardian to Lucy Baluster.

  It was Juliet Darcy who set the tone of the afternoon gathering. Her manner was imperious and she seemed to have trouble remembering Eliza’s name. Henry greeted Eliza with his old ardor, his eyes lingering on hers as the introductions were made. She smiled back shyly, but as he started to speak, he was interrupted by Juliet, who announced her intention, after they had refreshed themselves, of carrying the girls off to her own room.

  “Catriona, I must show you my dress for tomorrow. And you must show me yours. Lucy, what color shall you wear? I hope we shall not all be the same.”

  Henry tried to divert Eliza to the stables on the excuse of showing her his horse (“your old friend,” he said), but Juliet would have none of it. “Jonathan may go with you, Henry. And Fitz and Torquil,” she said with an imperious nod of her head. “We will go upstairs. And later I want to show Lucy and Eliza the conservatory.” And the young men had obeyed her, though Henry wished to stay with Eliza and Fitz with Amabel. Juliet, thought Eliza, was used to having her own way.

  But Henry too had a mind of his own. Even as he accepted his dismissal, he turned to Eliza to say, with a slight bow, “We shall meet this evening, but pray save me tomorrow morning, Miss Eliza. We will ride tomorrow.” And then he was gone, leaving Eliza bright-eyed and wistful.

  The hours spent discussing dress in Juliet’s flouncy bedroom passed slowly. Eliza had one dress made specially for the ball, but her dress for dinner that evening was not new, merely her best. She knew she could not compete with these privileged young women in the matter of apparel. She longed to explore the beauties of Pemberley, both indoors and out. The day was brilliant, and the room grew over warm. Eliza began to make friends with Amabel Bingley, who asked about Longbourn, her mother’s old home, and Meryton, and expressed an interest in Eliza’s life there. Lucy Baluster said little. Juliet and Catriona kept up an animated chatter on London friends and activities, in which Eliza and Lucy could not join. At last they adjourned to the conservatory.

  Here, at least, the glass doors were open to the terrace. Inside, the conservatory was hot and humid; trickles of moisture ran down the windows farthest from the doors. It was a jungly place, thought Eliza. Vines reached to the rafters while below grew exotic flowering plants and shrubs, gardenias and camellias, frangipani and rare orchids. A heavy, heady scent filled the air. Eliza wandered away from the group, moving from plant to plant, smelling the flowers and admiring the brilliance of color and the delicacy of individual blooms. Juliet was offering gardenias as accessories for the formal ensembles for the ball.

  Eliza found Lucy by her side as she explored the farther reaches of the glassed enclosure.

  “Are you interested in flowers?” she asked, attempting to strike up a conversation.

  “Our conservatory at Langston Court is one of Mama’s great pleasures,” said Lucy. “It is not as large as this. Mama teaches me a great deal. And McTavish, our gardener, is my friend. He says I stay still and don’t fratter, as my brothers do.”

  “I know more about insects than plants,” confessed Eliza. “But the two go together. Some flowers are more attractive to butterflies than others. My brother Jonathan is a naturalist.”

  “It was he, I think, I met in the hall? There was no time to speak...” Lucy remembered a pair of gray eyes and a friendly, admiring glance as she mounted the stairs.

  “Yes, he is my dear friend. He is so kind to me,” said Eliza. “I missed him very much when he was away at Cambridge. And soon he is taking a post in London with the Royal Society. It is exactly the thing for him, Mama says; she is very pleased. But home will be empty without him.”

  “How nice for you to have a close friend among your family. I have no sisters, and my brothers are much younger, ten and eight. Sometimes we play, but they are so boisterous. They rush around and fight and make a great deal of noise.”

  They had circled the conservatory and drawn near to the rest of the party. Miss Bingley was once again one of the group, and Lucy drew back a little, behind Eliza. But to no avail.

  “There you are, Lucy. So hard to find! I was wondering where you could be. But I am always glad to take the trouble. Don’t you think it would be better if you rested on your bed? Such a tiring journey!”

