A Private Performance (8 page)

Mr. Whittaker regaled the other visitors with an entertaining account of the ball, while the sister, a raconteur's perfect partner, inserted some amusing asides and adjustments.

“Mrs. Darcy recited a sonnet composed on the spot, putting right certain errors made by the dastardly M.C.,” he said.

Elizabeth interjected: “Mr. Whittaker, two lines of doggerel scarcely constitute a sonnet.”

“Madam, the reception your offering received guarantees that it will go down in the history of the Twelfth Night frolic as a sonnet worthy of the bard.” Elizabeth looked laughingly at Darcy, but he had got into one of his humourless moods.

“I do hope you enjoyed the ball, Mrs. Darcy,” said Mr. Whittaker.

“I thank you, Mr. Whittaker, I enjoyed myself very much.”

Caroline Bingley turned to Darcy.

“I hardly dare hope that you enjoyed yourself, Mr. Darcy. I so sympathise with your views on the tediousness of balls,” she said.

After a moment's thought, he said: “I thank you, Miss Bingley. I might say that this year's Twelfth Night Ball was the first I truly enjoyed.”

Miss Whittaker's voice floated dreamily on the air.

“We will dine with Lady Englebury this evening, Mrs. Darcy,” she said. “Dear Mrs. Courtney will be there. I understand that you were to see the marchioness this morning.”

“Her ladyship was kind enough to receive me.”

“She is full of kindness … when she likes someone. She felt constrained to attend the ball to launch the marquess's niece upon society,” Arabella continued. “Her ladyship suffered dreadfully there,
for she cannot bear to talk to dull people, let alone watch them hop about in the dance.”

“Then she has something in common with Miss Bingley. She cannot abide the stupidity of balls,” said Elizabeth.

“I don't believe I said that!” cried Miss Bingley. “Dancing is perfectly acceptable when the company and conversation are superior.”

“I believe our aunt was never fond of dancing, even in her youth,” said Whittaker.

“What is your connection with Lady Englebury?” Elizabeth asked.

“Our late lamented father was her ladyship's brother; and your friend, Mrs. Courtney, our cousin, by her sister.”

Elizabeth said, “I am sorry to hear of your father's passing.”

“You are most kind.” Miss Whittaker raised one eyebrow, and her brother did the same. For a moment they looked absurdly alike. Then, realising they were in danger of staying too long, the elegant pair rose, made their farewells and departed.

“The Marchioness of Englebury, eh?” said Mr. Hurst, in another burst of articulateness.

Miss Bingley had heard enough, and a glance at her sister was sufficient to move their party off too.

 

Caroline felt quite put out for a day or so, and complained to Louisa.

“I have so longed to attend Lady Reerdon's Twelfth Night Ball. We'll never be invited to it now, I suppose.” She paced about the room, and Louisa smiled sympathetically.

“What did Mr. Darcy ever really do for us in society, Louisa? Nothing that put him out in the slightest, when one looks back upon it.”

“My darling Caroline, he could hardly ask us to his friends' parties. We did meet Lady Reerdon at his house on two occasions last winter. As I recollect, we were pleased with the honour.”

“I wonder if we are to be included in any more such entertainments, now that Mrs. Darcy will be drawing up the guest lists.”

Louisa sighed. “If only we'd been more pleasant towards her, Caroline.”

“How could I be more attentive to her than I am?”

“I mean from the beginning of our acquaintance with her, in Hertfordshire. Great heavens, if I'd known Mr. Darcy would marry her!”

“Indeed, and I suffered needless anxiety last winter thinking Miss Whittaker would make a set at him. His affections were already engaged elsewhere.”

“You see, sweet Caroline, you have gained peace of mind from Darcy's marriage.” She rose gracefully and went to sit beside her sister on the settee. “What think you of Mr. Whittaker? He has come into an excellent fortune, and he appears an intelligent man. You do like intelligence in a man, do you not?”

Miss Bingley patted her sister's hand. She went over to the fireplace and studied her reflection in the mirror above.

“I like intelligence well enough, in combination with a good fortune. If there is one without the other, I may find I must make a sacrifice.” She turned to Louisa with an air of mock sanctity. “The intelligence must be my burnt offering.”

