The crowd of people gathered at the entrance to the rooms seemed immense, as forbidding and impenetrable as she had feared. Mary was buffeted from side to side, almost deafened by the shouted greetings that echoed over her head as she struggled to make her way through the knots of excited guests huddled in the hallway. Desperate not to lose sight of her sisters – whose progress through the scrum was, she noted, followed by a number of appreciative male gazes – she pushed onwards with all the courage she could muster until, at last, she emerged into the open space of the ballroom. For a moment, she stood quite still, amazed at what she saw. The old rooms, as she knew them, were unrecognisable. There were candles everywhere, not, it was true, of the most expensive kind, and a distinct smell of tallow hung in the air; but their flickering light transformed the scuffed walls and lit up the boughs of autumn leaves hung upon them as decoration. In the distance, through a pair of double doors, she could see the inn servants laying out the supper table, the footmen polishing the serving spoons on their aprons. Upstairs, perched on the balcony, the musicians were tuning their instruments and drinking a last glass of beer before beginning their work. On the floor itself, impatient couples had already begun to gather, pacing up and down, keen for the dancing to begin.
Kitty and Lydia were quickly swallowed by the throng. Mary looked about but could see no one she knew. For a moment, she considered putting on her glasses. She scrabbled in her little bag, and her fingers clasped round them, but then she imagined Lydia’s expression if she were to see her wearing them, triumphant, as if the sight of Mary’s spectacles more than compensated for the insult of her new dress. Mary hastily withdrew her hand from her bag and was just beginning to panic when she felt Elizabeth’s touch on her shoulder.
‘Over here, Mary, we’ve found a place to sit where we shall be quite comfortable.’
Lizzy led her deftly through the press of people, towards a row of chairs, arranged so that their occupants could comfortably survey the dancing without being obliged to join in themselves. Their mother had already found a place there, alongside Lady Lucas, her particular friend. They spent much of their time together, for each found in the other exactly what they sought in a companion. Mrs Bennet required an acolyte; and Lady Lucas, timid and deferential, was happy to play the role of obedient disciple. Only once had the natural order of their intimacy been disturbed. When Mr Lucas, a wealthy Meryton merchant, had been honoured with a baronetcy, it seemed as though all must change, for how could a mere Mrs Bennet continue to patronise the newly minted Lady Lucas? But to her immense relief, Mrs Bennet soon discovered that her friend’s title had done nothing to alter her docile temper; and that she was as prepared as ever to submit without complaint to the condescension that was an inescapable ingredient of Mrs Bennet’s fond and unalterable regard.
Behind Lady Lucas’s chair stood Charlotte, her eldest daughter. She was an open-faced young woman of medium height with no great claims to beauty. Her unremarkable appearance was a source of great satisfaction to Mrs Bennet, who frequently drew to Lady Lucas’s attention the contrast between Charlotte’s scanty attractions and those of her own daughters. Nor did she hesitate to dwell, with all the sympathy at her command, upon the disappointment her friend must feel at Charlotte’s still remaining unmarried at the age of twenty-six, especially as there seemed so little chance of her changing her situation.
Lady Lucas was too fainthearted to contradict Mrs Bennet, nodding resignedly on such occasions; but her pliant nature was not without benefits for her otherwise unfortunate child. Lady Lucas possessed neither the energy nor the frustration which came so readily to Mrs Bennet; and Charlotte had been subjected to none of the recrimination and complaint which had been Mary’s lot. Perhaps for that reason, Charlotte did not hang her head, ashamed at her failure to become a beauty, but greeted the world with a clear-eyed, watchful gaze. She had no illusions about her looks, but her bearing suggested she had no intention of apologising for them. Instead, she acknowledged her situation with a wry amusement; and those who did not know her well were often surprised by the acuteness of her perceptions and the sharpness of her wit. These were the qualities that had recommended her strongly to Elizabeth, who had for some years counted her as her closest friend. It was towards Charlotte’s welcoming presence that Lizzy now steered Mary, before seizing for herself the last remaining empty seat.
‘What a rout! I swear the crowd gets bigger every season! Soon we’ll have to take turns on the dance floor. The managers will issue everyone with a number, and call us out, couple by couple.’
