Beginning, Section II, Section III

Part 14-‘Resignations of the heart…’

Posted on Wednesday, 28 December 2005

‘There’s no need to look at me like that…I know what you are thinking, what anyone would think. No doubt they would call me foolish, but I had to know…to see…’

Rupert watched Celia’s husband with a growing curiosity. He was a handsome man, tall, well built and with a strength about him that he envied; Lord Edward Sommerson, what a spectacle of a man he appeared sitting opposite the already weak, fast-fading Rupert.

He had been surprised as to who his guest was, even as the landlord had ushered him into the room. Rupert failed to recognize his name at first. It was only when Lord Sommerson had stated that the lady was to be offered refreshment and rest, but on no account was to be allowed upstairs without his permission, that Rupert made the connection. The landed gentry standing in front of him, commanding and aloof, was none other than Celia’s husband. The man for whom he had given her up.

Lord Sommerson had fallen in love with Celia even whilst his own affair with her was ongoing. He had learnt of it from Celia’s father. The young gentleman was very much favoured by all and it was the old man’s dearest wish to have his daughter so well and so happily married. Celia’s father was gravely ill; Rupert’s presence at the house during those last few months before his death had been for the purpose of painting his portrait whilst he was still able to stand.

Rupert used that time to assess Celia’s would-be admirer. However much he would have liked to, Rupert could find no fault with him. He was pleasant, charming and wealthy; he could keep Celia in the comfort she had been used to. What little Rupert had to offer her in terms of material wealth was pitiful.

As for Sommerson, it soon became clear to see he was utterly devoted to her. It was decided; Rupert gave her up…to this man, this man he now regarded with a growing curiosity.

‘Why are you…why have you brought her here…?’ Rupert gasped hoarsely.

Sommerson stood abruptly. He sighed and crossed over to the window. There was nothing to see; the glass was so dirty and the room so dark, Sommerson might as well have been staring into oblivion.

It was clear he was struggling with his words. ‘I had to know, to see this man who had long captured and held the heart of my…wife…’

Rupert stared up at him, startled. He saw this tall, proud elegant man shrink with sorrow and dejection, and he pitied him.

‘Yes…I know…about you and Celia. I have long known…though she always took pains to hide it.’ He shook his head slightly. ‘Celia played the dutiful wife so well. She was kind to me…she never spoke of you…never even mentioned your name, not once. But I knew, you see, and I saw…when she thought she was going about unobserved, I saw…when she thought no one was looking, I saw… There would come over her this inexplicable sadness…this momentary remembrance, a flash, a smile in the eyes and I knew, in that moment, however brief it was…that she had been thinking of you…’

‘You’re wrong…’ Rupert knew not what comforting words to offer. ‘We agreed…’

‘You may have agreed…but you must know…no one has ever replaced you in her heart…’ Sommerson appeared to choke on these words.

Rupert was equally astounded that he could talk so candidly about the woman they clearly both loved.

‘Lord Sommerson, I do not know what to say…but again, how…why have you sought me out?’

He turned away from the window to face him and smiled sadly. ‘I found all your letters, the ones she had sent you…and that you had returned…I know I ought not to have pried into her private chamber but…’

‘You read them…?’ Rupert was horrified.

‘No…do not think it is because I have too much gentlemanly delicacy…it is only because I could not bring myself to…but I learned your name from them…and then I could not rest until I saw my… rival…’

Rupert laughed slightly. ‘I’m hardly that…I haven’t seen her in over twenty years…’

‘Well, she’s here, I brought her with me…but I confess I did not think we would find you… like this…’

‘Dying…’ Rupert spoke the word Sommerson was having trouble saying. ‘Why would you bring her…if you consider me a rival...?’

‘I have no worries on that head…I know Celia, she will not leave me…she will not abandon our children… You must not think this was some effort on my part to be deliberately cruel…to either of you…’

‘Then how else do you expect me to interpret it…?’

Sommerson smiled sadly at him. ‘I know what it is to love Celia…I can only imagine what it is to be loved by her…I am not so hard-hearted as to deny that to a man…especially one who is dying…’

Darcy had never thought he’d find the scene so difficult. The part where Celia’s husband first met Rupert and their lengthy conversation ought to have been simple enough…but it was too much…too much like losing Lizzy to that insipid Mr Collins.

He had not until now realised the effect she had over him. Since reading of the engagement in the papers, his work, his entire life had been one long blur. He couldn’t concentrate; even now they were all looking at him for the next line.

‘I’m sorry…’ He clambered out of the chair and scrambled to his feet. ‘I’m sorry, Harry…I can’t do this…just give me a few minutes…’

‘A few minutes…?’ Harry called out after him, ‘We haven’t got a few minutes…Darcy, what’s the matter with you? We could actually have this thing finished on time and on budget!’

‘I’m sorry…’ Darcy repeated. He was already halfway out of the studio.

‘Do you have any idea what Marcie will do to me…?’ Harry called out in desperation.

Robert was worried about him; he hadn’t seen Darcy this despondent in quite a while. And he was looking ill. Darcy had never been one to take too much care of his own health, although he was far too worried about Georgiana’s, but Robert was certain it hadn’t taken make-up all that long to ensure Darcy was looking as sickly as Rupert was supposed to.

He watched his cousin clasp an unopened bottle of scotch. ‘I think this would be a better idea…’ He set a cup of coffee in front of him and sat down next to him.

‘You’re right…’ Darcy handed the bottle to Robert, who took it gratefully. ‘I suppose Harry is pulling his hair out…’

Robert scoffed, ‘What little there is of it…? Don’t worry about him; he’ll get over it…’

Darcy smiled, thankful for his reassurances. ‘I’m letting you all down, Robert. I just can’t…I don’t know what it is…’

‘I know what it is.’ Robert looked at him significantly. ‘It’s obvious…’

‘It is…?’ Darcy waited on tenterhooks, certain Lizzy’s utter rejection of him was out. He braced himself for the ridicule he was sure was to come.

‘Of course…You need a woman. You’re lonely!’ Darcy stared at him. Robert carried on, seemingly oblivious. ‘Personally I don’t understand it. You’re a film star…good looking enough…women should be throwing themselves at you…’

Darcy laughed at his cousin’s rather obvious efforts at lifting his spirits. He shook his head slightly. ‘I don’t want women to throw themselves at me…’

‘No…you just want her…’ Robert was all serious again; he did know. ‘Oh, come on, Darcy…how long did you think you could hide it from me? I’m your cousin, remember? There isn’t a lot about you I don’t know…’

Robert watched Darcy’s sad face as the latter nursed the coffee in his hands. ‘So you asked…?’

‘And she refused…yes…but she was right to. The things I said to her…they’re unforgivable…’

‘Well, I’ll be the first to admit you have a way with words…just not the way people like in general. So you’re just going to give up on her?’

‘She was never really mine to give up in the first place, really…You’ve read the papers. Now there’s no chance at all…’

Robert rose to leave. ‘Really? So you shouldn’t be having such a hard time letting her go, then, surely….?’

Darcy wondered at those passing words. Robert was right. Surely if he had given up on ever making Lizzy love him, it would have been easier than this to move on?

It is a terrible thing to be plagued with, a crippling fear of life. Not just of life but of living, and knowing that the future, of which you once were so certain, is no longer the clear, shimmering lake you imagined.

It was horrifying that Lizzy could feel this way now. Her engagement to Mr Collins was to have made things more definite…and instead comprehension was as elusive and murky as ever. Her life after saying yes to him appeared to have gotten away from her; she was no longer in control. Events moved at such a pace that she struggled to keep up. With the stories in the papers, there was nothing else for it…she was committed now, she had promised…but did she love him….?

Of course not, but he was not a vicious man, and he wasn’t deceitful like Wickham or hurtful like Darcy…he was distinctly, and remarkably, average. He was kind and, unworthy as she thought herself, worshipped the very ground she walked on. So, Mr Collins it was to be, then…if only to save herself…to save her heart…from any more pain.

Part 15-‘the painful truth and meeting again…’

Posted on Monday, 2 January 2006

Filming for ‘The Framed Rose’ was finally over. After a tumultuous year for almost all concerned, the film was complete and merely awaited editing and continuity checks. Within a few months it would hit the big screen and would underwrite the fate of all concerned.

Darcy left for home: Pemberley. He had resigned himself to the fact that Lizzy would never be his. Robert’s words had pushed him into action; he gave up the drink as well as the hope of winning her heart. And though it would prove difficult at first, he was determined it could be the only way to preserve his sanity.

Lizzy, now an engaged woman, had nothing more to do but take herself and her fiancé back to Longbourn, where she awaited all the distraction and inanity the family home could provide. Her mother did not disappoint. Her exclamations and delight at having two daughters on the verge of marriage could not be talked of quickly or nauseatingly enough, and Mrs Bennet could only be matched by Mr Collins in profusion of emotion and words.

All Jane’s hopes of saving Lizzy from the mistake she was making rested with their father. But for the first time in her life, she found herself disappointed in Mr Bennet. She thought he would set about talking her out of it as soon as he arrived, but he had stayed inexplicably quiet. It had been almost a month, and still Jane could not discern from him that he had spoken to Lizzy on the subject at all.

Mr Collins had chosen to stay at a nearby hotel, Lucas Lodge, but they still suffered his company during almost every meal, and still Mr Bennet did not broach the subject with either of them. He knew Lizzy well enough; he was certain that the farther he pushed her into breaking off the engagement, the more determined she would be to go through with it. Not because she was being deliberately stubborn or spiteful, but simply because she had convinced herself she was doing the right thing. Mr Bennet decided to wait it out, to see how far she was willing to go with this. There was no question that he would speak… it was merely a question of when.

As for Lizzy herself, she was not blind; she knew her father’s objections barely rested on his lips, but there was no going back now. Every paper had announced the engagement. To break it off now would be cruel. Besides, through some inane reasoning, she reckoned the less she thought of the impending marriage, the further away the event would be, almost as if it wouldn’t take place at all.

As long as she allowed neither reason nor feeling to enter the equation or stand in the way, Mr Collins seemed the perfectly rational choice. She was certain, something she could not say of the other men in her life, that he could never shock or surprise her, thus she deemed her heart as safe as it was untouched. She had no inclination to be hurt again.

Mr Collins turned up the same time as usual every morning to spend the day with his fiancée. Jane, as usual, would always get up to leave; the spectacle turned her stomach. Relations between the sisters, who had at one time been so close, were fractious to say the least. Jane could not forgive Lizzy the impetuousness and sheer obstinacy of her decision.

Mr Collins was that morning even dizzier and more excited than usual. He set about explaining the reasons for it to Lizzy and Mr Bennet. Attentive and generous as ever, he had organized a holiday for both himself and Lizzy touring the grandest and most famous theatres across England. Knowing Mr Bennet’s love of the theatre, he extended the invite to him as well.

Mr Bennet took it up readily. The sacrifice of spending time with Mr Collins was a small one compared to the prospect of seeing some of the most famous buildings and theatres in the world.

Mr Collins was delighted; even Lizzy looked animated at the idea. ‘Yes, we’ll take in all the best ones, and no doubt we’ll make a stop at Pemberley Theatre.’

Lizzy suddenly gasped and stared at Mr Collins. ‘No…’ she shook her head emphatically, ‘….no, we couldn’t possibly…’

Mr Collins merely smiled and failed to see the obvious distress Lizzy was in. Mr Bennet saw and noted it with some curiosity.

‘Well, of course we must. It would hardly be a worthwhile tour if we didn’t take in one of the biggest and grandest…’

Lizzy still sought to protest. ‘But surely there’ll be theatres enough elsewhere for us to see…’ She struggled to come up with any viable excuse.

Mr Collins laughed. ‘Yes, of course there will be, my dear…’ He was using that same patronizing tone Lizzy had come to loathe. ‘But wouldn’t you like to see the place where your co-star grew up and learnt his trade? And your father has no objections. Besides, I should like to see Darcy again…if only to tell him how things have changed…’ In other words, to crow over him about his engagement.

‘Yes, I should like to see Pemberley Theatre,” Mr Bennet offered. “As for meeting the infamous Mr Darcy, well, I don’t know about that. I had heard he is unlikely to be there, as he rarely stays at the place before the new season begins…’

Lizzy seemed more comfortable about the idea. ‘So I won’t have to see him again…perhaps I may steal a glance at Pemberley Theatre after all…’ she thought.

It was done, all the arrangements were soon made with Mr Collins’ characteristic efficiency, and the three of them were all set to go within a week.

