A/N: Thanks to everyone, old and new, for reading this work and for all the lovely reviews I got this week :D It really means so much! Now, without further ado, we have the dinner party (part one)...
Chapter 12: A Hope Deferred
As is already known to the reader, Mrs. Bennet, upon the marriage of four of her five daughters, had resolved most assuredly not to seek a marriage of her last one – at least, until that moment when she grew ready to part with her final child, having found herself some suitable replacement of occupation. But one's habits, when comprising the better part of a lifetime, are quite difficult to relinquish wholly at such abrupt resolutions, and are wont to return on occasion, despite one's best intentions.
It was through such habit that Mrs. Bennet, upon learning from Mary that there would be held a dinner party and a dance during her stay at Pemberley, had gone to the shop at Meryton directly, and had, under some strange, frantic entrancement of old routine and duty, ordered for her several new dresses which, if not fashionable or particularly costly, at least were more presentable than the ones Mary currently owned, and which, if not flattering, at least fit adequately.
Such an excursion had put Mrs. Bennet, as would of course be expected, into quite a state of nerves; and the next few days were spent in most distressed badgering of her husband Mr. Bennet, regarding who he supposed might be attending the dance, which eligible bachelors might be in Mr. Darcy's acquaintance, and if he thought it might not be best for Mrs. Bennet to accompany her there after all; all this, without any reprieve, and much to his chagrin, until at last he finally remarked sharply, "Mrs. Bennet, if you do not stop this at once, I shall marry her off to one of Mr. Phillips's clerks and be done with it!" – and thus was put to abrupt rest the small episode of turmoil which had so plagued poor Mrs. Bennet.
It was owed to this episode, however, that Mary had been sent off to Pemberley with several suitable new dresses in her possession, and that it was Elizabeth's earnest surprise to see Mary come down the stairs attired thus, having prepared herself for dress which was reflective of the austere and rather paltry wardrobe Mary had displayed thus far.
It was true that there was no single remarkable change that had occurred in Mary; but her hair had been done in a slightly newer fashion, by the sincere and well-meaning recommendation of Georgiana, and there was a new rosiness to her cheeks, and more youthful brightness in her eyes; and proper dress went far indeed; so that those who saw her and Elizabeth together that night might have even been tempted to search within their countenances for features common to both; and to indeed discover some similarities.
But these were all changes which were not at all contained in Mary's notice; or at least, she was not wholly aware or gratified by their extent; her thoughts lay chiefly at that moment with the upcoming dinner, and all that it might hold in store for her. Her musings hardly inspired her towards optimism, for Mary's natural temperament was already one which was hardly predisposed towards great ease of character, and the poor experience of social engagements which life had thus far laid before her had only predisposed it even less.
Therefore, she could foresee little enjoyment ahead of her; she could only reasonably expect the infliction of those monotonies and discomforts which inevitably accompanied such occasions – the laborious etiquette and her own social ineptness, contrasted against the charm and elegance of Georgiana, and Lizzy; the likelihood she was to be in some way scorned or disregarded; the pained look her sister wore whenever she began to play before other people – these were but some of the displeasures which she anticipated, aside from the inevitable tedium of sharing conversations with those with which she had little in common.
She had concluded that Georgiana's presence might alleviate the unpleasantness somewhat, but the Miss Bensons were likely to claim her for themselves, and Lizzy meanwhile would be engaged with playing host. And as for Mr. Crawford, the only other agreeable acquaintance – he would spare her no more time than he did any of the other guests – there should be no possible reason to expect otherwise – and besides, to speak to him would be far more unsettling and disquieting than with any of the others.
She was soon broken out of her anxious thoughts with the first arrivals - Colonel and Mrs. Birmingham.
Colonel Birmingham was a rotund man with a hearty laugh, and Mrs. Birmingham a rather gaunt woman with a thin, pursed lip – "Georgiana shall be kind, and say that Colonel Birmingham's stories are at times difficult to follow – in fact, they are surprisingly dull for an army man, and you should avoid hearing them as best you can." – this Lizzy had remarked to Mary in the few minutes before the arrival of their guests. "Who else? Lord and Lady Benson are quite snobbish and not particularly amiable, but I always try to pretend that they have just come from a rousing disagreement in their carriage, and that tends to make it somewhat more tolerable."
