Chapter 18

Exposure to the opera should've taken place much sooner for Mary, especially considering the project being undertaken by Rietta and herself. It offered a beginning in an official composer's education. She was most grateful to be surrounded, likewise, by avid aficionados. Numerous other spectators on the other side of the theater listened most attentively for the first ten or fifteen minutes. Then, too lost in French sililoquy, they were turning to their nearest neighbour in fervent whispers. Everyone was guilty of this lack of appreciation, except for the members of Mr. Cummings' box. The four of them kept their silence during the performance. Of course, Rietta and Georgiana could not help the occasional side glance, which beamed with the pleasure that no artistic soul was immune to under the spell of such voices.

Except for the fleeting distractions of occasional voices, whispers or dull laughs in the pit, Mary's first evening at the opera could not have held more charm. Soft darkness and the stark light fluorescing the stage enveloped one in the scene. Though her command of French was about the level of a child's, Mary felt less like a spectator and more like a silent part, like an extra on stage with the cast. Mr. Cummings even so kindly lended her his opera glasses. Whether Lizzy ever attended and might have had a pair to spare, it slipped her mind to ask. It seemed a bit awkward to make inquiry with Mr. Darcy present. As to what his thoughts were, about her and Georgiana going out, about their company, ignorance was preferrable. Most girls in her position might have taken offense to it, and Mary firmly determined not to do so, not because she feared him, nor feared wounding her sister—but rather, because she did respect Mr. Darcy. He was one of a handful of men whose respect for a lady was a true compliment to the woman herself. It could've been a scolding, but he did not scold her. Because he called out to her intellect, it evoked much deeper feelings than the surface reactions to a stinging criticism. Ever since, Mary struggled not to keep her thoughts from Mr. Darcy's words; it already touched too close to that in her own heart.

At intermission, when the lights temporarily lifted, Mary recognized more familiar faces in the audatorium. Lord and Lady Herncastle, among other peers and suspect noblemen, were applauding from the back. Down in the pit, laughter rose like heat to their ears, particularly Miss Quinn's laughter. She sat amongst other members of the Starlight, with Mr. Wynn chained to the seat beside her. Very frequently during the performance did her unfortunate neighbors have to abide the prattle. Now, that her face was revealed, nearby ladies and gentlemen took the opportunity to approach and plead for some courtesy during the second half, and cease her chattering. Rietta and Mary viewed the whole scene thoroughly entertained by her blushes and outcries.

"These good people come to the opera but do not seem to understand," joked Rietta, "that nobody attends for the show. They come for the gossip."

"Rather in poor taste," noted Mr. Cummings, "for members of the Starlight society to interfere with others' listening pleasure. We none of us paid to be entertained by the likes of them."

"And such behaviour is most unfair to the singers," said Miss Darcy.

"Well, now that we've come to intermission, ladies, may I play the footman and fetch you all some refreshments?" Normally, someone else always answered before herself. Mary reacted somewhat startled by the moment's lapse, as no one else made him an answer while he looked to her. Her answer was all he could care for, and she had the power to command for once.

"Oh, I beg your pardon. I did not realize you meant me," Mary stammered. "I-I thank you. Shall you all? I don't like to be the only one."

"It does not signify what we want," teased Rietta. "Thank you, Mr. Cummings. I'd like an ice, please." Miss Darcy, likewise, consented to take some, but she seemed just as embarrased by it, as if Mr. Cummings had addressed her directly.

"Are you well, Georgiana?" asked Mary.

"I'm well. I just couldn't help notice—There's a man, down in the pit, near the back. He's looking up at us, through his opera glasses."

"Do you know the gentleman?"

"No, not at all." All four strained to get a glimpse of this stranger in the dim light. This young man sat amongst a small group of other men of collegian age. Upon realizing that his staring was being returned, the opera glasses fumbled from his face. Perplexed, surprised, and what appeared to Mary, though somewhat blurry for the distance, unhappy realization crossed the young man's expression. He lacked the common sense, or natural instinct, to look the other way and pretend he'd not been caught spying into their box seat.

