Chapter 9

While never having been much of a card-player, it was enough to sit with her closest associates, or play at the instrument; the latter the more pleasing option, of course. Mrs. Phillips proved always generous with her niece Mary, who had little talent for conversation and no taste for dancing. Why not let her have the first place on the piano in the parlour? If anybody else wished to step up and entertain, it was not begrudged them. Then once they had their share, Mary was free to take back her place as musician. Another advantage to having this station was that few people approached and bothered her.

They arrived punctually, except for fifteen minutes. By that point, the parlour was already brimming with guests. The good majority of the company, the colour of scarlet, milling between plain civilians, clustering together with goblets of wine, and already forming tables for cards. Her sisters were all preoccupied by the present company, and Mr. Collins, having also received an invitation, was left to his own devices. When Mrs. Phillips claimed him for a game of whist, he'd have gladly consented or declined depending on Elizabeth's response. She heartily encouraged his joining the game, with leave to circulate with Jane.

"It's unfortunate Mr. Bingley could not be present," remarked Jane. "Although I'd rather not ask Aunt Phillips to inconvenience herself by including the Netherfield party. It's already becoming rather crowded."

"We knew it would be a noisy affair," whispered Lizzy. "Would you like to come play, Mary?"

"Of course. I'm about to sit down to the piano now," answered automatically.

"No, no. I mean sit down with us, with Jane and I. We could gather another person and form a table for whist or hearts-"

"Thank you, Lizzy, but I'd much prefer to be at the instrument."

"Well, none of your mournful melodies, Mary," muttered Kitty. "This is a party."

"Yes please," begged Lydia, "do not embarrass us. You might have a little fun if you left the piano once in a while. Come join us for lottery tickets!"

"I certainly will not. I-" Their sister went silent, as her eyes fixed across the room. None of them could make out who or what she was fixed upon; nothing remarkable to see by the hearth except a small group of officers drinking a little wine. She made no other comment except: "Excuse me, sisters," and hurried away toward the piano. All thoughts of making herself pleasing to Mr. Collins forgotten.

"Stick in the mud, she is!"

"Lydia, be civil," said Jane, tapping her on the arm. "You're free to have your own amusement. Let Mary have hers."

"Oh, I see Denny!" "And Chamberlayne!" cried Kitty.

Instantly, before the girls had reached the table, the game was formed with the two officers. More were required, to which Jane and Lizzy were begged to join. Lizzy accepted with some reluctance, while Jane declined, moving towards another table with Mr. and Miss Clarke. Harriet Harrington was bidden by Lydia, as well as several other officers. Still, one was required.

"Come on, Lydia," entreated Mr. Denny. "Let's get this game started while the evening is young. We could call for anybody. Who are you waiting for?"

"Don't be so impatient, Denny," Lydia chided playfully. "I'm waiting for your friend. We've only spoken five minutes to him yesterday. We all want to know him better."

"He's not even here yet," Kitty also complained. "He can sit down to our game once he's here. Let the dealers start."

Lizzy endured the impertinences between her own sisters, Miss Harrington, and playfulness from the other officers. There was no reining in such flagrant behaviour while Lydia sat in the midst of the company of her friends and officers, who endorsed her boldness by being bold themselves. Mr. Denny seemed to occupy some special place in her favour. At his jokes, she and Kitty laughed the most. That all changed with the late entrance of the newly-decorated, no longer a stranger, Mr. Wickham in soldier's attire.

Mr. Wickham was the happy to whom every female eye in the room was turned. Even Mary, imperious and disdaining of the scarlet plumage of this company of birds, did not deny his appearance superior to his own peers. Curiosity drew her eyes to him, and nothing more. Her younger sisters had mentioned him, more than a dozen times over the course of a day, including the ride in the carriage. All her expectations were satisfied. He was of tall, athletic stature, young but certainly not boyish, and not the least discomfited for being quite a stranger in a room of strangers. Proper greetings were addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Phillips, first thing. He sought out Mr. Denny first, and was therefore drawn in to their card table.

Of course, some brotherly affection was natural. Everyone inclined to a familiar person in a room in his circumstances. He was not so boisterous or jocular as Mr. Denny, or the other officers at the table. Whispers floated between tables; for such a gentlemanly appearance and good-breeding, he must be of high birth. Those women at the table closest to the piano were vexed to see him snatched away to the opposite side of the parlour. At this point, Mary would've lost interest, focusing entirely on her playing, of the lulling, melancholy sort that Lydia and Kitty dreaded.