Though Mr Bennet had not yet deemed it wise to broach the subject of the engagement with his daughter, no such scruples held where his wife was concerned. He had watched with growing unease and maddening frustration her continuation of encouragement to Mr Collins, and the level of joy and happiness she portrayed at the impending union would be sickening were it not so clearly false.

He waited until they were alone one morning in the living room and unleashed his anger at her. ‘Why are you doing this? You must know she’s not happy, but you’re making such a point that her marrying this man is a good thing…’

Mrs Bennet could not see the objection. Lizzy was by no means her favourite daughter; she thought it a good enough match for her. ‘And why not? He’s comfortably well off financially…he’ll take care of her…’

Mr Bennet shook his head sternly. ‘She doesn’t love him.’

He was amazed at her response: she laughed cruelly. ‘And what has that got to do with anything? We’ve managed very well without it…’

For a moment all Mr Bennet could do was to stare incoherently at her, but he gradually came to realise she was right, and he wondered how long it had been. When had love gone and been replaced with indifference…? Months…years…? Even the thought of it did not sadden him as it ought to have.

He sighed deeply, determined Lizzy would not suffer the same fate. ‘I know Lizzy…she will never be happy, not unless she looks up to the man she intends to marry, respects him…looks up to him as an equal…Mr Collins is not equal to Lizzy.’

But Mrs Bennet was adamant. ‘She’s agreed to marry him hasn’t she? It must be what she wants...’

Mr Bennet could not believe what he was hearing. ‘How can you be so cold, to your own child…I would never have thought it possible…’

Mrs Bennet suddenly exploded with rage, ‘Cold…?’ How dare you…you have no right to berate me on the treatment of our children! I practically raised them all by myself. I gave up my career to look after them…but you…you just carried on, posing and swaggering over the tread boards…’

‘I shouldn’t really be surprised at how resentful you’re being, God knows I’ve had to listen to it long enough…but now to punish Lizzy for it…’

‘Nobody’s forcing her to marry him…’

Mr Bennet scoffed, ‘With all your subtlety, it’d be kinder to put a gun to the poor girl’s head…’ And with that he stormed out, banging the door as he went.

Lizzy, standing quietly in the shadows of the stairs, heard it all.

Lizzy watched her bags being carried to the rooms by the porter until they were out of sight. Then she stood quietly by the front desk and observed with growing envy a clearly newly married couple sitting in the restaurant. They were holding hands and sharing a dessert.

The scene made her think of her own impending nuptials; Mr Collins was by no means the most comfortable of men when it came to intimacy. She cringed inwardly at the conversation she had initiated with him the night before they set off on their travels. She had managed, after some hesitation, to bring up the awkward topic and to persuade him that their level of intimacy would be taken no further, that they ought to wait until they were married before sleeping together…the event would then prove all the more special. Thankfully for her, Mr Collins was as afraid of ‘intimacy’ as she was, certainly not what the sentiments of a recently engaged couple deeply in love ought to have been.

Pemberley Theatre was no more than a couple of miles from the hotel; they were to visit the place that very afternoon.

Lizzy had to catch her breath, and not for the first time. Standing on the steps, she thought she had never seen a building as beautiful as Pemberley Theatre. The steps were numerous and at the head were flanked by angels. Or muses, Lizzy couldn’t be sure; they carried harps and lutes and seemed to appear as if they were flying.

But nothing could tear Lizzy’s eyes away from the face of the building itself. It was unique, an octagonal shape, with huge Corinthian columns, heavy old doors and leaded windows that seemed to reach up to the roof.

‘To be mistress of Pemberley would be truly something,’ she mused. ‘How father must be enjoying this, and to think if I had accepted Darcy I might have been inviting him as a guest, rather than being one myself. But no…’ she caught herself, ‘Father would have been lost to me, along with the rest of the family. Darcy would never have tolerated their presence here…’ She was glad for the thought; it saved her from something like regret.

Whatever her impressions of the outside were, nothing could prepare her for the delights waiting inside. A lengthy entrance hall opened up into a magnificent foyer: marble-tiled floors, deep red damask hangings, and a magnificent chandelier all to be found exactly as they would have been when the place was built. Everything appeared in refined taste, nothing was too gaudy or pretentious; every hanging, every painting, the smallest candle, all were placed strategically to extract from the visitor exactly the reaction Lizzy was having as she surveyed it all….breathless amazement.

The staircase inside was as lengthy and grand as the one outside, only all the more so with its deep red carpets and bronze gilding. It separated at the top, wound its way along opposite sides of the room and lengthened into corridors, all along which were hung huge, lifelike portraits of what Lizzy guessed were various family members. Each corridor separated into different rooms, corridors and rooms weaving into each other as a magical labyrinth.

It was a good thing they had a guide, Mrs Reynolds, a name with which Lizzy was already familiar. She was a good-natured woman, stout, red-faced and smiling. She guided them along the corridors, pointing out pictures and objects of interest.

But Lizzy soon had enough of portraits of people she did not know, or in whom she could not feign an interest, and quietly turning back, made her way down the grand staircase again, leaving her father and Mr Collins in the capable hands of Mrs Reynolds. She came down slowly and stopped in the centre. There, hung on the wall, was a magnificent portrait of a handsome but stern-looking man. The script underneath declared it to be Mr Percival Darcy. A bust of the same man was situated directly below it, on an eerily suited stone pedestal.

So this is Darcy’s father, she thought, smiling sadly. ‘Well, I congratulate you, sir. What a fine job you’ve done in raising your sons, giving one all the goodness and the other merely the appearance of it…’ she murmured under her breath.

She ran her fingers over the bust and, looking up at the picture, noted the hardness about the features. It was plain to see in the eyes and the hard line of the jaw that this Mr Darcy had something of the tyrant about him, a trait she had to admit she was glad to have seen absent in the son.

It was whilst she was studying the works of art so closely that Lizzy first heard the music. It was very faint, barely a few notes carried on the cool air. But it wrought its magic on Lizzy and it seemed she almost floated down the steps towards the sound. She stopped in the middle of the foyer and listened intently. She recognized it; even from the few notes she could barely hear she knew what it was: her favourite piece, Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’. She had played it as Celia when they were filming, and even when they hadn’t been, she would sit at the pianoforte and play it all the same.

She walked towards where she thought the sound was coming from and, passing through yet another corridor, she came across a door. Pushing it open, she realized she had wandered into the side entrance of the main auditorium. The music was clear now; it was coming from the front, the darkened stage.

Lizzy approached it tentatively. She could not make out anything and still the music played. She was startled by a voice behind her.

‘Oh…hello, are you lost…?’ Turning to look, Lizzy saw a beautiful young woman smiling kindly at her. She had the bluest eyes Lizzy had ever seen, a wonderful smile and long, long hair of golden hue.

Lizzy smiled readily in return. ‘Yes…I suppose I must be…I’m sorry. I hope I’m not intruding…?’

‘No…not at all…’ The young woman stared at her with innocent curiosity. But Lizzy could not shake the effect the music was having on her senses; it seemed to be casting a spell on her.

‘I’m sorry…but could you tell me who is playing that music? It’s beautiful and haunting…’ Lizzy looked intently at her.

She smiled and seemed to call out to the shadows, ‘You must emerge from the shadows, brother, or you will quite unnerve this young woman and have her thinking we have our very own ‘Phantom of the Opera’…’

Brother? The music stopped and Lizzy’s heart skipped a beat as she heard someone approaching the front of the stage and emerging from the dark. She recognized the face instantly and felt her own blush.

‘Mr Darcy…!’

Part 16- ‘The long road back…’

Posted on Sunday, 8 January 2006

Lizzy absolutely started at the sight of Darcy standing up there on the stage looking down at her. He seemed equally amazed but recovered faster than she did. Smiling, he climbed down and approached her slowly.

‘You must excuse my sister, Miss Bennet. She has acquired that characteristic often found in those of us who have lived too long in the theatre…she has even begun to talk in theatrics…’

His sister laughed, a rippling, clear sound that could not help but make those around her smile. ‘Yes, by all means, forgive me…that I have not inherited that trait of my brother’s that leaves him wholly unable to judge a conversation. I would rather talk in theatrics, as he puts it, than suffer as he does…for I assure you he makes the mistake of speaking when he ought to stay silent and staying silent when he ought to speak…’

Lizzy could not help but laugh at the way she had turned her brother’s words around. ‘Georgiana…’ Darcy quietly remonstrated with her.

‘Well, it’s true…and it has not served you well in the past…’

Darcy was not actually listening; he could not help but stare at Lizzy, unable to fathom what wondrous series of events could have brought her here. Georgiana had to repeat his name before he paid attention.

She laughed at his obvious absent-mindedness and the strange way both Lizzy and Darcy stared at each other. ‘Well, since you already appear to be so well acquainted, would you care to introduce me, brother…?’

‘What…? Yes, of course…Miss Bennet, this is my sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy…Georgiana, this is…Miss Elizabeth Bennet…’ Her name tripped off his lips as fervent and reverent as a prayer.

It was at that point that they were interrupted, and through the same door Lizzy had stumbled into, in came pouring Mr Collins and Mr Bennet.

Mr Collins, on perceiving Darcy, grinned rather stupidly and called out to Lizzy, ‘Well, there you are, my dear…Lizzy, we had quite despaired we’d lost you…’ Mr Collins was the type of man who would forever be awkward with public displays of affection, and was unsure how to attend to his fiancée; he merely stood next to her awkwardly and smirked at Darcy. ‘Well, Darcy…what a thing to be meeting you again…’ He slipped an arm around Lizzy’s waist, almost as if making a point.

Now it was Lizzy’s turn to make the introductions. ‘Mr Darcy…Miss Darcy, this is my father…and Mr Collins…my fiancé…’

She struggled with the word, all the while watching Darcy for his reaction. He could not be surprised, she knew he must have read the papers but…, but what had she been expecting? She thought she saw a slight flinch but could not be sure… she could not deny her disappointment that there was nothing more.

‘Father, this is Mr Darcy and his sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy…’ Mr Bennet was no less curious to make the acquaintance of a man of whom he had heard so much. He stepped forward and offered his hand warmly. ‘Mr Darcy…Miss Darcy, I am happy to make your acquaintance at last…and in such pleasant surroundings.’ He noticed the way Darcy had eyes only for his daughter. Suddenly Lizzy’s acceptance of Mr Collins’ proposal took on a whole new perspective.

Darcy smiled at him. ‘Yes…I suppose you must feel quite at home…in the theatre, I mean…’

‘Yes…I have played in many parts and many places but,’ Mr Bennet cast an admiring glance about the room, ‘nothing as grand as this…’

‘Well, we shall have to do something about that…’ Darcy’s words seemed like a promise and Mr Bennet was content to like him already. Lizzy was amazed at the change in him; surely barely a few months ago the likes of Mr Bennet would have been beneath his notice. But no, here they all were…and Lizzy, for one, was not sorry for it.

‘Oh, of course…Miss Elizabeth Bennet!’ Georgiana suddenly exclaimed, startling everybody. She was filled with youthful exuberance. ‘I have heard Darcy often talk of his beautiful co-star but how stupid of me, I never thought to make the connection. We have met, Miss Bennet…’

Lizzy was baffled, ‘I’m sorry I don’t have the pleasure of recalling…’

Georgiana beamed at her. ‘Darcy, you ought to have been more forthcoming in your description…I say we have met, Miss Bennet; in truth we have almost met. I was quite taken by the critics’ review of your performance in ‘Stars Above’; your portrayal of the tragic Alison Harding was truly remarkable. I loved every minute of it…in fact, I came to see it three times…only I was too shy to talk to you after…I did get as far as backstage, but no further…’

Darcy laughed at her enthusiasm. ‘It’s true…I had to drive her…three times!’

‘Yes, though you never came inside…however much I tried to persuade you…’

‘No…though I have long wished I had…’ Darcy looked directly at Lizzy as he spoke. She blushed and smiled quietly.

Mr Collins felt he had been silent for far too long. ‘It seems we have found another fan of yours, Lizzy. Miss Darcy is almost as fervent in her admiration of you as another young gentleman once was…’

Lizzy stiffened in dread, he was on the verge of naming Wickham, and she knew not how to stop him.

‘Oh yes…of course, Wickham, wasn’t it? George Wickham…?’

Darcy’s reaction pained her. He had gone pale and he gritted his teeth. His expression as he looked at his sister was one filled with pitiful sorrow. As for Georgiana, the poor girl had gone as white as a sheet and was visibly shaking; no doubt she had thought she would never have to hear that name again.