They enjoyed a comfortable sisterly laugh together.

M
R
. B
ENNET HAD DETERMINED NOT
to visit Elizabeth in town until she was settled there at least six weeks, but, missing her, he took the post for London, arriving at Brougham Place on Tuesday afternoon. Finding daughter and son-in-law out, he said he would wait and settled down by the library fire with a drink and a book.

He looked about him with satisfaction. While the room was not comfortably worn in like his library at home, it was decorated with masculine good taste. He rang for another glass of wine.

A little later, the door opened. “Papa!” Slowly putting down his drink, he turned.

“Ah, it's you, my dear.”

Elizabeth ran over and kissed him.

“You have certainly taken your time in coming home, Elizabeth.”

She sat on the arm of his chair. “Why did you not let me know you were coming?”

“We were not always on such a formal standing.”

“We were living in the same house, Papa.”

“So we were, my dear. So we were.”

“How are Mama and Mary?”

“Your mother suffers yet with her nerves and finds the quiet less beneficial than she hoped. Your sister, Mary, however, is become positively giddy, unaccustomed as she is to sustained converse with her mother. Why, she has only read, I think, one or two sermons in the past week.”

“So few? I am shocked.”

“She was very disturbed by the gowns you sent her. They were much too décolleté and had hardly been worn. I make no comment on the first complaint, but, as to the second, you are not wasting your husband's money, I hope?”

“I spend it as fast as I can, Papa, but not fast enough to satisfy him.
Those gowns are quite useless to me now because the fashions have altered since autumn.”

She laughed and added, “Pray tell Mary to let me know if she does not want me to send more, because my maid regards anything I send away as property stolen from her.”

“I doubt that Mary's disapproval extends quite so far as that. She got herself up rather nicely for the last assembly, filling in the neck of the gown to save the morals of Meryton from corruption. She even had a few dances, to your mother's great satisfaction; and her own, if she'd but admit it.”

Elizabeth laughed.

“Papa, the picture of Mary hopping about in the dance, giving her partner a little sermon in between times, is so wonderful I would almost wish to be there to see it.”

“Almost, but not quite,” said Mr. Bennet. “That tells me what I most want to know. You are happy, my Lizzy.”

“Papa, how can I tell you how happy I am?”

“Well, well, enough of these effusions,” he said, with an irritable little wave of his hand.

“Papa, come to the drawing room, where my little family awaits you. I shall send a note to Kitty. She may come to dinner if she is better.”

“What's the matter with the foolish girl?”

“Her old cough is back again. Should she be still unwell tomorrow, we can go to see her, if you like.”

“Very well, Lizzy, if you think I must have my dose of folly, even when I am on holiday.”

Elizabeth resisted the temptation to defend Kitty, well knowing how fond her father was of his prejudices. To intervene may have brought more scorn upon Kitty than less.

“Come and take refreshment, Papa.”

The butler was followed by the footmen into the drawing room.

“You are returned, Setchly,” said Elizabeth. “Did you have a pleasant day out?”

“Indeed, I did. I thank you, madam. I visited my sister, as I usually do when in London.” He paused to watch the footmen move to the side of the room, before continuing. “On the way, I happened to see the elder Mr. Foxwell with young Mr. Reginald.”

“Mr. Reginald Foxwell is in town?” said Darcy. He frowned, thinking it odd considering that the young man had only gone back up to Cambridge a few days before, with the avowed intention of studying with his tutor before the term began.

“Indeed, sir.” The servant continued, “Seeing them brought to mind that I had not yet paid my friend Grey the courtesy of a call. He is Mr. Foxwell's butler, madam.” Elizabeth smiled on hearing this convenient information. “Therefore, after I left my sister, I thought I might as well call upon him before returning.”

“Setchly!” said Mr. Bennet, “You set an example to us all in the nicety of your manners.”

“Thank you, sir. I am happy to report that the old gentleman has recovered his good health.”

“Mr. Foxwell has been ill, Setchly?” said Darcy.

“Did you not know, sir? Mr. Foxwell was taken ill on the evening you dined there. He stood some time on the landing with Lady Catherine and, when her ladyship departed, he had to be helped up the stairs. My friend says that he looked a dreadful colour, but he insisted on going back into the drawing room.”

