11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
W ith her aunt and uncle and Jane, Elizabeth arrived at the theatre and to the waiting forms of Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley.
The crowd was loud as the audience poured in, all craning their necks to view the new structure and its interior. Not quite as ornate as the previous, third theatre, the fourth one was elegant and tastefully adorned.
Mr Darcy was by her side as they ascended the first flight of white marble stairs. “Has this new theatre been blessed with the good opinion of Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Or will it be merely adequate?”
She slid her arm through his with a smile as they turned the corner to the next flight of stairs. Unless Elizabeth was mistaken, she thought several heads snapped in their direction, and they left a wake of startled, hushed whispers behind them.
“You make me sound like quite the ogre, sir.”
“Nothing so unbecoming. Your opinions are well-reasoned and not easily impressed. Therefore, it is safe to assume that when you approve, it is well-earned.”
“If that is the case and you cannot feel at ease until I give a verdict, I approve. It is not as grand as the former theatre, but it suits the purpose. Though I am recalling the previous theatre through the more easily awestruck memories of a young lady of sixteen.”
“Somehow, it is difficult to imagine you as impressionable, even as a younger lady.”
“I have my moments when I am too easily swayed,” Elizabeth admitted, thinking with some uneasiness on how willingly she believed and retold lies that George Wickham had told her.
As the party moved into the theatre box, she was surprised that her aunt and uncle had somehow connived to place both Jane and herself next to Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy.
Elizabeth, feeling embarrassed, turned to her aunt and enquired if she desired her seat.
“I think all of us are seated remarkably well, Lizzy.” Her aunt leaned forward, closer to her ear. “From what I have witnessed, I do not think you object too strongly to your companion.”
Elizabeth saw the twinkle in her aunt’s eye and was mortified by the reminder that she had done a poor job of keeping her feelings hidden.
“If we are seated as you wish, then I am satisfied as well.”
As the lights dimmed, Elizabeth’s cheek and skin closest to Mr Darcy felt radiant with nervousness. The curtain rose on the stage, and the singing and dancing began. The Drury was one of the few subscription theatres permitted to show dramatic plays, but they occasionally had showings of pantomimes and operas as well. This seemed an ideal way to allow the public to glimpse the theatre before the first serious drama.
The audience laughed at all of the correct moments as the players pranced about on the stage in colourful harlequin costumes, enacting some ridiculous scenario of love-making and confusion. But Elizabeth could hardly attend, for her thoughts could not pull away from the form of Mr Darcy, so close to her own, in the dark.
She gasped lightly as she felt her hand being softly lifted and placed into his. He kept his focus forward, but a clenching of his jaw showed how powerfully he was swayed by the contact, even through gloves.
Over the sound of her own heart in her ears, the singing upon the stage finally broke through. One voice in particular was stirring, unusual, and oddly familiar. Elizabeth sat up straighter and clasped Mr Darcy’s hand tightly.
He leaned in, whispering, “Are you well? Do you require a breath of air? I can escort you out.”
Elizabeth shook her head, silent for a few moments as the made-up performers went on to their next song. The white on their faces and red rouged spots suddenly struck Elizabeth as garish and menacing. She narrowed her eyes on one performer. The toss of her head, the curling up of her brows at the end of each forced laugh, a stomp of her foot.
“It is Lydia!” Elizabeth whispered.
After claiming to need a breath of air, Elizabeth received her aunt’s nod of assent for Mr Darcy to escort her out of the theatre box. Once they descended to the now-quiet lobby, Elizabeth turned to him, her brows compressed in worried confusion.
“I do not think I am mistaken! But how can this be? She is supposed to be in Brighton, but I cannot be wrong. That player had all her mannerisms, and that voice! No, I must be correct, but how could she be here? I must write at once to Longbourn and ask if Lydia is still in Brighton. And to Colonel Forster! She was to be the particular guest of his wife!”
Elizabeth paused to catch her breath and covered her face with her hands, shaking her head.
Pulling Elizabeth gently behind a column so that they would not be overheard by a passing usher, Mr Darcy murmured, “I believe you. Colonel Forster’s militia is in Brighton? And your youngest sister was to be visiting there as well?”
Elizabeth could only nod. Mr Darcy pressed his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again.
“Yes, you must write to both Brighton and Longbourn at once. But only enquire about your sister’s well-being. You must not give rise to concern on the chance that this is a case of mistaken identity. Until we have more facts, we must not cause panic. If she is well and good in either location, then people will believe that you are merely misinformed and lost track of her during your own changed travel schedule.”
Elizabeth nodded. “But how am I to send the letters without raising questions from my aunt and uncle?”
Mr Darcy glanced around, then summoned the passing theatre manager. It was the matter of a moment to gain an office, paper, pen. Elizabeth wrote quickly, one letter to Longbourn generally asking about Lydia’s plans and another to Brighton. The one to Brighton would be sent express. The one to Longbourn would be delivered in the regular post so as not to give rise to alarm.
“I will take these at once to be posted. It is not yet eight o’clock, so we will catch the last post for the Longbourn letter. As for the Brighton letter, it cannot be helped that they will be puzzled by the expense of an express letter, but it would be unwise to lose even an hour. I think we can expect replies tomorrow.”
Elizabeth nodded and took one of his hands in both of hers. “Thank you.”
Mr Darcy clasped her hands in both of his and nodded, his eyes serious and determined. “It pains me deeply to see you so unsettled. If it was indeed Lydia, I will do all in my power to help you and your family.”
Mr Darcy returned her to the door of the theatre box before he went to deliver the letters. There were a few whispered enquiries about his whereabouts that Elizabeth answered with a vague reply of urgent business correspondence.
The intermission was but a few moments after she had returned to her seat.
“Jane, did you not note that one harlequin? She strongly resembles someone. I cannot quite put my finger on it.”
“The one with the orange ruffle around her throat? What a lovely voice!”
“Yes. She reminds me of Lydia, just for a moment, when the light truly illuminated her face.”
“Really? I suppose so. Yes. I can see what you are speaking of. It was a strong resemblance.”
“It is a shame she is not here to witness it for herself!”
“Perhaps. But I think Lydia is having such fun in Brighton, I do not think she would want to exchange it even for the opening of a new theatre in London.”
“Have you had a recent letter from her?” Elizabeth asked, attempting to keep a tremor from her voice.
“No, but you know she is a poor correspondent at the best of times.”
“Indeed.”
Elizabeth assumed that Jane had heard nothing of Lydia leaving Brighton and could only return to the box after the intermission with quiet resolve. Mr Darcy soon joined them, returning to his previous seat next to Elizabeth. When she glanced his way, he gave a slight inclination of his head.
But Elizabeth was too nervous to enjoy the rest of the performance. Her thoughts and gaze returned endlessly to the one player with the orange ruffle, heavily rouged cheeks, flared skirt, entrancing voice, and outrageous laugh.