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The day of the masquerade ball dawned bright and cold, with a light frost covering the ground. The girls spent a large part of the day putting finishing touches to their masks and costumes, followed by an extensive personal toilette to ensure that they looked their finest. Baths were taken, nails trimmed, and skin softened with lotions and creams. Their hair was carefully removed from the curling papers put in the night before and arranged into styles to match their costumes. They helped each other with their stays and petticoats, and then finally into each of their gowns for their individual disguises. Jewellery, hair ornaments, gloves, and shoe roses completed the ensemble.
By the time they collected in the foyer to await the carriage, they were all flushed with excitement. Jane looked sweet and pretty in her blue shepherdess gown, with a wooden crook borrowed from a local farmer, and an old pillow covered with white cotton wool, cleverly assembled to resemble a small lamb.
Mary was not so lucky in her attempt to recreate an animal companion: the small cushion that was perched on her shoulder resembled less an owl and more a mangled, dead fowl from the poultry yard. However, the rest of her costume was worthy of admiration. She had cleverly altered a simple white gown to emulate a Greek goddess’s flowing robes and her brown hair was dressed with multiple loops of braids in a Grecian style which was very becoming.
Kitty’s costume was one which drew much praise from her sisters. She made a charming Oriental princess, with her embroidered yellow muslin altered to give her a kimono-style front and the long trailing sleeves adding an authentic Eastern flair. The final touch of the exotic was provided by Jane’s bamboo fan, which Kitty employed with great effect.
Lydia looked appealing and gay, though this was perhaps due more to her natural vivacity than to the success of her costume. Her impatience and careless attitude to detail meant that her disguise had suffered from being put together in a haphazard fashion. One could not immediately see that her green bonnet resembled an elf’s cap nor that her vivid green gown had any suggestion of the fae. But Lydia was well pleased with the way she looked and that was all that mattered.
Mrs Bennet had surprised them all when she exited her room. She looked resplendent in a gold gown, embellished with black satin braid, and with her usual ruffled lace mob cap exchanged for a satin turban. Most striking were her eyes, which had been outlined with black pigment, and carried a most bewitching expression, especially when hidden behind her mask. To Elizabeth, who had always wondered what initial attraction had drawn her parents together—given their very different personalities—it was a revelation. Finally, she caught a glimpse of the beauty and vivacity her mother had once possessed in her youth, which had captivated her father and perhaps made him overlook their differences in character and temper.
In comparison to her sisters and mother, Elizabeth felt that her own costume was slightly lacking. She had been well satisfied with it upon examination in the solitude of her bedroom, but now faced with the magnificence of the others, she felt decidedly drab. Her deep burgundy gown was unadorned save for the simple embroidery on the sleeves of her surcote and the woven gold belt around her hips, which functioned as a medieval girdle. Her hair had been let down and dressed in simple braids, covered by a sheer veil and adorned only by the small circlet fashioned from the silver wire and interspersed with tiny gold beads and pearls. She had no other accessory, save for her smile and her red velvet mask.
The one person in the family who was attending the ball even more understated than Elizabeth was Mr Bennet, who had steadfastly refused to contemplate a disguise of any kind, though he agreed to wear the simple mask that Bingley would no doubt provide for his guests on arrival.
“Mary! You are not taking that to the ball!” declared Lydia suddenly.
They all turned to look. Mary stood holding her lacquered music box, a defiant expression in her eyes.
“I am,” she said. “I have promised Mr Bingley I would and I will not renege on my promise.”
“But—”
“Oh, let her take it if she wants to,” said Mrs Bennet impatiently as she fussed with her turban. “I am sure ’tis of little consequence.”
“But Mama, what about the curse—”
“Lydia, my child, one must not put too much stock into the veracity of folklore and legends,” said Mr Bennet.
“But what about Sarah?” demanded Lydia. “For she did most certainly take ill the very night after we received the gifts from Uncle Gardiner. And do not forget the sinister deaths of those chickens! These disasters all followed the opening of the music box to view its interior.”
“Those events could all have arisen from coincidence,” Elizabeth said.
“Aye,” said Mr Bennet. “Sarah is well now and there have been no further deaths amongst the poultry. I think we may safely assume that these attacks were merely the result of chance.”
