Chapter 23 #2
“I fear so, but I do not know it. I must try to persuade her out of this foolish course, even if I fail. Yes, I must at least try…”
Disheartened, she trailed off. At the thought of the confrontation ahead, Elizabeth’s legs felt slightly shaky and her mouth ran dry.
“I shall be with you,” Mr Darcy said, leaning forward in such a way that for a moment, Elizabeth imagined he might lay a hand on her arm.
He was, however, only leaning forward to get a better view from the window as they pulled up outside the Hyperion Theatre.
The establishment’s name was freshly painted in bright colours above its entrance doors, and two large posters proclaimed that a show called My Favourite Girl would soon be opening to the public, featuring Mrs Hermione Rogers and Mr Jake Sullivan.
Elizabeth shuddered as she looked upon the poster, imagining Lydia’s name and image emblazoned there too, although likely she would only be among the unnamed “chorus girls of the Famous Hyperion Revue”.
Mr Darcy stepped out into the street and straightened his hat before helping Elizabeth down from the carriage and offering her his arm. Today, she took it without any hesitation, entirely glad to have him at her side as she entered this strange new world and confronted its unknown denizens.
She was even glad of his proud bearing and the saturnine expression on his handsome face as they approached the theatre doors, making the single doorman fall back deferentially without challenging them.
Mr Darcy of Pemberley was not a man to be quarrelled with lightly, and today he was on Elizabeth’s side.
Inside the theatre lobby, a single weary-looking young woman was in the unlocked box office, counting out tickets and placing them in already addressed envelopes.
“We have come to speak with Miss Lydia Bennet,” Mr Darcy announced in a tone that was civil but demanding. “Where will we find her?”
The young woman rolled her eyes slightly at this interruption but seemed unsurprised. Elizabeth supposed that her father and Colonel Forster must have made many such calls since Lydia ran away, perhaps even Mrs Forster.
“Why does everyone want to speak with Lydia Bennet, I’d like to know,” she muttered, but jerked her head to the left, where a sign pointed towards the auditorium. “They are rehearsing.”
With a nod of thanks, Mr Darcy led them in the direction indicated, following the sound of singing.
Pushing open another set of doors, they found themselves in a purple and gold-painted auditorium that seemed large, empty, and rather gaudy in the mingled sunshine from several windows and the candlelight reflected by multiple mirrors at the sides of the stage.
“I’m a nice girl, Mr Thomas. I promise you so,” sang the chorus of young women in colourful dresses, waving parasols and moving in unison back and forth on the boards in time to the playing of a pianoforte at the back of the stage. “I’m a good girl. Really, please don’t tell me to go…”
The sight of Lydia among the others, singing along merrily to these cheap and tawdry lyrics, threw Elizabeth into a state of abject humiliation.
She almost regretted Mr Darcy being there as witness to such indignity, regardless of the comfort he provided.
What must he be thinking of her and the Bennet family now?
“It’s not quite The Magic Flute, is it?” Mr Darcy whispered to her, and looking up at him, Elizabeth saw a flicker of humour in his otherwise serious countenance, only brief but so clear that she wondered how many times she might have missed it before.
Reassured by this small jest, she shook her head with a small smile.
“Mozart this is not,” she agreed, and then pointed towards the far left of the chorus line. “There is Lydia, in the pink dress at the end.”
This gesture seemed to draw the attention of those on stage, and Elizabeth saw a few curious glances cast in their direction as they stood there halfway down the main aisle, before the stage.
Lydia was among them, and Elizabeth spotted certain recognition and then a deliberate turning up of her sister’s pretty little nose as she continued her routine without a pause.
“Mr Thomas, you must promise me that!” finished the chorus girls, striking poses with their parasols and batting their eyelashes madly at an imagined audience.
A man in shirtsleeves at the side of the stage who had been watching this scene intently now stood up straight and clapped his hands.
“Mr Michelson says to take a short break, ladies,” announced the apparent director.
“Five minutes, then we shall go through that number from the top again, but with more energy. Lulu, don’t try to sing the high notes, just skip them and concentrate on your dancing.
You might not have as strong a voice as the other girls, but you’ve a far better figure. ”
At this mingled praise and criticism, all the girls laughed, and some of them playfully struck out at the shirtsleeved man, who avoided their blows nimbly.