‘Or perhaps,’ replied Charlotte, ‘they could limit admittance only to those young ladies fortunate enough to have secured partners for more than half the dances. The rest of us could be left in the hall, like so much unwanted baggage, to be called for when required.’
‘Oh,’ declared Elizabeth, ‘I won’t listen to that kind of talk. I don’t believe you have no partners. And if you don’t, it’s because you greet everyone with such a baleful stare that no man would dare approach you.’
‘You’re quite right,’ agreed Charlotte. ‘I have partners aplenty lined up for me – two cousins, home from school, just old enough to be here, and an ancient friend of my father’s, who will squire me onto the floor with the greatest courtesy, all the time wondering with ill-disguised anxiety when supper will be served!’
Elizabeth reached out and took Charlotte by the hand.
‘I think you’ve been sitting far too long amongst the matrons. That’s enough to dampen anyone’s spirits. Now you have put the thought of eating into my head, I can’t dislodge it! Shall we go and look at the food and see if we can persuade them to give us a little something in advance of the crowd? Mary, why don’t you stay here? We shan’t be long and we might even bring back a morsel or two for you!’
Mary watched as her sister carried her friend away, their arms entwined, heads bent towards each other, sharing a joke. Her courage had been shaken even further by Charlotte’s words. If she could not secure proper partners, what hope was there for Mary? Just at that moment, the little orchestra finally struck up, and with a thunder of feet, the dancers rushed onto the floor. The noise was quite extraordinary – the music, the laughter, the acclamations – and for an instant, Mary could barely hear herself think. Couples marched, strolled, and trotted up and down the line, some with more enthusiasm than skill, but all with the greatest determination to enjoy themselves. In their midst Mary soon spotted Lydia, flushed, loud, excited, arm in arm with an officer whose regimentals were all she could have desired. Mary felt a sudden pang. Why could she not be there too, lost in the shared delight of it all? Instead, she stood amongst the seated circles of mothers, aunts, married sisters, whose dancing days were over.
At first, she had thought them a cheerful group, happy to watch the proceedings and chat between themselves; but as a second dance began and she remained unclaimed, she thought she felt their eyes directed towards her. She was sure they were discussing her, some with pity, some with scorn; she imagined them weighing up the likelihood of anyone presenting himself to ask her, and deciding the odds were low. Where were Lizzy and Charlotte? Were they never coming back? Mary looked about her with mounting unease. Her mother, she was thankful to see, was engrossed in conversation with Lady Lucas and seemed not yet to have noticed her lonely state, but she doubted this could continue for very long. She knew Mrs Bennet would not be pleased to see a daughter of hers so shamefully circumstanced. Growing increasingly self-conscious, she did all she could to seem unconcerned, to convey a nonchalance she was very far from feeling.
Then just as the music struck up for the next dance, a hand was extended to her.
‘I would be grateful, miss, to have the pleasure of dancing with you.’
She looked up, surprised. She did not recognise either the voice or the face of her rescuer.
‘I am William Lucas, Miss Mary, cousin of Miss Charlotte, your sister’s friend.’
So this was one of the youthful relations whom even Charlotte had not considered a creditable partner. It was true he was young, perhaps not even sixteen. But that was not so far off her own age. Why should she not accept him? She smiled at him with genuine gratitude and allowed herself to be led onto the floor.
Neither Mary nor her partner embarrassed themselves. They did not trip or stumble over the other’s feet. He asked her if she was enjoying her evening; she said that she was, and there the conversation closed. At the dance’s conclusion, he led her back to her place, bowed politely, and moved away. It was an entirely unexceptional encounter. It was unlikely he would ask her again; and yet Mary’s sprits leapt. A man – or, as honesty compelled her to admit, a boy – had danced with her. To be asked was all she had wished for. She should not have to go home from her first ball and say no one had chosen her. She almost hugged herself as she looked around for Lizzy and Charlotte. She could see no sign of Charlotte but thought she could just make out Elizabeth’s familiar form, on the other side of the room, talking with her usual animation to an attentive young man. Was it her or not? Mary narrowed her eyes and peered into the distance. So intent was she in looking for her sister, that she did not hear the quiet voice at her side the first time it addressed her.