"Rather impertinent of him," observed Mr. Cummings with a scowl. "He's nobody's acquaintance? Perhaps I'll have a word with him when I go down."

"Oh, please, don't trouble yourself," Rietta replied. "He's just a too curious collegian, never been to the theater, and just being a little nosy."

"He ought to be taught better manners, Miss Sothern."

"Well, he's looking away now. I daresay, he's learned his lesson. Don't make a scene. He'll not bother us."

"He had better not… Well, I'll be off. Shall you like to join me, Miss Bennet?"

This development should not have been much of a surprise, but it did, indeed, catch Mary off her guard. What was dancing, after all? There came some social obligation at a party or ball to offer oneself as a partner, regardless of preference. Or meeting by chance in St. James—there is also obligation to acknowledge acquaintances. But to be asked to take a private stroll through the corridors, down to the concessions, linger together during intermission is not obligation. All the corridors provided ample light, but widespread enough to obscure some things, like the drastic change of colour in her face. Mr. Cummings offered an arm to her, which Mary accepted.

"I hope you have enjoyed your first time coming to the opera, Miss Bennet."

"Oh yes, it's been most delightful!"

"Does it give more food for inspiration? Do you think?"

"I don't see myself writing an opera any day now, Mr. Cummings. I think, for such a feat as that, one has to have lived a very different life and moved in very different circles. If I had to find some comparison, I'd say that the composers of operas, the writers of plays, getting themselves published and getting their works on the stage, you must be like nobility in the musical world. My position, relatively, the Starlight Circle, I'd say we are but baronetcies."

"That's a little too self-disparaging, Miss Bennet. I cannot allow that."

"Well, I have you and your father to thank for your patronage; by doing so, that I take my first steps into the musical world."

"You took those first steps yourself when you taught yourself to play an instrument, and nobody can teach you composing. Those first steps were all your own. We had nothing to do with it. From hereon, now, you'll only progress."

"You are very kind."

"I take it, from your close association with Miss Sothern, you are both onto the next big step."

"Rietta would not have told you, surely!"

"No, no. She tells me nothing. It's my surmise based on how frequently I see her at your house. I knew you two had some sort of new undertaking, and I gather because it's only always, you two alone, that it is a confidential matter from the Starlight society."

"Rietta would not like that, and I have to say, you know too much."

"Please, have no fear. I've no wish to cause you trouble, Miss Bennet. I wish you the very best in your endeavours, whether that is with the Starlight Circle or independent of them."

"Independent?" As they came to the stairwell, brushing shoulders with more people, they both descended quietly until reaching the theater's lobby room. Many people seemed too much engaged to notice their presence; as Miss Quinn and her friends were nowhere to be seen, Mary resumed the inquiry. "What do you mean, sir, by independent of them?"

He seemed to pause, meditatively, and glanced about as casually as herself. "I'll not speak too much upon the subject. For I'd wish no one to betray any overheard conversations," he replied, lowering his voice minorly. "It may be a sensitive subject. For I'm not so intimate an acquaintance of Lady Herncastle to judge these matters. And she would not be pleased with me, surely; she might take it that I'm encouraging one of her stars to break from the society. That would be a legal breach of contract."

"A breach?"

"You did sign a contract, did you not?"

Mary nodded. "I did, but I was happy to do so. After all, she's been most kind and diligently attentive to my interests. To all of us. The way I see it, Mr. Cummings, we do owe her loyalty to any legalities of a contract."

"Of course. Forgive me, please don't mistake my motive. I'm not encouraging breaches of that sort."

"Then, why should you assume I'd wish for independence?"

"I have offended you. I'm truly sorry."

"… No, I'm not offended, Mr. Cummings. Only bewildered," she confessed.

"What you and Miss Sothern do on your own, I shall make it no one else's concern. But if it is a private venture, I'd say you and Miss Sothern have good reason for discretion. Lady Herncastle has you both under contract. Therefore, she controls all your professional engagements."

"Naturally."

"… That might be considered, is considered by some in the society, a disadvantage."

"Well… Lady Herncastle does help to make us accessible to the public, and sees to it that we get plenty of social engagements, enough to make a good living."