  “I am very well, thank you, Miss Bingley, not tired at all,” said Lucy, looking despairingly at Eliza.

  Eliza had just been noticing a perfect spider web filling a windowpane next to the open door leading out to the terrace. Miss Bingley was quite close to that window. Eliza glanced at her tight-lipped face, thin corded neck, and over-ornamented dress.

  “Only see,” she said now, pointing out the web to whomever was interested. “One seldom finds a web so perfect. It’s as intricate as a lace handkerchief.”

  Her sleeve brushed the web, and the spider rushed out of hiding. It was fat-bodied, gingerish in color, quite large, and very leggy. Miss Bingley stepped hurriedly back behind the other girls, her hand at her heart. Juliet gave a small scream.

  “Oh, how dreadful. Do come away. I must tell Cameron to kill it.”

  “Oh, no, please don’t!” cried Eliza. “Spiders do so much good in a conservatory. They help keep down whitefly and mosquitoes and other egg-laying pests, Jonathan says. I think insects are fascinating. Do look, Lucy.” She managed to ease Lucy in front of her, closer to the door, pleased to see the other girl seemed quite unafraid.

  “Are you interested in natural history?” asked Amabel Bingley, polite but uncomprehending.

  “Jonathan teaches me. He is friendly with a young man named Darwin, Charles Darwin. They met at Cambridge. Mr. Darwin sailed as naturalist on the H.M.S. Beagle. They made a scientific survey.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, but anyone knowing her well would have caught the mischievous twinkle in her eye. Eliza had long ago learned that it was helpful to know just how people reacted to insects.

  “Oh,” said Juliet.

  “How interesting,” said Amabel.

  Their eyes met. There seemed nothing else to say in response to such an odd preference. Amabel began to talk about her sister’s house in London, where there was a small orangery. Miss Bingley was still at the rear of the group, and Eliza took Lucy’s hand and led her out of the door onto the terrace. A cool breeze caressed her flushed face and fluttered her curls, and she sighed with relief.

  “Do you know the way to the stables?” she asked her new friend, hurrying her away from the door.

  Chapter Seven

  Interlude

  The rain continued the whole evening without intermission...

  “I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in

  driving away love!”

  Jane Austen

  Sunset was not due until after eight o’clock but, by early evening, clouds had gathered and the sky was overcast. A wind got up and tousled the leafy canopy of the great trees in the park. The rooks rose cawing from the rookery and were tossed like ragged black handkerchiefs over the wood. Rain splattered against the windowpanes and fizzled on the still-hot terrace paving stones.There was a distant grumble of thunder.

  Juliet, who had completed the day in a state of high excitement, plunged at once into despair, lingering on the window seat and counting out loud the ever-increasing raindrops.

  “It is only a summer storm,” soothed her mother. “Quick to come and quick t
o go. You will see, my darling. It will soon blow over.”

  “Tonight the winds begin to rise

  And roar from yonder dripping day:

  The last red leaf is whirled away,

  The rooks are blown about the skies.”

  ...quoted Henry.

  “Oh, Henry, you are always so provoking.Why must you tease with your horrid poetry? You must know I am thinking of our guests tomorrow—those who come some distance—from London.”

  “There was a roaring in the wind all night;

  The rain came heavily and fell in floods.’”

  ...chanted Henry. He had not been happy with Juliet’s behavior that afternoon.

  Eliza glanced at Juliet’s flushed and petulant face, and thought it wise to complete the stanza:

  “But now the sun is rising calm and bright;

  The birds are singing in the distant woods.”

  Then she smiled at Henry. “Mr.Wordsworth enjoys his gloomy downpours, but he soon brings out the sun again.”

  “How well read you young people are,” said Elizabeth. “Juliet, don’t let Henry depress you with gloomy poetry. Surely you remember some of the happy ones? I am sure dear Miss Underwood (Juliet’s governess for many years, Charlotte—a very worthy woman) must have instilled some into you. How about:

  “My heart leaps up when I behold

  A rainbow in the sky.”

