Chapter 5
PLAYFUL
“Let us adjourn to the library,” suggested Darcy, “so we may consult my shelves for a suitable work. That room might also be an advantageous place to stage your performance, for there are two sets of doors for actors to enter and exit each scene.”
It just so happened that Darcy had two copies of King Lear, which he recommended to them. That fortunate abundance made the play a practical choice for the actors, who could source their lines more easily from dual scripts whilst performing.
“We do not have enough gentlemen to perform these roles,” complained Miss Mary, looking over the list of characters on the first page.
“But we do have ladies aplenty, I suppose, to portray the three daughters of the king. I am not myself against playing a gentleman, a messenger, or a diplomat, but who will be our King Lear?”
Miss Catherine sniffed and made a sweeping gesture to the sister standing next to her. “As if anyone else but Lydia could play King Lear! She is the only one of us wild enough to pretend to go mad!”
“Go mad?” repeated Miss Lydia. “I can pretend to be a madman? Oh, that sounds like such a lark!”
With Miss Lydia settled as the lead, the rest of the cast began to form.
Bingley and Darcy delighted the ladies by volunteering their services.
Miss Elizabeth suggested that they play against each other as romantic rivals, with Mr Darcy as the King of France and Mr Bingley as the Duke of Burgundy.
The gentlemen also agreed to portray the opposing roles of the Earls of Kent and Gloucester respectively.
Then Miss Bennet was assigned the part of Lear’s eldest daughter, Goneril, with Elizabeth fittingly in the character of his sharp-tongued but loyal youngest daughter, Cordelia.
Miss Mary took the role of Lear’s middle daughter, Regan, and divided with Miss Catherine those of a few secondary characters.
Georgiana, declaring herself tall enough to wear a man’s coat, offered to play both of Gloucester’s sons—his loyal heir, Edgar, and his scheming natural son, Edmund.
After consideration, Elizabeth also chose to take the part of the Fool, whose sly commentary relied on a clever wit. Darcy could only approve.
Mrs Annesley, however, found a comfortable chair and declared herself content to be their audience.
At Elizabeth’s suggestion, the players agreed to abridge the script to a selection of a few key scenes. Darcy watched his sister glance over those passages thoughtfully and engage Miss Elizabeth in a discussion about potential props and costumes.
“You ladies may consider any part of my wardrobe at your disposal to portray the gentlemen, of course,” offered Darcy.
“And mine!” put in Bingley helpfully. “Anything I have brought with me, that is.”
Georgiana’s voice rang out with her own offer of her wardrobe, and Darcy obligingly drew aside a footman to convey the arrangements to his valet, Roberts, to have some waistcoats, jackets, and coats taken to Miss Darcy’s rooms for the ladies to pilfer.
As soon as his sister whisked her eager friends away to her apartments, Darcy went up the stairs to look for his own costume.
He found something suitable easily enough—the most decorative waistcoat he owned, with a stunning velvet tailcoat, which his harried valet paired with a more elaborately tied neckcloth.
When he returned, he found Bingley, likewise attired in his most elegant full dress, hacking away at a sheaf of some heavy-pressed paper with a penknife.
“Bingley, what on earth—?”
“I am fashioning crowns for you and for Lear to wear, of course,” Bingley replied amiably, holding up a strip made jagged by his attempts. At Darcy’s grimace, Bingley motioned to surrender his project. “Here, Darcy! Perhaps you might do better.”
Darcy bent himself to the task with rather more success, fashioning something recognisable as royal regalia.
He whittled away at the paper crowns steadily until Miss Elizabeth returned to the library.
She was wearing a demure white-worked gown of his sister’s that made her look as innocent as an angel.
To Darcy’s delighted gaze, she wore her hair half-down, restrained only with a jewelled comb that had once belonged to his mother.
He had to hastily pause before he cut himself.
She looked utterly enchanting, and her shy smile in response to his stare sent his heart racing.
Behind her entered his valet, who produced a length of sackcloth that must have been purloined from the pantry.
“With your permission, miss,” said Roberts, bowing with a flourish, “I had thought you might place this across your shoulders when portraying the Fool. I have procured another length of the material for Lear to wear as a cloak in his scenes of madness.”
