Elizabeth Newark - The Darcys Give a Ball

“Juliet is in good hands,” said her mother, hoping devoutly this was true. “Don’t worry, Anthony. You are in no way to blame.”

Juliet was vexed beyond words. She bit her lip and clung to Walter Elliot, crimson patches blotching her cheeks. “I hate her, I hate her,” she said, when she could speak. “How dare she behave in that way to me?”

Walter Elliot murmured consolingly to her, in a voice pitched low. He led her to the punch table, and brought her a full glass he had poured himself.

“What can I do? What can I do to show them?” she kept saying. Only that morning she had dreamed of the ball, with herself as the center of attention, announcing her engagement to Gerard. He was indeed to be married but to someone else—and such a someone.

“Do you really mean that? Then come with me, my beautiful, my golden darling. You shall be my treasure, the star of my life.Together we shall astonish all Society. I shall take you to my mother at Kellynch. Come with me. Trust me. From there we can arrange to be married.”

“Yes, yes, I will. Oh, but my dress! I must find my maid. How shall we contrive?”

“Go upstairs, my darling. Your mother knows your dress is torn; she will expect you to retire. Then find yourself a cloak, take the few things you need overnight, and meet me at the conservatory door. I will slip down to the stables and tell my man to harness the horses—then I shall meet you at that door.” He looked at his gold hunter. “It is nearly one o’clock—I will see you there in twenty minutes. Don’t fail me, my darling.” He pressed her hand, then lifted it to his lips, holding it there for a moment or two. As he walked away, she could still feel the warmth and softness of his mouth against her skin.

Juliet stole down the corridor that led to her bedroom and quietly opened her door. She prayed that her maid Agnes would not be there, sitting in her dressing room mending the strap of a chemise or a flounce. All the other lady’s-maids, she knew, would be downstairs in and about the servants’ quarters, where they would have a chance of seeing the dancing and the dresses, and would be kept supplied with wine, cakes, and pastries. But Agnes held herself aloof from the other servants, feeling herself superior to all but Latchett and Mrs. Cleghorn, and Jeanne-Marie, maid to Mrs. Darcy—and Jeanne-Marie was French, which meant, in Agnes’s estimation, she didn’t really count. So she might well have chosen to stay upstairs, in case her mistress ran back with a tale of a ripped lace or frill—as in fact Juliet was doing.

But the room was quiet; everything was in order. For once, Agnes must have joined the other servants. Juliet felt an odd irrational spurt of anger—for her dress was torn and in any other circumstances she would have needed help, and Agnes should have been there—then shrugged her shoulders and gave a nervous giggle. She felt almost giddy with excitement. Now, she thought, what shall I need? Her heart was pounding and her face flushed. Selina Ferrars’s remark was like poison still percolating under her skin. Insolent, hateful woman, thought Juliet, her eyes filling once more with tears. Oh Gerard, Gerard!

But though Gerard had betrayed her, she had found herself another beau, far more sophisticated and charming than Gerard. Someone who admired and cherished her, and recognized her as the star on his horizon, as was her due. Walter would take care of her, and one day she would be Lady Elliot. Gerard was only a younger son. She found a large bandbox, and began to toss her toilet articles into it: hairbrush, lotion, then a nightgown and cap, rolled up and thrust in before she had time to think what they implied.Trust him, he had said.

Walter had promised to drive her straight to his Mama; there was no question of a vulgar elopement to Gretna Green. Trust him.

There was no time to change her dress. She would need another to change into—and shoes. Oh, how difficult it was; she had never packed for herself before, never given a thought to such a task. And there was no time, and no room in the bandbox for a proper selection. She found a hooded cloak, and a close bonnet. She wrapped herself in the cloak, picked up the bandbox, and, with the bonnet in her hand, tiptoed to the stairs that led down to a side passage, to the breakfast room and the conservatory.

Henry led Eliza from the ballroom.

They had enjoyed a delightful supper, sitting with Jonathan Collins and Lucy Baluster, Catriona Fitzwilliam and Alexander Wentworth. Alexander was droll—he delighted them all with his tales of living conditions on board ship and his misadventures at sea—and Catriona was merry. Her delighted laughter rippled out at Alexander’s tales. Eliza felt sorry for Juliet, isolated with that foxy man on the other side of the supper room.

“Juliet should be with us,” she said.

“Yes. I wish she were not so fond of Mr. Elliot’s company,” said Catriona, adding, “He dances very well, but mother did not choose to ask him to my debut.”

“He is a cousin of mine,” put in Alexander Wentworth. “We speak, but we don’t visit. I think his father once wanted to marry my Mama. But luckily Father won the day. I believe it made quite a stir.”

“He is too old for Juliet,” Catriona disapproved.

The subject changed and soon they were laughing again. Eliza felt as if she had been wafted on a magic carpet away from her humdrum world, into a land of excitement and splendor. The music started again, and the dancing. The touch of Henry’s hand, as they danced, the warmth of his arm encircling her, the sound of the music binding them together, as they whirled and twirled as one person—oh, life was glorious!

The music faded and ceased. Eliza stood, still in the enchanted circle of Henry’s arm, her breath coming fast.The scent of the violets at her breast, crushed and warm, was intoxicating.

“Eliza, there is something I must ask you,” said Henry. He looked around him. People were drifting off the dance floor, but the noise of talk and laughter was considerable. He held her hand a little desperately.Where could they be alone?

