The following morning Mary called early at the Park, only to find that Julia Bertram was indisposed and in bed. Having sent her best compliments to the invalid, she was on the point of departure when she found herself being ushered with some ceremony into the morning-room, where the other ladies of the house were assembled. After paying her respects to Lady Bertram, who was sitting on the sopha on the other side of the room, absorbed in her needlework, she saw Miss Price gesturing to her, and as soon as Mary drew near she said in a low voice, ‘May I speak to you for a few minutes? I wish to ask your advice.’
The look of surprise on Mary’s face shewed how far she was from expecting such an opening, but Miss Price rose immediately and led the way upstairs to her own room. As soon as the door closed behind them, Miss Price began to explain the nature of her request.
‘It is the ball at Sotherton that I seek your advice upon, Miss Crawford. I am quite unable to satisfy myself as to what I ought to wear, and so I have determined to seek the counsel of the more enlightened, and apply to
you.
’
Miss Price then proceeded to lay before her such a number of elegant gowns, anyone of which might bear comparison with the latest London fashions, as left Mary in no doubt that Miss Price had no real value for her opinion, and wanted only to display her own superior wardrobe. For the next two hours Mary was obliged to listen to a minute enumeration of the price of every head-dress, and the pattern of every gown. Her own dress being finally settled in all its principal parts, Miss Price turned her attention to Mary.
‘And what will
you
wear, Miss Crawford? The gown you wore at dinner last night? Or do you have another? And what about ornaments? Do you possess any thing that would be considered rich enough for company such as we shall have at Sotherton?’
‘I have attended assemblies in London many times,’ said Mary firmly, ‘and I have always worn a very pretty topaz cross that Henry bought for me some years ago.’
‘I recollect the very one!’ cried Miss Price, ‘but do you really have only that meagre bit of ribbon to fasten it to? Surely Mr Crawford might be prevailed upon to buy you a gold chain as well?’
‘Henry had wanted to buy me a gold chain,’ said Mary, concealing her anger, ‘but the purchase was beyond his means at the time.’
‘But surely,
not
to wear the cross to Mr Rushworth’s ball might be mortifying him?’
‘My dear Miss Price, such a trifle is not worth half as many words. Henry will be delighted to see me wearing the cross, even on a piece of
meagre
ribbon, and I do not care for anyone else’s opinion, whatever it may be.’
‘Not care how you appear in front of so many elegant young women!
I
would be ashamed to stand up so. My dear Miss Crawford, pray let me be of assistance.’
Turning to her table, she immediately presented Mary with a small trinket-box, and requested her to choose from among several gold chains and necklaces.
‘You see what a collection I have,’ said she grandly, ‘more by half than I ever use, or even think of. My family is always giving me some thing or other. I do not offer them as new, I offer nothing but an old necklace. You must forgive the liberty and oblige me.’
Mary resisted for as long as she could without being thought ungrateful, wondering all the time what Miss Price’s real motive might be in such a shew of generosity; but when her companion urged her once again, Mary found herself obliged to yield, and proceeded to make the selection. She was determined in her choice at last, by fancying there was one necklace more frequently placed before her eyes than the rest, and she hoped, in fixing on this, to be choosing what Miss Price least wished to keep. She would rather perhaps have been obliged to some other person, but there was nothing to be done now, but to submit with a good grace and hope for the best.
The weather remaining resolutely unsettled, the proposed excursion to Compton was postponed. Luckily the young people of Mansfield had another prospect of pleasure, and one that promised yet keener delights. Invitations to the Sotherton ball were sent with dispatch, and Mr Rushworth calculated to collect young people enough to form twelve or fourteen couple. He had fixed on the 22nd as the most eligible day; Sir Thomas was required to depart for Cumberland on the 24th and was to be accompanied on the first stage of the journey by Mr Norris. The preparations duly began, and Mr Rushworth continued to ride and shoot without any inconvenience from them. He had some extra visits from his housekeeper, his painters were rather hurried in finishing the wainscot in the ball-room, and all the while Mrs Norris ran about, enquiring whether she or
her
housekeeper might be of any assistance, but all this gave
him
no trouble, and he confidently declared that, ‘there was in fact no trouble in the business’.
