Elizabeth Newark - The Darcys Give a Ball

“That’s one poor ant will never regain the nest,” said Eliza, smiling. “I say poor, but I must admit I have my doubts about the capacity for feeling of an ant. I see him marching onward, ever onward, round and round the peach, like a toy soldier, quite unmoved by emotion.”

“And my feeling tells me that Latchett has put a stop to his march for ever.Tell me, are you interested in the customs of ants?” The tone was cool, but not unfriendly.

Blank-faced, the butler once more offered the fruit dish to Eliza. She chose a peach, and placed it on her plate before she spoke.

“Jonathan, my brother, teaches me. These are wonderful peaches, sir,” she continued. “So rosy, and so large!”

She had touched on a topic which held Mr. Darcy’s interest; a slight smile touched his lips.

“We are proud of our peach trees at Pemberley,” he said. “My father took great interest in his gardens.”

He described briefly the way the peach trees were espaliered against the warm rosy brick of the enclosing walls of the orchard, and went on to talk of his succession houses, where pineapples and grapes were grown.“They need protection from frosts and wind.”

He finished his coffee and put down his cup. “May I guess the name of my discerning companion?” he asked. “I think you must be Eliza Collins. I heard your brother discussing his work last night. He spoke well, and with enthusiasm. He wishes to travel, I understand, like the young man, Charles Darwin, he mentions so often?”

“I am Eliza Collins. And oh, yes, Jonathan wishes to see everything in the whole wide world. But most of all he loves the things that fly, and creep, and even crawl. He collects caterpillars, spiders... My sisters hate his collections, and Mama has made a rule that he must keep them in a special room. But sometimes they escape...” Eliza’s mouth quirked into a tiny smile.

“And you do not dislike them?”

“No. It is so interesting! To see a caterpillar become a cocoon and then a butterfly! And Jonathan explains so carefully. He takes me with him to the fields and woods, when he is collecting.”

It occurred to Mr. Darcy that it was a long time since he had known his own daughter express interest in anything other than adornment and entertainment of the more flamboyant kind. He worried, sometimes, for Juliet, who seemed to expect the world to accommodate itself to her. Her early prettiness, her winning ways, had made it easy to indulge her. He remembered explaining to his wife-to-be the faults of his own upbringing: taught what was right, but not taught to correct his temper; given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Had they made the same mistakes in raising their beautiful daughter?

Eliza finished peeling her peach, and sliced it carefully. The juice ran onto the plate, and she wiped her fingers on her napkin. The peach was delicious, her pleasure marred only by her anxiety not to dribble.

The butler poured a second cup of coffee for Mr. Darcy. He drank in silence, and Eliza kept her attention on the peach.

“I must go,” said her host, rising and laying down his napkin. “Thank you for your company, Miss Collins. But tell me, do you always rise so early?”

Color rose to Eliza’s cheeks, but her eyes looked at him with candor, and she spoke the truth.

“I am early, Sir, because I am going to ride with Henry,” she said. “I long to explore the Park.” Would he disapprove? Would he forbid them?

As she spoke the door opened, and Henry himself came into the room. He looked somewhat startled to see Eliza with his father.

“Good morning, Henry,” said Mr. Darcy. He turned and bowed to Eliza. “A pleasure, Miss Collins,” he said. “Henry is a fortunate young man. Enjoy your ride.”

The butler moved to open the door and Mr. Darcy left the room.

Juliet had promised to send her maid to help Eliza dress, but Eliza was not surprised when Agnes did not appear. She was somewhat dismayed, however, when, by seven o’clock, her mother also had failed to appear. Dinner was at eight. A quiet knock at her door as she struggled to fasten her bodice brought her eagerly forward, but the little maid who waited outside was nothing like Juliet’s purse-mouthed Agnes. Instead, this small damsel dropped a curtsey and handed Eliza a bouquet of violets, “With Mr. ’enry’s compliments, Miss. And Mr. Latchett said as if you thought as ’ow you might find me useful, I were to stay. I’m Becky, Miss.”

Eliza buried her nose in the cool petals, inhaling their sweetness. Then she smiled at Becky. “Oh, please, could you fasten my dress? The hooks are so small and I can’t quite manage myself.”

