The following day the sportsmen went out early and returned late, and as
some friends from the neighbourhood were dining at Desborough, there was
no opportunity for much conversation between the young ladies and Mr.
Bingley's guests. Kitty passed their chief of the day in writing a long
letter to Mrs. Knightley, and Georgiana was taken possession of by Miss
Bingley, who wished to practice vocal and instrumental duets. Miss
Bingley had a good deal to say, during the intervals of their
performance, about Mr. Price, whom she acknowledged she liked very much,
and she endeavoured to prove to Georgiana, by a number of arguments, the
improbability of his having any matrimonial intentions in general, and
towards Kitty in particular. Georgiana would not discuss the point with
her. Her own esteem for Mr. Price depended on his not disappointing
Kitty, and she would admit no suspicion which might imperil it.
On the third afternoon, the shooting party having returned earlier on
account of bad weather, they were all assembled in the library. Bingley
was showing Mr. Bertram some hunting prints that hung on the walls, and
the rest were gathered round the fire, the ladies sitting, and William
Price leaning on the overmantel glancing at the pieces of porcelain and
the miniatures arranged upon it.
"What beautiful little Chinese figures these are, Mrs. Bingley," he
suddenly exclaimed. "They are genuinely old, are they not? A man I know
brought back just such a pair from Hong Kong, and I know he regarded
them as priceless. I do not think they can be imitated in Europe."
"Yes, I believe they are really old," replied Mrs. Bingley. "I do not
know the history of them, but they have been in Mr. Bingley's family for
a long time, and they are special favourites of his; perhaps you can
tell us, Caroline?"
Miss Bingley was beginning to speak when she was interrupted by a cry of
dismay from Mr. Price. He had taken the little figure in his hand to
examine it more closely, and the head had immediately fallen off and
rolled on the hearth. Fortunately a thick rug had received it, and after
a search it was discovered intact; but Mr. Price was overwhelmed with
self-reproach for his carelessness, until stopped by Mrs. Bingley
saying: "You need not mind, Mr. Price, for it was not in the least your
fault. The head was broken off already. Look, it has been slung between
the shoulders by a piece of wire. I should have mended it, but could not
manage to attach a new length of wire."
"I am relieved to find I am not the guilty party," said Mr. Price; "that
is, if you are quite sure, Mrs. Bingley."
"Indeed I am; and Kitty," she added, turning toward her sister, "perhaps
you can help me to clear Mr. Price's character. Do you happen to know
anything about the breaking of this little mandarin? We found it so a
few days after you left, and no one in the house could account for it.
I have always meant to ask you about it, but had forgotten until now."
Owing to the comparative dimness of the firelight, Jane was unable to
perceive her sister's growing confusion; but it became evident in the
embarrassed pause which followed her question. Kitty began to speak,
broke off, and began again, stumbling over her words: "I had thought it
had been broken--that is, I knew it had--but something put it out of my
head--I forgot it too till now."
"What a pity you did not mention it," said Miss Bingley severely; "it
might have been worse injured next time it was touched by anyone not
knowing the head was loose."
"Oh, well, never mind, dear Kitty," said Jane kindly; "it does not
matter; it can easily be repaired, no doubt."
Kitty, on the verge of tears, looked distressfully from one to the
other, torn between her dislike to recalling the occasion, and her
desire to exonerate herself in the eyes of William Price. The latter
consideration prevailed, and addressing Jane, she murmured with deepest
blushes; "It was not I who broke it, it was Mr. Morland."
"Mr. Morland!" repeated Jane, perplexed. "Yes, it was that last morning
he was here. We--he was in the library, you know. He had the Chinese
figure in his hand, and I recollect noticing it was in two pieces. I
never thought of it again until now, and I suppose he forgot it too."
Kitty's self-consciousness, increased as it was by the knowledge that
Jane and Georgiana would now perfectly understand the reason for the
disaster which had befallen the porcelain ornament, quite mystified her
other two hearers, to whom the explanation taken by itself would have
been sufficiently simple. All they could plainly perceive was that the
association of Mr. Morland with the incident made Kitty extremely
uncomfortable, and they were left to draw what conclusions they might by
her hasty departure from the room. William Price, with a delicacy of
feeling for which Georgiana's heart went out to him, immediately filled
up the moment of awkwardness by reverting to the original subject of
their discussion, which he still held in his hand. "At any rate," he
said, smiling, "I have helped to decapitate this poor mandarin, so it
seems only fair that I should try to mend him. Have I your permission,
Mrs. Bingley? I believe, with a fresh bit of wire and some sealing-wax,
I could make him nod as benevolently as ever."
