Posted on Tuesday, 15 December 1998
s Sir William Elliot stood in Smythe's bookshop near Bond Street, he stared out of the window with a scowl on his face. He was not pleased. He did not like bookshops. Had it not been for his daughter Anne's request for him to buy her a particular book as a going away present, he would have not been within ten yards of the place. Books are not important, he thought to himself. What do books matter compared to having a handsome face and social standing? He never understood his daughter's love of the written word, but he supposed that it was her way of compensating for her plain features. Other than this particular errand, Sir William considered himself a fortunate man. His middle daughter had just married a handsome sailor of some financial wealth. Although he wished for a different alliance for her, he was satisfied that she was off of his hands. He also had another to rest his hopes of raising his family connections. Elizabeth has the real beauty and grace in the family. She will make a very advantageous marriage, he comforted himself.
"I found it right here, Sir Walter," said Mr. Smythe, the shopkeeper, while carrying a book towards him. "You will enjoy it immensely. It is a travel guide of all of the ports on the Continent. It is the finest guide published."
"I will not be reading it," Sir Walter sniffed as he contemptuously took the book from the shopkeeper's hands. "My daughter will. She has just married a young navy captain and will be accompanying him on his next voyage. They are set to sail next week."
"Well, congratulations on her marriage," said the shopkeeper warmly.
"Yes," mumbled Sir Walter with a sigh while fishing through his pockets for some money. After finding a note and handing it to the shopkeeper, he took the book and groaned, "Well, I suppose I must now go outdoors into the street. I declare I have never seen so many plain women in my life. Most of them are dreadful looking. I believe I will never set my eyes on a handsome face as long as I am in London. How do you tolerate living in a city filled with so many ugly women?"
"Things are not that glum, are they?" asked a seductive female voice from behind.
Sir Walter whirled around and blushed slightly as he noticed the lady standing behind him, obviously amused by his assessment. The woman was tall and slender, possessing a delicately fair complexion, with grey eyes framed by dark eyelashes. She wore an elegant pink silk gown styled in the latest fashion. Her hair was tied with rosy pink ribbons that were intertwined with her dark hair. "I meant no disrespect…" he stammered. "I should have never said that had I seen you first," he added with a slight bow and tip of the hat. "But you must admit there are many very plain looking women here in London."
"Yes, I suppose," sighed the woman, "But you must concede that there are a great number of plain looking men as well."
Sir Walter gave a nod of his head and smiled.
"I can't tell you the last time I saw a really handsome face," continued the lady. "And the men here are so excessively stupid, it isn't quite the challenge it used to be to win favour with any of them…"
Sir Walter's smile faded. With a quick intake of air, he puffed out his chest. Imagine the nerve of this woman daring to insult me?
"Except you of course, sir…" she added after noting Sir Walter's change in demeanour. "You are the only truly handsome and intelligent man I've seen in quite a long time."
Though her words soothed his bruised ego, he was not sure of her sincerity. "Yes," Sir Walter grumbled stiffly. "Well, I dare say that compared to the masses of people here, I am the most handsome person in London."
"Excuse me," the lady interrupted, obviously irritated. "I am Lady Susan Vernon," she declared in a very haughty voice.
"And?"
"Obviously because you do not move in the first circles as I do, you do not know that I am the most handsome person in London and certainly more handsome than you. Everyone in society raves about my beauty," Lady Susan proclaimed, while smoothing her pink silk gown.
Sir Walter laughed loudly. "Ha! I am afraid that your friends have been deceiving you. You do not hold a candle to even Anne, and she is the plainest in my family."
"Sir, you would do well to hold your tongue. You are only showing your ignorance," Lady Susan snapped, her complexion growing as red as the ribbons in her hair. "It is obvious that you are as stupid as you are ugly!"