As for Mary, she had too many agitations to have half the enjoyment in anticipation which she ought to have had, but when the day came she awoke in a glow of genuine high spirits. Such an evening of enjoyment before her! She began to dress for it with much of the happy flutter which belongs to a ball. All went well—she had chosen her finest gown, and left her room at last, comfortably satisfied with herself and all about her.
Henry was impatient to see Sotherton, a place of which he had heard so much, and which held out the strongest hope of further profitable employment, and as they drove through the park he let down the side-glass to have a better view.
‘Rising ground,’ he commented, ‘fine woods, if a little thinly spread, and the pleasure-grounds are tolerably extensive. All in all, very promising. I must make more of an effort to be civil to our Mr Rushworth in future. After all, if he can employ Bonomi for the house, he can certainly afford Crawford for the park.’
In the drawing-room they were introduced to one of Mr Rushworth’s intimate friends, the Honourable John Yates, who had arrived from Bath expressly for the ball.The Mansfield party was also present, and had all been walking about together, inspecting the house and exclaiming over its fine proportions and splendid furniture. All the young ladies were most elegantly dressed, and Miss Price’s
ensemble
of satin and embroidered gauze was much admired. This did not surprise Mary; she had never seen such a gown before outside a fashion-plate. When the guests began to arrive, Mary was soon solicited by Mr Bertram for the first two dances, and when the company were moving into the ballroom she found herself for the first time near Miss Price. Mary saw her eye glancing for a moment at her necklace with a smile—she thought there was a smile—which gave her a feeling of unease that she could not get the better of for some minutes.
‘My dear Miss Crawford,’ she cried, ‘Mr Rushworth has been shewing us the house, and by that I mean the
whole
house from attic to cellar: drawing-rooms, summer breakfast-parlours, winter breakfast-parlours, dining-rooms, bedrooms, picture galleries, and even a private theatre!’
Seeing Mary’s astonishment, she continued, ‘I assure you, I do not jest; Mr Rushworth has built an entire theatre, completely fitted up with pit, curtain, stage, and gallery. He and Mr Yates are wild to be doing some thing, and in consequence, everyone else has caught the itch for acting.All they need do now is decide upon a play that will suit every body. As we came down, Tom was saying that he would prefer a comedy, while Maria and Mr Rushworth incline towards tragedy, but I doubt not that, with perseverance, they will find a piece which will please them all.’
‘And you, Miss Price? Have you a preference?’
‘Oh! As to acting myself,’ said Miss Price, ‘
that
is out of the question; unless, of course, I am particularly wanted.’
Mr Bertram now appeared at her elbow, and Mary was led to the top of the room where the set was forming, couple by couple. Mr Norris and Miss Price soon joined the rest of the dancers, and finally Mr Rushworth conducted Miss Bertram to the head of the set. The ball began, and Mary was more than satisfied with her partner. Tom Bertram was just the sort of young man to appear to great advantage in a ball-room, for he had easy manners, excellent spirits, and a great deal to say, and the two of them went down their two dances with sufficient gaiety to provoke the curiosity of many lookers-on. Miss Crawford was known only by name to half the people invited, but she was pretty, she was lively, and she was soon said to be admired by Mr Bertram. It was enough to excite a general interest, and an unusual degree of attentiveness on the part of the chaperons sitting by the fire, each of whom had fully intended that Mr Bertram should marry one or other of their daughters. Of this Mary herself was perfectly unaware, and when the first two dances were over she returned to her brother, only to find herself straightaway addressed by Mr Norris, who took her very much by surprise in gravely applying for her hand. Having secured her for the two next, he walked away again immediately, and rejoined Miss Price by the fire. Mrs Norris, who happened at that moment to be standing just behind Mary, saw it all, and immediately began to address her companions in a voice loud enough to be heard by half the room.
‘Well, my dear Mrs Sneyd, however much you admire Fanny’s dancing, I am afraid that there will be little satisfaction in looking on
now
. I think it is rather a pity she and Edmund should be obliged to part.Young folks in their situation should be excused complying with the common forms.’
‘Quite so, Mrs Norris,’ replied the other in an obsequious tone, ‘I wonder your son did not propose it.’