Elizabeth’s smile widened as she thanked Darcy’s manservant. “You do know the play well, sir. That is very clever.”
At her compliment, Roberts’s ears turned pink, and he hastened to lay the rough cloth across the heavy Jacobean table at the farthest end of the library before bowing with a smile and rushing off to seek another piece of disguise for their play.
A moment later, Mrs Gaines appeared, looking bewildered but victorious with some footmen bearing sundry items that she said Miss Darcy had indicated would be useful: three wooden canes to mimic swords, a dark opera cloak, and some lengths of rope and cord.
Darcy smiled to see their enthusiasm. The scheme for their play was clearly amusing to more than only his houseguests.
As their cast of characters all finally re-emerged and gathered in the library wearing their costumes, Darcy was struck by an idea.
“We need more than the obliging Mrs Annesley as an audience,” he said, nodding to his sister and her kind-hearted companion. “What think you of entertaining our servants, Georgiana?”
His sister’s face broke into a wide grin, and she turned to issue the invitation to their abashed housekeeper with persuasive fervour.
In not many minutes, the footmen had set out chairs in rows, and Darcy’s and Bingley’s valets both took seats with delighted smiles.
Mrs Gaines finally relented and sat as well.
The footmen also settled themselves, with Mr Hainsbrook claiming a comfortable chair behind them.
A few chambermaids entered the library too, blushing and fidgeting but clearly eager to witness the unorthodox performance.
Elizabeth called to the company of actors for their attention, and after some brief whispered direction, they began the first scene introducing King Lear and his desire to divide his kingdom between his three daughters.
Darcy thought Elizabeth portrayed Cordelia with great pathos, illustrating Lear’s unfair treatment of Cordelia’s honesty with a show of hand-wringing resignation and dignity, even as the old king cruelly stripped his daughter of her dowry.
Darcy did his best in the role of the royal advisor Kent to defend her, an effort that ended in his character’s banishment by the irate king.
When Darcy re-entered their stage wearing his paper crown for his other role as the King of France, he poured more conviction into his acting than he perhaps intended. He showed shock when the Duke of Burgundy—played by Bingley—refused Cordelia’s hand.
With great gentleness, Darcy extended his own hand to take Miss Elizabeth’s.
He recited his lines earnestly—lines he remembered well, having contemplated them in his youth—gazing all the while at Elizabeth, who looked surprised as Darcy drew her closer, turning at the last moment to offer her hand once again to Burgundy.
My lord of Burgundy,
What say you to the lady? Love’s not love
When it is mingled with regards that stand
Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her?
She is herself a dowry.
It is true, Darcy thought. Like Cordelia, Elizabeth is worth more than any fortune—or lack thereof. Distantly, he heard Bingley, in a droll voice for Burgundy, once again reject Cordelia’s hand.
Then Darcy stepped forwards, looking towards Miss Lydia, who stood apart coldly as King Lear.
He squeezed Elizabeth’s hand in his own, and knowing his character’s decision, lowered himself to one knee before her.
It delighted him to see that in response to this most unexpected gesture, Elizabeth was suddenly blushing.
Blushing! Darcy strove for calm as he spoke the next lines:
Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;
Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised!
Thee and thy virtues here seize upon:
Be it lawful I take up what’s cast away.
Gods, gods! ’tis strange that from their cold’st neglect
My love should kindle to inflamed respect.
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:
Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy
Can buy this unprized precious maid of me.
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:
Thou losest here, a better where to find.
Miss Lydia’s mouth was hanging open in surprise, but she roused herself, glanced down at the script, and recited King Lear’s consent:
Thou hast her, France: let her be thine; for we
Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see
That face of hers again. Therefore be gone
Without our grace, our love, our benison.
Come, noble Burgundy.
Miss Lydia exited the stage area in a regal huff, with Bingley as Burgundy following dutifully in her wake.
Darcy rose and smiled at Miss Elizabeth more warmly than he usually dared.
Carefully, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and placed his own hand warmly upon it.
She gazed at him as if a little dazed as he bade her, his ‘fair Cordelia’, to take leave of her sisters before leading her off towards their exit.
They closed the scene to the sound of cheers and clapping from both his houseguests and his household.