“No, it is because the music box has been locked away that there have been no more incidents...” Lydia muttered. But she made no further protest, and presently the carriage arrived, turning interest away from the topic.
They climbed aboard the carriage, carefully smoothing their dresses down and tucking a heavy blanket around their feet to ward off the chill. Elizabeth sat by the window and looked out into the dark night as they began the journey to Netherfield Park. There was a full moon tonight and a clear sky, which meant that the cold lunar light touched everything in the darkened landscape, giving it an eerie, silver glow. The rhythmic clop of the horses’ hooves seemed to echo in the night, broken only by the jingle of their bridles and the occasional soft snorting. The horses’ breaths billowed in small white clouds above their heads, floating back like trailing mists over the carriage behind them.
She wondered suddenly about Wickham and felt anxiety take hold of her again. She had succeeded in not dwelling on the highwayman for a period. Now the uneasy thoughts returned again. Would he come? And if she should recognise him, what ought she to do?
At length, Elizabeth was able to see lights in the distance: the golden glow of lamps which heralded the front entrance of Netherfield Park. She saw the silhouettes of other carriages arriving and turning along that wide circular drive, and presently their own carriage took its place in the line. Her sisters crowded to the window beside Elizabeth to gaze at the house in excitement.
“Oh, it is wonderful!” Lydia gasped with delight.
Mr Bingley had certainly made every effort to provide a charming setting for his masquerade ball. Lanterns had been strung amongst the trees and shrubbery that lined the drive, their soft golden glow lending a fairy-tale enchantment to the Netherfield Park grounds. The house itself was lit up by candles at every window, and garlands of vines and flowers decorated the front entrance. Several footman stood in a row alongside the front steps, each wearing a mask of a different colour and each bearing a carved turnip lantern. The faces on the turnips were at once cheerful and sinister, adding to the slightly eerie setting.
Then Elizabeth noticed the two men loitering behind the masked footmen. They were very different: stern and silent, with watchful eyes and inscrutable faces. They were the Bow Street runners, Elizabeth realised—the London constabulary force who would be providing extra security at the ball. Their presence brought a chill to her skin and she hoped fervently that Wickham had reconsidered his plans to infiltrate the masquerade.
The carriage stopped and they alighted at last, feeling the cold of the night air surround them instantly. Their breaths rose in small puffs of vapour as they hurried to mount the front steps and escape the chill. Once inside the house, they were escorted by a masked footman into a cloakroom where they were divested of their cloaks and wraps, and those who had not brought their own masks were given one to wear. Mr Bennet took his with bad grace, but did not argue with putting it on. The girls and Mrs Bennet had all brought their own, fashioned to match their costumes, so they simply adjusted theirs to conceal their features as completely as possible before joining the throng of people moving into the ballroom.
Elizabeth saw Mr Bingley and his sister, Caroline, as soon as they entered. Though they wore disguises, it was easy enough to discern their identities from the way they stood by the ballroom entrance, receiving guests. Caroline Bingley was dressed like a Roman goddess, her tall slim figure shown to advantage in the flowing toga and her arms shimmering with a multitude of gold bracelets. It was Mr Bingley’s costume, however, which most attracted Elizabeth’s attention. She had never seen the like before. He was wearing the most unusual-looking trousers, made of light brown leather, and falling so straight and wide as to completely hide the shape of his legs. In addition, he wore a tight-fitting shirt with long, narrow sleeves and a strange waistcoat of plain leather, together with a lurid red kerchief around his neck. A long length of rope was coiled and attached to the belt at his hip, and on his head he wore the most peculiar hat. It was nothing like a top hat nor a tricorn, though it had some similarities. The brim was far wider and curved jauntily around his head.
When they had completed their turn in greeting their hosts, Elizabeth could not resist lingering behind. “Mr Bingley,” she said, “I must beg you to reveal the inspiration for your disguise. I am all curiosity!”
Bingley laughed. “I am emulating a type of person commonly found in the New World. On the continent of America, as I believe it is called now. There are men renowned for their skill in riding horses and handling cattle. They are descended from the Spanish vaqueros—also known as ‘cowboys’.”
