To Make Sport for our Neighbours

by Ronald McGowan

  Jane was the first, and many would pronounce her the best. In a conventional sense, they would be right. I try, however, not to make invidious comparisons, which would, I fear, be all too easy. Jane has been a comfort to both her parents, and to all her sisters, though some would never own it, ever since she could toddle from one corner of the room to the other. She was a regular little mother to Lizzy from the first, though barely more than two years old herself when her sister arrived. Throughout her life she has shown a quickness of understanding, an eagerness to please, and a readiness to think the best of all around her that have never failed to win her friends. This disposition has occasionally led her into crediting those around her with less selfish motives than they have in reality harboured, but she has taken no great harm from it, and eventually found her soul mate in a husband very like herself.

  It would be pointless to pretend, however, that Lizzy has not always been something of a favourite. I am convinced that, even lying in her cradle, she displayed something more of quickness than all the others, and I believe that, of all my daughters, she is the only one who has consistently understood me, although Jane, too, has not been without her flashes of insight. Had she been born of the opposite sex, what a scholar she would have made, with her excellent understanding, her ready wit, and her quickness of appreciation of the essentials of a situation! But had she been born of the opposite sex, all our financial problems would have been solved merely by that happy chance. She reminds me, in many ways, of myself, which is, of course, why I like her so much.

  Lizzy, like her elder sister, has never given me a moment of real concern for her future happiness. Both of them have, as it happens, made quite brilliant matches, but had they not done so, they are possessed of resources within themselves which I am convinced would enable them to surmount any obstacle which life might place in their way.

  Not so my other daughters. Were I still at Oxford and assessing students, I should rate Jane and Lizzy as first class honours candidates, who could only fail to attain that success by their own negligence. By contrast, Mary is a conscientious plodder, whose valiant efforts might win her a second, while both Kitty and Lydia are lightweights, who might pass or be plucked just as the wind blows.

  I am aware that Mary finds herself derided on all sides for her bookishness and her indifference to the follies and fripperies upon which most young ladies waste their attentions and their time. Her mother, I know, does not serve her well in this respect by trying to make her into an inferior copy of her younger sisters, but I ask the reader to consider this.

  Mary is a young lady of intelligence enough to be able to see without assistance from anyone that she will never be able to compete with her sisters in the articles of either appearance or charm or wit. She is well aware of her family’s financial straits, and of her own, severely limited, prospects in the marriage market. So she strives to make the most of herself in the ways which are open to her, in erudition, and in music. Does this not argue a certain strength of character as well as of intellect? It is, at worst, not entirely her fault that her talents in her chosen field are not of the greatest, and that her mother (having no appreciation of this) seizes every opportunity to display their limitations.

  She has always been a willing enough child, ready to please her parents in any way she could, and it is not her fault that fate has planted her a violet in bed of roses and lilies.

  That fate could have been worse. Her sister Kitty is only ever remembered for her cough. What a fate, to be judged solely by the quality and frequency of one’s tussitation! But it has to be admitted, that it is what she does, far more often than anything else. It seems heartless to make fun of her, but no physical cause has ever been found for her cough, and she has survived and flourished to an age which very few consumptives attain, so I am obliged to assume that it is the means by which she hopes to achieve distinction. It certainly served the purpose of introducing us to a certain seaside watering place where we have since spent several summers, in the second of which the attention it brought her from the newly-installed physician there left us all in hopes of a romantic outcome. But I fear that expectations can never be fulfilled by expectorations, nor notions ever match potions.

  Each of my daughters has her own particular forte. Jane charms, Lizzy amuses, Mary educates, and Kitty coughs.

  What, then, are we to make of Lydia?

  Lydia, of course, is Mrs. Bennet’s favourite. She has always been the baby of the family, and was, from the start, not so much an afterthought as an oversight. Whether she derived her frivolous nature from the frivolous circumstances of her conception I have never been able to decide, but I make no doubt that, whatever its root may have been, it has certainly been tended and nourished by the constant attentions of her mother.

  Lydia gave us more trouble in the cradle than any of her sisters. She soiled more cloths, ejected more bowls of pap and filled the house with more and louder screeches than all of them put together. At that stage, however, she was the scourge of the nursery staff rather than of her parents, and never failed to chortle merrily and simper fondly in her mother’s presence.

  Lydia, of course, is Mrs. Bennet’s favourite.

  As a comparative infant she tore more frocks, wore out more stockings and spoilt more bonnets, than all else while completely ignoring all attempts at inculcating any kind of manners or behavior other than smiling archly at her mother and clinging on to her gown at every opportunity.

  Lydia, of course, is Mrs. Bennet’s favourite.

  As a young girl, she could never be induced to pay any attention to deportment, education, or anything else which did not suit her, nor to do anything but play at dressing her dolls and praising mama’s outfits.

  Lydia, of course, is Mrs. Bennet’s favourite.

  As a great girl her mind turned to her own adornment, and every day must bring a new chemise, or bonnet, or at least a bunch of ribbons, “for she wanted mama to be proud of her, and not to be a prude like Jane, or a bore like Mary”.

