Pride and Prejudice, Emma, and Persuasion combined in a Little Women story. 19th century New England, as Alcott had it.
Disclaimer: Anything that you recognize for Jane Austen's work, or Louisa May Alcott's work, is not mine. Please bear in mind that many of the lines are direct quotes, and Alcott should take the credit for creating them, not me.
As always, thanks to those who are following this story.
-- E.S.
The March Girls -- Chapter Eight
"I do think it was ever so fortunate for you that those children should have the measles just now," said Emma, eyeing Jane's outfit spread out on the bed with a little envy.
An invitation issued to "Miss J. March" had arrived a week ago, from Caroline Moffat, asking Jane to come to the ball that would be hosted at her home. Mrs March had allowed her to go, unable to resist the happy expression in her daughter's eyes when she read the invitation, although she knew that Jane would likely come home more discontented than she left.
"Yes, indeed-y, so very obliging of them to catch it at just the right time." Elizabeth was saying with a laugh, folding skirts and arranging them into somewhat sloppy piles. Anne sighed as she straightened them to put into Jane's trunk, regarding the wrinkled skirts mournfully.
"You have plenty of fine things to wear now, Jane," said Emma, fingering the collar of a blouse.
"I wish you were all going," said Jane, putting an arm around her shoulder. "But as you can't, I shall keep my adventures to tell you when I come back. I'm sure it's the least I can do when you've all been so kind, lending me things and helping me get ready."
"Did Marmee give you anything out of the treasure box?" asked Anne interestedly, referring to the old cedar chest in which Mrs March kept a few relics of past splendour, as gifts for her girls when the proper time came.
"A pair of silk stockings, that pretty blue fan, and a lovely sash to match. I wanted the violet silk, but there isn't time to make it over, so I must be contented with my old tarlatan." And Jane sighed regretfully.
"Never mind, you did say that you would be perfectly content if Marmee allowed you to go," reminded Emma.
"Yes, I did, didn't I? Marmee's a dear, and I'm terribly ungrateful, but oh, it was such nice silk," said Jane, to which Anne patted her hand comfortingly, laying aside the skirts for the moment.
But cheering up, Jane said, "Well, I am happy, and I won't fret, but it does seem as if the more one gets, the more one wants, doesn't it? There now, the trays are ready, and everything in but my ball dress, which I shall leave for Marmee to pack."
The next day was fine, and Jane departed in style for a fortnight of novelty and pleasure. The Moffats received her kindly, Caroline pronouncing herself simply ecstatic to see her "dear friend". Sallie Gardiner, who had arrived earlier, also came forward and spoke a few friendly words. Jane thanked them shyly, with a pleased smile.
The Moffats were fashionable people, fond of luxury and finery, and Jane was at first overwhelmed by the splendour of the house and the elegance of its occupants. But Jane felt, without understanding why, that they were not particularly cultivated or intelligent people, and that all their gilding could not quite conceal the ordinary material of which they were made.
It certainly was agreeable to fare sumptuously, drive in a fine carriage, wear her best frock every day, and do nothing but enjoy herself. It suited her exactly, and soon she began to imitate the manners and conversation of those about her, to put on little airs and graces, use French phrases, and talk about the fashions as well as she could. The more she saw of Caroline Moffat's pretty things, the more she envied her and sighed to be rich. Home now looked bare and dismal as she thought of it, work grew harder than ever, and she felt that she was a destitute and much-injured girl, in spite of the new gloves and silk stockings.
She had not much time for repining, however, for the three young girls were busily employed in "having a good time". They shopped, walked, rode, and called all day, went to theatres and operas or frolicked at home in the evening, for Caroline had many friends and knew how to entertain them. Her older sister Louisa was a very fine young lady, and was engaged to a Mr Hurst, which circumstance Jane thought was extremely interesting and romantic. Mr Moffat was a plump, jolly old gentleman, who knew her father, and Mrs Moffat, a plump, jolly old lady, who took as great a fancy to Jane as her daughter had done. Everyone petted her, and Jane was in a fair way to have her head turned.
When the evening for the party came, Jane took out her old tarlatan, looking shabbier than ever next to Sallie's crisp new one. Jane saw the girls glance at it and then at one another, and her cheeks began to burn.
No one said a word about it, but Sallie offered to dress her hair, Louisa to tie her sash, and Caroline praised her white arms. But Jane fancied that they felt pity for her poverty, and her heart felt heavy as she stood by herself while the others laughed, chattered, and flew about like gauzy butterflies.