"I'm sure she's done what she can, to be fair to everyone. I do have high regard for her, personally. She's a wonderful person. But she's also a woman of business. A contract will address the legal rights of both parties, but it benefits the one drawing up the contract."

Once again, Mary thought of Mr. Darcy. "Do you imply, Mr. Cummings, that Lady Herncastle is not to be trusted? Because I've received treatment very much to the contrary by her ladyship."

"… Perhaps I was wrong to bring this up. Really, I did not wish to offend you, or to speak ill of anybody. I only meant that I should be happy for any future accomplishments you aspire to, Miss Bennet."

"I thank you for the compliment, Mr. Cummings."

"Allow me to make it up to you." With a sweeping gesture, he directed her towards the refreshment table, an alcove concession that presented goblets of ices, in a variety of colours: from lily pink to cherry red, and lemon yellow to pale gold. As to the flavours: "Strawberry and apple, cherry, lime and melon, lemon, and champagne."

"They all sound delicious. Do you have a favourite?"

"I like the lime and melon, personally. Refreshing, but I like its tartness."

"Hhmm… Difficult choice," she debated. "I'll try… the champagne."

"Champagne, excellent! You know, I think I'll try it myself. What about Miss Sothern and Miss Darcy?"

"I'll pick the strawberry apple flavour for her. I know she's fond of those fruits."

"Then that leaves, Miss Sothern. I don't know her tastes, unless you have some insight."

"She's not told me so, I'm afraid. I'll just have to surprise her."

"Let's go with the lime and melon for her. We can't go wrong there, and if she doesn't care for it, I'll take it and let her have my champagne ice."

"Sounds reasonable."

Upon their agreement, the gentleman placed his order with the server, and along with his shilling, handed him an extra, as a tip to request that a tray of his order might be delivered to the Cummings box. The server, most pleased, assured him that it would be attended to at once.

"No, please, don't rush, sir," he insisted. "If you'll please wait five or ten minutes to deliver it."

"As you wish, Mr. Cummings."

Mary's lip twisted in a confused smile. "Don't you normally give a tip to be served immediately? Why did you ask him to delay it?"

"I thought I'd buy ourselves some time." Some short distance away, they walked, trying to keep apart from the milling crowd of the lobby. "Perhaps I speak too boldly." For he couldn't miss the wide eyes and tumult of emotion behind them.

"Bold perhaps—but do not distress yourself."

"Distress?"

"I mean, that is, I'm not distressed by it. So, don't be distressed for my sake. I often do not say what I really mean and wish to say. It's rather frustrating at times, for myself, and for others around me, I'm sure."

"It does not frustrate, Miss Bennet. For actually, it's what you do not say that drives curiosity and… and…"

"And?"

"… Fascination."

"I've never heard that word ever applied to myself, Mr. Cummings," laughed Mary. "Even if my music might be very good, I'm not afflicted by false modesty. For I'm not a fascinating person by any stretch of the imagination."

"What nonsense!"

"It's true. You'd find such a girl like me in any country town, in every family, commonplace and ordinary. If no one ever heard me play, I'd be sitting in the corner of the room at a ball, while everyone had dance partners. I'd be attending to my sewing during the day, paying calls with my mother, and reading constantly. There's nothing extraordinary about that."

"Far be it from me to contradict a lady, but I will contradict you, even argue with you, on that point. Fascination has nothing to do with one's own opinion. Facination is deeper than mere opinion, Miss Bennet. For when I knew nothing of you, except for the incomplete pieces of your sonata being played throughout town, even then, I was fascinated. Whoever you were, wherever you were, I longed to meet you."

"Truly?"

"Just from what little I heard, I knew that came from no ordinary mind."

"Flattering, sir. But you could not have known you'd meet me. For all you knew, it could've been a man that wrote that music. I could've even decided to write under a man's name."

