A Private Performance

by Helen Halstead

“I think she is making a terrible mistake. Did you notice how he pursued Miss Bennet before the arrival of an heiress changed his course?”

  “Indeed I did.”

  “Miss Robson came to my room last night, full of talk of him. She told me that her aunt more than approves; she thinks the world of him. They have known him but four days. What can I do?”

  “Nothing whatever.”

  “Will he make her happy?”

  He did not answer, perhaps feeling a little tired of other people’s happiness. They walked along in silence, until he said: “Darcy will be pleased.”

  “Why?”

  “This marriage will remove the last trace of the guilt he felt when Lady Catherine deprived young Foxwell of his living. I doubt he would have made a conquest like this from his vicarage.”

  “She is but his prey! As I may be, courted for nought but my fortune.”

  “Your friends will take better care of you than Miss Robson’s have of her, never fear.”

  “I wish you would not go, Henry,” whispered Georgiana.

  “My father bids me home; I know not what he wants of me.” She was cut through, unaccustomed to this cynical tone. Unaware, he continued: “Then I must attend upon Lady Catherine, until it is time to return to my regiment.”

  A tear slid down her cheek. “Do you weep for me still, Georgiana? Do you not know I have just begun my cure?”

  “I am happy to hear it.”

  “Then I am happy too.”

  “Next winter, I will be out, and I must accompany Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth, when they are invited into society. Last winter, I would sometimes sit in Elizabeth’s dressing room and watch her dress to go out—do not laugh at me.”

  “When have I laughed at you?”

  “I would pretend to myself that I were a little girl and she my mother.”

  His heart yawned open. Such tiny figures they seemed, Georgiana and he, standing on the rim of the world.

  “Dear Georgiana, your brother and I did our best for you. Yet we could not manage the part of mother.” She smiled and looked away.

  “Let us take a little tour around the lake, for I must away after luncheon.”

  She took his arm again and tucked herself in at his side.

  “Dear Georgiana,” he said, “you are the only being, in all the world for whom I am not superfluous.”

  The colonel left, duty-bound, but three more weeks of summer pleasures went by at Pemberley. By day, there were walks and drives for the ladies and fishing for the men. In the evening, there was music, dancing and cards. The last entertainment was a concert.

  Mr. and Mrs. Edgeley did not accompany their daughters to the musical evening. The curate’s health was the given reason, but, in truth, it was so long since his wife had a new evening gown that she lacked the courage to face such a fashionable crowd. The lure of the music was too great for Anna, and the adventure for Emily.

  Elizabeth was pleased to see Mr. Turner make a point of speaking to the Misses Edgeley, staying with them in the drawing room until dinner.

  When the ladies withdrew, Elizabeth ran up to the music room to ensure that all was in readiness. As she re-entered the drawing room, the first ladies she encountered were Anna and Emily with Miss Bingley. Caroline was saying: “I adore nothing so much as a simple meal followed by an impromptu little concert among friends.” Perhaps Caroline did not know that the sumptuous array of dishes served at dinner was not seen by everyone as a simple repast. She turned to Miss Edgeley. “Your performance upon the harp last month was exquisite. I do hope you will honour us again this evening.”

  The faintest of flushes heightened Anna’s marble cheeks at the implication she was a hired musician.

  “I think not, Miss Bingley.”

  “Oh?”

  ‘Why have they come then?’ Caroline thought. She saw her hostess.

  “My dear Mrs. Darcy, I declare I am heartbroken, for Miss Edgeley says she will not play for us this evening.”

  “I have hired musicians, Miss Bingley, so my guests will hardly play.”

  “What a foolish mistake. I do beg your pardon.” She curtsied deeply to Anna and swept away.

  Elizabeth followed her with her eyes for a moment. ‘Insolent girl. What motive could she possibly have for insulting young women so inoffensive and unprotected as these?’ she thought.

  When the gentlemen joined the ladies, Edward Turner looked around the room. He saw Kitty with a lively group of elegant young people. He hesitated, before rejoining the Misses Edgeley.

  Quite lacking in talent for small talk, Anna was a stimulating conversationalist for a cultivated man such as this. Her musical knowledge was formidable and she was as well read as any other lady in the room, doubtless much better read than most. Emily was happy to stay in the background, watching the faint spark that lit the cool grey of her sister’s eyes.

