Madam and Missy — A Pride and Prejudice Variation
This is dedicated to all the writers both here and on KU who've released their stories for free! As I enjoy reading them so much, I thought that I'd have a go, and here it is.
[Note that I'm a Brit, so have written with British spelling, punctuation and terminology 😏]
In which there is dancing
Miss Bingley
Waking to the distant strains of music, Miss Bingley found herself clothed, lying on the bed.
She summoned her maid.
"Miss?" said Helen, coming into the room.
"Why am I attired thus?"
"You was asleep, miss. I could not wake you, miss."
"When?"
"This afternoon, miss." Helen started to tidy around her mistress. "I got another maid to 'elp me to put you on the bed, miss."
Miss Bingley narrowed her eyes. "Get hot water for bathing. I may as well ready myself now that I am awake."
"Yes, miss. But there might be a wait, miss— "
"Say that the water is for me; they will send it straight up."
"The kitchen is busy, miss."
Miss Bingley eyed her narrowly. "What have you heard? What are you not telling me?"
"Somefin 'bout their master, miss. 'Ow there were a cont—, compti— "
"Competition?"
"Yes, a competition, miss. They is goin' to tell the winner this ev'ning, miss."
Miss Bingley screamed. "Quick! Quick! Help me to dress!"
"Wivout a baff, miss?"
"I shall wash, while you ready my cerise gown!"
"The pink one, miss?"
"Cerise! It is cerise!"
"Yes, miss."
"And the turban with the matching flowers and feathers."
"The pink one, miss?"
"You stupid girl! It is cerise, not pink!"
"Yes, miss —sniff— "
"Did you just sniff at me?" Miss Bingley whirled around to face her maid, hand raised to slap her.
"A bit, miss. I 'eard some the guests got colds after bein' inna river, miss, and— "
"What do you mean, 'being in the river'?" Looking for the strumpet, perhaps! Miss Bingley's face lit with delight.
"Yes, miss. They got that man wiv the funny name to say prayers, miss."
"What man with the funny name?"
"I fink what 'e is the vicar, miss. No, no; 'e cannot be the vicar 'cause 'e lives in a parsonage. Does that make 'im a rector, miss?" Helen was arranging Miss Bingley's hair in a style fit for a queen.
"What are you on about?"
"No, I got it, miss. A vicar is the man what lives in a vicarage, miss, and a rector is the man what lives in a rectory. Ah, that is it, miss. Mr. Huff is a parson 'cause 'e lives in a parsonage, miss —sniff— !"
"Who is this Mr. Huff?"
"I know not, miss. It might be Stonehuff, miss. But 'e said a prayer, miss. And the bishop what is staying 'ere did too, miss."
"Mmm."
"That is what they is saying downstairs, miss."
"Put my cerise slippers on."
"The pink ones, miss?"
"Cerise! The colour is cerise!"
"Yes, miss," said Helen, squeezing Miss Bingley's feet into the slippers.
By the time that she was primped, primed and ready, the corridor outside her rooms was silent. Not a moment to lose! she thought, as she dashed along the guest wing. Family wing, nay, the mistress' chambers from now on. She swept down the stairs and into the ballroom. It was empty! Following the sound of music, she could see some stragglers making their way to the barn, so followed them.
She arrived with no fanfare to see Darcy standing in front of the musicians.
" … so, thank you all for coming. We finish with the Pemberley four-step."
Cheers greeted his words, while one of the fiddle-players played a little twiddle.
"First, the 'Old Man's Fancy.'"
More cheers.
"Then, the 'Derbyshire Bump.'" He acknowledged their catcalls with a nod. "Ending with 'Ladies Choice' and 'Young Man's Race.'"
Why are they not dancing proper dances? Miss Bingley sniffed to herself. Those Bonnets' influence, no doubt. She tried to force her way through the great unwashed —who are these people?— towards Darcy. Several smelly old men petitioned her for a dance. Refusing such as them did not mean that she would have to forfeit dancing with Darcy, so she ignored their invitations.
When the music started, she looked at the dancers to see that the Bonnets had stood up to dance with the smelly old men. Hmph, best that they can hope for. Scanning the other dancers, she gasped. Is that Lady Anne with a grubby peasant? No!
Noticing her brother nearby, she demanded in strident tones, "Really Charles, why are you not dancing with dear Georgiana?"
"This dance is the 'Old Man's Fancy.'" he laughed, before adding, "I am not an old man, Caro. I shall be dancing the 'Derbyshire Bump,' though. I believe that that is next."
"Well, make sure that you ask dear Georgiana."
Mr Bingley laughed again. "That would not be appropriate."