“How very original!” said Elizabeth. “I should like to learn more about the New World and its inhabitants.”
“You should ask Darcy then,” said Bingley. “It was he who suggested this costume to me. He is always reading about foreign nations and their customs, and he has been following the recent Lewis and Clark expedition closely. He is quite an expert on the subject.”
“Indeed?” said Elizabeth. Somehow, she had not imagined Darcy to be the type of man who would be interested in matters beyond those which normally occupied the English gentry, such as hunting, fishing, and cards. The man was continually surprising her.
“Yes, you should certainly speak to him about it. It is quite one of his favourite subjects of conversation.” Bingley turned his head and looked around, scanning the crowds. “Where has the fellow got to?”
“I beg you do not trouble yourself, Mr Bingley,” said Elizabeth hastily, not certain that she wanted to encounter Darcy at present. They had not met since that unpleasant conversation on Meryton high street and she had no wish for further tensions.
“Ah, there he is... Darcy!” Bingley called out suddenly.
A tall gentleman across the room turned and approached them. Elizabeth saw with great surprise that it was indeed Darcy—though he was in disguise No costume, however, could hide the commanding presence of that powerful figure nor any mask conceal the handsome features of his face.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” He made her a deep bow as Bingley turned away to attend to his other guests.
Elizabeth could not help but to stare in surprise. Darcy was dressed in a voluminous white shirt, the fabric stretched across his broad shoulders, the billowing sleeves ending in tight cuffs at his wrists. The front of the shirt featured an unusual lace-up fastening, which revealed a slightly scandalising amount of masculine chest. In striking contrast to the snowy white shirt, he wore black breeches, polished black boots, and a black domino cape. His hair had been coaxed into an untidy style, with dark curls falling forward across his temples, and in one hand he carried a cutlass.
His transformation was so complete that Elizabeth was rendered temporarily speechless. She had not considered for one moment that the high and mighty Mr Darcy would condescend to donning a disguise for the masquerade. She had fully expected him to adopt her father’s attitude and come in plain evening clothes, perhaps not even conceding to a mask. Now she found herself surprised by him again.
Elizabeth fancied that she saw a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes. Remembering her manners, she dropped a hasty curtsy and said, “Mr Darcy. Forgive me... you surprised me. I did not think that you would be in disguise.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Did you think me such a poor sport as to reject the masquerade?”
“No... well, I...” Elizabeth flushed, aware that it was exactly what she had been thinking. “I own, I did not think you would partake of such amusements.”
“What a dull fellow you must think me to be,” commented Darcy with a dry smile. “I think there are few who would not enjoy the opportunity to take on the mantle of another.” He glanced at the people around them in the room. “It can provide some refreshing anonymity.”
“You had no trouble recognising me, sir,” she said.
“No.” Darcy regarded her for a long moment. “It is hard to disguise eyes such as yours, even with a mask.”
Elizabeth could not make out his meaning, though for some reason she felt a blush tinge her cheeks. Before she could reply, however, they were interrupted by Caroline Bingley who had hurried over to join them.
“Why, Miss Eliza... what a quaint costume... Did you fashion it yourself?” Miss Bingley ran her eye contemptuously over Elizabeth’s attire, then smoothed her hands over her own elegant gown. She gave a condescending laugh. “While it is lacking in flair and sophistication... I think such home-made efforts are charming, do you not agree, Mr Darcy?”
He inclined his head. “I should hope so, as my own costume is a ‘home-made’ effort courtesy of my valet.”
Miss Bingley looked nonplussed and Elizabeth hid a smile. She decided to take advantage of Caroline Bingley’s interruption to make her escape, but Darcy’s voice stopped her as she was about to turn away.
“I hope you have not forgotten our agreement, Miss Bennet.”
Miss Bingley looked sharply at Elizabeth. The latter hesitated. Did Darcy refer to his previous solicitation of her hand for a dance at the ball? She had not thought that he would still want to dance with her after their last hostile encounter.
“No, indeed, sir. I had not forgotten,” Elizabeth murmured.
Darcy bowed and, ignoring Miss Bingley’s continued look of frustrated curiosity, Elizabeth turned and went in search of her family.