Lizzy felt for them both acutely. Miss Darcy required a rescue, and she would provide it. ‘Miss Darcy…I have long heard of Pemberley Theatre’s impressive rows and stage, but there were stories of hidden doors and passages, not surprising in a building as old and wondrous as this. I find it all highly intriguing, and I wonder, would you be so kind as to show them to me?’ She smiled warmly at her. ‘I cannot think of a better guide for the task…’

Lizzy’s smiles and words appeared to have an effect; some of Georgiana’s colour returned. She took Lizzy’s arm gratefully and led the way. Lizzy threw back a glance at Darcy and smiled reassuringly.

Darcy was certainly grateful for the kindness she was showing to his sister. He still could not believe she was here. There was so much he had wanted to tell her. His heart was overflowing, ready to burst. From the moment he had seen her again, all the old feelings had returned, the feelings he thought he had long buried. He had taken Robert’s words to heart and resolved to let Miss Bennet go, but it was easier said than done.

Now seeing her again, he knew it was impossible. He had been ready to confess all to her the instant his eyes had rested on her face but…Collins had turned up. Her fiancé… Darcy hardened his heart once more. He would not risk it; whilst she still allowed that man to slip an arm about her waist…he would not risk heartache and rejection again…not till he was sure…if or what she felt about him. He had learnt his lesson; he was not willing to expose his own feelings, not whilst she still guarded hers.

Mr Bennet saw it all. He watched Darcy looking after Lizzy with such longing and passion that he was certain this was the man Lizzy ought to be marrying. Maybe now was the time to speak to her about this prior engagement; next to Mr Darcy, Collins would never do.

Georgiana liked Miss Bennet very much and with all her youthful enthusiasm made sure her brother knew it. He seemed equally pleased and was more than happy to second his sister’s request that Lizzy, her father and Mr Collins join them for dinner the next evening.

Mr Bennet and Lizzy accepted the invitation readily, but for poor Mr Collins it was not to be. He was called away to the set of a new film he had begun working on. The engagement had bolstered his reputation somewhat; as a history expert he was very much in demand.

Lizzy could not pretend she was sorry for his absence. She sighed as she looked in the mirror in her room. She wore the bottle-green dress, the same one she had worn to the disastrous charity ball. She could not help but smile at how differently she felt about Darcy now. Closing her eyes, she felt herself in his arms again, dancing slowly…the swaying, her cheek next to his and the shallow breathing. Lizzy shook her head and ordered herself to snap out of it. She was engaged already, to Mr Collins. Now there was a sobering thought.

Seated opposite Darcy in the grand private rooms above the theatre, Lizzy found she was gladder than ever to be spending time with just Darcy and his sister. Along with her father, the company was exactly all the mix of intellectualism, wit and fine flowing wine that she could ever wish for. Her eyes were continually drawn to Darcy’s. She loved watching him. Every time he smiled and laughed his eyes lit up and she saw him more animated than she had ever seen him before, even during their year of filming together.

Mr Bennet and Darcy talked as rapidly as old friends and Lizzy was happy to see them get along so well. Her father rarely liked anyone and tolerated people even less often, but with Darcy it seemed a pleasure rather than mere acceptance.

Georgiana Darcy was less talkative than her brother. Lizzy could easily see why some may have thought her haughty and reserved; a young girl of barely eighteen, it was not that she didn’t want to talk; it was purely because she was shy and rather than take the initiative in a conversation allowed others to dictate it, only offering opinions when there was least danger of them being heard.

Darcy suggested they watch a rehearsal taking place. Everyone agreed, and the party of four soon found themselves seated on the front row eagerly looking up at the stage. Mr Bennet contrived it so that Lizzy and Darcy would end up sitting next to each other; they both unknowingly fell into his well-intentioned trap. Each deemed it would be offensive to move now and chose instead to find a way to deal with the proximity to the other. But the antics of the performers on stage soon had all their attention, and if they could not forget, they did eventually become more comfortable.

Lizzy placed her hand on the arm rest between them and, perhaps inevitably so, Darcy reached for it only a few minutes later. His hand innocently found hers; they were both surprised by the touch. Darcy looked at her closely, seeking something in her eyes; he certainly didn’t think her revolted by his touch and he was in no hurry to relinquish her hand just yet. She smiled slightly at him and allowed her fingers to interlace with his before slowly removing her hand.

The rehearsal was over and it drew their attention away from their lingering moment, charged with electricity. Lizzy stood and clapped enthusiastically, glad to be able to escape Darcy’s intense gaze. It was having an effect on her she seemed unable to control.

Lizzy suddenly felt her hand seized by another; Georgiana had taken a hold of her and was now trying to persuade her to play the piano and sing for them. She had to practically drag Lizzy through the orchestra’s area and up the stairs. The cast whose rehearsal they had been watching all took up positions around the stage, eagerly awaiting a performance.

‘Georgiana, please, I assure you I am not very good at either…’

‘Nonsense…’ Georgiana laughed at her modesty. ‘My brother has spoken of your playing the piano once or twice on set and he has told me that he has never heard anything that gave him more pleasure…’

It was Lizzy’s turn to laugh. She stopped and looked back at Darcy who, between talking to her father, shouted out encouragements. ‘Well, then I am afraid your brother is prone to exaggeration…he means mischief, no doubt…’

Georgiana stopped likewise and, turning to look at her, spoke in all seriousness, ‘Miss Bennet, you will never find a greater advocate of the truth than my brother.’ She smiled widely. ‘Therefore, if he states that you can play, then you can play…’

She had succeeded in getting Lizzy to the instrument, and placing her firmly in the seat she rifled through the numerous music sheets conveniently lying on top of the piano.

‘Now if you insist on refusing to sing, Miss Bennet, you must at least play…’

Lizzy relented, ‘Very well, but only if you sing…’ She saw Georgiana freeze. ‘That is my only condition…I will play, but only if you sing. You see, I have heard something of your talents as well…’

Georgiana managed a weak ‘Alright….’ Lizzy flashed a brilliant smile at her. ‘What would you have me play?’

‘Let’s start with something classic and traditional…how about Mimi’s aria from ‘La Boheme?’’

The entire hall fell silent as Lizzy began to stroke the keys. The choice of music was perfect. Georgiana hit every note precisely and her performance was so touching that Lizzy, looking around, doubted there was anybody left unaffected by it.

When she finished, rapturous applause greeted her; everyone was on their feet clapping and shouting enthusiastically. Lizzy clapped along with them, pleased for the shy but happy Georgiana, who smiled and acknowledged the praise with a characteristic blush.

She bounded over to Lizzy. ‘Now for something more fun…’ Georgiana produced a sheet of music and handed it to her. Lizzy smilingly thought it a little suspicious that these pieces of music should be so conveniently at hand, almost as if Georgiana had planned it all…but she found she would not mind if the young woman had acted at all a little deviously; it was another trait that she found endearing.

Lizzy, seeing the title, looked up at Georgiana, puzzled. ‘This, are you sure…?’

‘Yes,’ Georgiana nodded emphatically. ‘It’s a fun piece and one of my brother’s favourites…’

Lizzy shook her head and laughed. ‘Well, I can readily believe that…I’ve given up being surprised about anything your brother does or says…’

Lizzy began to play. The piece was fun and lively and soon the whole room was on its feet dancing and singing away. Lizzy laughed whole heartedly at the merriment of it all. She was pleasantly surprised to find Darcy come over and sit next to her at the piano.

She smiled sweetly at him. Looking over to Georgiana who had everyone joining in, she said to Darcy, ‘I thought your sister was shy…!’

‘She was…she is…’ he stammered smilingly, ‘I’ve never seen her this happy or lively or talkative with anyone…She must really like you…’

‘Good…I’m glad. I like her, too…’

Darcy nodded confidently. ‘I knew you would…’

The evening had turned into an impromptu party and had stretched long into the night. Mr Bennet found it all too much and took his leave early. He left Lizzy smiling and laughing away with Darcy and the rest of the cast. It warmed his heart seeing her happier than she had been in a long time, and he knew exactly what, or rather who, was the cause for it. That conversation regarding a prior engagement would have to happen soon.

Darcy offered to take Lizzy back to her hotel, and she readily accepted. She did not think it objectionable that he walked her to her room; they were friends…what could be more natural. The night clerk looked up briefly from behind his desk as their footsteps echoed past but soon returned to his work. He had seen enough celebrities walking up to hotel rooms together that to see this was nothing extraordinary; perhaps the only unusual aspect of Mr Darcy and Miss Bennet being together was their very pointed and very public dislike of each other. Still, he shrugged, the film industry was a strange business and actors were a strange lot. Either way, in his profession it paid to be the very soul of discretion.

Lizzy was very conscious of Darcy’s presence only a few feet behind her in the lift. She chuckled quietly and shook her head. Darcy naturally inquired as to her mirth. She turned to look at him.

‘Who would have thought that the great Darcy’s, the famous actor’s favourite piece of music is ‘I’m a Believer’…’ She laughed again.

He smiled in return. ‘What…? The Monkees were a great band, and it’s a fun song…and apt…’ He spoke the last word low.

‘You’re right, it is a fun song…You have great taste in music…I’m sorry…’ Still, she couldn’t help but burst out laughing again.

The lift stopped and they stepped out and walked slowly to her room. Lizzy still had so much to say to him. Now that she realised just how much she enjoyed his company, she was sorry to see the evening end.

They stopped at her door and she turned to him suddenly. ‘I must admit I’m surprised…’

‘About what…?’ He equally had no desire to let her go just yet.

‘I thought you’d be angry about seeing me here, that you’d think it a dreadful intrusion…I have to admit I never thought you’d want to give me the time of day again, or that at best you’d be anything more than indifferent, but…you’ve been all attention…’

Darcy sighed deeply; given his behaviour this past year, he could hardly have been surprised by her words. ‘Angry? No, I could never be that…I could never be anything but glad to see you. And seeing you here…is something really special…’

Lizzy smiled and he thought his heart would break. ‘Really..?’

To hell with caution, he thought. ‘Yes…Lizzy, the way I feel about you…you must know that hasn’t…that could never change…’

Lizzy dropped her eyes nervously; a strand of loose hair fell about her face. He reached out tentatively and carefully tucked it behind her ear. His touch both thrilled and frightened her; she looked up to meet his gaze. As he leaned in to kiss her, Lizzy hesitated at first but gave in.

The kiss was passionate and intense. She reached up and dug her hands into his shoulders. He tousled her hair with one hand and the other he placed in the small of her back, pulling her yet closer. She met his yearning with a desire of her own and for a moment the whole world seemed to slip away and it was only the two of them standing on the edge.

Lizzy eventually broke the kiss off, breathless. Their foreheads touched. She shook her head despairingly. ‘I can’t do this…this is wrong…’

‘Why…?’ Darcy desperately pulled her close, unwilling to relinquish her lips and her body.

‘You know why…I’m engaged…Mr Collins…’ He stopped her with a gentle kiss.

‘Don’t…’ he murmured. Don’t spoil the moment…don’t take away what he had been dreaming about for so long.

Lizzy resisted the urge to wrap herself around him again. ‘I’m sorry…’ She kissed him lightly on the corner of the mouth as a goodbye. And removing his arm from her back, she pushed him away gently and opened the door to her room without looking back.

Part 17- ‘A bump in the road…’

Posted on Friday, 13 January 2006

Lizzy sighed deeply as she closed the room to her door and leaned heavily against it. She thought she could hear Darcy still outside and it took every ounce of restraint to resist the temptation of opening the door, throwing herself in his arms again and bringing him back into the room.

She was glad she did resist; it would have proved highly embarrassing, for as soon as Lizzy reached for the light switch and her eyes became adjusted, she gasped in surprise at the sight of her father who had been sitting quietly in the dark on her bed.

‘Dad…what are you doing here…?’ she asked him. She set about removing her jewelry and makeup.

Mr Bennet wondered at her alacrity and her flustered nature; she was still deep red. ‘Quite a night, wasn’t it? I suppose I don’t have to ask if you enjoyed it, seeing as you’re home quite late…’ He watched the corners of her mouth upturn into a smile.

‘Yes…it is late, isn’t it? I hadn’t realized…Mr Darcy was kind enough to see me home.’