  Miss Robson slipped out of the room for a few moments and, immediately, Lieutenant Foxwell approached Kitty. With an innocent smile to the officer, she walked straight past him and went to the nearest available young man.

  “Mr. Turner,” she cooed sweetly, “I had not seen you. How do you do, sir?” Whence came the colour in her cheeks? Turner feared it was matched by his own.

  Kitty turned, and said, “Miss Edgeley, Miss Emily, I am so happy to see you again. I hope your parents are in good health?”

  “They are tolerably well, thank you,” Miss Edgeley replied. “I understand you have not been in good health yourself, Miss Bennet.”

  “I took a cold, from dancing on the terrace at the ball, and you must take the blame, Mr. Turner, for you would make me do it.” He laughed at the injustice of this claim, while Kitty turned back to the ladies and continued: “It was such a splendid evening. All the doors were open, and the terrace lit up with torches. It looked so gothic, so thrilling. Some of us ran outside and formed our own set on the terrace.” In spite of herself, Emily’s imagination was fired, but Anna felt a chill. “I was dancing with Mr. Turner and he made me go out too, although I knew I must not, for I always catch cold. Lizzy was ever so cross with me, but I got better after a day or two, so she was wrong, after all.”

  His voice was warm. “I am much relieved that you have recovered, Miss Bennet. I should never have allowed it, had I known of this delicacy.”

  “How should you have prevented me?”

  He looked into her upturned face. “I know not.” She looked up at him with the suggestion of a pout.

  “Mr. Turner, I shall leave you now, for I have interrupted a very learned conversation, I am sure.”

  “Perhaps you have, but the interruption was not unwelcome.”

  “I think it must have been. I daresay you were talking of music. I cannot talk about music, for I am fearfully ignorant of it.” Mr. Turner looked as though he thought this an admirable trait.

  She put her hand on his arm and said, “I shall tell you why sometime, if you promise your secrecy.” Leaning towards him, she was seemingly unaware that her bodice gaped ever so slightly.

  Miss Edgeley became suddenly very interested in the painting on the wall behind them, and turned away. Emily gazed at her in helpless sympathy.

  “Do not, Emily, pray.” Emily turned to the picture.

  Edward spoke softly. “Tell me, now, Miss Bennet, I beg you.”

  She looked down demurely. “A very horrible man would come to our house. He was a … music master.” On his quiet little laugh, she looked up. “He said to Mama that it was ‘quite hopeless’ to try to teach me. Do you not think that very cruel?” Where was the articulateness with which Edward had so impressed Mr. Darcy? He could scarcely answer her.

  “Yes.”

  “Will the weather continue fine, do you think, Mr. Turner?”

  “The weather? Not for very much longer, I should think. It has been unusually warm for this part of the country.”

  “I do so hope it does, for I go to Scarborough next week and I am determined to go sea-bathing.”

&
nbsp; “You go to Scarborough? When will you return?”

  “I know not if I shall ever return,” she said carelessly. “Perhaps I shall go with my sister Mrs. Bingley to Hertfordshire.”

  Turning to the Miss Edgeleys, she said: “The music is about to begin. Shall we go up together?”

  She seated the curate’s daughters one each side of her. Wonderfully dainty she looked between them.

  “You shall sit there, Mr. Turner,” she said, indicating the seat next to Anna. “And the two of you can say clever things to each other.”

  Elizabeth sent Kitty an approving smile, and Kitty’s demure look seemed to say: “Am I not good to be so kind to these poor things?”

  She thought she would sit with them for the first part of the programme, after which she would surely have done her duty by them.

  Indeed, when they moved into the reception room for refreshments, Kitty stayed only a moment or two at their side, before flitting off in the direction of the same happy group she had found so entertaining earlier. Turner occupied himself with helping Anna and Emily to cake and champagne. Darcy came to speak to them. If he had hoped for a lively discussion of the first part of the programme, he was disappointed. The atmosphere was constrained. In someone else’s house, he would have wandered off again. As host, he made an effort to animate them. After a few minutes, Darcy asked Turner if he had spoken to the bishop, who, with his wife, was spending a few days at Pemberley on their way north. As he had not, he took the young vicar from the ladies.

