13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
S uch a difference one night could make! Elizabeth could hardly believe it was not yet a full day since she had begun to suspect that it was Lydia on the stage and not a professional actress. The whirl of activity to prepare for an unanticipated evening at the theatre, the getting of the tickets, and, looming like a mountain amongst molehills, the understanding between Darcy and herself.
It was no longer a solitary endeavour, with all of the affection and devotion listing completely to Darcy’s side. Her own heart balked at the thought of not spending the rest of her days with him. His determined, startling, passionate declarations had persuaded her stubborn heart to fall rapidly and deeply to Darcy’s unique enchantment.
But these pleasing thoughts had to be dismissed, else they would distract her from the formidable task at hand. Elizabeth was too shrewd to doubt that her sister would be childishly mulish. A lifetime of witnessing Lydia’s tantrums was enough to convince her that this would not be a pleasant way to pass the evening.
Colonel Fitzwilliam met them before they entered the theatre. He escorted Mrs Gardiner to their box, and they settled themselves reasonably well. It was early yet and the audience was just beginning to swell with people chattering eagerly as they peered around at the elegant decor of the compact, newly built theatre.
To play the part for any watching eyes, Elizabeth leaned over to Darcy and whispered to him and then her aunt. Elizabeth and Darcy rose, as Mrs Gardiner and the colonel remained. It seemed to be little more than a suitor escorting a lady outside for a moment of fresh air.
Darcy clasped Elizabeth’s hand just after they had entered the hall from the box. “Elizabeth, I must ask you again to consider remaining here. If there is a degree of danger, I could not go on knowing that you could have remained safely here with Mrs Gardiner and my cousin.”
Elizabeth glanced around and, seeing they were quite alone at this far end of the corridor, stepped up to Darcy and placed her palm against his cheek. He tilted his head, gently pressing into her hand. A small groan escaped him as he placed his hand over hers, keeping it against his face.
“Fitzwilliam, you should know this of me, whilst you still have the opportunity to cast off my claim over your heart and declare yourself a free man. Where I love, I do so with ferocity. Lydia is my sister. We are even somewhat alike. Both of us possess an independent mind and no small amount of fire in our character. I like to think my nature is more restrained and tempered, but not always. No consideration of propriety or promise of safety will prevent me from endeavouring to do all within my power to be of service to those I love.”
“I can think of worse faults in a life partner.”
With a mischievous smile, Elizabeth pulled her hand from his. “I will not tease you by demanding a list of what you consider to be the worst faults in a woman you hope to make your wife. I may be horrified by what you say. Come, time grows short. The curtain will be rising soon.”
They went down to the lobby and pressed through the entering throng and past the front doors of the theatre. Once outside and beyond the white columns, they darted down Catherine Street to the side of the building, making certain they were relatively unobserved. Fortunately, most patrons were craning their necks to take in the new building, glittering brightly in the closing twilight.
The stage door off the alley along the back lane was left unattended, and they slipped in. Elizabeth blinked at the bustle of activity that they encountered. The backstage of the theatre was a seething warren of scenery, muffled shouts, and harried scene-shifters. A few of the characters in the first act were just beginning to appear, muttering quietly as they reviewed the lines they were to speak.
Darcy clutched at the elbow of a passing lad. “There now, young man. My wife and I wish to meet the young lady who played the harlequin in the orange ruffle. She was quite taken by the performance last evening and wishes to speak to the actress before the curtain rises.”
The lad tugged his elbow roughly away. “You ’n’ every other bloke want to fluff her petticoats. Take off!”
Instead of taking offence, Darcy slid a few coins out of his pocket, a tidy sum to sway any theatre worker, and placed them in the lad’s suddenly outstretched hand. “Of course, you must be wary of the wrong sort of people wishing to bother the actors. I assure you, my wife and I are merely admirers of her voice, nothing more. I promise, you are not injuring the artist’s reputation.”
The young man nodded with alacrity and motioned them to follow. “I think your coins did more to alter his opinion than concern for the artist’s reputation,” Elizabeth whispered to Darcy.
“I find that crossing silver over the palm can transform almost anyone into a much more receptive frame of mind.”
They went down a narrow set of stairs, into a tight, humming corridor, and finally to the last door on the right of the long passage. Darcy gripped Elizabeth’s elbow tightly as the lad scurried off.
After a glance at each other, Darcy raised his hand to knock. Elizabeth forestalled him. “Let me. She may slam it shut in our faces if she opens the door and has time to consider.”