Enraged, Sir Walter lunged forward, reaching for Lady Susan's throat. Just before he reached it, he was yanked back by a large, strangely attired ruffian, who was bald and dressed head to toe in black with white stripes. "Just one minute, Sir Walter, this is not the place…"
Lady Susan took advantage of the stranger's interference by kicking Sir Walter in the shin.
"I said this is not the place," warned the ruffian sternly.
Lady Susan smiled and nodded demurely, managing to melt the intervenor's harsh features slightly. "I do apologize. It is obvious that you are a gentleman and therefore I will try to conduct myself as a lady ought," she cooed.
"That's better," the ruffian replied. "If the two of you continue in this fashion, you will destroy an innocent man's bookshop. It is better that you settle your disagreement in a Deathmatch."
"A Deathmatch?" both Lady Susan and Sir Walter gasped. "What is that?"
"Do not either of you watch MTV?" gasped Mr. Smythe.
"Why should I? They hardly show music videos anymore and The Real World: Seattle has ended their season," asked Lady Susan.
"Well at least they were better than the Miami group," stated Sir Walter.
After the whole group nodded their agreement, the ruffian began to explain. "In America, they love three things, baseball, apple pie, and wrestling…"
Mr. Smythe nodded his head eagerly, "Look, in America, a wrestler can rise to be governor of a state," he said while showing them the picture of Jesse "The Body" Ventura on the front page of the Washington Post. "Maybe even President someday."
"Heaven forbid," groaned Lady Susan while rolling her eyes. "His pink boa clashed with the hue of his eyes. If he really wanted to dress well, he should have opted for a green felt hat instead."
Sir Walter readily agreed. "He should have fired his valet long ago."
"Excuse me," interrupted the ruffian, "I don't believe we are on Joan Rivers's Fashion Review. I wanted to explain the rules. You two will meet five days from now in the arena to decide once and for all who is the most handsome person in Pemberley. The winner will wear the crown of 'Most Handsome' and the loser will have to sit next to Mr. Collins at all Austenian events for eternity."
Lady Susan and Sir Walter both shivered. "Isn't that being a bit cruel to Her Ladyship?" asked Sir Walter. "After all, she isn't that hideous."
"You get ahead of yourself," spat Lady Susan, her features turning crimson. "You assume I will lose, which I will not. I will never lose to a dullard such as yourself."
"Really? We'll see about that!" shouted Sir Walter. "In five days Madame, you will eat your words!"
Five days later, Sir Walter sat in his dressing room in the arena. As he sat admiring his reflection in the looking glass in front of him, Elizabeth fussed over his features and carefully applied the last dabs of powder to his hair.
"You are very handsome, Father," she reassured him while completing her task. "Your new blue coat is magnificent. Even Beau Brummell will be envious."
"Naturally," Sir Walter sniffed.
"But be cautious around Lady Susan," warned Lady Russell. "I have heard from Mrs. Vernon that she is not a woman to be trusted. She has seduced and bewitched many a man."
"My dear friend, you must be joking! That Lady bewitched men? Perhaps the sight of her horrendous fashions stunned them," Sir Walter scoffed.
Meanwhile, in the arena -- The crowd started to pile into their seats, eagerly awaiting the latest grudge match. It had been a long time since the crowd's appetite for ridicule had been satiated, so they were more eager than ever to see the match begin. The sound of Stan and Dan over the speaker system filtered in over the crowd, increasing the level of excitement.
"Welcome back Ladies and Gentlemen!" started Stan, already on a roll. "Here we are, back in the Austen arena for another Jane Austen Celebrity Deathmatch! As always, this contest is hosted by MTV, the station that used to show music videos but now only shows attractive, spoiled, twenty-something brats whining about their lot in life."
"Yes sireee," interrupted Dan, "but enough about our corporate sponsor and on to concentrating on the event at hand. Today's match pits two of Jane Austen's most vain characters against each other. In the pink corner, decked out in all pink silk and white lace is Lady Susan, widely considered Miss Austen's most evil character. And in the blue corner, sporting his new blue coat is Sir Walter Elliot, revered by many as Miss Austen's most arrogant and useless father. Not exactly an easy task considering his competition."