When a few of Lydia's excited cries carried above the crowd, feigning sorrow for her recent lost hand, Mary heard distinctly: "What a scoundrel you are, Mr. Wickham!" laughed she. Heads were turning. "How dare you beat a lady. I'd have won but for you!"

"Good Lord," Mary felt grit between her teeth. Her laughter and Kitty's both dispelled the intrigue and conjured looks of disgust from the envious hoydens. Fortunately, it grew no worse as the game went on. Although a determined talker, Lydia could not divide her attentions equally between flirtation and the game. Rounds began and ended, players changed places, and eventually Lizzy left their card table. She found a place nearby Jane, with a glass of wine, but against the wall and detached from any of the card players.

Lizzy was positioned just so. Mary had clear sight of her across the parlour. In between turning a page, she glanced back and happened to observe Mr. Wickham had detached from the game himself. He'd poured himself a glass of wine, and found an empty chair closeby Elizabeth. They'd already been sitting together, but with little spare time or attention to give. He sat in a chair beside her. For once, Mary wished she could slip off the instrument unnoticed by the company. This development piqued curiosity. In between their first meeting yesterday and this evening, Mary heard all about Mr. Wickham from Kitty and Lydia. Lizzy had not mentioned a word voluntarily, like her sisters.

She had good view of the man, but not so well as Lizzy. As he was facing her, his mouth and expressions were cut in half. Not an ideal angle. Despite these disadvantages as well as her own music, Mary started to make out words here and there. Pleasantries, some common remarks about the wet weather. Normally a dreadful beginning, but given the speaker, it was rendered agreeable. Wet weather led to some comment about her sister Jane, her illness, and recently returned from Netherfield. Some card-players milled into Mary's sight, cutting off her line of vision a few minutes. When they cleared, Lizzy's expression had altered from placid to furrowed brow and disturbance. Whatever the words spoken, his words, were engrossing. Suddenly, there was mention of Mr. Darcy, even more puzzling.

Many years of study and observation it required, for Mary to read and attain some grasp of the depths of human nature. There was more to conversation than the words spoken. Since words were almost impossible to decipher so far away and congested by people, she strained as best she could with her spectacles and the imperfect lighting. This was a deep confidence, something shocking; for Lizzy's lip began to part in a small gape. Her head shook in disbelief. Indignant. As to the half of Mr. Wickham's expressions, his eyebrow arched over downcast eyes, a beautiful frame of distant sadness. Apparently, whatever his words, they did not cause provocation against the speaker. Lizzy listened without interruption. It must be a life experience or something being related by Mr. Wickham. For such melancholy reflections, however, he came back to the present rather cheerfully. And rather quickly. The effect upon the lady rendered her tender, in look and smile, and shaped with a tinge of pity.

Familiar things were always Mary's comfort. She could always remain in her place, at the piano, happily. Yet, on this rare occasion, even the most morally staunch constitution could not resist some envy, whether she called it envy or not. What a simple pleasure it is to mix and socialize. All her sisters enjoyed it, took great interest in the life around them. Some of it trivial, true. Her youngest sisters certainly needed some development in the skills of tact and propriety. It wouldn't have hurt her any, to have some of that vitality, that liveliness of temper rub off. Such occasions as balls and parties would be less tedious. Perhaps, she'd be willing to follow Lizzy or Jane into social circles, make friends with greater ease.

This was hardly a desire to be, likewise, a friend and confidante of Mr. Wickham's. Indeed, the thought of this stranger, a new acquaintance, gaining ground so quickly with Elizabeth astonished Mary. All to be expected from Lydia, but not Lizzy…

"I wish we'd gone down to the George. We'd have much better time. Play some real cards instead of these harmless parlour games." This denunciation came from some officer standing nearby. There were three of them. One agreed with this man's statement, the third said nothing.

"Colonel Forster doesn't look tolerably on games at headquarters."

"I'm certain he played high stakes in his younger years. Suppose now he's been made an honest man by a wife."

Mary was shaken from observations by hitting a couple wrong notes. She recovered quickly and continued. Without Maria Lucas to turn the pages for her, keeping proper tempo was a struggle. Always an awkward break and pause to flip the page over or turn it over to the next. Aunt Phillips was too much engaged by hostess duties, and supplying Mr. Collins with plenty of coffee and muffin. Otherwise, she might have helped Mary entertain her company. If there were no cards and nobody speaking, she might've been tempted to begin a solo. That would be presuming too much, and besides, she should not waste song on an empty-headed audience.