He shrugged. "I feel that could've been a mistake, but I was sure. Maybe, it was instinct. Something about it was so different, original, unconventional—Authors, even under a man's name, do things that are so innovative that they set new trends, whether it's in literary circles, music, poetry. Very often, when their identities are uncovered, my father and his collegues discover these authors are women. Your music doesn't follow the common patterns of other famous names. It does follow a structure, but it's using structure to rewrite fashion in the musical world."

"I am… all astonishment, Mr. Cummings."

"You are far from ordinary, Miss Bennet. And now that I've had such good fortune as to meet you at last, I hope, that we shall continue our acquaintance… No, that's not really what I mean. I hope that, in time, our acquaintance may… progress."

Up until this confession, everything that proceeded from his mouth never fell short of elegance, smoothness, and composure. For once, that charm of manner failed him, and Mary found him, in that moment, utterly charming. How he longed to meet someone that he never had any idea, nor hope of meeting. And someone so respectable and respectful, to have perceived the difference and valued a woman's powers of mind as highly as any man's. Then to top it all… to continue, to progress in their acquaintance. And he did not need to lower himself by engaging in flirtations, as so many young men did eagerly. It suited, in every respect, her views of how a courtship ought to be conducted. Dispense with vagaries and those general, kind marks of attention without clear intentions. Jane would've been married sooner. Lizzy and Mr. Darcy might never have had to learn through errors of judgment. And if she'd been more candid herself…

"I hope so as well, Mr. Cummings."

The two returned to the box, expecting the commencement of the performance in another ten or fifteen minutes. Before opening the door, admitting her back inside, Mary had another equally astounding gesture of affection, in the form of his taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. From henceforth, Mary walked about and sat through the rest of the opera hearing almost nothing, seeing the world with a sparkle, and feeling lighter than the air. It seemed utterly impossible! Such a thing as this did not happen to a girl like her. It did not seem as if it were happening to her, but someone else. She was always the one, the last one to hear the gossip, that Miss So-and-so was courting, or engaged. Happy news happened to other people. In the darkness, this shock and euphoria was kindly hidden from view, even concealed from Rietta and Georgiana. Even that seemed somehow impossible. How was it that Miss Darcy, with her beauty and thirty thousand pounds, had no suitor to join their party tonight? How was it that someone so charming and beautiful as Henrietta Sothern could care less that she had no companion? For not all the ladies of high society, Mr. Cummings' own society, could possibly be so destitute in beauty, elegance, and accomplishments to make her, Mary Bennet, the belle of London.

For the time, Mary was in no hurry to rush into confidence with anyone. Mr. Cummings, likewise, did not overly distinguish her in his attentions and behaviours. Discretion almost verged on covertness, which suited her in her present state of emotions just fine. Plenty of comment about the opera itself was exchanged on the final journey down to the lobby. The singers, fantastic. The ices, wonderful and refreshing. When they reached the common area, however, the crowd bubbled in energy. Some eagerly pursued mutual acquaintance out of the crowd, while others hurriedly bid their servants or escorts to fetch their carriage. Mr. Cummings, at the general bidding of his party, just requested his carriage. It was not a particularly cold evening, but Rietta had already donned her cloak.

"What do you ladies say to a spot of supper? Just down a few streets, I know a place that serves late, and it's as mellow as a parlour."

"I'm not all that hungry," shrugged Miss Darcy. "But I do not wish to spoil anything for anyone else. I'd be just as happy with a cup of tea."

Mary couldn't help her disappointment, but Georgiana was not so lively as she had been earlier in the evening. "Are you very tired?" she asked.

"Perhaps a little. Forgive me, everyone. I'm simply not used to such late hours. Some of the evenings have rather worn me out."

"How about we all convene in the carriage?" suggested Rietta. "It is a bit noisy in here, and I think we could all do with a few moments of peace."

"If you are all tired, of course, I'm glad to escort you all home," he offered. "Would be a shame to quit a lovely evening so early."