Miss Bingley narrowed her eyes at him. "I shall find Darcy to make sure that he asks me for the next."
"Really, Caroline, that would not be appropriate."
"We shall see. We shall see."
The dance finished and people started to line up for the next. Spotting Darcy, Miss Bingley hurried up to him. "Dear Darcy, I am free for this dance. I have saved a place for you on my card."
"Indeed. That is kind, Miss Bingley, but I have a partner for this next dance."
The fiddle-player played a twiddle and couples started to line up. Miss Bingley was relieved to see Charles standing up with dear Georgiana. The music started and was too slow. Such poor musicians!
But there was Eliza with dear Darcy moving slowly through the steps. Something in the young hussy's stance made Miss Bingley's jaw drop.
"She is not dead … she is with child! What is Darcy thinking?" cried Miss Bingley.
A small voice answered from behind her. "It is the 'Derbyshire Bump,' Miss Bingley. It is played at half speed so that all of the ladies who with child can dance with their— "
Miss Bingley had spun round to see dear Georgiana; two dear Georgianas. "You cannot be here! You are dancing with Charles."
"I think not. I am neither wed nor with child," said one of the Georgianas, slightly taller than the other.
"Your brother is dancing with his wife," said the smaller.
Miss Bingley turned, open mouthed to examine her brother's partner. "He does not have a wife."
"He married our cousin some months ago."
Miss Bingley shook her head. "No, no. That cannot be. He is to marry Georgiana, so that I can marry Darcy."
The two Georgianas shook their heads in response. "No, no. That cannot be," said the smaller, echoing her words. "He is married to our cousin, Hannah."
The taller continued, "Brother is already wed, so— "
"No, no. He would not have married that wrinkled crone!"
"Why not, dear Miss —sniff— Lineley-Bingle?"
"No, no!" Miss Bingley was ready to pull her hair out.
Lady Prudence's voice became stern, with nary a hint of her usual inanities, as she spoke thus:
"Miss Bingley, you have managed to insult almost everyone since you invited yourself here."
"And before, Mother."
"And before, you are quite correct, daughter."
"But, but— "
"You do not pay people the courtesy of calling them by the correct names; this is insulting."
"You claim to be betrothed to my nephew," began Lady Harriet.
"And you attempt to trap him with a compromise," interjected Miss Bonnet, who had joined the ring of women around Miss Bingley.
"… this is insulting."
"You arrived here uninvited; this is insulting," said one of the Georgianas.
Lady Anne spoke. "You proclaim my darling grand-daughters to be Lizzy's natural children; this is insulting."
"No, no! They are baseborn!"
The ring around her drew closer and Miss Bingley started to feel threatened.
"Enough, Miss Bingley, enough. Listen!"
The story — the horror story, worse than any gothic novel that she had read — was passed from mouth to mouth.
"Ten years ago, my son was betrothed to Lizzy."
"My sister."
"Five years ago, they were wed."
"By my uncle."
"N— no!"
"Their daughters are legitimate."
"Christened by my brother."
"So, no more insults."
"No more claims to intimacy."
"And no more arriving uninvited."
"No more!"
As Miss Bingley turned to watch them, one by one, the women turned their backs.
Elizabeth
Watching as she danced, Elizabeth realised that Miss Bingley was being dealt with. She indicated to Darcy that he should look. As he did, Miss Bingley fainted and fell to the wooden floor of the barn. It looked as though Lady Anne had closed her eyes and counted to ten before asking a couple of nearby men to carry the interloper away.
Elizabeth returned her gaze to her husband. "I approve of this 'Derbyshire Bump' of yours— "
"Indeed," he said, kissing her hand as they passed each other. "As do I!"
"What a good idea to play it slowly so that all of us — what was it that Pappa called us? ships under sail? — can join in." She looked down the line at the other women, all with bumps of various sizes.
"It is long established here, so I can make no claim to the idea." He kissed her hand again.
"The two to follow, what are they?"
"'Ladies' Choice' is as it seems, and the 'Young Man's Race' has to be seen to be believed. I shall suspend your pleasure so that you can witness it."
"Can I guess?"
"Almost certainly."
She was correct. A tenant's daughter beat the other women in asking the Master of Pemberley for the Ladies' Choice. And, heralding the final dance, the fiddle player, seemingly determined to have his last hurrah, played a most elaborate twiddle and young men and women took to the floor.
The musicians started playing almost as slowly as for the 'Derbyshire Bump,' but gradually sped up until they reached a cacophony of screeching, while the dancers ran themselves ragged before collapsing to the floor to cheers from the onlookers.
"And, that, Missy, my love, is the 'Young Man's Race!'"
Please don't copy!