He believed he saw much to interpret in her expressions and enough to justify enquiry. ‘Our host sure knows how to throw a party, even an impromptu one. I was surprised, pleasantly so…I have to admit, Lizzy, from all that I had read and heard about him, I’d been expecting quite a different sort of man…’

A flash of anger passed over her face, and she suddenly became protective of Darcy. ‘Well, you won’t have been the first person to be wrong about him…’

Mr Bennet watched her carefully and decided the time had finally come to have it out with her. ‘Lizzy…you know I’ve stayed silent for too long on this point…I know little of what has passed between you and Mr Darcy apart from what Jane has told me…’

‘Jane…’ Lizzy nodded knowingly, ‘yes, of course, Jane…I would tell her she is becoming a little too much like mother with all her interfering, but I think that would be too cruel…’

‘She means well, Lizzy…’ Mr Bennet emphasized. ‘As I said, I know little of what has passed, but marrying Mr Collins is not the way to mend a broken heart…’

His words caught Lizzy completely off guard. ‘A broken heart…? And what would you know of it…?’

Mr Bennet was amazed at the growing anger in her voice. She seemed to be choking on the words; certainly there were tears in her eyes.

‘I had to make the biggest decision of my life a few months ago…and you weren’t here. I needed you more than ever, Dad, and you weren’t here.’ She was hastily brushing away tears. ‘This is the most time we’ve spent together, the most I’ve seen you in over a year…and instead of…’

‘Lizzy…’ Mr Bennet stood up and, taking both her hands in his, tried to console her. She snatched them away.

‘You’re posing all these questions…this confusion…’ She began to rub her temples furiously.

Mr Bennet took her hands again. ‘It’s simple, Lizzy…you don’t love Mr Collins…’

She looked up with tear-stained eyes. ‘I could learn to…’ she replied weakly.

He squeezed her hands tightly. ‘You shouldn’t have to…Mr Collins is not the man for you, he hasn’t got the same passion or soul, but Darcy…Lizzy, I’ve seen the way he looks at you…’

Lizzy threw her arms about her father. ‘Please, Dad, stop. It’s too late…I’ve made my decision…’

Mr Bennet sighed deeply and held her close. ‘Then what do you want from me, Lizzy…’ he asked softly, ‘…you must know I could never give you my blessing…’

‘No…I know...’ She brushed her lips lightly against his cheek and smiled. ‘Could you at least give me your support…?’

He looked her squarely in the eye. ‘You know you will always have that…’

This time the tears came in floods. She hugged her father fiercely once more. ‘Life isn’t like one of your plays, Dad…we can’t go back and hope to give a better performance second time round…however much we wish to…’

He held her at arm’s length. ‘Lizzy…’

She would not let him speak. ‘Support, Dad, remember…?’ She seemed to pause and reflect. ‘Rupert was right; there are some regrets we just have to learn to live with…’

Mr Bennet, taking her firmly by the arms, shook her. ‘No…!’ She was shocked.

‘No…Lizzy, this is not a regret you will learn to live with. I will not allow it…’ He spoke with firmness and an authority Lizzy had never heard from him before. She could only stare open-mouthed.

‘What are you afraid of? All you have to do…’ he jabbed a finger to his chest, indicating the heart, ‘all you have to do is look here…then you’ll find that the right decision is waiting for you…and it isn’t all that hard to make…’

He hugged her again quickly before leaving the room altogether. Lizzy was left drained. She collapsed, exhausted, onto her bed and tried to make sense of her father’s words. The right decision…was waiting for her…

The world always comes rushing in, no matter what you do, however many pains you take. Whatever little comfortable cocoon you build for yourself, all the safety nets you draw up, the world always comes rushing in to tear it apart and let in the blinding light before you are ready.

The world came rushing in for Lizzy. Fate determined that when she woke up that morning the decision that her father had promised her was not that hard to make, had already been made for her.

A letter awaited her with the coffee that room service had brought in. It sat on the silver tray neatly propped against the cup. She eyed it curiously. It didn’t have the address of the hotel on it or a postmark to determine where it had it come from. She wondered if it might be from Darcy, and half-smiling she opened it with impatient fingers. The world always comes rushing in….

Darcy stalked across that lobby floor as a man possessed. In a way, he was. Possessed with the idea of finally having everything he could ever want: Elizabeth Bennet. That kiss last night, he was sure there was something there, she felt it too…he knew she did. He was going up to her room, and he was going to tell her exactly how he felt. He was going to make sure she told him how she now felt about him and damn it if they didn’t make love in that room this very morning. And damn it if she didn’t enjoy it as much as he would.

The night clerk was just leaving as Darcy passed him, and if he thought he looked rough due to a night shift, Darcy looked infinitely worse, even though he was wearing a peculiar smile.

He knocked purposefully on her door. It was ridiculously early and he had half-expected to see Lizzy still in her dressing gown, but to his surprise she was fully dressed almost as if she were ready to go. But it was the look on her face that drew his attention and tugged at his heart. Her eyes were rimmed red and tear-stained. ‘Are you alright…?’ His voice bespoke the alarm he felt at seeing her so affected.

‘No…’ she let out in a strangled sob. Before Darcy could ask her what was wrong she hurried off to the bathroom and locked the door behind her. She left him standing in the doorway. He couldn’t very well leave her, considering how upset she was, so he came into the room and closed the door behind him.

He stood looking around the room, hoping for some clue to her distress. He soon spied the letter lying on the table. Picking it up, he looked anxiously towards the bathroom door, hoping Lizzy would emerge and tell him all herself, but she didn’t. He began to read, his eyes growing more wide and disbelieving at every word.

Miss Bennet,

I suppose you’re surprised to be hearing from me again? You shouldn’t be. I warned you that you were making a mistake in getting Harry to edit me from the film; you see, I was depending on that role for my break.

But you saw fit to interfere and now I see fit to repay you in kind. I hope you like the photograph I’ve sent you; it’s a sample from a collection. It’s amazing how much young girls are willing to tell you or what they’re willing to do if you ply them with enough drink. Don’t worry; the picture isn’t for me. I have a more refined taste in women, as you well know.

No, this rather, shall we say, interesting photo is for the man she’s been having an affair with. You remember the producer of your film, don’t you? Billy Farren? It seems they got together on the set.

Can you imagine the headlines, Miss Bennet, especially considering Billy is a married man with children? What will his poor wife think?

I guess it’s fairly certain the Bennet family and all its history will be turned inside out. They’ll drag out every sordid detail about your father, your mother, all the Bennet sisters and, most especially, you.

You shouldn’t have crossed me. With Darcy it may have been mercenary as well as personal, but I assure you with you it has been entirely personal. I’ve already worked out a deal with a journalist for the photos. I look forward to seeing them as well as your face in the papers by the end of the week.

Goodbye, Miss Bennet. It’s been a pleasure, as always.

Wickham

Darcy reached for the photograph Wickham was referring to. It lay face down on the table. He studied it closely; it was quite clearly Lydia Bennet dressed provocatively in skimpy underwear and nothing else.

Lizzy at that point stepped out of the bathroom, and seeing Darcy holding the letter in one hand and the photograph in the other, she hurried over to him and snatched the picture from his hand. Overcome with anger and grief, she tore it to shreds. ‘Stupid…stupid… stupid girl…!’

It horrified her that he could be looking at the picture. She felt so ashamed it might as well have been her instead of Lydia.

The torn pieces fell like crude confetti all over table, and Lizzy suddenly felt so exposed and vulnerable in front of this man, she collapsed likewise in the chair.

‘Have you read the letter…?’ she asked him quietly at length. It took her a while to form the words.

‘Yes…I’m so sorry…’ Darcy likewise had trouble knowing what to say.

‘How could he do this…? How could anybody be so cruel? Do you know he sent a similar letter and picture to my mother…can you imagine any mother seeing her sixteen-year-old daughter like that…?’

Darcy pulled up a chair close to her. He reached out and took her hand gently. She did not pull her hand away and seemed almost grateful for the touch. Looking up at him pathetically, she was at a loss to understand what had happened.

‘But Billy Farren? What was she thinking…? He’s old enough to be her father…my God, he is a father! He has two children, doesn’t he?’

Darcy had to nod to confirm it. ‘I hate to be the one who has to tell you this, but Billy’s done this before…’

Lizzy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘What…?’

‘It was a long time ago. He got entangled with some young actress…’ He vainly tried to offer some consolation.

‘Why didn’t I know anything about this…?’ she implored him. She was desperately looking for answers.

He pressed her hand reassuringly. Her forlorn appearance made him want to hold her, but he smiled instead and spoke gently, ‘He’s good at his job, the studios have long kept it quiet…’

Lizzy shrugged. ‘Well, not anymore. Wickham is sending the pictures to the press. Within a week the whole world will know…’ Lizzy tried to compose herself, but her efforts only resulted in a strangled sob. ‘Stupid, selfish Lydia…she’s ruined everything.’

Lizzy searched Darcy’s expression. She wondered if he knew what she meant by everything. ‘Wickham is right, isn’t he…? We both know the abject morality of this place, Lydia will never work in this business again…and neither will anyone remotely connected with her.’ She laughed quietly. ‘After all the stories, who’s going to risk having a Bennet on the set…?’ Lizzy’s eyes were overflowing with tears as they met Darcy’s. He knew what she was saying: her career was over.

He wanted so much to hold her, to comfort her and kiss her. Assure her that he would make everything alright…and just when it looked like Lizzy was wishing for the same thing and offering no resistance, the door flew open and in rolled Mr Collins!

Darcy jumped back in surprise and stood up so quickly that his chair fell backwards; it met the carpeted floor with a dull thud. Lizzy looked up at him regretfully. The instant her eyes met his accusing, hurt ones she knew….she knew it was all over. Whatever decision she had sat up that night making, she knew the instant Darcy saw Collins was still in her life, it was over.

Mr Collins appeared not to notice the intimate manner in which Darcy and Lizzy had been sitting. He was red and out of breath. ‘Right, my dear, the bags are packed and in the car. Your father is downstairs and we’re all ready to go…’

Darcy was devastated, yet he kept his voice deliberately cold and distant. ‘You’re leaving…?’

‘Yes. Sorry, Darcy, but there’s some urgent business at home…’ Mr Collins looked towards Lizzy and vainly tried to invent some lie.

‘He knows…’ she spoke softly; she could not bear to look up.

‘Oh…?’ Collins appeared hurt. He wondered why she should confide in this man; after all, it wasn’t as if he were family, or soon to be.

‘Yes, I told him…’ Lizzy met Darcy’s gaze briefly. ‘We have to go. Mother is in near hysterics and I don’t think Jane should have to cope with that on her own…’

Again that steady tone from him, Lizzy closed her eyes against it, ‘I suppose I ought to be going. I’m sorry. I wish that I could do something to help, but I’m not going to burden you with vain wishes and hopes, which you probably think I express merely to gain thanks…’

He walked towards the door but turned and looked back at Lizzy. She hadn’t moved at all. She looked up at him and he held her gaze tightly. ‘This probably means Georgiana won’t be seeing you today…?’

Lizzy shook her head remorsefully. She longed to tell him that Mr Collins being here was not of her choosing; he had only arrived that morning because Mrs Bennet had sent him to bring her home, it was nothing more…it meant nothing more. But she couldn’t; the hard glint in his eye assured her that she was too late…again.

The words would barely come. ‘No…tell her I’m sorry but…just say…’

‘I know what to say…’ and with that he was gone. And Lizzy’s heart went with him.

‘Do you think it was wise to confide in him…?’ Mr Collins’ voice brought her back to the present situation.

She snapped angrily at him. ‘Of course! I didn’t mean to; he just happened to be there when I needed someone, and I’m glad…either way…there isn’t a man in the world I trust more with such a secret…’

It’s funny, Lizzy thought, how you only realize you’ve found your little piece of heaven when you’ve fallen out of it. She sat in the back of the car, quiet, alone and looking out of the window. Lizzy truly believed she had found her piece of heaven, and it was here at Pemberley Theatre…with Darcy. But Lizzy hadn’t fallen out of her little piece of heaven; she’d been pushed, through the shortcomings and lack of restraint of a sister, and the maliciousness of Wickham.

It was only now she realized how much she loved him, when it was all too late. She should have told him how she felt last night, after they had kissed; that was the right decision.

He had told her then that his feelings for her would never change, but that was before, and maybe they could in the face of her relative’s odious weaknesses and her own reluctance to make a choice.

And why had she been afraid to make that choice? Sure, they were both passionate people with differing views on the world, and no doubt they would fight like cats and dogs but, and here was the insight that hurt the most, Lizzy realized she would rather spend a lifetime fighting with Darcy than pretending she loved any other man.