  Lydia, of course, is Mrs. Bennet’s favourite.

  There is no denying that she was, and still is, the silliest, most selfish, most empty-headed of all the girls I have ever seen, not merely of her own family, but anywhere.

  One is forced to admire her for the constant, unflinching dedication with which she pursues her own, imbecilic, ends, however, and it was, no doubt this dedication to her own pleasure, whatever the consequences, that resulted in her being the first of my daughters to gratify her mother, at least, by attaining the title “Mrs.” before her name.

  Lydia, of course, is Mrs. Bennet’s favourite.

  But at least while they were all still little misses on approval, these talents, these accomplishments were reserved for the delight and private entertainment of their own family.

  With time, all that must surely change.

  Chapter Ten: Coming Out

  Little girls, it is well known, grow bigger every day, and ours, alas, were no exception. An epoch was inaugurated one morning by the appearance in the library of Mrs. Bennet.

  “How gratifying it is to see you here, my dear.” I remarked. “Are you come to assist me in my endeavours? I am sure the bookshelves must by now be in need of rearrangement according to your inimitable system.”

  “It is kind in you to say so, Mr. Bennet, and I am always willing to take my part in your efforts, to be sure. I take your appreciation very much to heart, but perhaps if it would wait until after the big wash is finished? Or I could get Deborah to leave off her mending and come assist me now, if you wish.”

  “No, no, my dear, you must not upset your domestic arrangements merely to suit my whim. I know how busy you are with a household to run and five great girls to look after. Pray do not trouble yourself on my account. I shall make shift to manage without you somehow.”

  “You are very good, Mr. Bennet, and it is about the girls that I am come to see you. I must know soon, you see, what you propose to do about Jane.”


  “What I propose to do? About Jane? I was not aware of any need of doing anything about Jane. Is Jane giving any cause for concern that I do not know about?”

  “Oh, Mr. Bennet, you know full well that Jane never gives any trouble at all, not like some I could name. But you must realise that in scarce three months time she will be eighteen.”

  “So she will! And it seems but yesterday I dandled her on my knee. It is true; time will pass, however we may resent it, and we are all growing older even as we speak. But I fear that there is very little I can do about it, my dear.”

  “But Jane will be eighteen years old. At that age I was married, but so far there has been no sign of any young man showing any interest in your daughter. Do you not think it time she came out?”

  “I confess I do not really understand the complexities of the significance the female sex attach to the words ‘out’ and ‘not out’. Jane has been in long frocks for some time now, if my memory serves me correctly, has she not?”

  “True, but it is not immediately clear whether she is out or not, so young men do not know how to approach her. It is past time that this was made clear, if she is ever to have the chance of a good match. She must come out properly. She must have her coming out ball.”

  “A ball! Is not that a trifle extravagant, considering that the money spent on such a project might be better laid by to provide portions for our girls? Is it not rather impractical, too, as we have neither ballroom here at Longbourn, nor, I think, any room large enough to be adapted to the purpose? Could we not just hang a notice on the gate, saying ‘Daughter for sale, apply within’? Indeed, if you are so persuaded of the desirability of getting your daughters ‘off your hands’, could we not propose a ‘take one, get one free’ offer for wife and lady’s companion combined?”

  “What a rattle you are, to be sure, Mr. Bennet! But Jane must have her ball, she really must. How is she to make her way else? You know we shall all be turned out of here the minute you are gone by that odious cousin of yours and the wretched entail. And as for the expense, the Lucases have not two pennies to rub together, yet Charlotte had her ball, and if Charlotte Lucas can have her coming-out ball, then so can my daughter.”

  “It is more than I can engage for, my dear, but I thank you for bringing the matter to my attention. I shall bear it in mind.”

  The ensuing verbiage I neither recollect nor, in truth, heard. Knowing when to be deaf is a vital art in an enduring marriage.

  I forbore to point out that Charlotte Lucas, ball or no ball, was still unmarried, it being evident that we were now at a juncture in which no words would ever prevail. When it comes to keeping up with the neighbours, all reason flies out the window, and what must be done, must be done. I knew I should have no peace until at least the band was engaged, and at last ended the scene by promising to consult Sir William Lucas on how his daughter’s affair had been managed.

  In the end, however, I took my own counsel. Miss Lucas’s ball, I recollected, had been held at the assembly rooms in Meryton. The advantages of such a venue are obvious. It is known to all, has an adequate ballroom and other appurtenances, and music, food and all other amenities are ready to hand. The disadvantages, however, are as many. The most obvious of these is cost, and how Sir William had overcome this difficulty I had no idea, and no notion of enquiring. Added to this, though it may be convenient for the guests, it is just as inconvenient for the hosts, who have to go to and fro from their own home as if they were at a public function.

  It was this latter consideration that influenced me most, combined with the thought that any gathering held in a public place is bound to partake, to some degree, of a public nature. With a private party, in a private house, the guests are at the host’s discretion. Much less so in a public venue, where members of that same public would have far more opportunity to insinuate themselves into the proceedings.