  But Juliet was thinking of Gerard Churchill, rain darkening his fair hair and dripping off his highly polished boots, gallantly riding through the storm in his scarlet regimentals. Her face stayed as downcast as the weather. Luckily the dinner gong sounded at that moment, supplying a welcome distraction.

  Dinner was served in the small dining room.

  The following night, Jonathan whispered to Eliza, dinner would be served in the grand dining room. There would be fifty guests to dinner. Jonathan had been luckier than his sister. He had renewed his acquaintance with Henry and had made a tour of the house as well as the outbuildings, and accumulated a vast store of interesting information.

  The Collinses were seated toward the center of the table. Charlotte pleasantly renewed her acquaintance with Mr. Bingley. Eliza was seated between Torquil Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy’s steward, Mr. Longacre, neither of whom paid her much attention: Torquil was teasing Juliet about a mutual London acquaintance, Mr. Longacre, a taciturn and weatherbeaten man, was interested in his dinner. Eliza employed her time in watching Mr. Darcy, at the head of the table, so handsome and so serious, and Mrs. Darcy, at the foot, so vivacious. She found them both fascinating. Jonathan, seated on the opposite side of the table, next to Catriona Fitzwilliam, was challenged by that lively young lady on the subject of natural history.

  “Your sister frightened us all very considerably by introducing us to a spider, Mr. Collins. She mentions worms and snails and slugs with great aplomb. And she tells us that this is a subject in which you are guiding her footsteps. Pray tell me, is it the custom in your family to frighten young ladies?”

  Jonathan laughed. Eliza had already mentioned the incident of the spider. He began to discuss, in a light-hearted way, the importance of spiders in the insect world, but also, keeping a solemn face, introduced the large and furry tarantula, the bird-eating spiders of the tropics, and the deadly Black Widow. There were gasps of horror and exclamations from the young ladies. Miss Bingley tried to change the subject (“So disagreeable to the female sex. Quite unsuitable,” she said. She was aware that Lucy’s eyes were fixed on Jonathan.), but other people began to pay attention and, before long, Lord Charles Baluster took Jonathan up. Lord Charles had friends at the Royal Society, it seemed, and he led Jonathan on to talk about his studies at Cambridge, and what he knew about the voyage of the Beagle, and that very odd young man, Mr. Darwin. Science, natural history, paleontology, mycology, ornithology—all were the talk of the day for rational men. The conversation became general. Jonathan, a social being, quiet but not shy, expanded under such encouragement and began to talk, at first amusingly, then more seriously, about the work being done on the understanding of the natural world. His manner before the older men was good, modest but confident. There was a great burgeoning of interest in all things considered part of nature. Collecting was a new enthusiasm. Rocks, fossils, insects, marine animals, birds’ eggs—shore and cliff, forest and hedgerow were pillaged in the interest of science. Much as Mr. Bennet had once collected books, a gentlemanly hobby, educated men now brought home the products of earth rather than the artifacts of man.

  When the men were left to their port, Elizabeth Darcy led the ladies to the Chinese drawing room on the first floor, which opened into the music room. Juliet was eager for an informal dance when the men should join the ladies, and her mother saw no reason to refuse. “Certainly, my dear,” she said. “If you can find a willing pianist.”

  Miss Douglass was quick to volunteer. She was a lively, talkative lady in early middle age, equally fond of society and her young charges, and always ready to forward their happiness. When the men entered, Juliet swirled her way over to them, her white skirts flaring round her, and seized her cousin Torquil’s hand.

  “Henry! Henry?” As Henry turned to Eliza, Miss Bingley bustled forward, inserting herself between them. “Your cousin Lucy—there she is, she’s waiting for you, Henry. Lucy? Here’s Henry to ask you to dance.”