Mr Collins could not have made his reappearance at a worse time.

Part 18- ‘Mr Collins’ little deception….’

Posted on Saturday, 21 January 2006

Lizzy arrived home late in the afternoon that very same day. She took a deep breath before she crossed the threshold of her own front door. She could imagine the scenes that were awaiting her, and she wished to be a million miles away. She closed her eyes and berated herself for being so selfish. There would be time enough to grieve for what was lost, but for now she had to be there for the family. She would be… if she wanted to mourn, it would have to be in private.

Mrs Bennet was in exactly the state Lizzy had described to Darcy: nearing hysterics. She was crying and cursing in equal measures. Lizzy could hear her voice drifting down the stairs to her in the hallway where she stood.

She refused to leave her room and everybody had to go up to see her. Mrs Bennet cut a pitiful sight; she sat in her dressing gown being attended by Mary, Kitty and Jane. Lizzy joined the fray and spent the remainder of the day pretending to listen to her mother’s continuing laments and soothing her own aching heart.

There seemed to be a ticking clock hanging over them all. Wickham had promised the pictures would be in the papers by the end of the week, and they had already lost two days. It was in anticipation of the crowds of reporters that were sure to turn up at their doorstep that the whole family took refuge in the back room of the house. They had little time to work out how best to handle the publicity that was to come. Both Mr Collins and Bingley had turned up to offer their support to the family and their respective fiancées.

Mrs Bennet had still not learnt how to control her crying. ‘I don’t know what could have happened…’ She looked about the room at the sullen faces. ‘I know she is not that type of girl…’

Mary snorted in reply. Jane looked at her sharply. ‘You’re not helping…’ She sighed and shook her head, ‘Can’t imagine what Lydia was thinking…he’s old enough to be her father…’

Jane’s words mirrored exactly what Lizzy had said to Darcy. A painful remembrance caused her to reply more angrily than she intended, ‘Lydia doesn’t think that’s the problem…she’s always been a spoilt, selfish brat who’s never cared about anyone but herself…!’

‘Lizzy…!’ Jane was amazed at the resentment in her sister’s voice. But Lizzy was determined to speak her mind.

‘It’s true…thanks to her, everything is ruined…’ It was impossible for the whole room not to notice the strength of sorrow apparent in her words.

Mrs Bennet thought it time to begin her lamenting again, but this time she sought to apportion blame, and certainly not where it was deserved. She looked towards Mr Bennet with a menacing eye.

‘Is it surprising she sought a father figure considering her own was not around much…?’

Mr Bennet looked up at her sharply. Jane instinctively reached for Bingley’s hand; finding it, she clasped it in her own. The whole room was descending into anarchy. Lizzy instinctively moved out of range from Mr Collins lest he likewise be arrested by a moment of tenderness and reach for her hand.

Mr Bennet, instead of offering a witty retort as his wife expected, slowly got up from the chair he had been sitting in quietly, and without a word left the room. Lizzy noted the painful look creasing his face as he left, and her heart ached all the more.

‘We’re all to blame…’ she began quietly, ‘for indulging her and pampering her’ she looked around the room accusing each of them in turn, ‘for allowing her to become the sort of girl who flirts with anything with a pulse…who doesn’t think of the consequences of her actions, and now we’re all going to pay for it…’ She followed her father’s example and left the room.

She walked quickly across the hallway and to the door of her father’s study. This was his sanctuary; he rarely invited anyone in, and today was no exception. She saw him sitting with a large bottle of whisky by his side; he looked up and saw her in the doorway. She attempted to smile at him, and though he may have been touched by her concern he nonetheless got up and quietly closed the door to her.

Far from being hurt, Lizzy understood it completely. Mrs Bennet’s words had struck a chord with him; they confirmed suspicions he had already been having about his record as a father. He felt his wife, for once in her life, to be right; he had failed them all miserably. Lydia’s wildness and unchecked behaviour was as much his fault as hers. He had much to be ashamed of. It was the sort of realization not even the soothing words of a favourite daughter could do away. He had preferred to dismiss her therefore than even let her try.

Lizzy went up to her own room, and locking the door behind her, tried her hardest to fight back the tears. She was not left alone for long, however; there soon came a gentle knock on the door.

‘I want to be alone…’ she called out. The voice that came back made her smile and change her mind.

‘It’s me, Jane…Lizzy, please open the door…’ Lizzy did gladly. Seeing Jane filled with so much tender emotion for her made Lizzy realize just how much she’d missed her sister. She threw her arms about her and hugged her fiercely.

They sat down on her bed, and after a lengthy, soothing silence began at long last to talk as they had used to. Lizzy was sorry for the ill way she had used her sister.

‘I have been such a fool, Jane…you have every right to think ill of me…’

Jane pressed her hand and smiled at her. ‘I don’t think ill of you…’

‘No…but perhaps you might think better of me if I told you I was seriously reconsidering my engagement to Mr Collins…’ Lizzy waited in anticipation for Jane’s reply to this statement.

Jane nodded in understanding. ‘You know I only want what makes you happy…’

‘I know…’ Lizzy sighed and thought of Darcy, and just how far true happiness had eluded and continued to elude her.

‘Jane, I still don’t understand any of this…Never mind how the affair with Billy came about…how did Wickham find out about it?’

Jane turned away from her and began to wring her hands nervously. ‘Lizzy it’s entirely my fault…I’m to blame.’ Jane was crying. ‘Soon after you left on your holiday, Wickham came here. He was friendly and good-natured with all the family and…and I was stupid enough to think that he might have changed.’ She did not think herself deserving of any comfort and so shook off any Lizzy tried to offer. ‘I should have known, Lizzy, when I saw him constantly with Lydia, when I saw the confidences he was sharing particularly with her and the pains he was taking to form a friendship…I should have known, but I didn’t even begin to guess what he was really up to…I should’ve told the family…’

Lizzy was stern and firm in her reply, ‘It is not your fault! Nor is it mine or Darcy’s or anyone else’s who might have been unfortunate enough to be taken in by Wickham’s lies. If you think staying silent has led to this then you might as well hand over my proportionate share of the blame. I knew as much as you and stayed silent…’

‘On my stupid advice…’

Lizzy hugged her sister again. ‘Your advice is never stupid, Jane. In fact…there are times when you are more right than you could ever know…’ She was thinking inevitably of Darcy again.

Jane caught the sorrowful tone in her sister’s voice and wondered at it. ‘Lizzy…what is it…something you need to talk about…?’

‘Yes…’ she smiled sadly, ‘but not right now…I wouldn’t make much sense, it’s still too painful, but right now, we have other things to worry about…’

Mr Collins was never very comfortable in family crises, and he was even more incompetent where the family was not yet his own. He sat awkwardly where Lizzy had left him, and was debating whether to go up after her or leave altogether. He was wary of her temper, but there was really nothing to tempt him to stay in the room any longer. Bingley stood by the window, pensive and reflective; the mother had gone back to lamenting, albeit a little more quietly. The daughters took up their own literary pursuits, Kitty with her Hello magazine and Mary with Milton’s Paradise Lost. No one appeared willing or in the mood for talk, so Collins was eternally grateful when his phone rang.

He hurried outside to the garden to answer it. The voice on the other end, though familiar, was still a surprise for him to hear.

‘Mr Collins, this is Darcy…Look, I’m sorry to call you out of the blue like this, but I have information regarding the Bennets. I wonder if you could meet me for a coffee…?’

‘I suppose I could…should I bring Lizzy or Bingley…?’

‘No…!’ Darcy practically shouted down the phone at him. Mr Collins was a little taken aback. ‘I would appreciate it if you came alone…’ he spoke lower this time.

‘Alright…’ Darcy promptly gave him the address and hung up.

Collins shook his head in bewilderment; still, he was curious as to what Darcy could have to say. Anything was better than having to sit with the Bennet family again.

Mr Collins sat stunned at the narrative he had just heard. It amazed him that Darcy could have done so much in so little time. The two days that the Bennets had been awaiting the dreaded inevitable, Darcy had sought out and found the wayward fugitive sister. He handed him a short scrap piece of paper covered in hastily written scrawl.

‘Here is the address where Lydia and Farren are staying. It’s a small cottage on the coast, a holiday home, I suppose. I’ve already spoken to them both. Billy was easily persuaded to do the right thing, especially when I told him he risked his career with the all the exposure that was coming. Lydia took a little more working on, though I think the fact that Farren was willing to give her up so readily made her see things more clearly.

‘Anyway…you must go and bring her home…’

Collins was more than a little puzzled; he took the paper from him and asked, ‘Why are you doing this…? If you’ve already spoken to them, why didn’t you bring her back yourself…?’ Although seeing Darcy unwilling to relent to his questioning, he asked all the same, ‘I mean, if you brought her back, the Bennets would love you forever, but instead you’re offering me the chance to excel in their eyes…why?’

Darcy sighed and appeared to be in pain as he spoke. ‘I have a high regard for the Bennets, Lizzy and her father especially, but I think they would regard my interference as intrusive and odious, seeing as I am not connected to the family as closely as… you. Besides, Miss Bennet has clearly indicated her future lies with you, and as I could never do anything but wish that future to be a happy one, I think her believing you to be the saviour of her sister and the Bennet name would serve a greater purpose.’

At Mr Collins still looking none the wiser, Darcy added a final sentence of persuasion. ‘Miss Bennet will be all the more thankful to you…’

Collins smiled in understanding at last; Darcy was offering him the chance to get Lizzy at last. Even as dense and self-deluding as he was, Collins could not deny the signs that she had been beginning to look and sound as if she regretted their engagement. He had been in dread of her calling it off, but now…

‘And you don’t want any recognition at all…?’ The offer still appeared too good to be true.

‘No…’ Darcy shook his head adamantly. ‘In fact, that is my condition…I insist on anonymity…’

Mr Collins grinned broadly. ‘Alright, I’ll do it, but you must know, Darcy…that this deception does not come easily to me…’

Darcy saw right through Collins’ self-effacement and attempts at false modesty. ‘Of course, with your being the very essence of morality and truth, I’d think such a deception must be torturous for you…’

Collins did not note the subtle sarcastic in Darcy’s voice. He thought only of the happiness that awaited him on account of Elizabeth Bennet’s impending and eternal gratitude.

Ensuring the return of Lydia Bennet to the family fold may have proved the easier task, compared to what lay ahead. There was still the matter of keeping the photos from reaching the public eye. It was on that undertaking that Darcy set off soon after meeting with Collins.

Getting the name of the reporter to whom Wickham had sold the photographs proved a near-impossible task. Given some well-placed misinformation and a little help from friends in the public eye, Darcy eventually got a name: Heidi Marchant.

She was the well-known, well-established reporter of a high-brow society magazine. How she had gotten to know Wickham then was beyond him.

She had eventually agreed to meet him for lunch; she had insisted on the restaurant of her choosing and insisted that he paid. Darcy now sat in the corner of the room, at a darkly lit table, looking at Miss Marchant with curiosity. She was not a particularly noticeable woman, there was nothing to make her stand out from the crowd; in fact, her rather diminutive stature would probably ensure she got lost in it instead. Her mousy brown hair was swept back into a ponytail, and her face framed by some overly large glasses.

He smiled his best, handsome actor smile at her. She was not buying it.

‘Mr Darcy, I’m a very busy woman…what is it that you want..?’

He cleared his throat, and stated briefly, ‘I want you to drop this story about Lydia Bennet and her family…’

At first Miss Marchant merely looked at him with her characteristic non-responsive glare before she burst out laughing. Her mirth was beginning to draw the attention of the other diners.

‘And why would I do that, why would I drop the biggest story of the year…simply because Fitzwilliam Darcy demands it? I’m afraid you’ve been too used to dwelling on your own self-worth. I’m afraid what Mr Darcy wants is not what Mr Darcy will get…’

Darcy smiled at her; he did not think this would be easy. He leaned in close to her. ‘I’ll make you a deal: you give me the pictures and anything else Wickham gave you…and I’ll give you a story that’ll blow this thing out of the water…’

He could see he had her interest now; she eyed him skeptically. ‘For something to blow this out of the water, it’ll have to be a hell of a story…’

Darcy sat back coolly. ‘Believe me, it is…we’re talking lies, affairs…and a missing diva…’

Miss Marchant tried to play it equally cool. ‘Then there’s the money I paid Wickham for the pictures…that’ll have to be reimbursed…’

‘Of course…I’ll double what you gave him…’ Seeing her wavering still, Darcy pressed his point home, ‘…and I’ll give you the biggest story for years…I’ll give you a world exclusive…your editor will love you for it, believe me…’

‘Okay…you’ve got me interested. This has better be good…’ She poured the wine into her glass and offered him some. He declined.