  If this was to be my daughter’s entry into the marriage market, I was anxious to make sure that none but eligible candidates should take part. There were, in fact, so few young gentlemen of that description in the neighbourhood that all could be adequately accommodated in the dining room at Longbourn. But, of course, their parents would have to be invited, too, and their sisters who were out, and their brothers, and anyone else who might happen to be staying with them, not to mention Old Uncle Tom Cobleigh. It was necessary to find the room for them all.

  My tour of the house with Tom the carpenter and his measuring stick, could not be disguised, and I was constrained to admit to Mrs. Bennet that she might send her invitations to whomsoever she wished.

  This was as much as she desired, and I was left to my own devices to create a makeshift ballroom and engage musicians, while she went into ecstasies over white soup and puddings, and, of course, dresses.

  One would hardly credit the ingenuity required nowadays to stage a ball in a private gentleman’s residence which does not incorporate a room specially built for the purposes. Our ancestors may have been satisfied with moving the furniture from their dining room and sawing away on the instruments themselves while six couple of their juniors danced to their delight. Indeed, I believe I remember seeing a picture of the late Prince of Wales doing just that.

  But such improvisation will not do for the modern age, and neither will such a small scale. There must be room for twenty couple, at the least, if the host is not to be a laughing stock and a pariah, and forty couple would be better. Nor may the music be provided by the company, but must be served, along with the supper, by persons specially engaged for that purpose.

  But all these problems can be solved, with a little determination and rather more expense, and solved they were. In fact, I rather pride myself on the ingenuity of my solution. By temporarily removing the large, double doors between the dining room and the hall, we created space enough for a longways dance for the required number, while the band, ingeniously placed on the stairs and landing, served the double purpose of providing music and preventing unauthorized access to the upper floor.

  I received several comments during the course of the evening on the unorthodoxy of this proceeding, but I have never been afraid of a little singularity when it served my purpose.

  Serve the purpose it did, and Miss Bennet came out in style with a grand ball on the evening of her birthday.

  Her sisters, poor things, had to be content with tea in the nursery. It would never do for them to be available to compete with Jane on her big night, and would in any case be quite inappropriate for them to attend a ball in their circumstances. Lizzy understood the need for this, and Mary set no store by such things, but the two younger girls thought it hard indeed that they were not to have their share of the evening’s amusements.

  Jane herself would willingly have included them in the festivities, but her mother would not hear of it.

  “Tonight is for Jane, and Jane only. Her sisters will each have their turn, but not yet. Although, of course, if any young man with two or three thousand a year should come along and offer for Lizzy, or, indeed, for any of them, that would be a different matter, although the others are too young, really.”

  “But it is Jane who must be allowed to shine tonight. With her beauty and her sweet, obliging nature, surely she will find someone tonight who knows her worth?”

  I rather doubted that, myself. The only things the young men around here know the worth of come in the shape of small discs of gold with the king’s head stamped upon one side and a spade upon the other.

  But I have always delighted in witnessing the pleasure of my children, and Jane’s was evident enough as the evening wore on. She was never short of a partner, they were all of the right age and none of them had any obvious deformity. I think it was as much as she had expected. No-one, as far as I could tell, singled her out particularly, but that could hardly be expected on this first foray into the social scene.

  Jane herself expected nothing more, I am sure, but her mother took a very different view. How many times during the evening d
id she assail my ears with…

  “Does not our Jane look well dancing with young Mr. Goulding? What a pretty couple they make, do they not? Do you not think they would do well at Haye Park?”

  “Mr. Long is very attentive, is he not, and he is like to be very comfortable when his father dies.”

  “Mr. Cole cannot keep away from Jane. Just look at him now. Would not that be a fine match?”

  …and the like.

  At one point she did vary the chorus by complaining of hearing a cough in the quieter passages of the music.

  “It is not you, my dear, is it?” she enquired. “You must not succumb just yet. We must all take care of ourselves, you know.”

  I denied the accusation with vigour, and waited impatiently until she had passed on before I risked a glance up to the landing, where four little noses could be seen peeking over the banister.

  Jane’s sisters were taking what pleasure they could out of the evening, each one in her own way.

  Mary had her nose in a book, of course, and only raised it when summoned to do so by one of her sisters, and Kitty could barely be seen for the handkerchief pressed to her face, but Lizzy was taking a keen interest, a quizzical smile upon her face, obviously marking who danced what with whom, for comparison with her big sister later.

  Her little sister, Lydia, meanwhile, seemed positively entranced, jigging up and down all the time, her eyes wide, her face glowing. It was obvious that only the restraint of her elders prevented her from shrieking with excitement.

  This was all very well, but there would be tears before bedtime at this rate. I caught Lizzy’s eye and nodded towards the bedrooms. With the quickness with which she has always been blessed, she caught my meaning immediately, and held up her hand, with the fingers outspread. I nodded, and mouthed, silently,

  “Five minutes”

  She smiled, and bowed in assent. I thanked providence that at least one of my daughters is endowed with more than a modicum of sense, and settled down to enjoying, as best I could, the antics of the company.