“I am very sorry to hear it. I wonder he did not go to bed,” said Elizabeth. Setchly leant forward and said quietly: “My friend at Mr. Foxwell's house informs me that her ladyship quite shouted at their master in the course of their exchange. It appears that Mr. Reginald's name was mentioned.” He straightened and stood solemnly in his place.

“You know something more, Setchly,” said Elizabeth.

“You had best continue, now you have started your tale,” said Darcy.

“Mr. Reginald returned to London on Saturday night, sir. Yesterday, he went with his father to see Lady Catherine. The coachman says that old Mr. Foxwell got back in the carriage in a very dark
mood, but you know Mr. Reginald yourself, sir. He was in as blithe a spirit as ever.” He paused, before delivering his climax. “It seems that her ladyship has denied Mr. Reginald the living she has promised him these ten years.”

“Good God!” said Darcy, forgetting his manners in expressing his astonishment and shock. “You are quite certain of this, Setchly?”

“Of course, sir, I give no weight to the gossip of lower servants, but I am confident that my friend Mr. Grey would never exaggerate, especially in a matter appertaining to his master.”

“Indeed not,” said Darcy. “Thank you.”

Setchly withdrew.

Darcy said: “It seems incredible that Reginald Foxwell, with no money of his own, should behave in such a manner as to lose so eligible a living, and given freely, too.”

“Is he likely to find another such, Mr. Darcy?” asked Mr. Bennet.

“I have no knowledge of one. At this late stage, his father will have to purchase a living for him, as like as not.”

“That could set him back by fifteen hundred pounds or more and, even then, he will have to wait for the incumbent to die.”

“It was never Reginald Foxwell's inclination to take Holy Orders,” said Darcy, thoughtfully. “I clearly recall him begging his father to allow him to go to sea instead of to school.”

“Every lad rages for a life of adventure at that age,” retorted his father-in-law. “At four and twenty he ought to have the sense to secure an eligible situation, if he can get it.”

“It seems that this young man has not,” said Elizabeth. “I wonder what could have caused their quarrel, Fitzwilliam. It seems it began on the stairs at Foxwells.”

“I have a theory on that subject, but I will ask Foxwell, man to man, for the truth before I share it, even with you, my dear.”

Elizabeth went upstairs to change for dinner. As she submitted to Wilkins's ministrations, she could not help but speculate. Could there be a link between her ladyship's disgust at her nephew's marriage and her betrayal of the hopes of Reginald Foxwell's family? Was this a sample of the revenge Lady Catherine had threatened?

Mr. Bennet was dazzled by his daughter's fashionable appearance.

“Do you always get yourself up in such finery for a family dinner, Lizzy?”

“As near as I can, Papa. Tonight I am especially fine in honour of the marchioness. I told you this was the very night of her salon.”

“Well, it is a fine way to honour your father, going off by yourself as soon as you have had your dinner.”

“Papa, if you want to find us at home, you must make an appointment. Did you order the carriage, Fitzwilliam?”

“Certainly. I shall accompany you, Elizabeth.”

“Two footmen, armed to the teeth, cannot be enough protection.”

“In a fog such as we see tonight, perhaps not. Certainly, I shall accompany you, and call for you too.” He turned to his sister. “Georgiana, will you feel deserted if we leave you for a few hours?”

“I shan't be alone, Fitzwilliam, for Mrs. Annesley is here.”

He turned to his father-in-law. “Mr. Bennet, do you wish to come to my club, sir, if you are not too wearied by your journey?”

“I am happy to try this experiment. I hope it may produce as many examples of human folly as I enjoy in Hertfordshire, on those occasions on which I am drawn from my fireside.”

Darcy looked taken aback.

“Indeed,” his father-in-law added, “more sport should be had on account of the freshness of the subjects.”

“Papa!” remonstrated Elizabeth, though the corners of her mouth would twitch.

“Fear not, Elizabeth,” he replied. “I shall be as well-behaved a father-in-law as your husband has ever had.” Rising, he straightened his waistcoat, bowed to the ladies and declared himself ready for adventure.