He must surely have sensed the turn of Mary's thoughts, but each of them were suddenly and abruptly interrupted. A voice out of the throng, carving a path through ladies of gray and gold silks, called out to Miss Sothern. His hair was mildly disheveled, as though he neglected to comb it for three days. Brown hair, brown eyes, a thin line of a mustache, gaunt in figure, rather sallow in complexion, approached them with mouth agape. He bounded even quicker upon realizing he caught their attention. A bit clumsy and looking rather foolish to the multitude, looking more rather like a lost puppy that found its owner than a young man desperate to pay homage to his lady. To their eyes, there was no mistaking his intentions. For they'd finally made the acquaintance of the oogling stranger from the pit.

"Miss Sothern! Why, this is excellent. I've been on the watch for you!"

"Will you please lower your voice, young man," she addressed him civilly. "Now, what is this all about?"

"I must speak with you, as soon as possible," he pleaded.

"You've not answered my question. What is this all about?"

"Pardon me, sir," Mr. Cummings intervened. "But this is neither the time or the place to address this young lady."

"But Miss Sothern—"

"It wouldn't be appropriate, as neither of you are acquainted."

"But we are acquainted," he contradicted, sadly. "Please, Miss Sothern, I must speak with you. The matter is urgent."

"You rather exaggerate our acquaintance," she replied, shaking her head, with an arched brow and pitying expression. "For if we have met, it was coincidental. It must've been at a park concert or some other gathering."

"If! Nay! How can you be so cruel, lovely creature?"

"Sir, I ask you please desist," urged Mr. Cummings, stepping forward with a raised hand. As he advanced, the young man withdrew, rather stumbled back. "You are causing a scene. You're making the ladies uncomfortable, and your addressing Miss Sothern, very intimately, is highly inappropriate."

"But I must see her—"

"She appreciates all her musical admirers, but you must be respectful. Now, please, return to your friends there. I see them now. Turn around and return to them, before you do anything you're going to regret."

For a second, Georgiana had a hand on Mary. He seemed to mean no harm to anybody, but his erratic manner was enough to provoke the youngest girl to a small measure of fright. Mary praised Mr. Cummings' adept handling of the situation, very civil but firm; yet, she made the mistake of catching the stranger's eye, which almost seemed to beseech anybody to take pity on him. The glimmer of tears had gathered in his eye as he turned the opposite direction, retreating with a slumped figure to the brethern arms of his friends. Based on where they had been sitting in the theater, and for their attire, they might be easily distinguished in the class that haven't much to spend; whenever they should spend, they should get their money's worth without having to endure a prattling gossip in the theater.

"Extraordinary," whispered Georgiana. "What was the meaning of that?"

All three of them had the same question once they found themselves in Mr. Cummings' carriage.

"I'm so sorry about that, everyone," pleaded Miss Sothern. Her normally composed countenance had become a little rosy, just a little, but enough to bespeak her humiliation. For a time, Rietta hung her eyes. "I know of him, but we are scarcely acquainted. His name is Mr. Paul, or Paulsy, or Palston, something or other. He heard a performance at one of the park concerts some six months ago. Following the program, he approached me in much the same manner as he approached us tonight. Poor man showered me with a giant bouquet, and was so flattering and fawning over me, it was quite overwhelming. To appease him, I bestowed him a little token. I was wearing a bracelet, and it was the simplest trinket to give him… I regret it all now. That little chance encounter, ever since then, he's been following me, begging my favours through letters and in person."

"That was quite careless, I'm afraid," admitted Mr. Cummings. "Why was there no one to escort you or protect you in that instance? Was Lady Herncastle ever made aware of it?"

"Oh yes, she knows all about it. She has advised me to keep aloof, and not be overly kind when admirers try to harrass me."

"Have you tried to ask him to stop?" Georgiana thought aloud. "Just respond to one letter, or better send someone in your stead, to ask that he kindly desist in his attentions?"

"Sounds so sensible," retorted Rietta, with a dry laugh. "No, Miss Darcy. For it's better to not acknowledge it in the first place. And I'm not in great peril. He's no lunatic, just lovesick."

"Regardless, you really ought to be more careful, Miss Sothern," warned Mr. Cummings.

"I shall try."

"Well, if you are all growing tired, I'll be glad to take you home."

"I'm afraid we must," agreed Mary.