‘I’m offering you the first interview with the renowned Diva Carmen Rosetta…’

She sipped her drink slowly, and raising an eyebrow, declared it to be impossible. ‘Carmen Rosetta hasn’t been seen in over eight years! She announced she wasn’t going to do any more appearances, and certainly no more interviews…What makes you think she’s changed her mind?’

‘She’s changed her mind for me…’ Darcy spoke confidently. ‘As well as the interview, she’s going to perform on opening night at my theatre, in the lead role…’

‘You don’t expect me to believe that, why would she…why would she after eight years suddenly make her reappearance for you?’

Darcy smiled quietly, ‘My father gave Rosetta her first break at Pemberley, he helped launch her career…and she’s my mother…’

It was a good thing the wine Heidi had ordered was white, because on hearing those words of Darcy’s she spluttered in shock and sent fine droplets of the stuff spewing all over the tablecloth. She wiped her mouth and the table hurriedly.

‘She’s your…mother?’ She stared at him wide-eyed.

Darcy remained as calm as ever. ‘Yes, Carmen Rosetta is my real mother…’

‘How…I mean…’ Heidi was having trouble forming words.

‘Rosetta was barely known in those days when she started at my father’s theatre. He worked to make her a star, and she showed her gratitude. They had an affair, and she became pregnant with me. By then my father and Anne Darcy had been told they couldn’t have children, but my father wanted an heir, Anne desperately wanted a child and Rosetta wanted her career, so in the end it all worked out perfectly for them. Everybody got what they wanted…’

Heidi was riveted by his story. ‘And Georgiana Darcy…?’

‘Georgiana is my half-sister, her mother is Anne Darcy…but this has nothing to do with her. I want her left out of it…’

‘This is amazing…’

‘I thought it’d get you interested, and as I suppose you’ll be requiring proof, you can hear it straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak…Rosetta will tell you all in that first interview I promised you…’

‘You’re willing to do all this, for some pictures…?’ She could not believe what she was hearing.

‘Yes…’ Darcy leaned forward again. ‘That’s all I want…’

Heidi shook her head, ‘You do know what all this will mean? Your life, Pemberley Theatre, everything about you is going to be under the microscope…’

‘I know…but it’s alright…’ Darcy shrugged. ‘I think I will have that glass of wine, thanks…’ It was hard to tell whose hands were shaking more, Heidi’s as she poured or Darcy’s as he drank.

‘But why…why are you doing this…?’

He smiled. ‘Rosetta craves the limelight again, and what will get her more attention than…’

‘Than an affair with Percival Darcy, the very royalty of theatre…’ she finished the sentence for him. ‘I never took you as much of a humanitarian Darcy, yet you’re willing to expose your life for a returning Diva, and a girl stupid enough to get involved with Billy Farren. Lydia Bennet can’t mean all that much to you to risk all this…’

‘You’re right, I don’t care much for the likes of Lydia Bennet, but there are others connected to her who don’t deserve such exposure…’

Heidi with all her journalistic insight believed she finally understood. ‘Such as the sister, Elizabeth Bennet, your co-star…?’

Darcy smiled sadly. ‘Yes…but it’s not just that. This is also about my father. I’m sick of the world holding him in such high esteem. It’s about time the world saw him for what he really was…as fallible and mortal as everybody else. I’m sick of living up to a name that was less than perfect in the first place…’

‘Alright…’ Heidi had heard enough, ‘you’ve persuaded me…you can have the pictures, when I get my interview with Rosetta…’

Darcy protested but she insisted, ‘That’s my condition. Those pictures are my only security at the moment…’

‘Fine, it’s a deal…’ They shook hands on it.

Part 19- ‘Lizzy mounts a rescue…’

Posted on Tuesday, 24 January 2006

‘It’s extremely troublesome to be so obligated and thankful to a man one has been determined to dislike…’ Mr Bennet sighed, propping his head on his arm.

Lizzy smiled. She went over to him and began to rub his shoulders. They had both locked themselves in his study to avoid seeing either Mr Collins or the surprise he had brought with him a few days ago: Lydia.

‘But we do have to be thankful to him; he did find Lydia and bring her back…’ Lizzy went and stood by the window.

‘Yes…yes, but it’s not as if Lydia has even changed at all. One would think being used and abandoned like she was would endue something of the humility or restraint she sorely lacks, but she’s as loud as she ever was…I’ve lately begun to wish Collins would have left her there…’

Lizzy laughed. It was true, Lydia hadn’t changed; she behaved as if she had done nothing wrong. ‘You don’t mean that, dad. At least with Lydia here, we can contain this somewhat, even though…there are still those pictures to contend with…’

She crossed her arms tightly. Those pictures…that picture, the one Darcy had seen.

The thought that he knew about all this still haunted her…and hurt her.

Her father seemed to read her thoughts. He came and stood next to her. ‘Have you heard from him at all…?’

She shook her head sadly, ‘No…nothing at all, I haven’t heard from him…or of him…’

‘Oh, Lizzy…’ her father hugged her. She buried her face deep in his shoulder.

He comforted her for a while before holding her at arm’s length and looking intently at her. ‘It may be extremely troublesome, Lizzy, but I believe I can be obsequious and grateful enough to Collins for both of us…’ he smiled slyly ‘…and should I at any time find myself faltering, I’m sure any one or other of the family will take up the charge.’

Lizzy knew what he meant, ‘You don’t need to worry. I wasn’t going to carry on my engagement with Mr Collins out of a misplaced sense of gratitude…’

‘Good, I’m glad to hear it…’

Lizzy smiled and lightly kissed his cheek before taking her leave.

Lizzy was in earnest about her engagement to Collins. In her heart it had long been over, and it was not that she needed courage to tell him so, she merely needed the opportunity. She thought it rather strange, but she was certain Collins was avoiding her. He seemed constantly on the move; ever since he had brought back Lydia, he appeared to be filled with even more nervous energy than usual.

Now, try as she might, Lizzy could not find him anywhere about the house. She inquired of Jane, who was returning from the garden, if she had seen Collins there. Jane shook her head, ‘Sorry, Lizzy, but no…’

Giving up, Lizzy made her way upstairs before Jane called her back, ‘Lizzy…I almost forgot, there’s a letter here for you…’

Lizzy stopped and smiled. Perhaps he had written to her after all, maybe Darcy had found a way to forgive her… She raced down the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her.

The letter was not from Darcy. Lizzy knew that from the moment she had spied it in Jane’s hands. It was too big, a large brown envelope, and it was heavy, sure to contain more than a few sheets of paper.

Jane had excitedly declared it to be a script from another studio company, but Lizzy had resolutely shot that idea down. No, this ‘package’, almost, was something else. Lizzy had hurried off with it to her own room. She had opened it cautiously, almost afraid of what it might contain. Now seeing the contents strewn over her bed, she sat down and began to read fervently.

There was a magazine, a letter and some photographs…Lydia! These were the pictures Wickham had been talking about, the sordid little collection. But how…? The explanation she would find in the letter. It had no date, no opening greeting, it simply started:

I’ve never been too fond of actors, Miss Bennet. The ones I have been around have always impressed me as being vain and pretentious. I mean, who considers standing in front of a camera and delivering lines to be an art?

But lately, I have met an actor who has forced me to challenge my own prejudices, and has given me reason to change my view: Fitzwilliam Darcy. It would be an understatement, Miss Bennet, to say that I don’t think I have ever met anyone as selfless.

He has put his whole life on public view so that you and your family do not suffer.

Do you know he actively sought out your sister? I believe he had to bribe Wickham for the address. As if that were not enough, he then set about finding me out in order to buy back the pictures, as well as giving me the story of the year. All so that the one about your sister would not see the light of day.

You can read the story for yourself. Sensational as it is, I have tried to be kind, evidence perhaps of the indelible effect Darcy has had on me. Believe me, Miss Bennet, I am as ruthless as they come. Emotion has never before found a way to hinder my words, but in this case it has.

I do not think the tabloids are going to be as kind or sentimental. Professional jealousy is an ugly thing. They will not be forgiving the fact that the scoop did not go to them.

Darcy also has other worries, I am told. Given his financial standing with Pemberley Theatre’s Board, I do not think that they will look kindly on the fact that he perhaps did not consult them before going to the press. I am not sure what they will do.

And his reasons for doing all this, risking it all like this? Naturally, I asked, and his answers were all reasonable enough. He blames himself for not telling the world what Wickham was truly like. I think he takes on too much. Wickham is a snake who can charm the birds out of the trees and I doubt anyone would believe a word against him.

I must admit to having become quite fond of your Mr Darcy, and a little worried. Given his heritage and somewhat noble lineage is now in doubt, I fear this makes his position as owner of Pemberley Theatre untenable, to say the least. Miss Bennet, they will be out for his blood. Lady Catherine will no doubt have something to say about it.

Finally, I think I can go through the whole of this life, Miss Bennet, and never be so fortunate as to come across a man who would champion a cause on my behalf even half as passionately and devoutly as Darcy has done yours. If I did, I would be a very happy woman.

I am ridiculously envious of you. With regard to the photos, these are the only copies and they are yours. You can rest assured the story about your sister won’t be appearing in any paper. Darcy explicitly instructed that they be sent to him, but…

Good luck, Miss Bennet, and be kind to our poor Darcy, or at least do not make him wait for you too long.

Lizzy could not believe what she was reading; it took her another reading of the letter to make any sense of it at all. Darcy had done all this? Why…for her? Heidi Marchant certainly believed it was for her; she longed to believe it was, but would not allow the hope to creep into her heart.

But what did she mean by his heritage? She took up the magazine and began to read. The names and pictures all whirled around her head; Carmen Rosetta was Darcy’s mother…? Almost as soon as she understood what that sentence meant, she knew what it implicated for Darcy…he was in trouble.

Her love for him spurred her on to act. She was going to save him, but first things first, she thought…time to be rid of Collins for good. She flung the door open and hurried down the stairs. She caught Collins sneaking down the hall.

‘Mr Collins…stop right there…!’ Her voice, intentionally loud and demanding, made him do just that. He turned to her with a weak smile. The rest of the family emerged also. ‘Y-yes, dear….?’ he stammered.

She approached him slowly. ‘Mr Collins…Edward, you never really told us how you managed to find Lydia. I mean, we are all extremely grateful that you did…but you’ve never told us how you knew just where to look…?’

Mr Collins shrugged disarmingly; he looked at everyone in turn, smiling pathetically at each, while Lydia smirked knowingly at him. ‘It’s not important, surely…?’

But Lizzy was insistent, ‘Of course it is…surely we should know all the trouble you went to, so we know just how grateful we should be…or should that be to whom we should be grateful…?’

Mr Collins tilted his head to one side, looking sheepish. ‘Lizzy….?’

‘You despicable, odious…. toad of a man…how could you? How could you take the credit for something you didn’t even do…?’

‘Lizzy…’ However much Mr Bennet was enjoying Collins’ discomfort, he felt he would enjoy it better if he knew the reasons behind it.

‘It was Mr Darcy…’ she cried with energy, ‘it was Mr Darcy that took the trouble to find Lydia! He bribed Wickham to tell him where she was…Mr Collins had nothing to do with it…’

‘Darcy asked me to do it…!’ Collins thought it best to offer some sort of defense, ‘…he gave me the address and asked me to get her. And to pretend that it had been all my own doing…he insisted on his anonymity…I swear it….’

Lizzy was shaking her head. Collins watched in horror as she wrested his engagement ring from her finger. ‘What are you doing…?’

‘Something I should have had the courage to do a long time ago…’ she grabbed his hand and pressed his ring into it, ‘this engagement is off…!’

Lizzy breathed in deeply and nervously. It had been a busy night, and this morning was going to be worse. She had set her heart on saving Darcy, but it was not until she had read the morning papers that she realized the mammoth task it would prove.

Heidi Marchant had not been wrong when she had said the tabloids would be unkind; they were positively vitriolic. It seemed Darcy was the one being punished for his father’s ill-advised affair with the Diva. Every sordid detail, Darcy’s own past relationships, truthful or otherwise, all were being played out for the common gossip of the common man. It was degrading and humiliating, and Lizzy felt every word almost as painfully as if it had been written about her.