Her feeling of resentment was each moment increasing, when the maid brought in a box of flowers. Before she could speak, Caroline had taken it.
"For Louisa of course, Gil always sends her something," said Caroline, airily opening the lid. Then she said, with a raised brow, "Flowers – and uncommonly fine too, Louisa."
"They are for Miss March, the man said. And here's a note," put in the maid, holding it to Jane.
"What fun! Who are they from? Didn't know you had a suitor," cried Sallie, fluttering about Jane in a high state of curiosity and surprise.
"The note is from Mother, and the flowers from Mr Bingley and his grandsons," said Jane, gratified that they had thought of her.
"Oh, indeed," said Caroline with a funny look, and glancing meaningfully at her sister. Jane didn't notice, as she slipped the note into her pocket as a sort of talisman against envy, vanity, and false pride; for the few loving words had done her good, and the flowers cheered her up with their beauty.
Feeling almost happy again, she laid by a few ferns and roses for herself, and quickly made up the rest in dainty bouquets for her friends, offering them so prettily that Caroline told her she was the "sweetest little thing", and they looked quite charmed with her small attention. In Caroline's face there was also the slightest hint of an amused sneer, but Jane saw only complacent pleasure.
She enjoyed herself very much that evening, for she danced to her heart's content, and everyone was very kind by way of complimenting her. So altogether she had a very nice time, until she heard a bit of conversation that quite disturbed her, as she sat just inside the conservatory.
She heard a voice ask on the other side of the flowery wall, "Two grandsons, weren't there?"
"Yes, one who shares his name, and another named George Knightley. Fine boys, both of them, and sixteen or seventeen, I think."
"It would be a fine thing for one of those girls, wouldn't it? I heard that they were exceedingly friendly with the family, and the old gentleman quite dotes on the youngest."
"It shan't come to that. For they are dreadfully poor and plain," said a derisive voice, and Jane recognized it as Caroline Moffat's. She felt sudden tears stinging her eyes.
"Ah, but the Bingley boy – Charles – quite makes a fool of himself over Miss March."
"Humph! Charles Bingley is decidedly low in his grandfather's favour, and mark my words will receive little if anything upon old Mr Bingley's death. His father was a very unsteady type of man, and was entirely disowned when he eloped with an Italian singer, you know."
"But George Knightley..."
"His mother was quite a favourite of Mr Bingley's." And Jane heard a few giggles as the voices lowered conspiratorially.
Jane's partner appeared, to find her looking much flushed and rather agitated. Unhappily deceived in the character of a person whom she had believed to be her friend, Jane was understandably upset; but her pride helped her in hiding her anger and mortification, and she danced and smiled as happily as ever.
If anything, the conversation she overheard gave her much to ponder. She had never really seen Charlie's actions in such a light as they did – now she recalled every glance, every favour, every blush with startling clarity, and every tender feeling was awakened in her heart towards the boy she had hitherto regarded as only a brother.
That night Jane lay awake in the unfamiliar bed, and shed a few natural tears of hurt and disillusionment, wanting desperately to run home to share her troubles and ask for advice.
On Wednesday the girls were sitting together idly, talking of the ball to be held the next day – by far grander than the first one since Jane came. By and by the conversation steered towards what gowns and jewellery they each would be wearing – hardly surprising, as four females sitting in a room, chattering away about a fast approaching ball, would of course inevitably settle on such a topic.
"I've got a nice blue silk that I could lend you – I've laid it away for quite some time, and it would be lovely to see it not completely wasted," Louisa said, thinly concealing the disdain in her voice.
"No thank you, I shan't mind wearing my dress – if you don't have any objections to it," said Jane quietly.
"Of course not," said Caroline, although her tone rather indicated otherwise. "It's a very – quaint – sort of thing."
"Thank you. I think so as well," said Jane, tossing her head.
"But you must look pretty tonight, Jane!" cried Sallie. "A very special guest was invited." Here she raised an eyebrow expressively, and waited for Jane to appear as impressed with this galvanizing information as she was.
"Oh? Who?" said Jane nonchalantly, picking up a piece of embroidery.
"George Knightley," said Louisa, with a dismissive yawn.
"Did you not extend an invitation to Charlie as well?" asked Jane, stiffening a little.
"Yes, but he is inconsequential," proclaimed Caroline, leaning back on her cushions. Jane didn't respond, her face the picture of indifference.