"Dan, today's match is to decide who is the most handsome person in Austenland," blurted Stan. "And to raise the stakes, the loser, should he or she survive, must sit next to Mr. Collins at all future events for all of eternity!"
"It's a safe bet that both competitors will come out swinging. Never has the prize been so great and the punishment so cruel," shuttered Dan. "Now let's go our ringside special correspondent, Mr. Blackwell to see how are celebrity crowd is feeling about the match. Take it away Mr. Blackwell!!!"
"Thank you Dan and Stan," said Mr. Blackwell. "As you know, I am the one fashion critic who has really outlived his fifteen minutes of fame by picking my choices for the ten worst dressed every year. Of course no one, including myself, understands why anyone listens to me, but thank goodness for slow news days! And speaking of worst dressed, there's Miss Pumpkin herself, Caroline Bingley, and the Hursts sitting in the stands, let's listen in on their conversation."
"I don't see why they are having this silly contest anyway," sniffed Caroline while settling in to her seat and smoothing out the wrinkles in her burnt orange gown. "Everyone knows that I am the most handsome person here."
"Yes, of course my dear," soothed Louisa, while trying to avoid being hit by one of the orange feathers in Caroline's hair. "But we haven't had a Deathmatch in so long, I believe they are desperate and will pick any two people to have one. Besides, it will also save you from having to sit next to that hideous Mr. Collins again."
"True, true," nodded Caroline. "Oh well, while we are here we might as well make good use of the time. I will make sure I keep my eyes open for any handsome, eligible men."
"Oh look, there are the Darcys," slurred an already drunken Mr. Hurst, half passed out in his seat.
"Thank you for pointing that out dear brother-in-law, but that wasn't who I was looking for," Caroline grumbled. "If it wasn't for Miss Eliza and her 'fine eyes,' I would be the Mistress of Pemberley."
"Now don't start sulking Caroline," admonished Louisa. "You'll get wrinkles."
"Thank you for reminding me, sister dear. I just wish they would hurry up and get on with it. I'm anxious to throw something at someone."
"But you forgot your tortillas!" cried Louisa. "What will you throw?"
"Why orange powder puffs, of course! After the contest is done, Lady Susan can use it to powder her large nose or Sir Walter can apply powder to the shiny spot on his bald head."
"You are too cruel!" giggled Louisa.
Mr. Blackwell rolled his eyes. "If there is anyone who shouldn't be talking about large noses, it's Duckface," he mumbled before spotting another celebrity. "Oh look, taking a seat is the famous Stud of Pemberley, Colonel Fitzwilliam! He looks resplendent in his red coat with his broad shoulders filling out the uniform nicely! Surrounding him is the usual bevy of beauties, led by Rachel. As expected, he brought his harem with him to London to watch this fight. Actually, I shouldn't say that he brought them, rather, they chased him here. While his number of rabid admirers has dropped a few in number, they still occupy at least one quarter of the arena."
As Colonel Fitzwilliam tried to settle into a seat, he groaned. The pushing, pulling, and pinching were beginning to get on his nerves. Instead, he grabbed the microphone away from Mr. Blackwell, who was standing nearby and made an announcement. "Please, no more pushing and shoving! I am here for a nice quiet Deathmatch. Once this match is over, I will again flee from your grasp. But I would beg that you would allow me this one time to watch a fight. It has been so very long since I've seen one, I am anxious to see a good bloodbath."
As the thousands of women looked among themselves and nodded, the Colonel took a ringside seat. Most of the women backed away from the Colonel, and while hovering nearby, they gave him his peace. All except for one. Seeing her chance, Rachel nestled up to the Colonel, wrapping her arm around his. "I love how you've taken care of the crowds. They were beginning to bother me. Now I can pretend it is just you and me," she cooed.
