And then, time to be creeping slowly up the principal staircase, pursued by the memory of the ceaseless country-dance music—his dark anguished beloved familiar eyes—no, stop!—feverish with hopes and fears, soup and negus, sore-footed and fatigued, restless and agitated, yet feeling, in spite of everything, that a ball was indeed a thing both delightful and horrifying; and this one, indeed, her own ball, will likely be remembered in all the neighborhood for many years to come. . . .

Chapter XXIX

In the morning, the ball was over, the mummies nowhere in sight, and much of the cleanup was still to come. And the breakfast was soon over too. All throughout, everyone ate in subdued solemnity, Sir Thomas decidedly troubled and deep in thought, Mr. Crawford impeccable, Edmund grim and absentminded, and only William darting quick happy looks at Fanny and whispering repeatedly, “Best . . . ball . . . ever!”

It did not help Sir Thomas’s sense of decorum or his mood to have learned earlier that Mrs. Norris and Mr. Rushworth—of all people!—were found at dawn, tête-à-tête in the front parlor, both in some unspeakable state of dishabille, sound asleep on either ends of the room, one (Mrs. Norris) oblivious to the world, in a deep wing chair, the other (Mr. Rushworth) stretched out in bulk along the sofa, snoring loud enough to bring down the ceiling.

Not that they needed any more methods of bringing down the ceiling or any other portion of the building, thank you, thought Sir Thomas unhappily.

In addition to all this, to the decidedly unnatural couple occupying the parlor, there was also a terrifying third. Perched on top of the mantelpiece, regal and vicious, sat none other than the Brighton Duck.

As the housekeeper entered the room, it woke, squawked and honked and screeched like a squadron of banshees, and then, flapping its mighty wingspan, flew into Mrs. Norris’s sleeping face in final triumph and then lifted, circled the room, and flew past the stunned housekeeper out into the hallway and lord knows where outside. . . .

And if that wasn’t bad enough—

Upon being woken up by what she thought was a squawking housekeeper, Mrs. Norris pulled a shawl around her and started in amazement at the nearby sight of her dear niece’s spouse. She then said, “Oh gracious, I must’ve nodded off . . .” And then, coming fully awake: “Dearest Mr. Rushworth! What a wonder! Why, whatever are you doing here? A delight, indeed, a heavenly delight! But—is our dear Maria here too? Or, is something the matter? Oh dear, is everything as it ought to be at Brighton? Is she in good health? What—”