Chapter 5 #2
Their production moved swiftly into Edmund’s plot against Lear, and Darcy was impressed by Georgiana’s portrayal of the villain. Gone was his shy sister; in her place he found a swaggering, smooth-voiced swain that reminded him sharply of Wickham.
He caught his breath as their audience applauded, and he realised he had nearly missed his cue to re-enter as the disguised but loyal Kent, who offered himself as a good-hearted stranger in service to Lear.
Now came a most diverting part of the scene: Elizabeth re-emerged with the burlap clasped over her shoulder to portray the Fool.
On her head, she wore Darcy’s beaver hat, tipped rakishly to one side.
“Here’s my coxcomb!” she crowed, reaching to place the beaver atop Darcy’s own head, and proceeded to tease Darcy’s character Kent, then Miss Lydia as Lear, wishing aloud that she had two coxcombs for two such fools to wear—one for Kent for following the foolish king, the other for King Lear himself for his folly in banishing his most faithful child.
Her antics made their audience laugh and clap.
Darcy, unused to being portrayed as the target of a sharp-tongued critic before his own servants, struggled for a moment to remain in character.
He was saved from his ordeal when Miss Bennet entered as Goneril and immediately launched into her complaints about her father Lear’s unruly knights and her desire to rid her household of them.
As she went on and on, Darcy was diverted to discover that Miss Bennet’s peevish portrayal reminded him of her mother—and in one line, she even evoked the tones of Miss Bingley!
He had never imagined the serene Jane Bennet able to imitate the bearing of two such difficult women so convincingly.
His eyes darted conspiratorially to Bingley, who was waiting on the edge of the room and obviously fighting his own amusement.
Darcy barely held in his chuckles as Bingley ducked his head into his hands in a vain attempt to hide his laughter.
Finally, Miss Bennet’s Goneril made her exit after expelling King Lear and all his retinue from her castle.
Lear was to go next into the household of his third daughter, Regan, portrayed by the long-suffering Miss Mary.
Soon Georgiana emerged again as the slimy Edmund, whose devious plot sparked open war between King Lear’s daughters’ houses.
When Miss Lydia, wrapped in the rough-spun burlap as King Lear, went into the wilderness in a fit of madness and raged and cursed the invisible storm with shaking fists and stomping feet, her sisters suppressed squeaks of laughter from the shadows.
Inspired by the ladies’ dedication to this spectacle, Darcy’s commitment to his own stagecraft reciprocally grew.
By the time the final scene involving himself in the role of Lear’s loyal advisor, Kent, commenced, he faced the tragedy of Cordelia’s dead body—Miss Elizabeth, lying entirely limp on the floor—and the swooning demise of Lear that almost sent Miss Lydia careening into a table leg, with convincing despair.
Drawing from their intensity, he struck a fist against his own chest, choking out the lines, “Break, heart, I prithee, break!”
At last, Georgiana, who now bore the gentle demeanour of the loyal-hearted Edgar, delivered the play’s final sorrowful line and ushered Darcy’s character, Kent, out of the door.
Their audience came to their feet, clapping and cheering, and the actors returned to the centre of the library to make their bows and curtseys.
At the edge of the room, the great standing clock tolled the hour—it was midnight.
“My thanks to you all,” said Darcy, first to his servants, then, gazing warmly at his sister, his friend, and his guests, he added, “for your roles in creating and witnessing these scenes from King Lear. It has been a memorable entertainment I shall recall fondly for the rest of my days, and quite a diverting way to end our Christmas Eve vigil. May each of you find peaceful rest tonight and happiness on Christmas morn.”
Darcy bowed again, and his servants, efficient as always, darted off to their duties, restoring order to the library by taking up the discarded props and costumes.
Although the magic spell of their performance had already begun to fade, Bingley’s smile still conveyed enchantment and delight as he shook hands with the younger ladies and congratulated them on their excellent acting.
He then winked at Miss Bennet as he not only shook her hand but kissed it too.
Her bright blush immediately reminded Darcy of the way her sister’s cheeks had glowed in the very first act when he had knelt before her, and he now consciously sought out Elizabeth’s face.
She was standing a little to the side of her younger sisters and still wearing the white-worked dress for Cordelia that belonged to Georgiana.
Darcy knew she would need to go above stairs soon to change and return the gown, and the oppression of time bearing down upon him drove him to seek one last opportunity to speak to her before his guests scattered to the winds of the night, each off to their own beds.
But blast Bingley and his unwavering joviality! Having completed his praise of all the other ladies for their clever portrayals, he was now approaching Elizabeth.
“Miss Elizabeth! I would be remiss not to compliment you on your bravery in the role of fair Cordelia. Only you could convey the courage of her decision to bring her own army to Britain to defend her father, then to uphold her convictions in the next scene as a captive of war. I found myself quite envious, really, and I hope to borrow some of your fortitude tomorrow when my sisters arrive to dine with us for Christmas.”
To her credit, Miss Elizabeth’s grin diminished only slightly at the reminder. “Would that we all had the courage of Cordelia,” she agreed. “Thank you, Mr Bingley, for playing your own roles so well.” She paused then, and her gaze came to rest on Darcy as he moved closer. “And you too, Mr Darcy.”
Bingley clapped Darcy on the back. “Indeed! Darcy, I say, I had no idea you had anything of the theatrical in your nature. You quite surprised me tonight.”
“I hope the surprise, at least, was pleasant,” Darcy offered, shifting from foot to foot and rather wishing Bingley would save his compliments for his angel and let Darcy get on with talking to Elizabeth.
Bright hope lit in his chest when Miss Bennet suddenly approached their group, but it extinguished as soon as she addressed her sister rather than Bingley.
“Dear me, it is growing so late,” she said, giving a rueful smile. “I think the ladies are all ready to retire. Lizzy, would you like me to accompany you and help you with that beautiful gown? It was so kind of Miss Darcy to lend it for our performance.”
When Miss Bennet slipped her arm into her sister’s and bid the gentlemen goodnight, Darcy risked one last glance at Elizabeth before sweeping into a bow. When he rose up from it, both ladies had already gone.