The Colonel sighed, but with slumped shoulders, he did not fight her. He knew any effort to get her off of his arm would have been futile. However, much to his relief, the match began. However, in his eagerness to see the match, the Colonel did not notice a dark figure looming in the background…
The crowd quickly came to hushed tones as the ruffian who had earlier stopped the fight in the bookstore climbed into the center of the ring and grabbed the microphone hanging from the ceiling. He looked down at his cue cards and began to shout, "IN THE BLUE CORNER, WEIGHING 14 STONES AND 7 POUNDS IS SIR WALTER ELLIOT!!!"
Sir Walter trotted towards the ring, waving his arms in the air at the crowd; followed by Lady Russell, Elizabeth, and Mary, who were eagerly jogged behind him. Lady Russell, Elizabeth, and Mary all wore satin blue jackets with the words "Gorgeous Walter Elliot" embroidered on them. As a precaution, Lady Russell carried her makeup case along with her while Elizabeth carried a needle and thread. Mary, too ill to carry anything of any value to her father, followed while waiving her handkerchief in the air.
The crowd generally reacted to the Elliot entourage with indifference, happy to be at a match but unconcerned about who was participating in the contest. However, there was a loud groan from one corner of the arena. A couple sat alone, as separated from the festivities as possible, wearing paper bags over their heads. Captain Wentworth and his new bride, Anne, had hoped to set sail before her father made a spectacle of himself, however the winds were not favourable that week and they were forced to wait another month. The ties of family duty had brought them to the arena, but they were desperately hoping to avoid being seen.
As Sir Walter entered the ring and began preening, the referee rolled his eyes. The referee cleared his throat and looked at the cue cards again. "IN THE PINK CORNER, WEIGHING…" Suddenly, he stopped and looked around nervously. An embarrassed rosy hue overtook his normally pasty features. Quickly, he let go of the microphone and dashed to the judges and began consulting with them. After a minute delay, he returned to the center of the ring and grabbed the microphone again. "IN THE PINK CORNER, WEIGHING 'NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS' IS LADY SUSAN VERNON!!!!"
Unfamiliar with Lady Susan, many onlookers scratched their heads. Mr. Collins, dismayed that he had not met the Lady, looked on with great curiosity. "My darling Charlotte, Lady Susan does look to be a very fine lady, though not as fine as the great Lady Catherine De Bourgh. I wonder if she has an estate as grand as Rosings. At Rosings, the fireplace in the second drawing room alone cost…"
"YES, I know how much the fireplace cost," snapped Charlotte. "You've told me AT LEAST five times a day since we've met. Had I known that you were so fond of quoting how much Her Ladyship's possessions cost, I would have burned down her house long ago."
"Really Charlotte, I am not that bad, am I?"
"YES, YOU ARE!!!" the entire arena answered in unison. "WE ALL KNOW THE FIREPLACE COST EIGHT HUNDRED POUNDS!!!"
As Mr. Collins shrank in his seat, the opponents in the ring eyed each other pensively. "LET'S GET READY TO RUUUUUMMMMMMBBBBBLLLLLLLEEEEE!" bellowed the referee. "Let's get it on!" he shouted before ducking out of the way.
Sir Walter, unsure of whether he should attack a lady, froze in his spot. Lady Susan took advantage of his momentary lapse by promptly messing up his neatly coifed hair. "Ha! Take that you brute!" crowed Lady Susan. As she ran her hands down the front of Sir Walter's blue coat, she gloated, "How careless of me, your powder that was on my hands is now all over your coat. What a pity! Now, your coat is ruined!"
Sir Walter looked down at his coat in horror. "You ugly wench!" he screamed. He dashed over to the side of the ring and grabbed a drink from one of the ringside judges and threw the drink in her face. "Oh how careless of me," he said mockingly. "I seemed to have spilled my drink all over you. Now your hair droops, your face paint is running, and your dress is ruined. What a shame! Now you look like a wet mole."
Lady Susan wiped the drink from her face. Her eyes squinted as she brought Sir Walter into her sights.