Miss Sothern was the first to be escorted home. A little out of the way, but so as not to leave any lady unchaperoned, she was happily disposed of at a little house in Camden. For up until that time, Mary had never been to visit Miss Sothern at her residence. It was a large but unimposing house; for its size, amount of windows, and doors and gates, it must be a boarding house. She did not act ashamed of it. In fact, she'd have liked very much to invite them all in for tea, but it would not be condoned by her landlady at such a late hour. It was also especially frowned upon that any gentleman be admitted at late hours, no matter how good and respectable the company. So with good sense, after handing her out of the carriage, Mr. Cummings stood by the gate to see to her safe entry. All was well, but there was a touch of surprise in Miss Darcy's countenance.

"That is peculiar. She must have seniority, or else be a very trusted boarder," she remarked.

"What makes you say that?" asked Mary.

"She let herself in with a key to the residence. According to my brother, and what the steward's dealings with tenancy, that's very unusual for a renting boarder to have a key."

"Perhaps, it's just as you say: that she has seniority as a tenant and has proven herself very trustworthy." Mr. Cummings stepped back into the carriage, preventing further speculation. And both women regretted having voiced their opinions. Miss Darcy, for the whole ride home, fell into embarrassed silence, ashamed for having made the observation. Mary, on the other hand, attempted to keep up with Mr. Cummings' friendly chatter, and include Georgiana in it. She wished to make her friend forget the exchange. Speculation verged rather close to suspicion, that Mary could only confess to herself it was unwarranted; her warmth of words had been defensively conveyed. It was not intended to inflict, nor to shame. Having to hear the mention of her brother, also, gave her a chill until they all arrived back at Grovsnor Square.

Panic and a distressful scene awaited them. One of the maids attended to the ring of the bell, and calling out, "Oh no, they're home!" incite instant panic in the three. Mrs. Darcy? The baby? Was a doctor expected? Not at all. Mary and Georgiana rushed through the foyer to find Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, standing amongst a circle of servants, everyone perfectly well. But the anxious looks on every face, especially upon seeing their return, hardly dispelled theirs.

"What's the matter?" "What's going on?" "May I be of assistance?"

Lizzy spoke first. "Mary, when was the last time you saw Chop?"

"What? Why—he was in my room, but I think he followed me out to the drawing room before we left this evening. What's the matter? Where's Chop?"

A very young kitchen maid huddled near the housekeeper sunk a little into her arms, in tears. "I"m so sorry, miss! It's all my fault!" she sniffled. "I was washing, and he came into the kitchen begging for scraps. When I had to step out, he ran out the servants' door."

Mary felt like breath had been knocked from her body, and having dispensed with her cloak at the door, she now whirled back, ready to don it again. Mr. Cummings stopped her.

"Miss Bennet, no. Let me go," he pleaded.

"No, no. He's never been out, never known the streets of London. Only the country! He'll never survive—"

"Mary, Mary, stay calm now," Mr. Darcy gently added his own pleas. "I've already sent two of my menservants out onto the street to look for him. Please, you mustn't go yourself. It's very late."

"What about Lion? Where is he?"

"He's still up in your room," answered Lizzy. "Please, dear, he's going to be found. If not tonight, very likely in the morning. He may even come back of his own accord."

"Oh yes," added Georgiana, "I'm sure he will, Mary. In Grovsnor Square, he can't come to much harm. He's probably just up to mischief."

"They're right, Miss Bennet. If you like, I'll return tomorrow morning, and will help in the search for him."

For as delightful the thought proved to be, Mary still went to bed in tears that evening, breaking her heart for worry. Of course, everyone was reasonable and very kind, even the servants, to find the missing, little scamp. Lion, as usual, stirred as she went to bed, and curled up as close to her face as he could manage. And he was normally so petulant. He seemed to sense something amiss, and murmured, pushing his head into her wet cheek. Between that and his loud purring, and all thoughts consumed by the safety of his brother, Mary had no room left for the memories made at the theater that evening, no room for anybody—not Rietta, Georgiana, not even Mr. Cummings. When she did fall asleep, it was fitful and occupied by an intense, illogical dream, in which the face of the pitiful stranger played a part.