Close after to arrive were Lord and Lady Langton – "They are not nearly so snobbish, actually rather pleasant people – but Lady Langton is of a very nervous disposition, and still quite young; and Lord Langton in general prefers silence to discourse, though he is not at all cold when he does speak; in truth, I think he is as timorous as his wife."
They were much then as Mary had pictured them – Lady Langton only a few years older than Lizzy, with an air of skittishness and uncertainty in all her words and gestures, and Lord Langton, a thin, stoic man who employed the gracious bow as his chief mode of communication.
Lastly arrived the Bensons, in the company of Mr. Crawford, whom they had met just as they stepped down from their carriage.
Lord and Lady Benson addressed everyone with the coldest formalities, and accepted Elizabeth and Darcy's welcome with such frigidity and condescension, that even their children, proud as they were, were made to appear quite genial and warm by comparison in their greetings; and indeed, Mary was not made to wonder, with such example before their eyes, that Emma and Charlotte Benson had grown into the glib and ill-mannered conduct that they had.
Mr. Crawford, on the other hand, was as perfectly amiable as always, navigating through all the pleasantries with versed grace and cordiality; and though Mary could not say he gave her any special attentions, he was certainly not unkind – and she felt the eyes of the Miss Bensons fixed upon her critically all the while.
At last, they all went through to the dining room, and were seated at the table; Mary found herself placed between Mrs. Birmingham and – Mr. Crawford! But all hopes that anything would come of it yielded quickly; Emma Benson was seated on his other side, and as soon as dinner began, she quickly commandeered his attention in conversation, and would not surrender it on any account. Thus, Mary was forced to turn to Mrs. Birmingham, and to listen to her rather unoriginal notions on the current weather and the effects that it wrought on one's health – if the decision lay with her, they should be in Bath at this very moment, she said, but Colonel Birmingham thought Bath to be no proper place for their family, and despite her protestations that it should benefit the health of their little Charles and Henry, and her own health moreover, there was nothing to be done – alas, they were fated to remain here in Derbyshire for the foreseeable future.
Mary listened to all this with insincere attention, only making the odd remark of assent when a pause impelled her to do so – but in the meanwhile, she was straining to catch the conversation that was being held on her other side, between Mr. Crawford and Emma Benson; she was able to glean only stray remarks and snippets:
"How fascinating, Mr. Crawford!"
"Your excitement is most gratifying, Miss Benson, but I assure you it was not so interesting as it seems I have led you to believe. I spent most of my days as I do now at Pemberley, engaged in my work, and I have found there is hardly a significant difference if my work is done in Stockholm or Derbyshire, expect for the time of day at which the light begins to wax or wane."
"Oh, but to travel at all is so dreadfully exciting, Mr. Crawford, and I am most certain you humble yourself terribly!"
And some minutes later:
"You must join us one afternoon, when we are painting, and provide us with the estimable benefit of your expertise! Oh, we should be so delighted if you were to join us, nothing should please my sister and myself more - and Miss Darcy as well!"
"I shall certainly endeavour to join you if my work so allows, Miss Benson."
As the dinner party went on, conversations began to overlap and merge; Colonel Birmingham had had chance to hear Mr. Crawford remark to Miss Benson on an expedition to the Baltics, and wished to hear all the story as it went from the beginning. As the retelling went on, several others in the party lent their attention to it as well – and thus, as the story concluded, the conversation became the property of the table, and Mary was gratifiedly able to turn away from Mrs. Birmingham to listen as well.
It very quickly became quite clear to Mary that Mr. Crawford was well-acquainted with all the neighborhood, and was generally regarded as favourite among them; and it was therefore a testament and added virtue to the Darcys' that they had retained him. Lady Langton tremulously inquired if it was not rather taxing on one's health to travel so often; Emma and Charlotte Benson overflowed with their wonder and amazement at any new chance remark he might make; Colonel Birmingham found inspiration from Mr. Crawford to begin recounting one of his own meandering, long-winded stories, to which the table was unfortunately forced to submit and listen; but once over, the conversation resumed quite animatedly, and even Lady Benson deigned to remark, "My brother had the opportunity to embark on a Grand Tour, and he still credits it as the bulk of his education; my father, the Duke of Wellesley, has always said that extensive travels are the mark of the well-rounded and well-bred gentleman."