  Country dances were thought the most suitable, and Miss Douglass’s fingers flew across the keys.

  Fitz paired at once with Amabel, Catriona held out her hand to Jonathan, and Eliza found herself with Anthony Bingley, with whom she had barely exchanged a word. She found him a pleasant conversationalist, gentle and friendly.

  Miss Bingley seated herself by Charlotte, with much arrangement of skirts and settling of flounces.

  “How do you do, Mrs. Collins. It is an age since we last met.Why, it must have been at Netherfield Park!” She gave Charlotte no chance to do more than smile and nod, but continued to speak.

  “Look at Henry and dear Lucy,” she said complacently. “A charming couple, don’t you agree? They have been devoted since childhood. A betrothal would be delightful—the whole family would be pleased. So suitable, so eminently desirable, don’t you think, Mrs. Collins?”

  Charlotte watched Lucy and Henry moving sedately down the dance. There seemed no special connection between them. She remembered Elizabeth telling her of Miss Bingley’s attempt to cut out Jane Bennet from her brother’s affections and marry him off to Georgiana Darcy, all those years ago. Miss Bingley, it seemed, did not change

  “You don’t feel that there is perhaps too close a relationship, that there might be too much involvement in the family with cousins?”

  “Too much, Mrs. Collins? How so?”

  “Mrs. Darcy tells me that Fitzwilliam is wild to marry his cousin, Amabel. That seems a certainty. Then Henry and Lucy—if they have indeed ever thought of such a thing—again cousins?”

  “But the Bingleys and the Balusters are not related!”

  “That is hardly the point, Miss Bingley.”

  “Then what is the point, Mrs. Collins?”

  “The health of the Darcy family tree, Miss Bingley.”

  “Your family seems to have a strong interest in scientific theory, if that is what it can be called, Mrs. Collins. I find it distasteful in the extreme, and hardly a suitable study for females. Not a subject for the dinner table,” said Miss Bingley, with an angry titter. “Unseemly, to say the least. The dear Queen must be our model in such things. But perhaps you have a more personal interest at stake? Do not imagine that the family will encourage your ambitions.”

  And she rose and swept away, with an angry rustle of taffeta underskirts and jet bead trimming.

  She found a seat close to Elizabeth Darcy and Georgiana Baluster and sat in irritated silence for a few moments, watching as a new dance began. She jerked at the jet beads trimming her sleeves, and played with her bracelets. Catriona Fitzwilliam had claimed Henry, she noticed with approval; Lucy
now danced with Fitz Darcy. At least there should be no waltzes that evening, Miss Bingley decided, if she could have her way. No immodest close partnerings. Her hands were never still.

  “Caroline,” said Georgiana at that moment. “I wish you might not be forever persuading Lucy into thinking herself delicate. She is no such thing. Those of us who have seen her romping with her brothers, playing at cavalry charges or Knights of the Round Table, know that at times she might well be taken for a hoyden! She is only just out and is still somewhat overawed by large gatherings, but that is just a little natural shyness. Her quietness has nothing to do with her health.

  “She tells me she finds Eliza Collins a very pleasant companion. They were together some hours this afternoon—they discovered a litter of puppies in the kennels, and some tabby kittens in the stable yard. Lucy enjoyed herself very much. I am always pleased when Lucy finds a new friend.”

  “Do you really think that a desirable friendship, dear Lady Charles? I was dismayed to see Miss Collins make such a dead set at Lucy—so obviously thinking it would be to her advantage to ingratiate herself. I have no doubt her mama encouraged her to do so. I believe Mrs. Collins was once a friend of yours, Mrs. Darcy? A respectable family, no doubt—though her father was in trade, as I remember? But Mr. Collins, who is he? A minor clergyman, living on the bounty of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, hanging on the Darcy family coattails.” Miss Bingley remembered belatedly that Mr. Collins was a distant connection of Mrs. Darcy. She coughed and touched her lips with her lace handkerchief.