Bingley was called upon to produce the necessary articles, and being
warned by a glance from his wife not to pursue his inquiry as to whether
they had discovered who had damaged the old fellow, the incident seemed
likely to arouse no further remark. Georgiana evaded Miss Bingley's
eyes, and went away as soon as she could to Kitty's room, finding her
friend lying upon the bed and weeping bitterly.
"Georgiana, what must he have thought?" she began instantly, throwing
herself into her friend's arms. "Why did Jane ask me that unfortunate
question, just at that time? It could not have happened worse. I was
thinking about it a little, because, you know, I had not been in that
room since Mr. Morland and I were there together. We were standing in
just the same place as we were all in to-night, and it made me quite
miserable to remember it. And now Mr. Price will not know what to think,
hearing Mr. Morland's name like that. He will suspect something, and
perhaps it will prevent him from speaking. I wish we were back at
Pemberley; I knew things would never go so well here again."
Georgiana comforted her, assured her that what had happened would never
make the slightest difference to Mr. Price, laughingly reproached her
with having run away, saying that no one would have perceived anything
out of the ordinary but for that, and counselled her to behave just as
usual when she met the others again, and everything would be forgotten.
Nevertheless, Kitty was far from comfortable during the rest of their
stay, and was in continual expectation of some occurrence which might
affect Mr. Price's attitude towards her, although the cheerful
friendliness of his manner never varied.
This apprehension rendered her particularly uneasy the following day,
which was Sunday. They all went to church, where the service was read by
a stranger, and Kitty's sensibility was sorely tried by having to listen
to various questions asked by their visitors during the walk back. Was
that the regular clergyman? He was absent; ah, indeed! Was he a pleasant
neighbour? a good preacher? And so that was the Rectory; what a
commodious, attractive-looking house! No doubt the parson was a married
man, and he was certainly a lucky fellow to be so circumstanced,
commented Mr. Bertram. Bingley made brief answers out of compassion for
Kitty, and Jane began a conversation with the two girls about something
different; but she could not attend. It was so distressing to think of
Mr. Morland, whom Bingley praised so highly and whom the others thought
so enviable, having been driven away from home on her account; that a
man so charming and so desirable should have fallen in love with her
when she was not able to care for him. There seemed something
particularly unfortunate, particularly wasteful, about the whole affair!
If he had been a Mr. Collins, that nobody, not even Maria Lucas, would
have minded refusing! Poor Kitty walked home silently, and as far from
Mr. Price as possible, with her muff held up to conceal a countenance
which she knew was unfit to be seen.
On Monday, Bingley and Mr. Bertram went out hunting, and the ladies,
escorted by Mr. Price, drove to the spot where the foxhounds were to
meet, in the hope of seeing a little sport. Bingley had offered to mount
Mr. Price also, but the latter had declined, laughingly declaring that,
like all sailors, he was not much of a horseman, and though he had once
hunted from Mansfield Park when he was a careless youngster, he thought
it would be wiser not to venture over the Derbyshire country, with its
rough moors and high stone walls, on a borrowed horse. "It is most kind
of you, Mr. Bingley," he said; "and for my cousin, it is all right, for
he has hunted here before. But I am sure you would not be pleased, if
you saw me come crashing down at the first big fence, with your
hundred-guinea hunter doubled up in the further ditch."
The ladies held up hands of horror, but Bingley, much amused, said he
would not believe a word of it, and that he felt sure Mr. Price could
ride as well as he could shoot. William shook his head.
"I have ridden all sorts of horses at different times, when occasion has
required it, and have even managed to adhere to the animal as a rule;
but my good luck might desert me to-day. Perhaps you will let me go for
a jogging ride along the lanes before I go, on your least valuable
horse."
"Seeing that I am in charge of you just now, William, I highly applaud
your decision," said his cousin, "as I don't want to have to send you
back to Portsmouth with a broken neck, which is certainly what could
happen."
"You in charge of me! I like that," exclaimed William. "Say much more,
and I will borrow a gypsy's donkey and come to meet you on it,
announcing to everybody that I am bringing along your second mount."
Mrs. Bingley was a little afraid of the cold wind, and decided not to
go, so Mr. Price took his seat in the barouche with the other three, and
greatly enhanced the gaiety of their party. They drove about for more
than two hours, and when at last, the hunt having gone away among the
hills, they decided to turn homewards, Mr. Price created consternation
among his fair companions by asking permission to get out and walk.
"Walk, Mr. Price?" exclaimed Miss Bingley, who, placed on the front
seat, had assumed the direction of the party. "Why should you want to
walk? And in this desolate wilderness! Why, we must be six or seven
miles from home."
"Yes, I thought it was about that," said William "I rather wanted a
walk, and do you know, I like this desolate wilderness, as you call it.