‘Oh! I dare say he did. Edmund is
never
remiss. But dear Fanny has such a strict sense of propriety, so much of that
true
delicacy which one seldom meets with now-a-days, Mrs Sneyd. Only look at her face at this moment, as they are standing side by side.’
Miss Price did indeed look happy; her cheeks were glowing with delight, and she was speaking with unusual vivacity. Mr Rushworth and Maria had just joined the group by the fire, and it was evident that he had requested the honour of the two next.
Mrs Norris was still chattering in the same complacent tones. ‘And what say you, Mrs Smart, to the chance of
another
match? Such things are very catching.’
‘I take it you mean Miss Bertram and Mr Rushworth? Yes, indeed, they would be a very pretty couple. Lady Orr was saying much the same thing to me only a few moments ago. What is his property?’
‘Oh, some four or five thousand a year, I believe. Nothing to my dear Edmund’s,
of course,
but those who have not more, must be satisfied with what they have, and make the best of it. But, to be sure, ma’am,’ she continued, more confidentially,‘to be sure it is not quite settled,
yet
. We only speak of it among friends. But I have very little doubt it
will
be
. He is growing exceedingly attentive, is he not?’
‘Oh yes, indeed.’
The music soon recommenced, and when Mr Norris approached to claim her hand, Mary saw that the expression of his face was grave and contemplative. They stood for some time without speaking a word, till suddenly fancying that it would be the greater vexation to Mrs Norris to be seen to be in conversation, Mary made some slight observation on the ball-room.
Mr Norris looked her in the face for the first time, seemed about to speak, but then stopped, his eyes fixed intently on her.
‘Good heavens,’ he exclaimed. ‘What is this? What can be meant by it?’
To Mary’s astonishment, his complexion became pale, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. Nothing could explain such a complete change of humour and countenance; he had always been polite, even if rather quiet and reserved, but now he made every effort to avoid her eye, and every subject of conversation she attempted was firmly and resolutely repulsed, with the result that they concluded their two dances in a most unpleasant and uncomfortable silence.
As soon as the set was ended Mr Norris made the briefest of bows and walked quickly away towards Rushworth and Miss Price, leaving Mary quite at a loss as to how to proceed. She made her way slowly back to where her brother was standing on the other side of the room, watching the group by the fire in a fit of jealous agitation. Miss Price had refused to dance with him, despite the conspicuous encouragement he believed he had received when they last met at the Park.
‘It appears I was a useful distraction for an hour or two,’ he said, with evident irritation, ‘but now she has once again succeeded in attracting the attention of that chattering coxcomb Rushworth, I am no more use to her.’ Mary had feared it would be so, and was about to express her sympathy when they were accosted by Mrs Norris.
‘Well, miss,’ she said loudly, ‘it has been quite clear to
me,
from the very day you arrived in the neighbourhood, that you Crawfords are just the sort of people to get all you can, at other people’s expense—but I had not thought even
you
capable of stooping quite so low.’
‘I—I—’ stammered Mary, her face like scarlet.
‘Mrs Norris,’ said Henry coldly, ‘I beg leave to interject on my sister’s behalf. To what do you allude, ma’am?’
‘That necklace,’ she replied, ‘belongs to Miss Price. I am therefore at a loss to imagine how
your sister
can have come by it.’
‘I can assure you, ma’am,’ said Mary, recovering herself, ‘that the necklace was a kind gift, most freely given.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ replied Mrs Norris, ‘but I cannot quite believe you. Fanny would never have presented
you
with any item of the slightest value. The cost alone makes such a thing unthinkable. I know for a fact its price was
at
least
eighteen shillings.’
Henry was too angry to speak; but Mary stood her ground, and quietly explained the circumstances of the gift. Mrs Norris was, at length, satisfied, if being forced to concede an ill-founded accusation, formed on mistaken premises, may be termed satisfaction, and without making any apology for her error, hastened away. Mary immediately expressed a wish for the relative seclusion of the supper-room, and she was soon after joined by Henry, who, sitting down next to her with a look of consciousness, said, ‘My own cares are vexing enough, but I am very sorry if any thing has occurred to distress
you
. This ought to have been a day of happiness.’