"I daresay if he does come he shall feel quite overshadowed – Mr Knightley is excessively handsome and charming," said Louisa, giggling in a way that would affront her fiancé, if he'd heard.
"I have never found Charlie anything other than agreeable," said Jane evenly, though underneath her stoic appearance she was fuming silently.
"Indeed," said Caroline, with a smirk.
The next evening Jane donned her simple dress, her only ornament a cluster of tea roses at her throat. Her attire looked plain beside her friends' elaborate ones, and Jane felt it keenest; but there was a simplicity about her that was very refreshing.
Taking especial care of their gowns, they sailed into the drawing rooms where the Moffats and a few early guests were assembled.
It was just as Jane had secretly feared: the young ladies took no notice of her at all, leaving her to stand alone against the wall, and the young gentlemen stared at her with what Jane perceived as contempt. The old ladies sitting on the sofa regarded her speculatively, which rather unnerved poor Jane, who turned away from their gazes with a confused blush.
She heard one of them ask who she was, and Mrs Moffat consequently replied, "Jane March, a very sweet creature, I assure you."
Caroline, passing by, happened to hear this, and sniffed. "But she is very poor, and so I do wish that Ned wasn't quite so wild about her, for it can't ever come to anything, you know."
"Certainly not," said one old lady sternly. "You scold some sense into that thick-headed son of yours, Clara Moffat."
"I am sure he means nothing by it," floundered Mrs Moffat, frowning at her daughter. "It's only idle interest on his part. You know young men – they always think this type of thing so very amusing, when they have nothing to do, as is the case with Ned."
Caroline shrugged, and turned to walk away. She saw Jane by the wall in her old dress, her head bent down, and a momentary, sincere feeling of remorse shot into Caroline's heart; but with another shrug it was gone.
Jane sighed, leaning against the wall wearily. Across the room she saw Ned Moffat making his way towards her. She turned away in disgust, Mrs Moffat's words sounding in her mind: It's only idle interest on his part.
Then she brightened, for not a great distance from her she saw a familiar figure standing awkwardly; and walking quickly towards him and away from Ned, she exclaimed impulsively, "Charlie!"
Charlie brightened when he saw her, holding out his hand. "You look very pretty, Jane, and I shall tell so to everyone at home."
Jane blushed, and laughed. "Thank you."
He glanced nervously at his feet. "I hope you aren't too disappointed that George didn't come."
"I hope he isn't feeling ill," said Jane kindly. "And I am very glad to see you, Charlie."
"Are you?" he said with a happy smile. "And you are looking very well, I like it very much. The others look so fussy – won't you dance now?"
"I should like to," said Jane, holding out her hand invitingly. She glanced over her shoulder to see Ned standing alone, frowning at her back, and she quickly led Charlie to the floor.
Also catching sight of Ned, Charlie's face fell, thinking that Jane was only friendly to fend him off – or sow the seeds of envy in his heart, which art females are much too wont to do, in Charlie's opinion. Jane, catching his woebegone expression, leaned in to whisper, "He's a nuisance, and such a bother, but I'm so glad I have such a pleasant partner for the evening. Thank you so much for coming, Charlie."
"My pleasure," said Charlie gallantly, his happy smile back in place.
The night passed pleasantly for Jane hereafter, and when Charlie left for home she reflected that he was a very charming, handsome sort of young man.
When Saturday came there were tearful exchanges all round as Jane prepared to leave for home. Caroline of course was perfectly devastated, and expressed an ardent wish that she may see her dear friend soon again – perhaps at a mutual acquaintance's. Jane acknowledged the hint coolly.
As she rounded the corner onto the lane where dear home was situated, Jane's eyes brightened as she saw Emma and Elizabeth standing just outside the gate. Emma waved primly, while Elizabeth ran to her, her braids windblown and messy as ever.
Jane laughed, and gave her a warm hug. "Dearest Eliza," she said, teasing her a little. Elizabeth withdrew, wrinkling her nose distastefully.
"She's been in a high state since this morning, dusting up a storm in our room," reported Emma with a grin.
Laughing, the three walked into the house, where Mrs March and Hannah greeted them. Anne nestled close to Jane, who hugged her back. "It's so lovely to be home," she said.
"I'm glad to hear that," said Mrs March, looking a little anxious.
"I did have a nice time at Caroline's," she said, as her sisters settled her on to a comfortable chair. "But I missed you all so dreadfully. The Moffats were kind enough, though I think they aren't as happy as we are, in spite of all their clothes and jewellery and fine carriages. And Charlie's a dear!"