I should enjoy exploring my way homewards, and I have noted all the
landmarks. It is so cold, too; a splendid day for a walk."
"Oh, Mr. Price, do not go; we are all so snugly tucked in here," said
Kitty imploringly.
"Oh, if you prefer walking, pray do not let us detain you," said Miss
Bingley, speaking at the same moment, and in rather an offended voice.
William looked in surprise from one to the other; it had evidently not
occurred to him for one moment that he would be missed by any of them.
Unconsciously, his eye sought Georgiana's, and she said quickly: "Mr.
Price must be cold with sitting still so long; I expect he would enjoy a
walk. It really is not so far; from the top of the hill one can see
Kympton Church, I know, and on foot one can take an almost straight
route."
The carriage had stopped and the servants awaited their orders. William
remained irresolute; he had one lady's leave to go, another was doing
her best to appear indifferent, and the third plied him with entreaties
not to break up their comfortable little party. Georgiana was amused,
but also a little ashamed to see Caroline and Kitty, for once united in
the object of their wishes, showing those wishes so plainly. It was
clear that William Price felt the awkwardness thus created, for his
hesitation only lasted a second or two, and he said lightly: "Why, of
course, I will not get out, if it would be disturbing anybody. Probably
the negotiation of those short cuts would make me very late for dinner.
Shall they drive on?"
Miss Bingley gave the order in a dignified tone, and assured him that he
had done wisely to desist, for he certainly would have been late.
Georgiana could not help remarking that it was a pity he should have
missed his walk, for the others would not be in before five; but he gave
her a glance and a half smile, which showed her that he was not allowing
it to trouble him. Kitty, delighted that Mr. Price had given this proof
of a wish to please him, talked all the way home, and described with
great animation several _dreadful_ walks that Bingley had taken her on
the moors, when, according to her account, they had narrowly escaped
death on many occasions--wild cattle, dangerous bogs, rushing torrents
and venomous snakes being among the risks to be encountered on such
expeditions.
Mr. Price listened with interest, but his courage did not appear to be
shaken, for as soon as they descended from the carriage, he paused only
to glance at the clock, and to divest himself of his heavy coat, before
asking Miss Darcy if she would accompany him on a walk. "It will be as
short as, or as long, as brisk or as leisurely, as you are disposed
for," he said, and Georgiana declined with real regret.
"I should have enjoyed it very much, Mr. Price, but I think I had better
not; it is rather late, and the others may be wanting me before dinner.
Besides," she added, as she saw his disappointed look, "I know you want
a good walk, and you can go further if you have not to adapt yourself to
the slow paces of a lady."
"I should esteem it an honour to have to adapt myself to yours," replied
William Price, with the quick, bright smile which was so noticeable in
him.
"We must all go together to-morrow morning," said Georgiana, as she
turned away. "Mr. Bingley can show us what is the best direction. I hope
it will keep fine, but it looks very like snow."
Mr. Price did not move from where he stood for some minutes, and
Georgiana, as she ascended the stairs, felt strongly to return and
accede to his suggestion, but the fear that Kitty would not like it
withheld her. She wished that he had asked Kitty instead, or as well,
for although anyone might well have assumed--after the descriptions she
had given--that a country walk, for its own sake, was to her the most
uncongenial form of amusement, yet Georgiana knew well that it would be
viewed in a very different light were a particular companion available.
The promised walk did not take place, for the snow, which had been
threatening, fell the following day, not thickly, but with enough of fog
and dampness in the atmosphere to make the fireside seem by far the most
agreeable place. The gentlemen shot in the first part of the morning,
but returned home soon after one, ready for any entertainment that they
might be expected to provide or be provided with; and Tom Bertram's
inclinations, as usual, were in favour of the former. Not being a
card-player, or enthusiast for music, and having found Mr. Bingley to be
at billiards an adversary unworthy of his skill, he was obliged to seek
some other method of spending a winter's afternoon, and without
hesitation he broached to the assembled party his idea that they should
act some charades.
Mrs. Bingley looked doubtful, and William Price gave his cousin no
support; but the notion was warmly taken up by Bingley, his sister and
sister-in-law, and Mr. Bertram set himself to persuade Mrs. Bingley
that, next to a real play, charades were the most delightful things
imaginable, and that they had a party collected about them remarkably
well qualified to undertake any and every kind of character.
His hostess proved not difficult to persuade when she perceived what
pleasurable anticipations were aroused by the suggestion; and only
needed to be assured by her husband that it was a capital notion, and
the young people would thoroughly enjoy it, to promise help of whatever
kind was needed. William Price was ready to enter into it, when it
became evident that it was the general wish; and even Georgiana began to
be interested, and concealed her nervousness at the idea of taking part.
