The Unexpected Miss Bennet (24 page)

‘I don’t know, Miss Bennet,’ Anne repeated as they walked in the gardens at Rosings. They were bundled now against the chill, in thick cloaks and sturdy shoes, their hands in muffs and their faces protected by warm bonnets, for autumn had come. The gardens were withered and the leaves turned brown and lay wet on the muddy ground. The gardeners had cut back all the plants in preparation for their winter sleep, and the garden was sad, as winter gardens always were. ‘I don’t know why my mother thought an assembly was the thing. I am not quite sure that I will like it.’

What could Mary say? Although she agreed with Anne, she felt sure that Lady Catherine would wish her to encourage Anne otherwise. ‘I think that an assembly is quite a good thing,’ she said. ‘It can be a diversion from other duties. We find delight in reading and study, to be sure, but a rest from work can make work all the sweeter, I find. We two are in little danger of falling prey to frivolity and dissipation.’

Anne eyed her doubtfully. ‘I do suppose that you are right,’ she said. ‘But must I dance, Miss Bennet?’

Mary had a most uncharitable thought – if Miss de Bourgh had danced with Mr Aikens, poor Anne might have to take to her bed. She pretended to adjust her bonnet ribbon as another thought struck her.

‘Can you not dance, Miss de Bourgh?’

Anne’s expression was reply enough. Mary’s heart sank. Had she more proficiency, she supposed she could teach Anne to dance, at least a simple country dance. But she was barely a dancer herself. And the assembly was less than a week away. They would need experienced help.

‘Miss de Bourgh, I have an idea. Mrs Collins is quite a good dancer. Perhaps we can enlist her help.’

CHARLOTTE WAS DELIGHTED at the idea and entered into the spirit immediately. They pushed back the furniture in the little parlour. The cook held on to Robert and watched the fun, as first Mr and Mrs Collins demonstrated the steps to a simple country dance. As the Collinses had no pianoforte, Mary clapped out the beat.

She was not so sure that Anne could see what the patterns were, as Mr Collins lost his place several times and Charlotte had to scold him, but they were all breathless and good-humoured.

‘There, you see, Miss de Bourgh?’ Charlotte said, stopping, breathless. ‘Now you and Miss Bennet must try. Mary, take the gentleman’s part.’

‘Oh, of course,’ Mary said with a droll face, and everyone laughed. She bowed to Miss de Bourgh, who, also entering into the fun, though she blushed, responded with a credible curtsy.

Charlotte began tapping her foot and Mr Collins to clap his hands, and Mary talked Anne through the dance.

They practised several times before pronouncing Miss de Bourgh a lovely dancer, quite graceful and light of foot. Mr Collins would have gone on about it overlong but for Charlotte’s interrupting him and saying they should have tea so that the ladies could rest and refresh themselves before venturing out into the cold afternoon.

Over the next several days, Anne de Bourgh expressed concern more than once about the dancing. ‘What if I forget the steps, Miss Bennet? I do have the most abominable time remembering the turns.’

Mary assured her that the rhythm of the music and the other dancers would remind her of all the steps, and that she would simply follow her partner through the patterns. Uncharitably she thought that the assembly could not come too soon for her own nerves. She was tired of leading Anne in practice and playing the gentleman.

THE DAY ARRIVED and Anne was as full of anticipation and apprehension as if she were being presented at court. Her querulousness had returned and Mary had to prevent herself from snapping at her waspishly. It was only when they retired to their rooms to dress that she had a moment to herself.

She dressed in the same gown that she had worn to the Greys so many months before. It was freshly pressed, and the blue overdress and the lacy petticoat were as simple yet as pretty as she remembered. She had no maid to help her dress her hair this time, but Mary thought she could reproduce the braid that Lizzy’s maid had done for her. With much use of hairpins and the looking-glass she was quite pleased with the results. She regarded herself in the mirror. Her face was no longer thin and pale. Her complexion was quite pink. The cluster of curls at her temple drew out her eyes and Mary smiled experimentally. Then she blushed. What had Fordyce said about the perils of the looking-glass? She would do well not to dwell on her appearance, for beauty faded soon enough. Better to cultivate that inner beauty of a soul well nourished and an intellect well nurtured. Mary turned the glass over and gathered her gloves. Anne might need her help.

Next door in Anne’s room, the maids bustled in and out with petticoats, lace, and jewellery. Mary rapped gently at the open door and let herself in. Anne was being dressed by her maid and several undermaids. Her dress was much richer than Mary’s but, to Mary’s relief, Anne was not being done up like an artificial popinjay. Lady Catherine’s good sense, for all it was self-congratulatory, at least led her well with regard to her daughter. Anne wore a pretty washed-grey silk dress that revealed a plain white underdress. The ribbon under her bosom was a darker grey, and simple earrings, though sparkling with emeralds, were her only adornment, save for the hairpins that were set here and there in her dark hair. The colour was a good choice, for Anne’s pale complexion was not yet sufficient to set off the yellows or pinks that became other women.

Anne looked up at Mary with relief.

‘Oh, you are here! Thank you, Miss Bennet! I cannot go downstairs alone. I cannot!’

Mary came over to her and took her hand, pressing it comfortingly. ‘Miss de Bourgh, you look lovely,’ she said. ‘If you would like, I will walk downstairs with you.’

Lady Catherine might not like it, for she would want all eyes on her daughter, to give her the attention due to her, but Mary felt that that might be too overwhelming for Anne. Poor Anne. She seemed to be on the verge of hysterics.