At the club, one of the first acquaintances that Darcy encountered was Foxwell. Once Mr. Bennet was safely entertained in a group of older men by the fire, Darcy took Foxwell aside. They sat in one of the many corners, where armchairs were placed conveniently for private conversation.

His friend was to confirm Darcy's suspicions. He would have shielded Darcy from the truth, that his mother's sister now hated him enough to attempt the destruction of his oldest friendship.

“My father spent long hours in preparing his speeches, and Reginald's too, but Reginald demolished all his plans in five minutes. My brother actually told her ladyship that he was disgusted at seeing me placed in so difficult a position. Further, he told her that he would not accept his future comfort ‘purchased with my brother's honour', as he put it. This speech caused Lady Catherine the most grave displeasure, as you may imagine. Such words were spoken as must lead to a permanent breach between them.”

“I am sorry, Foxwell, that my relative has brought about this difficulty in your family.”

“Reginald is much to blame, for his nature is flawed by this impetuousness.” He clapped his hand on Darcy's shoulder. “Do not trouble yourself. Reginald would not have made a good clergyman and he has his way at last. My father has purchased him a commission in the army.”

“Where will that lead him? If he hopes to marry money, he will find competition among his brother officers.”

“He is full of ambition and confidence.” Foxwell laughed. “Reginald had a great part to play, and played it to the full. He was genuinely outraged, Darcy. However, I must say that he has used the situation much to his own advantage.”

Darcy nodded. There was silence until Foxwell added: “I should never have denied our friendship, Darcy. I hope that you know that.”

 

Some hours later, coffee was being served in Lady Englebury's drawing room.

“Mr. Darcy, how very punctual you are! The hour is one precisely.”

Darcy bowed. “Good evening, your Ladyship.” The marchioness looked questioningly at his companion.

“May I present my father-in-law, Mr. Bennet?”

“Indeed you may. Mr. Bennet, I am most interested to make your
acquaintance. Please sit down.” Dismissed, another visitor had no choice but to vacate the chair next to her ladyship.

Darcy stood beside their chairs and scanned the room for Elizabeth. She was bright and sweet in her favourite yellow, her dark eyes dancing with laughter. Peregrine Whittaker looked up from where he lounged beside her on the sofa and caught Darcy's eye. ‘She is delicious,' his look seemed to say. Darcy bowed stiffly and looked at the gentleman standing before Elizabeth. He was of middling height and thin; gesticulating almost in a foreign way. Dark hair flopped on his brow; dark eyes brooded, even when he laughed. The caricaturists had caught his essence to perfection; at once, Darcy recognised the playwright, Simon Glover. Elizabeth looked up and saw her husband.

Following her gaze, Mr. Whittaker said: “Perhaps you will sing for this gentleman just arrived, since you will not sing for me.”

“I think not, Mr. Whittaker, for Mr. Darcy is come to take me home.”

Whittaker watched as they made their farewell speeches to the marchioness.

“Back in the cage, little bird,” he murmured. Then, to Glover: “I believe she stipulated in the marriage contract that she has four hours of freedom each week. What think you? He undertakes to pay the milliners' bills, and she, by way of exchange, agrees to be the beloved object.”

“You know nothing of their lives, Whittaker, although I have not noticed your ignorance of a subject stemming your eloquence.” Whittaker smiled and yawned.

“Ah! The merest jest, Glover, and you fly off the handle. For my own part, I have not noticed the triviality of an offence stemming your fury.”

The drawing room door closed.

Elizabeth said, “Look at these paintings, Fitzwilliam.”

Then to her father, “This place is in Derbyshire, Papa.”

The three of them stood before the pictures. Darcy turned towards her and for an instant they were alone in all the world, on the brink of that precipice, as the wind gusted up furiously around
them, and he felt assured of her unspoken love. His sulkiness melted away.

A burst of sound from the room behind them broke the spell. She took her father's arm and they left the house.

 

The next morning, Elizabeth's hope to have her father's company for two weeks at least was dashed. On calling at Bingley's house, they found that Kitty had suffered dreadfully in the night. Mr. Bennet put a rein on his sarcastic humour for once, when he saw how pale and exhausted she looked. At the unwonted kindness of his kiss, Kitty's eyes filled with tears.