Eliza’s dress (quite the prettiest she had ever had) was white broiderie anglais, with a very full skirt and a low-cut neckline (which had not been displayed before Mr. Collins). Her small waist was bound with a wide sash of violet-blue satin. The violets toned beautifully with the sash, but Eliza did not know how to fasten them. And her hair? How was she to dress her hair?

She was delighted when after a quick knock, her mother’s voice at last came through the door. “Eliza, dear, it’s Mama.”

Charlotte came in quickly and set about her daughter’s finishing touches. Her soft curls were brushed satin-smooth, then curled round Charlotte’s quick fingers.They were piled back and high, leaving one or two to fall around her face, which, usually pale, was flushed with excitement. A matching violet-blue satin ribbon bound the curls into place and was fastened with a pearl pin.

“Now your necklet, Eliza—and where are your long gloves?” Becky came quickly forward with the gloves, her eyes big with shared enjoyment.

“And my violets, Mama? Can I wear them? Henry sent them—oh, mother!”

“We will pin them just inside your bodice. There, that’s quite perfect. See, my dear. You look a picture.”

Eliza saw reflected in the long cheval mirror a small starry-eyed figure in crisp white, with touches of violet, her head topped with light-brown curls that shone like copper. She took a deep breath. But then she was distracted by the figure of her mother, dressed in black silk, standing behind her.

“Mama? I thought you were going to wear your new blue? You look so nice in blue.”

Mr. Collins disapproved of color for married or older women. Charlotte’s dresses ranged from pale gray to black, with an occasional mauve or pale blue dimity for morning wear.With the ball in mind she had begged his indulgence and ordered a dark blue gown that gave warmth to her face and gray eyes. But she was wearing black.

“It seemed more suitable, dear. And your father would approve.Now, don’t worry about me. Listen, there’s the gong.”

They collected Jonathan, trim in his new evening dress, and then Charlotte led her family down the great staircase to the drawing room where the dinner guests were collecting. There was considerable turmoil in Charlotte Collins’s mind as she entered the beautiful room. Earlier, just as she was opening her door to go to Eliza, a footman had brought her word that a groom had arrived from Longbourn with a letter from her housekeeper. The news it contained was startling. There had been barely time to change her dress, after reading it. Now the letter was tucked safely inside her reticule, but it dominated her thoughts. She longed to go somewhere quietly by herself, to think. But the time was not appropriate. She had made up her mind. At present she would say nothing about it. She had her children to think of. She sought distraction in her surroundings.

The first thing she noticed was the portrait of Elizabeth, by Thomas Lawrence, painted some ten years previously, occupying pride of place over the white marble mantelpiece. Charlotte knew that a more recent portrait of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, accompanied by Mr. Darcy’s pointer, Diogenes, was to be found in the library. It had been painted by Edwin Landseer. Mr. Landseer was not from choice a portrait painter; and had been coaxed into action by the inclusion of the dog.

Charlotte was also aware that a portrait of Jane Bingley, painted recently by Sir Francis Grant, was part of an exhibition of portraits by Winterhalter (the young Queen’s favorite), Lawrence, and Grant presently on show in a gallery in Pall Mall, but Mr. Darcy had not wished Elizabeth’s portrait to be displayed. “He is a little possessive,” said Elizabeth, smiling, “where I am concerned.” Charlotte thought the portrait brought her friend vividly to life. Elizabeth’s head was high, and a smile hovered about her lips as if at any moment she would break into laughter. “Beautiful,” she said to herself. “You are right,” said a quiet voice at her shoulder. Charlotte had not realized she had spoken out loud. She turned quickly and found Mr. Darcy beside her, looking up at the picture with an expression of love and pride that touched her very much. “I am pleased to see you, Mrs. Collins,” he went on. “I had the pleasure of your daughter’s company at breakfast this morning. I congratulate you on her upbringing.”

He moved away, and Charlotte stared after him. Eliza had said nothing of a breakfast meeting; she had been too full of her ride.

Dinner was a grand affair and Henry’s duty kept him with the more important guests. Etiquette demanded that Lord and Lady Charles Baluster had first claim on the Darcys’ attention. Eliza saw Henry sitting with his cousin, the Honorable Lucy Baluster. Henry looked serious.