But stories would pass, memories would fade, the fickle nature of the public ensured that within a couple of months no doubt they would have another affair to speak of; it was Darcy’s position with the board that had to be saved.

She needed reinforcements and called Darcy’s cousin Robert to gather all the members of the committee together. That was the first part of her plan; the second part she explained hurriedly to both Jane and Bingley and left in their capable hands.

There was one other person whose help she needed, but whom she was reluctant to ask: Georgiana. It was not that Lizzy did not trust her, but with her being so young, Lizzy had doubts as to whether she would be able to perform as necessary. But Lizzy had no choice. She called Georgiana.

Georgiana sat at breakfast that morning, likewise poring over the morning papers. The phone calls she had received regarding the stories about her brother were far from pleasant.

‘Georgiana, you shouldn’t be reading that…’ She hadn’t noticed her brother enter the room. He took the paper away from her. ‘It’s a pile of rubbish…’

‘So it isn’t true…?’ Georgiana held out a glimmer of hope.

‘The tabloids are hardly the embodiment of truth, Georgiana…you should know that…’ He poured himself a cup of strong black coffee.

‘Stop trying to protect me…Darcy, I have a right to know…’ She looked at him directly.

‘You don’t need to know. It doesn’t concern you.’ He hardly even looked up from his cup.

She was angry that he could have sprung something like this on her. ‘Doesn’t concern me…? He was my father as well…’

Darcy did at last look up. He hadn’t counted on her being angry. ‘I know…but all this, everything they write about doesn’t matter. All you have to know is that he loved you very much…it’s all that matters…’

Georgiana sighed. She got up and went over to where her brother sat and hugged him closely. ‘It’s not that…that isn’t what I’m upset about…it’s you…’ Darcy looked at her closely for an explanation.

She had tears in her eyes. ‘I know I may have been young, Darcy, but I remember…I remember the way he treated you. How hard he was, the way he pushed and pressured you…and expected so much, all the time. I used to cry about it, because it was so unfair the way he treated you…why, why did he do that?’

Darcy could not help but be touched by the strength of Georgiana’s attachment to him; he felt his own tears sting his eyes as he suddenly hugged her close to him.

‘I don’t know…maybe he thought of me as the mistake he couldn’t get rid of…whatever the reason, it’s all in the past…’

‘But it’s not, is it?’ she mumbled into his shoulder, ‘it’s here…’

They stood this way in silence for some time, until Georgiana’s ringing phone roused them into life again.

Darcy kissed his sister lightly before leaving the room. Georgiana sadly watched him go. She answered her phone with some abruptness, fully expecting it to be yet another journalist. It wasn’t.

‘Hello…Georgiana, it’s Lizzy, Elizabeth Bennet…Look, I got your number from your cousin Robert… I really need your help…’

Part 20- ‘Too much and too late…’ (Finis)

Posted on Friday, 27 January 2006

Lizzy stood nervously in front of the assembled board members. This was infinitely worse than auditioning, she decided. There was more at stake here. They weren’t impressed, Lizzy could tell; their eyes, wide and unmoving, simply stared back at her. It seemed her words were hardly being heard at all. In desperation, she looked to the back of the room and sought Robert’s eyes. He did his best to encourage her.

All her best laid plans, getting Marcie on board, setting Jane and Bingley to the task of organizing food and drinks, making sure Georgiana knew to keep Darcy away for the rest of the day…all this, and she had not counted on this board being the biggest obstacle.

She implored them with every ounce of her being, ‘Look, we’ve all read the papers, we know the stories. But Darcy’s record speaks for itself; this theatre is only a success because of the work he has put into it. No one could have given more to this place or run it half as well…’

She was interrupted by a stocky, well-built man who seemed to have been poured into his ill-fitting suit. ‘Miss Bennet, we acknowledge Darcy’s contribution and appreciate your efforts on his behalf, but the facts remain…’

Lizzy suddenly spoke in a flash of anger, ‘What facts? You can hardly blame him for his father’s faults!’ She sighed and resolved to speak calmly. ‘I was surprised when Robert told me that most of you haven’t even met Darcy, not properly. You don’t know what he really is, then…All I’m asking is that you attend this evening and get to know him. Believe me, when you see him in a true light…’

She almost added they would fall in love with him as she had, but stopped herself. She smiled at them. ‘At worst, you’ll get an evening of free drinks…’

Darcy sat back in the car and looked questioningly at his sister. ‘Georgiana, what’s going on?’ He tugged at his sleeve and collar. ‘Why are we all dressed up?’

She smiled sweetly at him. ‘Patience, darling brother…I promise it’ll become clear soon enough.’

‘Please…Georgiana, I’m really not in the mood. I got all done up in this suit because you insisted, and now I’m being driven half way round Derbyshire for God knows what…’

‘Don’t you trust me?’ Georgiana took hold of his hand. ‘We’ve had a great day, haven’t we…like it used to be?’

He smiled, ‘Yes, like it used to be, just you and me…maybe we should make that a more permanent thing…’

Georgiana noted the curious tone in his voice. ‘What do you mean…?’

He turned to look out of the window. ‘I’m tired…tired of everything. Do you know there are days when all I want is to go to sleep and never have to wake up…just to slip away…’

‘Darcy…!’ Georgiana was shocked at the way he spoke. Never in her life had she heard her brother speak so despairingly.

‘I’m sorry, but these past few days…it’s been so hard, but maybe it’s my way out. The board might insist that a true Darcy take over the ownership of Pemberley, which would mean either you, or Robert, if they think you’re too young…’

‘Well, I won’t do it, and neither will Robert!’ Georgiana exclaimed angrily.

‘There may not be a choice…and to tell you the truth, I don’t think it’ll be all too hard to let the place go…’

‘She’ll make it right…she has to…’ Darcy barely heard the last words his sister muttered.

Darcy stepped out of the car and looked up at Pemberley Theatre, the place he had just been lamenting to his sister. Only, he had never seen it look like this. The outside seemed to be decked out in a thousand lights, bathed in an ethereal glow that started at the top and flowed down the stone steps.

‘Georgiana…what’s going on?’ he asked with some trepidation. She linked arms with him and squeezed reassuringly.

‘This is us…doing something for you for a change, and making things right.’

‘Us…?’

She didn’t answer and instead moved up the stairs. ‘Come on, Darcy. It’s cold.’

He followed her slowly, unsure. The doors swung open and Darcy, upon surveying the scene of regimented, formal dancing in front of him, was sure he had stepped into a Jane Austen novel. Women dressed in long flowing gowns, a multitude of swaying, moving colours held close by men dressed in suits and tails, looking decidedly more comfortable than he was at the moment.

He stood a little dumbstruck, rooted to the entrance, unsure of taking another step forward. Georgiana wore a broad smile which did little to abate his discomfort. Robert suddenly appeared by his side, with Lizzy on his arm.

‘Well, here she is, the belle of the ball…’ Georgiana kissed Lizzy lightly in greeting. ‘Aren’t you going to say how well she looks, Darcy?’

Darcy couldn’t find the words to express how well he thought she looked. He simply stared at her. She wore an off-shoulder, classic black dress of the most sensuous silk and her smooth ivory skin glowed underneath all the lights.

‘What…are you doing here?’ He looked around him, at the room, at Robert and Georgiana and back to Lizzy’s smiling eyes. Robert, taking Georgiana by the arm, left them alone to talk.

‘Well, imagine my surprise when Robert tells me that Darcy hasn’t even met the men and women charged with running his life, so…knowing how charmingly inept you are at making a good first impression I’m going to give you a crash course in making people fall in love with you!’ She linked her arm in his and eased him into the room.

‘Lizzy…please, I want to know what’s going on…’ He was getting impatient.

She tried her best to reassure him. ‘And you will. Come on, I want to introduce you to a few people.’ She practically had to drag him farther.

‘Now…’ she began, casting a critical eye about the room, ‘the one thing people love to talk about is themselves. I’ve done most of the research; all you have to do is remember a few details.’

‘Details…?’ Darcy raised a brow skeptically.

‘Yes, details…’ she confirmed, ‘we can begin accordingly.’ She pointed out a thin, wiry man approaching them at no great distance. He had a pretty young woman on his arm. Lizzy leaned close and whispered hurriedly to him, ‘This is Henry Hutchins. His father held the position on the board before he died and passed it onto him. Georgiana and I are convinced he’s gay but the woman on his arm is supposed to be his fiancée. So I guess he has a pretty large closet to climb out of still…’

All this information she conveyed to Darcy before Hutchins and his unsuspecting bride-to-be joined them. ‘Darcy!’ Hutchins exclaimed and thrust out his hand, looking up at Darcy with a more than warm expression that perhaps betrayed the fact that he had started the evening a little earlier than everyone else. Indeed, the glass he held now looked less than steady.

If Lizzy had thought Darcy might be shocked, if nothing else, into making an effort, she was sorely disappointed. He merely gave Hutchins a weak smile and a nod before saying, ‘I’m sorry, please excuse me…’ and walking off without another word. Lizzy was left to make her many red-faced apologies.

She followed after him as he pushed his way hurriedly through the crowd and out of the French doors onto the balcony. She saw him gasping for breath. Not wishing to be disturbed, she closed the doors behind her.

‘Are you alright?’ She stepped closer to him. It was cold and she had no wrap, but it was not the weather that made her shiver as she approached him tentatively.

‘No…’ She struggled to hear him over the sound of merriment inside. ‘Why are you doing this? How…?’ He had turned to face her suddenly; the look on his face was certainly not the reaction Lizzy had hoped for.

‘It was easy enough.’ She smiled weakly at him. ‘Robert helped me persuade the board members to come. Marcie got all the crew and cast from the film to make up the numbers, and she contacted the press. Jane and Bingley helped with the food and drink…and Georgiana, she had to keep you away for the day…’

He shook his head, ‘No…why are you doing this, why are you trying to save me?’

‘After what you did…for Lydia, for me…this, this is nothing…’ Lizzy stepped closer to him still. She looked up at him, full of smiles and thanks.

But he didn’t smile; his face fell. ‘How did you even find out about that?’

‘Heidi Marchant…’

He didn’t let her finish. ‘This is precisely why I didn’t want you to know. I don’t want you to be grateful.’ The despair in his voice confused her. ‘I didn’t want you to do all this, just to thank me…’

‘I’m not doing this just to thank you…’ Lizzy was at a loss to understand. Every step she took towards him, he seemed to take one backwards in retreat.

‘No? Then why, why go to all this trouble…’

‘It’s not just to thank you, it’s…it’s because…because I love you…’ There; it was out. But, again, his reaction was certainly not the one Lizzy had anticipated.

He seemed to grow angry. ‘No, you don’t…you shouldn’t say things you don’t mean…’ He turned away from her and went to lean heavily against the huge Corinthian column at the far end of the terrace. His shoulders sagged and he appeared to be in pain.

‘Do you know, I think it might have been something somebody said, or maybe I read it somewhere, I can’t remember, but it was something like, “To truly overcome sadness, one must allow hope to die…’’ Lizzy stood close to him; she had to strain to hear the words, he spoke in such hushed tones.

‘I realized that’s how I’ve been living twenty-two of my twenty-eight years. Ever since I found out who I really was, that’s how I’ve been living my life. Letting hope die.’

He looked up and met her confused gaze with a determined one of his own. ‘That is, until I met you…you broke my heart, Lizzy, twice…’ The sorrow he breathed into that word brought the sting of tears to her eyes.

‘But it’s my own fault…’ he gestured in pain, ‘I forgot to live by the rule. I should have given up hope the first time you said no. You see, I’ve been killing hope all my life, breaking it off and letting it wither away, letting it die. I gave up hope that my father would ever look at me with anything beyond mere disdain, long gave up hope that this place, these people would finally accept me once they found out who or what I really was…and gave up hope that you could ever love me the way that I have loved you…’

Lizzy’s heart choked, ‘Have loved….?’ No more…?

‘I’m sorry, Lizzy, it’s too late. I can’t do this anymore; I can’t…I won’t. It hurts too much…’

‘Alright…’ Lizzy’s tears were overflowing now. She struggled to speak. Her despair threatened to overwhelm her. ‘You want to know how much I love you and the ways I love you? I love you so much that I can’t sleep at night, because I keep thinking that I might have blown my chances with you…and then my throat closes up and I can’t breathe because of it.’