  Anna and Emily watched their retreating backs. Emily whispered: “I believe Mr. Turner is attentive to Miss Bennet out of respect for her brother-in-law.”

  “I judge differently, Emily.”

  “Anna—”

  “I will speak of him no more.”

  Meanwhile, it was arranged that the bishop and his wife, with the Darcys, would come to church at Kympton on Sunday. Mr. Turner felt emboldened to invite them to breakfast at the vicarage.

  Kitty did not quite know how it happened that she sat next to Mr. Turner for the second half of the concert. Perhaps it was his hopeful look. She looked straight ahead at the flautist, fascinated by the rapt look in his eyes and the way his lips pursed against the instrument. The sound of the music must have affected her strangely, for she felt disturbed. She never turned her head, but did not forget, for a moment, the man beside her. Never before had maleness made quite this impression upon her. He looked at her flushed face, her dark hair curled neatly against her head. How slight was her figure, how tiny her bosom. He turned back to the flautist. Sitting on the other side of him, Anna called on the discipline of years and attuned her mind solely to the music. There was nothing else for her here.

  CHAPTER 21

  OVER THE NEXT DAY OR so, the carriages rolled away from the steps and up the hill.

  Amelia leant out of her carriage window.

  “Dear, dear Elizabeth, until London then, I bid you farewell. I have so enjoyed myself. However, too much of a good thing spoils one. Tomorrow, I make my obeisance to Mother.”

  “Goodbye,” laughed Elizabeth.

  Amelia sank back in her seat.

  “Do not look so cross, Teddy. It was but a jest.”

  Bingley was anxious on leaving. Before getting into the carriage, he said: “Darcy, I do wish you had viewed Rushly Manor before we quite settled upon it.”

  “You would rush into the decision, Bingley. You still have the opportunity to withdraw. Have you retained my notes regarding the points we discussed?”

  “Yes, absolutely.” He added hopefully, “We did so like the house, Darcy.”

  “Your enthusiasm will wane in winter, especially if you are tardy in bringing down the trees on the south side of the house. Be sure to insist upon all salient points with the agent, before you sign.”

  “Of course, I wouldn’t consider buying the place if any practical matters were left unsatisfactory.”

  “Unless the price is adjusted accordingly.”

  “Yes, indeed. That would make it all right.”

  From the carriage steps, Miss Bingley turned.

  “I will ensure that my brother follows your excellent advice, Mr. Darcy.”

  Elizabeth added, “If you are still uncertain, you can turn to Kitty for her views.”

  “Yes, Kitty!” cried Bingley. “You must give us your opinion on everything.”

  “In that case I am relieved of all uneasiness,” muttered Darcy.

  Elizabeth took Jane’s hands in hers. “Dear Jane, I hope your heart is not too set upon making Rushly Manor your home, for my husband may yet forbid Charles buying it.”

  “Lizzy!” The gentle reproof dissolved in laughter.

  “Jane, Jane. When I think that in four months we will be but three hours’ journey from each other, I am delirious with joy.”

  “And I, Lizzy. My happiness will be complete.”

  “In more ways than one,” whispered her sister, with a subtle glance towards Jane’s stomach, its small swell hidden by the folds of her coat.

  “Away you all go! Buy Rushly Manor this very night, then fly to Scarborough. Get yourselves very wet by day and dazzle the local populace by night.”

  They watched the carriage drive away. Darcy said: “He is capable of purchasing the place without making the slightest claim for the cost of repairs. He took Netherfield on a ten-year lease without even going upstairs.”

  Elizabeth put her arm through his.

  “Bingley is fortunate to have such a very sensible friend as you to keep him from harm.”

  “There can be no argument against that.”

  She smiled. “Of course, you are fortunate, too, in having a friend who so appreciates your guidance.”

  He looked at her coolly. “A compensation, I suppose, for lacking a wife who does?”

  “I appreciate your guidance exceedingly. I do not, perhaps, prostrate myself every time you part your lips, but should you like it if I did?”

  “I have not been given the opportunity to assess the happiness of such a circumstance.”