Sir William appeared from the midst of card-players, approaching the young men closeby. Behaviour was instantly amended for the older gentleman. His preoccupation of life, making himself agreeable and everyone else around him, attempted conversation. While it effectively silenced the impudent one, that same one was cursed, trapped, while the other two broke away. They ventured closer to the piano forte. Perhaps it was the intention to keep Sir William away by appearing to show interest in listening to the performance.

When Mary looked up, mortification returned tenfold, beholding the face of Captain Carter above her. Apparently, he had not seen her before now, or earlier in the evening. Startled and stone-faced, he was not happily surprised. His companion proved more talkative and forthcoming.

"Do you play often at these parties, miss?"

"Yes."

"You play very well," said he. The compliment was not reciprocated with any thanks, or any comment, nor expression. Mary kept her eyes forward. Her palms began to sweat as she closed in on the next page. It was coming. And now, two pairs of eyes watched her intently. The fingers almost strayed to another wrong note. Right before instinct triggered the flick of her wrist, Captain Carter took the edge of the page and turned it over.

"I have seen no other lady," continued his companion, "who plays so proficiently. You must've been educated in town by one of the great masters."

"Sorry to say I had no such privilege, sir," Mary dumbly replied. Captain Carter contributed nothing to conversation, still too deeply offended. Though she wasn't about to allow him an inch, though he had been impertinent, something instantly made her blush. Kitty would've said it was the attention of any man, let alone an officer. It wasn't the sight of a redcoat, however, but the presence of a black band around the left arm.

"I wish I had learned to play something, something aside from the harmonica." Perhaps the chap hoped to be witty. Since it fell flat, he was less inclined to stick by the piano and prolong an agonizing tête-à-tête. As much as Mary did not miss his presence, it was to be dreaded if he departed. For once he did, that left her alone in close proximity with the captain.

"Mary! Mary!" yelled Lydia. Both she and Kitty descended upon her instantly. "Play a reel, will you please? Or anything, something jolly to dance!"

The girl did not wait for any response, nor concern herself with Mary's reaction. Maria Lucas appeared out of nowhere to assist in selecting a reel, instantly excited by the prospect. Ripples of such similar sentiments spread between the tables. Several ladies and gentlemen across the room roused from the lull in their games to join together near an empty corner of the room. Following Lydia's demand, Mary saw her quick to claim Mr. Wickham as a partner. Lizzy took it well, even without objection. And Mr. Wickham dignified the pert, little sister with acceptance.

Unfortunately, Maria was also eager to join in on the dancing, leaving her own friend to the task and torture of staccato and repetitious stanzas.

"My friend was merely trying to be agreeable. He could've been humoured, at the very least."

It was scathing, especially as he continued to tend to her music.

"You must understand," defended Mary, "that it is difficult to be conversing and performing at the same time."

"Perhaps you could do with performing less."

A biting remark was near escaping, but having recollected herself: "I shall not quarrel with you, Captain Carter. I have no desire to, and I'm sure that's the last thing you need right now." With a blush and more moderated whisper: "I am sorry for your loss."

He did not immediately reply. He seemed to watch the dancing, without a change in his stony expression. This was quite a different man from that day in the drawing room. He was so quick and eager to smile and laugh then. "You are the first person this evening to have acknowledged it," he admitted hoarsely. "Perhaps, it makes people uncomfortable to talk of it, assuming I don't wish to speak of it. It's understandable. But I appreciate it, Miss Bennet."

"Of course. I am surprised that you have joined us this evening. If… if it were myself, I'd find society too much for me in a time of sorrow."

"That is understandable too. Perhaps it's a matter of temperament. For myself, I prefer to mix in good company than be too alone with my thoughts."

"Sensible indeed," replied Mary, without a trace of censure. "Was it a death in the family?" Judging between the time of their first meeting in the drawing room of Longbourn until now, the death had been very recent in days. Grief must still be in very early stages.

"… Perhaps another day." There was an extra breath, his voice rose a tad higher, making his tone odd and unnatural. "Too soon."

"I beg your pardon. Please accept my condolences, and I'll say no more about it."

Two dances went by. Mary, keeping her word, said no more to Captain Carter. It was awkward enough to talk; even worse was having to force their conversation with a man unable to find his voice. She dared not look at him for a full five minutes, though he stood near the instrument, turning the pages. When she needed another score, he selected one and placed it for her, asking no questions. Sneaking a glimpse, the wet corner of the eye and stony expression stabbed Mary more than any sharp word. They helped each other along without realizing it, giving each other mental occupation. For if it had not been for the crowd of potential spectators, Mary felt she might've cried herself. He is a solider, just like all the rest, she reasoned, he will revive. And she was not wrong, but he cried like a solider, with bitter and angry expression, in silence, with eyes dry in a matter of two minutes.