She took hold of his arm and forced him to look at her. ‘I love you so much that the idea of not being around you everyday leaves this gaping hole in my chest and I feel sick. I love you in the way that makes me a little gladder every moment, because you thought I was special enough to love at one point…’ She breathed in deeply in an effort to compose herself. ‘Now, you’re right…if that isn’t the way that you love me, then you’re right, I can’t love you the way you want me to…I can only love you the way I know how…but if that isn’t enough…’

She finished at last. He smiled sadly at her, and taking her hands in his own, he brought them both up to his lips. As he pressed them against his face and kissed them reverently once more, she thought she felt the faintest brush of a cold tear. He relinquished her touch at last, letting her hands drop.

He gently whispered, ‘It’s not enough…I’m sorry.’ The chill in the air wrapped itself around Lizzy’s heart as she watched him walk away. He didn’t look back.

Darcy had had enough. He was ready to run to the nearest cliff kicking and screaming. He hated the way he had left things with Lizzy, but it was too late, too late to go back.

He had crossed quickly to the car park. Having managed to avoid being seen, he had demanded the keys from the chauffer Georgiana had hired to bring them to the party, intending to drive himself.

‘Fitzwilliam Darcy, don’t you dare get into that car!’ The voice, instantly recognizable, stopped him dead. Lady Catherine. She had managed to find him; somehow she always did. She was in that infamous grey suit that now almost seemed like a second skin to her, that always gave her that added air of gravitas and severity.

But today, even in the pale, sickly moonlight, he realized he hadn’t cowered before her as he had in the past. Something was different, and in that moment between her crossing over to him with characteristic heavy-footedness and standing in front of him angrily waving a newspaper, somewhere in between those lost few seconds he realized…he wasn’t afraid of her anymore.

And it was a heavenly feeling, beyond redemption, beyond freedom…beyond the joy of simply being alive.

The smile he wore only served to enrage her all the more. ‘Have you read these headlines? It’s not enough that they spread lies about the Darcy family, but this…this really is going beyond the pale!’ She thrust the paper at him to read.

Even in the dim light he made out the words easily enough.

‘Barely a few days after the scandal of his father’s affair with the renowned Diva Carmen Rosetta, and the consequent revelations regarding his parentage, it seems Fitzwilliam Darcy has become embroiled in a scandal of the heart of his very own.

Rumours regarding the sensational break-up of the engagement between Elizabeth Bennet and Edward Collins point to a third involvement in the affair: Darcy. It appears the co-stars became passionately involved, a matter which led the young actress to break off her prior engagement. By all accounts a new engagement may have already been formed by the two…’

Darcy smiled wryly as he read, but he faced Lady Catherine with a determined, serious look. ‘This isn’t true. Miss Bennet and I are not engaged to be married, nor are we ever likely to be…’

But she was not so easily appeased; Darcy had made promises of this sort before. ‘I should hope not, because, believe me, I will have no scruples in revealing to this board, tonight if I have to, the small matter of the twenty thousand pounds you stole.’

Despite the anger rising within him every minute, Darcy endeavoured to speak with composure. ‘Go ahead. It doesn’t matter anymore. You’ve read the other stories, I’m sure. With all the publicity this has created, the fact that Rosetta is going to make her reappearance here, do you really think the board is going to care about twenty thousand pounds?’ He grinned sadistically at her. Now it was Lady Catherine’s turn to be afraid of him. He boldly stepped forward.

‘Ticket sales alone will more than double that sum…the stories, the headlines, the pictures…why would they care about twenty thousand pounds when they easily stand to make two hundred thousand by the end of it all? You’ve underestimated the greed and avarice of your fellow members; nothing could really affect them, no sense of morality, when each one stands to make a small fortune….’

Lady Catherine first turned pale and then an angry shade of red. ‘I don’t believe you. Those stories…they’re lies!’

Darcy shook his head sadly at her. ‘No…they’re not lies, Lady Catherine. They did have an affair.’

‘I don’t believe it! My sister Anne would never have consented to adopting a…a…’

‘A bastard?’ Darcy found the word Lady Catherine struggled with. ‘But she did. I tried, over the years, to find a resemblance between you and her after she died, but I soon gave up. There isn’t anything to find. You don’t have her heart…and you could never even begin to understand her kindness and spirit.’

No, he was not afraid of her anymore. He was indifferent towards her at best, and at worst, he resented her. But there was still one more thing to do. He reached inside the car, leaned over to the glove compartment and pulled out a fat wad of papers. He had hidden them in there from Georgiana, fully intending to retrieve them at the end of the day and post them in the morning. He had not anticipated Georgiana bringing him back to Pemberley, to this party, or that he would meet Lady Catherine here.

‘But I am tired of fighting you, Lady Catherine, tired of answering to you at every turn, for every aspect, for every reason and every choice…so here.’ He held the papers out to her. ‘I had my solicitor draw up the papers a few days ago. I’ve been holding onto them since, God knows why…I meant to post them. This is what you’ve been fighting me for; this is what you really want, so here it is. The deeds and ownership to this place are yours. Pemberley Theatre…is yours.’

Lady Catherine was in a suitable state of shock. She reached out cautiously, lest it should all turn out to be a cruel trick and he should snatch the papers away again. But it was not a trick; Darcy stood firm and relinquished it all readily. He turned to climb into the car, but not without a final word.

‘I could pretend to be noble about it, and wish you all the luck with this place, but I can’t and I won’t. I can only hope Pemberley Theatre is as accursed for you as it has been for me. Goodbye, Lady Catherine. I hope you’ve finally got everything you wanted.’ And with that he turned on his heel, seated himself resolutely in the car and drove off.

The much-delayed premiere of the film ‘The Framed Rose’ finally took place yesterday among a noticeably muted audience. There were no flashing light bulbs, no red carpet and no heavily made-up women in incredibly short dresses.

No, this unveiling was an entirely sombre affair, given the tragic circumstances surrounding one of its lead actors, Fitzwilliam Darcy. The premiere was notable merely for the lack of attendance; perhaps predictably, there was no Elizabeth Bennet, and Robert Fitzwilliam, Darcy’s cousin, also stayed away. The only surprise appearance was that of the director of the film, Harry Kilton. He by no means looked well, appearing gaunt and tired; it seems his break up with long-term girlfriend Marcie Cross, as well as the strain of filming, has taken its toll on him.

Some have questioned the appropriateness of releasing the film so soon after the decisive verdict from the coroner. But at least the verdict has put to rest some ghosts, nearly a whole year after his death, only to reveal what most of us have suspected all along. The conspiracy theories, the tall tales, all must now be put away in favour of the verdict that it was, after all, suicide.

Given the witnesses’ statements that the car had not slowed down, the lack of skid marks on the road, the position of the driver, his obvious lack of attempt at an escape indicated by the fact that he still wore his seatbelt, and his sister’s own tearful admittance of Darcy’s little-known battle with depression, the overwhelming evidence must and have led to the conclusion that Fitzwilliam Darcy did drive off that bridge deliberately; he did take his own life.

As for the film itself, it has taken a macabre, an almost urban-legend-like notoriety. That is a shame, for it has been declared by many a critic to be a masterpiece. The chemistry between the leads is alive, the costumes sumptuous and the story wholly engrossing.

But one feels the film will be seen for entirely different reasons, and by an entirely different audience: those wishing to catch the last glimpses of a magnificent actor and perhaps marvel at how the heartbreaking story of doomed lovers Celia and Rupert has come to mirror so completely the equally heartbreaking story of Fitzwilliam Darcy and the woman he by all accounts loved, Elizabeth Bennet.’

Years later, when Heidi Marchant took it upon herself to write the autobiography of the oft-lamented and dearly missed Fitzwilliam Darcy, she thought it best to update the stories of the main characters in his tragically short life.

Her work inevitably became a best seller; how sad that even after Darcy’s death, his life or at least the contents of it were still at mercy of others. For Heidi took liberties; she had to, however impressed she may have been by him; she had, after all, met him only once.

She wrote in a style emotionally draining for the reader, straining every incident and maximizing the anxiety. Regarding his death, ‘It is rather cruelly ironic that at the very point Georgiana Darcy and others were working to save his career, Darcy was ending his life, plunging into the cold darkness, and finally embracing the demons that had for so long haunted his every waking hour…’

Heidi’s updates included paragraphs on Collins, Wickham, Georgiana and Lady Catherine. The only other person she included at any length was Lizzy.

Of Mr Collins she stated that it turned out he was not too broken-hearted by Lizzy’s breaking off their engagement. Within a few months he was engaged again, this time to the daughter of the manager of the hotel where he had stayed, Lucas Lodge. His new fiancée, Charlotte Lucas, was said to be a well-meaning though simple girl and Collins found that suited him just fine. He was tired of clever, witty women; they gave him concussions and made his nose bleed.

As for Wickham, it comforted many a reader to know that he got perhaps exactly what he deserved. Heidi revealed that if one traveled to the small town of Aldhulme, in the northeast of Manchester, and took pains to eat at one of the fast food restaurants there, one may be, should we say, lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the roguish George Wickham. His ill-gotten gains had not served him well; the money was soon gone. But look closely enough, peer with an intense scrutiny at the man dressed in the giant chicken suit outside the restaurant and you may perhaps recognize the eyes staring back at you. And yes, it is our much hated snake, Wickham.

Poor Georgiana; in the year she realized her whole family dynamic was nothing more than a lie, she had to deal with the death of a brother she loved as dearly as life itself. She came to rely heavily on her cousin, Robert Fitzwilliam. They married, but it was by no means the healthiest of unions considering Georgiana’s utter emotional dependence on her husband.

Lady Catherine had at last what she had fought so bitterly with her nephew to obtain. But divine justice has a way of working its spell. She may have had a head for finances and all things monetary, but she had no passion for the theatre, and Pemberley soon suffered from the lack of soul Darcy had breathed into the place. Within a few years, she would be forced to sell up and declare herself bankrupt.

And Carmen Rosetta, well, what can life teach a Diva heartless enough to give up a child without a second thought, and suddenly make her reappearance purely for selfish gain? Apparently nothing; she went on to have an illustrious career, charming and bewitching the multitude of admirers with her heavenly voice as she went.

Elizabeth Bennet never acted, nor did she ever fall in love again. She chose to devote the rest of her life abroad, on rebuilding projects around the world helping people affected by war and strife. A noble undertaking but with an ignoble incentive as Lizzy became living testament to the belief that the way to overcome heartache of ones own problems is to surround yourself with people who have bigger ones.

The latter half of Heidi’s book was devoted to the short-lived love affair between Darcy and Lizzy. To her credit, she wrote with a tenderness that showed even she was capable of emotion.

Before taking his final tragic, decisive steps Darcy had apparently written a lengthy letter to Lizzy, and it was after much petitioning and begging that Heidi finally got Lizzy to allow her to quote some paragraphs of it in her book. It is fitting then that she concluded the autobiography in Darcy’s own tender words to the woman he loved.

I never realized how true it was, that you can know someone for all your life and never truly know them. Or in our case, film with them a year and never truly know them. We made love on screen, Lizzy, and yet we never knew each other, not really.

But I have since realized it doesn’t take a year or even a lifetime, it takes a moment. A moment of true intimacy, of knowing and loving so completely that even if it lasts for mere seconds, it is a feeling, an attachment that will suffice for a lifetime.

I have known such a moment, and it was with you, in a kiss in the corridor of a hotel, outside your room, where I told you that my feelings for you would never change...and they never will.

I want to thank you, Elizabeth Bennet, for making me one of those rare, fortunate human beings on this earth that has known and shared sentiment which will last forever, a lifetime.

‘Nobody does the right thing…’
Whether you choose to condemn Darcy for his cowardice or commend him for finally having the courage to let it all go, the above missive is perhaps a lesson of life. And perhaps the reason why nearly all the characters in this story deserve to be miserable.

Forgive me, I never plan beyond the first line of any story, choosing to play it by ear instead, consequently Darcy’s survival was always going to be a matter of how I felt on the day, and this day was a particularly low point.
There are no such things as happy endings; at least I have not known any to draw experience from or to write well from. But I do feel Director’s Cut could not have finished any other way. Though I offer my apologies for killing off one of the most beloved men of 19th Century literature, men like Darcy with a soul as generous and a heart as feeling, never truly belong to this world of constant demands and disappointments.

Now, as this author’s note threatens to be as long as the story itself, it only leaves for me to add my profuse thanks to Sandy Williams whose hard work has been as unstinting as it is beyond thanks.
And a final word of thanks to those who have taken the time to follow the story, I hope you’re not too disappointed.
Lots of love as always, Claire Hart.