‘Oh, Miss Bennet,’ she whispered. ‘The steps have flown completely out of my head. I cannot remember any of the turns. Oh please, you must help me.’

Mary pressed her hand once more. ‘Once more, then. Shall we?’

Anne nodded, her eyes filled with abject terror, and Mary led her through the dance, humming the little air. And now, she thought, Anne needed a little confidence.

‘When you hear the music, the steps will all come back to you,’ she told her. ‘Simply listen to the music and it will guide you, I promise, Miss de Bourgh.’

Anne nodded and took a deep breath to steel her nerves. ‘Shall we go downstairs, Miss Bennet?’

Mary held out her arm and Anne took it. Together the two made their way downstairs.

T
HE ASSEMBLY WAS not the grand event Mary had half-hoped and half-feared it would be. There was none of the liveliness as there had been at Lucas Lodge or at the Greys, for many of the company were of Lady Catherine’s generation rather than her daughter’s. The Collinses were there, Charlotte looking handsome in one of her old ball gowns. Mr Collins was quite staid as befitted a clergyman, telling all who would listen that he was gratified to be part of such an illustrious company.

There was that awkwardness that falls over a gathering of people who have very little to do with one another generally. Anne had retreated into her usual silence, which Mary had taken for being simply hauteur upon their first meeting, but had come to learn was caused by a strickening shyness that rendered her incapable of speech. So it was up to her. Accordingly, she thrust aside her own tendency to talk too much and show off her own learning, and tried to make such conversation as would put Anne at her ease. She did not have Jane’s sweetness nor Lizzy’s wit; she could only be Mary herself, and it would have to do. She almost wished for Lydia and Kitty, as their youth and vivacity, although forward and at times vulgar, at least would have enlivened the evening out of its dullness.
That is beyond my power,
Mary thought. Nor would Lady Catherine approve.
But how I wish this were more lively, for Anne’s sake.

Little did she know that to many guests she was the grave young girl who behaved quite nicely and made a dull evening more bearable with her quiet and sensible conversation.

The musicians whom Lady Catherine had engaged struck up the opening bars for the first dance, and all the company looked at each other uncomfortably. Mary saw Charlotte whispering to Mr Collins and nudging him forward. He coughed into his hand, then approached Anne and bowed.

‘Miss de Bourgh,’ he said clearly. ‘Would you do me the honour of giving me this first dance?’

Anne started violently and began to shake her head in terror. Mary was struck with a sense of disaster. Not Mr Collins! He would lead Anne into such difficulties, for a bad partner was no good for an inexperienced dancer. But oh, how much worse it would be if Anne didn’t dance. Mary nodded at her encouragingly.

‘Do go, Miss de Bourgh. Listen – they are playing the same dance we practised.’

Anne stood at last and followed Mr Collins to the one set that was forming. Mary crossed her fingers in her gloves. Oh please, Mr Collins, she begged silently. Please dance better than you ever have before.

An older gentleman, in his mid-thirties, stout and whiskered, came up to Mary and bowed, as if he were reporting for duty. He mumbled something by which she was made to understand that he wished to dance with her. Hoping that that was what he meant, she curtsied her assent. It would do Anne good to have Mary in the set. She and the gentleman, who muttered that his name was Mr Stevens, or something like it, took their places. Anne gave her a look of such relief. Soon Charlotte found a partner, and the music came round again to the beginning and the dancing began.

The first dance passed this way: Mary kept up polite conversation with Mr Stevens, who was very difficult to draw out, whilst keeping one eye on Anne. Anne could be seen counting turns and steps, but she rarely put a foot wrong. Mr Collins was surreptitiously guided by Charlotte, who made sure she was near him for the whole dance. On the whole, with each looking out for the other, it was as much of a success as a dreadful experience could be.

When the music ended, Mary was sure the entire company breathed a sigh of relief, each for their own reasons, even the silent Mr Stevens, and everyone applauded heartily, though it could not be sure whether that was because the dance had been pleasant or because it was over. Be thankful, Mary thought. It could have been much worse.

As no one else of the company wished to dance, when the music struck up for the next air, the dancers looked about one another but felt compelled to continue. Mary caught Charlotte’s eye. Her old friend mouthed the word
help!
with such an expression of merriment mixed with droll terror that Mary almost laughed out loud. Here they were, unable to stop dancing, even if they wished.

After they had danced only a few more dances, with Anne gaining proficiency with every new air, Lady Catherine came to their rescue, and the company was called into supper. The dancing helped guests unbend, so now they at least had something to talk about in conversation that was both polite and desperately stilted. That topic exhausted, Mary was almost relieved that Lady Catherine held forth in her usual manner. She expounded on almost all topics, and all that remained was for her guests to agree with her. Anne sat at the place of honour by her mother’s side, almost as silent as when they had first met, and Mary pitied her, for she could not possibly be enjoying it. Mary shared a table with Mr Stevens and others, and in between Lady Catherine’s commentary they exchanged the dullest pleasantries imaginable. When Lady Catherine signalled supper was at an end, she almost despaired of how much longer the evening had still to go.

Here the evening took a turn for the worse. The ladies went to the drawing room, the men to play billiards and smoke. While waiting for the gentlemen, the ladies decided to play at cards. Cards held no interest for Mary, however, she was placed at a table in which several of the guests considered themselves very good card-players.