Mr. Crawford navigated all these attentions with greatest ease and good humour, and Mary was made to feel envious, for she could hardly imagine herself ever possessing such comfort and eloquence in conversation; and she also began to see that his droll turn of phrase was a particular quirk to his character, and that it was done not so much for the provocation of others as it was by continual habit, and perhaps for his own amusement; but whatever its intent, this manner imbued him with a charm and amiableness which esteemed him to almost everyone, and which had tendency towards flattering those who conversed with him. Thus, as the dinner went on, Mary began to wonder that she had ever thought herself to have been paid any particular attention, which he would not have paid to anyone else, and that it was not simply the nature of his sardonic turn of phrase which had the unintentional effect of implying a false familiarity between himself and those he addressed.
Several times had Mary wished to intercede in the conversation with some clever or astute remark, stymied only in the fear it should be somehow construed as obvious or unworthy of regard; but now, as the conversation wore on, and as she became more and more certain of the falseness of her previous presumption, the staunch desire to be included in their discussion faded gradually, and she began to lose notice of its various subjects as it continued among the table; and would not have been particularly opposed if Mrs. Birmingham had restarted her commentaries on the weather in Bath.
The piquant excitement and uneasiness which had plagued Mary so fervently the past few days had now departed from her rather abruptly. It should have left in its place a gratifying relief, but instead there now sat only her old familiar moroseness; and she wished now that she had brought the sketch and book with her tonight, and could proffer them to Mr. Crawford after dinner most indifferently and coolly: "The book had been rather diverting, yes, but perhaps not within her purview of interest; but how kind of him to lend it to her; and it seemed he had forgotten a sketch inside, perhaps he should like it returned as well?"
But alas, she knew it was not in her ability to sound so offhand; she would appear bitter and resentful, and would only embarrass herself and her sister further. The dinner stretched rather interminably after this conclusion, and with considerable somberness on her part, and it was rather with relief when she saw the final course was being brought out.
Lord Langton had mustered it in himself to at last join the conversation, for it had momentarily petered out into an inviting silence, and said, "I do not believe I had made mention of this before, Mr. Crawford – but I have actually had chance to make acquaintance with your brother, Sir William. We were introduced to him and his wife in town, at a concert, perhaps a year ago, and had a diverting evening with them. How goes it with him at Cavendish Hall?"
At this, for perhaps the first time in Mary's remembrance, Mr. Crawford faltered. An unreadable look came across his face, he hesitated in his response; but another moment passed, and his smile was restored, his affability recovered. "My brother is quite well, though I admit I do not maintain as close a communication with him as I should; my knowledge of Cavendish and its inhabitants may well be outdated by several months."
"Tell us, Mr. Crawford, does your brother share your and your uncle's interest in the botanical sciences?" Lady Langton asked curiously.
At this Mr. Crawford seemed tempted to laugh, but confined himself to only a strained smile. "Not in the slightest. My brother has had a great many interests over the years, their greatest virtue being how varied and brief they have all been; but the sciences have never been one of them."
His tone was jocular as usual, but there was a slight sharpness to the words underneath it, which was unfamiliar to Mary in her observances of Mr. Crawford thus far – but then, no one else seemed to have noticed anything amiss, if there had been anything to notice in the first place, and the conversation continued onto different subjects – Miss Benson thought the sciences were an immeasurably estimable field; there was something so admirable in a gentleman who applied himself to his erudition thus…much as a lady who applied herself to the arts; what a complement a lady and gentleman as that should make to each other! Here she seemed to wish to say something more, even glanced briefly in Georgiana's direction; but Elizabeth chose that moment to stand, and invite the ladies to pass through with her to the sitting room, where they might await the gentlemen.
Mary followed the others' lead and pushed back her chair. She happened to meet the gaze of Mr. Crawford as she stood, and he smiled at her, and said quietly, amid the clamor of departure, "I hope you are not intending to be so silent all the evening, Miss Bennet, or I shall be forced to take grave action, and will soon be impelled to begin horribly misquoting Socrates and Plato." – and for some reason, this did much in lifting her moroseness, and even if it was not wholly departed as she made her way to the sitting room, she felt at least that the rest of the evening might not be so unbearable as she had previously supposed.
A/N: For those of you who caught it, there's a little easter egg in this chapter, hinting at the ending that Jane Austen herself foresaw for our Mary ;)
Next week's chapter is dinner party, part two (it's also the longest chapter I've written so far). Thanks as always for reading, and see you all then!