The conservatory—the very place, he thought. Eliza, and jasmine and gardenias... “Come with me?” he asked, leading her toward the door, yet requesting, not demanding. Eliza’s eyes were huge. She looked at him, and glanced up the ballroom to where her mother must be sitting, then back again at Henry. Then she smiled at him and left her hand in his and went with him out of the door and down the hall. The conservatory doors were open and the lanterns lit; it was always used for sitting out but at the moment seemed deserted. (They did not see a tall dark figure in a far corner, smoking and looking out of a window.) The heady perfume of the tropical flowers after the heat of the day was almost tangible, but there was another scent, Eliza thought. She sniffed. Was someone smoking a cheroot? Eliza breathed deeply, and felt dizzy with warmth and excitement and scent. Henry led her to a white-painted iron bench under a moon-flower tree and she sat down, her eyes on his.

“Eliza, dear Eliza,” he said, dropping to one knee. “Oh, Eliza, I don’t know how to say this—but I love you so very much. Will you—please will you—honor me with your hand in marriage?”

“Yes, Henry,” said Eliza, without hesitation.

“Sweetest, funniest Eliza,” said Henry, as he raised her small hand to his lips. She thought them the most beautiful words she had ever heard.

It was such a blissful moment that at first neither of them noticed an intruder, a cloaked figure struggling down the center pathway, pushing between the bushes, hampered by a bandbox and a bonnet. The intruder was trying to be quiet, but her bonnet strings caught in a passion fruit vine, and in trying to untangle them she dropped the bandbox. “Oh, oh, oh,” said an agitated voice, a familiar voice.

Returning to earth, Eliza and Henry drew back and stared at the newcomer. “It’s Juliet,” whispered Eliza. “Wherever can she be going?”

Hand in hand, they moved after her. Juliet was so absorbed in her own activities that she did not see or hear them, and when Eliza touched her on her shoulder, she gave a small shriek, and dropped the bandbox once more. This time it came unfastened, and her nightgown uncurled itself on the mossy path before them all.

“Juliet!” said Henry. “What are you doing? Where are you going? Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“Oh, Henry, do be quiet! And go away. How tiresome you are! And Eliza. It is not your concern. You are not wanted! I know exactly what I am doing.”

She opened the outside door of the conservatory and peered into the semi-darkness. In the distance a fox barked. An owl, ghostly in the moonlight, swooped across the lawn, barely veering to snatch up a moth that fluttered, white and silent, and was gone. Where was Walter? Why didn’t he come? Henry was going to spoil everything.

Eliza had noticed Juliet on and off throughout the evening, looking so beautiful and so cross. And then, dancing with that—that fox-man, the fox’s bark nudging her imagination. Walter Elliot. Juliet had sat with him at supper, tucked away in a corner, as if they wanted to be private. Eliza was suddenly certain:

“Juliet, are you eloping? With Mr. Elliot?”

“N-no, of course not. Not eloping exactly. Oh, do go away. You are spoiling everything.”

Eliza saw a movement in the shadows, across the lawn where the brick wall hid the peach orchard, and the path led to the stables. Someone was approaching.

“Juliet, you can’t! Think what father would say. I won’t let you.” Henry spoke in a harsh whisper.

“What do I care what people will say? Go away, Henry. You are only a boy. What do you know about life? Don’t you dare try to stop me.” Juliet was whispering too, but her voice began to rise. She had been getting steadily more nervous since leaving her bedroom. The vines and branches of the conservatory seemed to impede her, to clutch at her, green fingers stretched out to hold her back. But Henry’s opposition reinforced her determination. Henry was only her brother. It was no concern of his what she did. And Eliza was a poor relation!

(In the far corner of the conservatory the tall male figure put out its cheroot and moved forward.)

The fox barked again.

Walter Elliot was plainly visible now, padding silently over the grass from the direction of the stables. Henry’s hand was on Juliet’s arm, but she tugged herself free. Her cloak was tossed back over her shoulders; a lock of dark hair, pulled loose by her battle with the vine, fell over her cheek. Her breast rose and fell, showing the deep décolletage of her dress.

As she pulled away from Henry toward the door, Eliza’s hand shot out. From the corner of its web, she scooped up the ginger-spotted, fat-bodied spider she had admired the day before and, before it had finished uncurling its legs inside her palm, she dropped it into the bodice of Juliet’s pale yellow gown.

Juliet screamed. Her bonnet went flying, she dropped her bandbox, and she leaped into the air, screaming and screaming and making flapping movements with her hands against her chest. Her face was scarlet. Her cloak slid from her shoulders.

Out in the garden, Walter Elliot stopped short. He was quite close and could plainly make out the identity of the lady in distress.What had happened, he had no idea. He could see that there were several people on the scene. It was the worst possible situation for the delicate task he had set himself. He turned on his heels, and strode off back towards the stables. It was a blow to his ambitions, but perhaps it would be best if he returned to town without delay.

Juliet was a strong and healthy young woman. When she screamed, she screamed. The band was between dances, and the screams were plainly to be heard.

Footmen came running, and guests arrived from the ballroom.

“What is it, what is it? What has happened? Is it a riot?” people called.

A crowd was collecting. Eliza nudged Henry. She picked up Juliet’s bonnet and he reached for the cloak and bandbox. Together they retreated backwards through the growing crowd. Juliet still screamed and beat at her bodice.

“Juliet!” Mr. Darcy reached the group. He seldom raised his voice. On this occasion he did so. And Juliet was shocked into closing her mouth. She still panted. Elizabeth Darcy came hurrying from the far end of the ballroom, but it was Charlotte Collins who was the first adult woman to arrive.