‘Excuse me, Miss Mary, I do not mean to intrude, but it is very bad for your eyes to screw them up in that way.’
She turned to find a young man standing before her, respectful but concerned, clearly dressed in his newest and smartest clothes. At first, she did not know him.
‘Perhaps I may be permitted to help you find whatever or whomever you are looking for?’
‘Mr Sparrow? Mr John Sparrow?’
He bowed and looked down, a little self-conscious.
‘I am sorry, Miss Bennet. I should not have presumed – but I did not want you to strain your eyes. I should not have spoken.’
‘No, Mr Sparrow, I am very grateful to you. After all, you know better than anyone what my difficulties are. May I take advantage of you, sir? I am looking for my sister Elizabeth. I thought I saw her towards that corner. Am I mistaken?’
‘No, miss, you’re quite right. She was talking to a gentleman with whom she has just stood up.’ He pointed towards the set of dancers readying themselves to begin. ‘I believe it is Captain Carter. Of the Herts Militia.’
That would not please Lydia, thought Mary to herself, and the ghost of smile crossed her face. This seemed to encourage Mr Sparrow, who shifted somewhat nervously in his place before speaking again.
‘I wonder, Miss Mary, if you would do me the honour of standing up with me for the next dance?’
For the very briefest of moments, Mary hesitated; then, impelled by the surprising rush of pleasure his invitation had provoked, she accepted.
‘I should be delighted to do so, Mr Sparrow.’
He smiled back, relieved.
‘Well, then, I thank you – that is to say, I’m very grateful. Very much so. Shall we remain here until the next set is called?’
While they waited together at the edge of the dance floor, he asked how her spectacles had answered – had they made it easier for her to read and to sew?
‘To tell the truth, Mr Sparrow, I am no great hand with a needle, with spectacles or without. But I can’t thank you and your father enough for the improvement they have brought about in my reading. I can study for hours now, and even the smallest print holds no terrors for me.’
He was delighted to hear it. Might she tell him what she read with such enjoyment? Mary looked at him warily. Was he teasing her? But his sincere expression convinced her he really wished to know, and soon she found herself telling him about Mrs Macaulay. He nodded thoughtfully. His own preference, he explained, was for works of science, but on her recommendation, he should seek out that lady’s works and do his best to appreciate them.
‘Are you a scholar, then, sir?’
He looked embarrassed.
‘Not yet,’ he admitted. ‘But I very much hope to become one. My interest is in optics and the mechanics of the eye. I suppose you might say that the apple has not fallen far from the tree in that respect.’
‘But that’s an admirable thing,’ replied Mary. ‘It is only natural you should wish to increase your knowledge of a subject already familiar to you.’
‘I’m very glad you think so.’ He leaned a little towards her and continued in a low, confidential tone. ‘My father has it in mind to send me to study medicine. He says I have it within me to become a doctor.’
‘You’ll go to the university, then?’
‘No, my father says the best place for me is one of the London medical schools. He thinks Barts Hospital; or maybe Moorfields. Both are counted the very best in their field.’
For a moment, all his diffidence melted away; his face lit up with excitement at the thought of such a future. Then, just as suddenly, he remembered himself.
‘But it is not a thing generally known. I have not mentioned it before to anyone but you.’
‘It is a noble ambition, sir. I honour you for it. And I shall speak of it to no one else.’
Then the music struck up, Mr Sparrow held out his hand, and they made their way onto the floor. This time, she enjoyed every moment of the dance. The music was exhilarating; the push and pull of the other dancers as they changed partners and handed each other down the line made her feel joyfully connected, as though she was at the centre of an excited, happy band of friends. For once she was part of the pleasure, not watching it from afar. When reunited with Mr Sparrow, they both beamed at each other, delighted to be together again. When the music stopped, she was more sorry than she could say that the dance was over.
‘Thank you, Mr Sparrow,’ she exclaimed as he showed her to a chair. ‘I liked that of all things!’
‘So did I, so did I! It was the best dance I have had in a very long time. I suppose I could not persuade you to stand up with me again, if you are free?’
This time, Mary did not hesitate.
‘I have no engagement for the next dance, sir, and would be delighted to be your partner again.’