"I declare, upon my soul, Mr. Wickham is the most charming man. He was born for a redcoat; so handsome, isn't he Kitty? Harriet seemed green with envy when he chose the chair next to me. And when I won those last three rounds at lottery tickets, it was all the poor girl could bear, trying to keep a civil tongue in her head!"

"I think Mr. Denny quite envied his popularity."

Both girls lay on their sides, in their own beds facing one another, reprising the highlights of the evening for the third time. Mary heard it all on the drive home in the carriage. If anyone in the house was having an intelligible conversation, it was surely in Jane and Lizzy's bedchamber. That conversation she'd liked to have been a party to, to find out what had passed between Lizzy and newcomer, Mr. Wickham. Was Lizzy really in love with him? Undoubtedly not. The acquaintance was just formed, and Lizzy was not quick about attachments, not like Lydia. But this was the first time, ever, Lizzy had been seen to form a preference. Now, that was an affirmative.

Thinking more about it, Mary had less and less reason to like Mr. Wickham. Between her younger sisters giggling into the night about him and the warmth in Lizzy's countenance, it provoked her to recoil.

This man was universally liked and praised, and he so easily gained the good opinion of Meryton society, based on what? a gentlemanly manner and handsome figure. Personal introductions to each other had been brief. Lizzy introduced him at supper later on, who bowed and smiled as he did with everyone else. He framed no sad eyes or dim smiles anymore the remainder of the evening, and he repeated this demonstration with no one else. Clearly, he too regarded Elizabeth with preference, regardless of Lydia or Kitty's feelings about it. He behaved rather handsome with Sir William Lucas, and treated Mrs. Phillips with as much honour as any lady, though much more understated than Mr. Collins had done. Surely, Lizzy could not like him too well. Studying character requires time, and forming legitimate calculations of character was not done in half an hour's time at a card party. All that could be properly ascertained was the man's skill for lottery tickets, a distaste for whist, and a lively partner while dancing. More than long enough for the most shallow kind of falling in love to take place.

"Mary, why do you insist on wearing that drab blue gown for all parties?" Lydia apparently had lost attention and interest in Kitty's version of the evening. She looked over at her older sister wistfully across the room. "If you're going to accompany us all to parties with the officers, you ought to make yourself smart, as befits the occasion."

"I'm surprised you notice me in a room of officers," retorted Mary. "And why should I care?"

"Oh, don't be so hateful! We are one of the first families in Meryton—"

"Which signifies what to you? Lydia, you've never cared a jot about status, rank, wealth, none of it. Don't take it into your head to start now."

"She's right though, Mary," defended Kitty. "They know we are all sisters. You wouldn't embarrass us, would you? Mama has insisted repeatedly on buying you new clothes."

The book in her lap sunk. "Have you not thought how often you two embarrass the rest of us?"

"What do we do that's embarrassing?"

"How about by keeping your voices to a suitable volume, instead of making riotous yells and screams? Everyone in the room knew when Lydia won a fish."

"I was having fun!"

"You were being ridiculous!"

A knock at the bedroom door startled all three to a minor jump. Mrs. Bennet, in shawl and hair wrappers, appeared fuller and larger of form and quite frightful-looking, especially after being driven from her bed by noise.

Between accusations of blame for the noise: "I demand you cease this bickering at once, girls!" she hissed. "My nerves are worn thin already. And we have a guest in this house. It's been a long evening, and Mr. Collins would appreciate quiet repose. Kitty, blow out your candle this instant. You too, Mary. No more reading tonight."

A number of reviewers have expressed their hopes/concerns to see Kitty mature and improve. While I don't want to give away anything about her future, I would like to assure you that she will have her time in the spotlight. It's going to take some time to get there, but it'll get there. Right now, I'm sticking to Jane Austen's recipe, using the original ingredients. Both Kitty and Mary have some improvements to make. I love the reviewer who called her arrogant. Looking forward to what you make of this chapter.

I also find myself really curious about Jane and Mr. Bingley. We know it ended happily for them, we know they're very well-suited for each other. BUT we never get to see that connection made. We don't see their private conversations like what we see with Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy. Compared to the dynamics of the main couple, theirs seems flat. They love each other, then he leaves, she's heartbroken, he comes back and she forgives him and marries him. It doesn't seem like a feasible, realistic, or satisfying resolution. So, that's another aspect I intend to explore more later.

Hope you've enjoyed this ninth installment. Any surprises? disappointments? Thanks for your gratuity!