Page 43 of Return to Pemberley
But it was the arrival of the Bennet family which marked, for Elizabeth, the true commencement of the evening.
Their carriage, which had been the subject of as many jokes as repairs, drew up precisely at the hour expected—a feat Mrs. Bennet would later attribute to her own unceasing vigilance, but which all present privately credited to the iron will of Hill the housekeeper, now in her seventh campaign as general of the Bennet household.
Mrs. Bennet emerged first, her gown a positive oratorio of ribbons and lace, and her voice—audible even before she crossed the threshold—offered an exclamation of such rapture that it sent the junior footmen into fits of suppressed laughter.
“Oh, Lizzy! I vow, I have never seen so many candles! And what a sight the garlands make on that stair—why, it is as if the very King himself were to attend! Mr. Bennet, do take care not to spoil the arrangement with your muddy boots. Lizzy, dearest, I must have the name of your decorator at once. Was it all your design?”
Elizabeth, who had braced herself for much worse, received her mother with a kiss and an embrace. “It was the work of many hands, Mama. But I will claim the credit if it pleases you.”
“Pleases me? It delights me!” Mrs. Bennet replied, her gaze already roving the assembly for persons of greater or lesser consequence.
“I declare, if Lady Catherine herself were here, she could find nothing to cavil at. How you have managed, with only a year’s practice, to outdo all the great ladies of the county, is more than I can comprehend. ”
Mr. Bennet, who had trailed his wife by exactly three paces (a distance which Elizabeth recognized as the happy mean between marital duty and self-preservation), surveyed the scene with his usual mixture of irony and affection.
He bowed to his daughter, offered his arm to Mrs. Bennet with an elaborate flourish, and said, in a tone calculated to be heard by no one but Elizabeth, “I perceive, my dear, that you have brought to Pemberley all the order and none of the chaos of your childhood home. It is, I own, a species of miracle.”
Elizabeth could not suppress a laugh. “It is only for a night, Papa. Tomorrow we shall revert to our customary idleness.”
“Then I shall enjoy the spectacle while it lasts,” he replied, and with a knowing wink, surrendered himself to the role of most decorous of fathers.
Jane and Mr. Bingley followed, their entrance not the least marked by the fact that Jane’s complexion, far from the sickly pallor Mrs. Bennet had anticipated for the journey, glowed with a health that was only matched by the sparkling of her eyes.
Bingley, for his part, was incapable of crossing any threshold without an exclamation of delight, and tonight was no exception.
“Darcy!” he called, the instant he spied his friend across the sea of guests. “You have done it! The room is even grander than you promised. And Mrs. Darcy—if I may say so, Jane and I are quite overwhelmed by the welcome.”
Darcy, who until this moment had observed the arrivals with the calm of a man certain in his position, now stepped forward and took Bingley’s hand.
“I am glad you could come,” he said, his eyes briefly meeting Elizabeth’s in a private exchange of satisfaction.
“It would not be a ball at Pemberley without you both.”
Jane, moving to embrace her sister, whispered in Elizabeth’s ear, “You have made it beautiful, Lizzy. I am so proud—so very happy for you.”
Elizabeth returned the embrace, her heart full. She had not, until this moment, realized how much the approval of her elder sister still mattered, or how deeply she wished for it.
The next arrivals required a more formal reception, and Elizabeth’s attention was at once claimed by the entrance of Lady Matlock, whose carriage bore the discreet arms of the family and whose presence, even in so grand a setting, could silence a room at fifty paces.
Lady Matlock was resplendent in velvet and pearls; her expression was one of serene amusement, as though she had been personally responsible for inventing the country ball and now took pleasure in watching her invention executed to perfection.
“Mrs. Darcy,” she intoned, her voice rich and mellifluous, “I felicitate you. It is not every day one sees so fine a spectacle outside of Town. The arrangements—exquisite. The company—well chosen. And the lady of the house—” here she paused, her gaze sweeping Elizabeth from head to toe, “—perfectly at ease in her role, as one would expect.”
Elizabeth, ever alert to the nuances of Lady Matlock’s praise, replied, “I am only grateful you find it tolerable, ma’am. If there is any defect, I hope you will be so obliging as to point it out.”
Lady Matlock’s lips curved in a smile that was both warm and a little conspiratorial.
“If I discover any, I shall be sure to alert you in private. But so far, I see nothing to censure.” She leaned in, dropping her voice for Elizabeth’s ear alone.