Beside him, and not taking part in this romping, a second man looked directly out at Elizabeth and Mr Darcy, his expression hard to read.
Perhaps the same age as Mr Darcy, he wore a waistcoat and cravat and carried himself with a different kind of authority to the director.
Was this Mr Michelson? What was his role here?
As Elizabeth tried to make sense of the group in front of her, she saw Lydia go to the side of the man in the waistcoat and whisper something in his ear. Whatever she had said, his face grew resolute, and he began to make his way down the steps towards them, Lydia remaining onstage.
“My name is Mr Michelson, and I am the owner of the Hyperion Theatre,” he introduced himself bluntly.
“It is one of the oldest theatres in Brighton, and my uncle wanted it to be the best in Brighton for comic shows, God rest his soul. I am equally determined. Lydia tells me you are her older sister, Miss Bennet.”
At this familiar way of talking of Lydia, both Elizabeth and Mr Darcy bristled.
Still, Mr Michelson seemed less intimated by Mr Darcy than the doorman had been, even when the visitor declined to shake the hand he offered.
Shorter than Mr Darcy, he was still stocky and strongly built, something in his appearance putting Elizabeth in mind of a guard dog.
“If you are truly set on the success of your theatre, surely taking in runaway girls from good families is hardly the way to burnish your reputation,” remarked Mr Darcy without any preamble. “You must not keep Miss Lydia Bennet here, away from her family.”
Mr Michelson seemed surprisingly unruffled by this harsh comment, extending his arms in a gesture of peaceable resignation.
“Well now, Mr Darcy of Pemberley, Lydia says that you are an important man. I do not doubt it, and I respect your opinion. But there are some things none of us can change, and one of them is a woman’s mind when she is set on something.
I can only tell you what Lydia has already told her father and the good Colonel Forster. She is not going home.”
“But she must,” Elizabeth protested, disoriented by this implacable but non-hostile wall of defence and struggling to assemble her thoughts. “Really, you must see, Mr Michelson, that this is no place for a young lady of good family.”
“Lydia says she is not going home, and neither you nor I, nor Colonel Forster’s whole regiment can make her. So, Miss Bennet, unless you propose to drag her out of here in chains, which would do no one any good —”
“Lydia Bennet is still a minor, Mr Michelson, and the law is on her family’s side,” Mr Darcy broke in.
“They could have you and half your establishment here up in court for kidnapping or worse. Are there not enough ambitious lower-class women in Brighton to fill your cast? Why give yourself this bother? If Miss Lydia has committed herself to any contract, that need not stand in the way. I will recompense you generously to let her go.”
Elizabeth was astonished to hear Mr Darcy offering money to secure Lydia’s removal. His moral support had been unexpected, his practical support had been a pleasant surprise, but this was beyond her reckoning. Why on earth should he do such a thing for her family?
“Bother?” repeated Mr Michelson with a little laugh, shaking his head.
“Oh, I’m very accustomed to bother of one sort or another in my profession, Mr Darcy.
Still, I must disappoint you. It is not up to me, as I have already said, or I’d be as happy to take your money as not.
Lydia is under no obligation to me or the Hyperion. ”
“I do not understand,” Mr Darcy continued, not minded to give up yet.
“It is simple, Mr Darcy. Lydia will not go. She walked in here one day, demanded an audition, and then refused to leave. Frankly, for what it is worth, she is also rather good and has real star quality.”
“Star quality or not…”
“May I just speak to my sister directly?” Elizabeth interrupted now. “Please? As you say, Mr Michelson, I can hardly drag her out in chains.”
“I shall ask her for you, but it will not do any good, I shouldn’t think,” sighed the theatre owner before walking back onto the stage.
“Do you really think it is true?” Darcy whispered while they were briefly alone again. “Miss Lydia is under no pressure from any of these people?”
Elizabeth nodded and hung her head slightly at what this must say of her sister’s character.
“From what I know of Lydia, it is all too likely to be true. Mr Michelson might easily be in the position he states, without influence on her behaviour.”
After a terse exchange on the stage, Lydia herself stomped down the aisle towards them a few moments later, followed by Mr Michelson. There she faced Elizabeth, hands on hips and expression brazen.