"Now the contest is really going to get good," Colonel Fitzwilliam said with glee from his ringside seat. "While that Elliot fellow might have a greater weight advantage, the Lady looks really furious. If he's not careful, she's going to really clobber him."
As Rachel looked up adoringly at the Colonel, she noticed a person in a black hooded cape who seemed to edge closer and closer to him. Though Rachel could not make out the face, the person's form possessed a haunting familiarity to it. Oh Rachel, you are just being paranoid, she thought to herself before returning her attention to the spectacle at hand.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, having gained experience gauging opponents across a chess or card table, had read Lady Susan correctly. The depths of her anger were more than Sir Walter could handle. When she jumped on his back and began tearing at his hair and clothes, there was little he could do other than run around the ring, bucking like a wild mustang, hoping to get Lady Susan to fall off.
"Father!" gasped both Elizabeth and Mary, before jumping into the ring and attempting to pull Lady Susan off of Sir Walter's back. Somehow, they managed to pry the Lady off of their father's back, but not without Lady Susan taking his wig with her, revealing Sir Walter's completely bald head.
As Sir Walter cried in pain, not from physical injury but from humiliation, Mary took over the fight for him. She delivered a right cross to Lady Susan's eye, sending Her Ladyship reeling.
"Now this is a contest!" exclaimed Colonel Fitzwilliam with glee. "Mrs. Charles Musgrove might claim she is always sick, but that one has some spunk. I'll bet she can go ten rounds with Lady Susan and have energy to spare!"
As the Colonel spoke, Rachel noticed that the figure in the dark cape was nestling up against him. As the figure sighed contentedly, Rachel noticed a UCLA Bruins earring poke out of underneath the cape. Suddenly, a flash of brilliance struck and she knew all about the stranger. Grabbing the hood of the cape, Rachel ripped it off in one quick motion. "CK!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" she gasped as the loss of the cape revealed CK dressed head to toe in UCLA Bearwear. "I hadn't heard from you in so long, I thought you had forgotten about us!"
"Shhhhhh." CK whispered, while snatching the cape back. "Don't tell anyone it is me."
"Why ever not?" asked Rachel.
"Because, I'm so behind in writing Past Prejudices Proven, I think there is a bounty on my head," came the reply.
Bewildered, Rachel continued her inquiry. "But why have you stayed away so long?"
"Unfortunately, I have been too busy with work," CK answered with a large frown. "I've been trying to write, but I rarely find the time. And trying to keep up with all of the wonderful stories that are being posted here every day has become increasingly difficult."
Rachel looked at CK suspiciously. "Is that the only reason you haven't been writing?"
"Okay, okay, you've got me," CK admitted sheepishly. "I became a little caught up in college football this season."
Rachel shook her head. "You should have known better. UCLA is a Basketball and Volleyball school, not Football."
"I know, I know," sighed CK. "But one can hope. Oh well, at least March Madness isn't that far away."
Because CK dropped her head in shame, she didn't see David Fitzwilliam rush up behind her. As he reached CK, he grabbed her wrist. "There you are! I have been searching for you everywhere! How could you leave me talking to a doll for the past four months? Everyone at the club thinks I've gone quite mad! Have you no compassion?! I have been stuck in my library, pouring my heart out to Mrs. Stanley after facing an outraged General Warner! No woman with dark hair sitting on my bed can clear up this mess! Now all I have to do is contemplate my planned betrayal of my wife all day long! I am in utter agony! How heartless are you?"
Upon David's revelation, the whole arena came to a stand still and leaned towards them, straining to hear any more tidbits of information. Even Mary Musgrove stopped punching and kicking Lady Susan long enough to hear the answer. The sudden hush that fell over the arena made David realize his blunder. "Ah, can we continue this conversation in private?" he asked CK after nervously looking about him. "There is more I wish to discuss with you."
CK nodded her assent. Quietly, she and David slipped out of the arena to finish the conversation.