  “You may enjoy the performance the first time, but within two months of the day that you conquered me so completely, you would cease to notice me altogether.”

  “Perhaps.” He laughed.

  “Walk with me, Fitzwilliam? We have a week to ourselves, before the Gardiners come. Let us begin to enjoy it now.”

  She took one arm and Georgiana the other, and they walked towards the bridge across the stream.

  “The Hursts and Miss Bingley were disappointed that you did not join their adventure to Scarborough, Georgiana. Kitty was thrilled to take your place.”

  “I should much rather stay here with you and Fitzwilliam. I hope Kitty will enjoy her stay there. She …”

  “Go on.”

  “It is nothing worth mentioning.”

  “I am sure it is,” laughed Elizabeth.

  “I thought that Kitty was in two minds about going to Scarborough just at the end.”

  “That would have been the effect of the letter from my papa. I showed a passage in it to Mrs. Hurst, who promised faithfully not to let Kitty within twenty feet of a red coat.”

  “I suppose it must be that.”

  “You can be quite sure of it.”

  They stopped on the bridge, looking out over the stream to the lake. Reflections of billowing clouds rippled across the water. Georgiana drew her coat about her. They crossed the bridge and entered the wood, their usually brisk pace adjusted to Georgiana’s slower step. The wind was freshening as they wound around the paths. Elizabeth skipped ahead and turned to face them.

  “How wonderful it is to be alone together,” she said. “I love to be with my friends, and I love to be without them, too.”

  “Daily my disinclination for society grows,” said Darcy. “Can you not imagine us living happily here, always?”

  Elizabeth danced away from them, laughing.

  “For a time.”

  “We are not enough for you?”
he asked, smiling slightly.

  “Not nearly enough. I am like my papa. At whom can I laugh, if I lack fresh subjects for my study?”

  He smiled, but not with his eyes.

  She said: “You would not separate me from my sisters.”

  “You have a sister here,” he said, “who loves you with all the devotion of a lifetime’s acquaintance, I believe.”

  “I cannot bear comparison to the sisters whom Elizabeth has loved all her life,” protested Georgiana.

  “Indeed you can and do!” declared Elizabeth. “Yet I do not stop caring for Jane because I care for you.”

  “Naturally, our relations are included in our family party,” said Darcy.

  She smiled and turned to walk up the path ahead of them. After a moment’s silence, she said, over her shoulder, “I believe you mean to keep me from London, sir!”

  “No, indeed. My pleasure in this opportunity to monopolise your society has bred a momentary fancy to be ever thus.”

  “Good Lord!” she cried, and faced them again. “If you are to begin having momentary fancies, I shan’t know who you are, Fitzwilliam.”

  He laughed and put out his hand to her. She came back to them, and took his arm. They walked on.

  The wind began to creak in the trees and pull at the ladies’ coats. Georgiana shivered and they turned back to the house. By the time they recrossed the little bridge, dark clouds had massed. As the footman took Elizabeth’s coat, he said:

  “A letter is just come for you from Deepdene, madam.”

  The envelope lay on the tray, its black border announcing its contents before it was opened. The marchioness wrote that her nephew, Lord Bradford, had died, without recovering consciousness. Their immediate concern was to calm Lady Bradford, whose display of hysterical grief threatened the safety of her unborn babe. Until the babe was delivered, the identity of the next earl, indeed the next marquess, too, remained unknown.

  Georgiana flushed. How he would change, the kind and thoughtful lieutenant, should he succeed his brother to the title. He would be too full of his own importance to ever trouble himself again about anyone else’s feelings but his own.

  At Scarborough, the sad news of the death did not unduly disturb the party. Caroline had barely noticed the colonel’s quiet friend, and now wished she had. Her sister, Mrs. Hurst, was engrossed in her responsibilities. Caroline needed no watching, but under Louisa’s chaperonage, Kitty would be protected indeed. At more than one assembly and party, requests were made by officers of the regiment, encamped near Scarborough, to be introduced to Miss Bennet. These were met by Mrs. Hurst’s gracious refusals on the grounds of the young lady’s excessive shyness. Her little nod let the M.C. at the assembly know that Miss Bennet’s timidity may be overcome by a certain minimum income.