"You need not be frightened, Georgiana," said Miss Bingley; "all you
will be required to do is to stand perfectly still and assume a
particular expression. Louisa and I have often taken part in them; there
is no acting, it is all the pose."
"Excuse me, Miss Bingley," interposed Mr. Bertram, "the kind of charades
I propose we should do involves a certain amount of movement--acting,
in short; and others require impromptu speeches. I recollect once, at
the house of my friend--"
"I am sure you are mistaken, Mr. Bertram; the correct charade is not
acting at all; it is simply a series of pictures, or tableaux, to
represent the various syllables."
The discussion threatened to become keen, especially when the two
younger girls joined in protesting that they could not possibly recite
any impromptu speeches; but Bingley finally settled the point by
agreeing with Mr. Bertram's vehement assertion that it would be much
more amusing if they acted their parts, and that he could show them how
to do it in such a way that no speaking would be necessary, though Miss
Bingley doubted if _all_ the company would be equal to such a demand
upon their capabilities.
The next point was to choose the words, a matter of prodigious
importance, for which many books were brought out and consulted, and the
merits and possibilities of each word exhaustively debated. It was not
until they renewed the consideration of the subject at the dinner-table
that they made the discovery that if all of them were to appear in
different scenes of the same charade, there would be no one left to
guess the meaning.
"This becomes really serious," said Bingley. "If it was a play, we could
act to ourselves, and the chairs and tables, and be perfectly happy; but
the very existence of a charade is threatened if no one is ignorant of
it. And from what I hear of intended costumes, it will take the rest of
the evening for our preparations, so that we shall be ready to begin the
performance just as our ladies have to leave us to-morrow."
"But who is leaving to-morrow? Not Miss Bennet and Miss Darcy?"
exclaimed Tom Bertram in real alarm. "This cannot be allowed. Pray, Mr.
Bingley, use your authority. I am sure they could remain another day."
"Oh, yes, I am sure we could," cried Kitty; "they could not wish us to
miss the charades--it would spoil everything if we could not be here."
Bingley looked at Georgiana and asked her, smiling, if she thought it
could be managed, but she had already given an imploring, though
unheeded, glance towards Kitty, and now replied, in a low voice: "It is
very kind of you, but we ought not to stay, I am sure. The carriage will
be coming for us, and we ought not to detain it for a whole day."
"What does it matter, Georgiana," Kitty exclaimed, "only for one day!
Elizabeth will not mind. Don't you care about the charades, and about
putting a stop to the whole thing? We can easily be spared, if that is
what you are thinking; the ball is not until Friday."
Georgiana, blushing, and distressed by finding herself the object of
attack, was endeavouring to maintain her ground without giving offence,
when Jane came to her assistance.
"Georgiana is perfectly in the right," she said, "and sorry though I am
to lose them both, there is no doubt that they will be expected back
to-morrow without fail. But that is no reason why the charades need be
given up, for as we shall all be coming over to Pemberley on the
following day, we can give them there that evening, if my sister and Mr.
Darcy will consent to be audience, and our performance to-night will
serve as a kind of rehearsal."
This suggestion was enthusiastically received, as it met all
difficulties, and Kitty forgot to reprove Georgiana for hurrying her
away, in the contemplation of the news with which they would return
home, and the delightful bustle of preparation that would ensue. Jane
and Bingley had not quite the same views, and they spoke privately to
Georgiana before she left, asking her to take a message begging
Elizabeth and Darcy not to put themselves to any trouble about the
arrangements for the stage, which need only be of the very simplest
nature, a sufficiency screen and lamps being all that would be asked
for.
The rehearsal proceeded in admirable style. Mr. Bertram had constituted
himself stage-manager, and gave everyone minute instructions as to their
movements and attitudes, shouted directions from the midst of an
imaginary audience, and hastened at the last moment to take his place in
the scenes where he was required to be actor as well. With some
assistance from Mr. Bingley, he had allotted the various parts, and as
he was so fortunate as to be able to regard all four ladies from an
absolutely impartial standpoint, his judgments were, on the whole,
tolerably good; although the usual difficulties of such an occasion
arose, and had to be smoothed away, as, for instance, when Mrs. Bingley
positively declined to play a part which required any acting, although
she was the only person who looked the Queen to perfection; or when Miss
Darcy wanted to give up an important part to Miss Bennet, whom it did
not suit at all, simply because the latter was anxious to wear the dress
that went with it; or when Miss Bingley desired to represent both Lady
Macbeth and Joan of Arc, and could not be made to understand that she
could take only one, on account of the necessity for passing quickly
from one scene to another. All, however, was amicably arranged before
the evening ended, and when the others went to bed, Tom Bertram sat up,
desperately writing lists of the properties and accessories which he
deemed necessary to the performance.