As the arena began murmuring their theories to one another, Fitzwilliam Darcy made his way over to his cousin. "So what do you make of that Richard?" he asked.
"Your prejudice might still be proven right," answered Colonel Fitzwilliam with a frown. "My brother still has many secrets it seems. Still, it is a most baffling situation…"
"What is baffling to me," interrupted Rachel, prying the tęte-ŕ-tęte apart so she could stand between the two and wrap her arms around both of them, "is why this is a contest to see the who is the most handsome person in Austenland. Clearly the Colonel is the most handsome."
"Yes," shouted a contingent of ladies flocked around Colonel Brandon. "Colonel Brandon is the most handsome one here."
"Not so fast!" shouted Robyn. "My Mr. Knightley is more handsome than both of your Colonels."
"But not as handsome as John Willoughby!" Cassandra interrupted.
"No, no, no! Mr. Darcy is the most handsome!!!" screamed another group of women.
"Ladies, ladies!!!!" yelled Colonel Fitzwilliam over the increasingly surly crowd. "There is no need to fight. This contest of 'The Most Handsome' is only being fought among those of the older generation. This has no impact upon us."
"Ohhhhh," exclaimed the arena in unison. After a few nods and some quick apologies between groups, the crowd settled back into their seats.
As the Deathmatch resumed, Darcy sat near the Colonel, with Rachel between them. "By the way, where is your father Richard? It has been ages since I've seen the Earl."
"He should be here soon," answered Colonel Fitzwilliam while scanning the crowd. "He said he would be here."
Just then, another stir came over the crowd. The Earl of Matlock, father to Colonel Fitzwilliam, the Stud Muffin of Pemberley and David Fitzwilliam, Lord Wallingford made his way through the arena. "Darcy, what a pleasant surprise!" the Earl said cheerfully upon reaching his son and nephew's ringside seats. "How are you Richard? I hope all is well. And I do hope David is here. It has been a very long time since I have seen him."
Darcy smiled, "Uncle, it is so very good of you to come. This is turning out to be a very exciting match. It is to determine who is the most handsome."
As Darcy and the Earl continued to chat amiably, the Colonel's hair began to stand up on the back of his neck. He had run away from too many hoards of women not to know when the tide was shifting. "Father, I think you should leave," he whispered.
"What? Whatever can you mean?" the Earl replied. "Richard, all of that gallivanting around the world has made you paranoid!"
The Colonel was about to reply when he heard a squeal from the back. "Oooo. Isn't that the Earl of Matlock, the Colonel's father? Now we know where he gets his studly traits from!"
"Run Father Run!" urged the Colonel, while shoving his father away.
"He's cute! Girls, let's get him!!!!" came a battle cry.
The Earl face revealed his fear, as women from all over the arena began surging towards him.
"Run Father Run!!!" screamed the Colonel as his father dashed for the door, pursued by hundreds of women.
"Hey, not so fast! I want him too!" exclaimed Lady Susan, Elizabeth Elliot, and Mary Musgrove before jumping out of the ring and running after him.
Elizabeth Darcy, startled by this outburst, found her husband in the midst of all of the chaos. "Fitzwilliam, whatever can this mean?"
Darcy frowned at his wife. "I guess we know where the Stud Muffin genes come from, don't we dear?"
Post script - The Deathmatch, called for lack of competitors, was declared a tie. Both Lady Susan and Sir Walter Elliot were pronounced losers. As punishment (much to the delight of Mr. Collins, Charlotte, and Caroline Bingley), both losers were required to sit next to Mr. Collins at every Austenian meeting. Since the match, the Earl of Matlock has gone into seclusion, preferring to build a moat around his estate with his son.
Author's note:
I wish to dedicate this story to Tenby, my friend and dedicated supporter who has been incredibly patient with me during this long drought. Unfortunately, I took a new job in September and have been overwhelmed by work. I haven't had enough time to write as much as I'd like.