“You have surprised many, my dear—including, I suspect, yourself. Enjoy your triumph.”
As Lady Matlock passed on to greet the next cluster of guests, Elizabeth found herself unexpectedly elated—not by the compliment itself, but by the knowledge that she had, at last, been welcomed into the society of women she had once viewed only from the margins.
There followed a veritable parade of notables, each of whom required a delicate adjustment of tone and address. Elizabeth dispensed civilities with a fluency that astonished even her, and was just beginning to relax her vigilance when Mrs. Augusta Willoughby made her appearance.
Mrs. Willoughby, whose reputation for polite malice was the stuff of legend from Matlock to Lambton, had chosen for the occasion a gown of such understated chic that even Lady Matlock might have envied it. Her approach was calculated, her smile inscrutable.
“Mrs. Darcy. What an extraordinary thing you have accomplished here. So many faces—so much happiness. I suppose you must be exhausted, but I see no evidence of it.”
Elizabeth, whose opinions of Mrs. Willoughby were as yet undetermined, responded with an equal blend of candor and charm. “It is a great deal easier, I find, to manage a crowd than to conquer the approval of a single lady of distinction. I am gratified you could attend.”
“Attend? I could not have missed it. All the county is talking of Pemberley’s new mistress.
” Mrs. Willoughby’s eyes lingered on Elizabeth’s face, then shifted briefly to Darcy, who had drawn near.
“I perceive your husband is as constant as ever. Mr. Willoughby has many faults, but even he cannot fault devotion when he sees it. You are a fortunate woman, Mrs. Darcy.”
Elizabeth, sensing that this was less a compliment than a declaration of truce, inclined her head. “As are we all, I hope, on a night such as this.”
Mrs. Willoughby laughed—a low, musical sound—and passed on, leaving Elizabeth with the uneasy impression that she had survived, but not won, the engagement.
The last of the arrivals were now filing in, and the buzz of conversation had grown to a steady crescendo.
Elizabeth, moving through the crowd, was greeted on all sides with smiles and good wishes, most of them genuine.
She was just accepting a glass of punch from a footman when Mrs. Bennet reappeared at her elbow, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and calculation.
“Lizzy, dearest, you must introduce me to Lady Matlock at once. It is quite the thing, you know, to have such a grand lady in the family, and I will not rest until I have been properly presented. Also, there is a rumour—Mrs. Oakham told me herself—that Lady Matlock once danced with the Prince. Imagine!”
Elizabeth, whose sense of familial duty was unclouded by any hope of effecting an improvement in her mother, nodded with composure.
“You shall meet her, Mama, but I must beg you to be circumspect. Lady Matlock is not fond of excitement, and she prefers to converse in short, measured sentences. If you can remember that, she will be your friend for life.”
Mrs. Bennet, whose excitement had already outrun her memory, beamed and nodded, and, as soon as Lady Matlock was in view, swept across the floor with an energy that would have overpowered a less seasoned countenance. Elizabeth followed at a pace sufficient to intervene if necessary.
“Lady Matlock! How do you do, ma’am? I am Mrs. Bennet—Elizabeth’s own mother. It is the most singular pleasure to make your acquaintance. You must allow me to say what a picture you make, and how greatly you do honour to my daughter’s little affair.”
Lady Matlock, who had survived the better part of a lifetime by never betraying surprise, greeted Mrs. Bennet with the serenity of a queen accepting a slightly damp bouquet.
“How do you do, Mrs. Bennet. I have heard much of you from your daughter. She is a very capable woman, and speaks of her family with the greatest affection.”
This, which might have been mere civility, was received by Mrs. Bennet as a triumph of diplomacy.
“Indeed! We are very proud of her, as I am sure you are too. She was always the clever one, you know—always a wit and a comfort in times of trouble. I used to say to Mr. Bennet, ‘Lizzy will make her mark on the world one day,’ and now, see, here she is, mistress of Pemberley!”
Lady Matlock, whose capacity for bearing such effusions was rivalled only by her capacity for forgetting them, inclined her head in polite assent. “You must be very gratified. And your other daughters—are they well?”
This provided Mrs. Bennet all the opening she required, and Elizabeth, sensing that a catalogue of the entire Bennet family was about to ensue, gently drew her mother away with a whispered suggestion that the supper tables required her immediate attention.