Darcy raised his brows in surprise and nodded. Elizabeth turned the handle and slipped in, Darcy following close behind. The tight room with no windows was packed to the brim with flowers, feathers, capes, and ruffles of every size and shape. Lydia sat in front of a mirror, already in full costume with most of her face covered in paint. Her cheek leaned on one palm, and she stared dully at her own reflection, forlorn and more shrunken in on herself than Elizabeth recalled ever having seen her before.
So altered was she in disposition that Elizabeth paused before venturing to say, “Lydia? Is that you?”
The girl whirled around, shocked and scared. “Lizzy?”
Elizabeth stood firm, her hands clasped before her. For a moment, she wondered if Lydia would grab the nearest vase or box of face powder and hurl it at her. But, she was wrong. For her youngest sister leapt up and rushed at her, flinging her arms around Elizabeth’s neck and sobbing into her shoulder.
“Lydia! My dear, what is the matter? Why are you here when everyone who loves you believes you to be in Brighton or at Longbourn!”
“Oh, Lizzy, I’ve never been happier to see a body in all my days! I thought we would be wed, but he brought me here to be onstage. And I loved it at first, but it is so much work! And when I am not on my mark, or miss an entrance because some fellow flirts with me in the wings, I am yelled at terribly. I miss Mama. I miss home. It was so jolly at first, but now it is all work and I hardly get to sleep, for he takes me all over town to meet dreadful old men and they all want to be my friend and I just want to go home!”
“Who? Who drags you about in this manner?”
“I thought he loved me! Wickham!”
She let loose another sob, before Elizabeth gently pressed her away to look into her face.
“Great God! Are you unharmed?”
“He has not even kissed me much! He says I will fetch a better price for him if he can guarantee that I am not much used.”
Elizabeth could feel the rage rolling off of Darcy as he stood stiffly by in silence. Apparently, he was not so greatly startled by this news as to cause him to exclaim his outrage aloud. Dread clutched at Elizabeth’s heart. Could she really have been so misled by Wickham’s charms that she had had no inkling of his truly foul nature? And to almost have dismissed Darcy at Rosings as a man unworthy of paying his attentions to her? She shuddered at the thought of how nearly she had not given him a week to help build her new, more accurate opinion of Darcy.
“You must accompany us at once. We will retire to the Gardiners’ home.”
“No! He has threatened me and them and you and everyone at Longbourn! He carries a pistol with him at all times. He almost never leaves my side. He was gone only now to fetch some things for later when I am to meet a very special older gentleman. Wickham wants me looking my best. But, oh Lizzy! The old man Wickham speaks of has the face of a frost-covered frog and breath like a chamber pot! And I do not want to be left alone with that old man for an entire night as Wickham says I must.”
She was beginning another wail when a voice reached their ears. Wickham, in the hall, berating some actor for stepping too near his boots. Lydia clutched at her. “You must hide! He will shoot you both dead and then he will pinch me horribly and toss me about.”
Elizabeth clasped Darcy’s arm and pulled him towards a dense rack of costumes. He reared back, unwilling.
“Darcy, Wickham is armed. Lydia is scared. I think I begin to have a plan that will cast no suspicion upon my family. Come.”
He relented and they pressed together behind the costumes. Lydia covered them up before returning to her seat before the mirror. The door opened with a bang.
“What? No further along than when I left? You really are the most stupid chit I have ever had the misfortune to tie myself to. Maybe I can make a tidy sum off of you tonight and let Lord Allslid set you up nicely in a flat for bread-and-butter frolics.”
“You wouldn’t leave me alone with that horrid old man, would you?” Lydia whined.
Wickham laughed a debauched cackle. “Of course you are to be alone with him! I’d not like to watch the sport of such a withered cod as that with you. No, that is not to my taste. Unless he wishes it, but he will have to pay much more handsomely. No sum of money could convince me to take part, though.”
Darcy hissed a breath in and moved to make himself seen by Wickham, but Elizabeth hugged both her arms round his waist and held him by her side.
“Finish your face and get up to the stage. I am going for a drink across the road. But I will be in the audience, so my eye will be on you for the entire performance, and I shall be back here during the intermission. And if I hear even a peep of you stepping out of line…”
A sharp smack of palm on flesh rang out. Lydia cried out.
“Quit your mewling and apply extra rouge on that spot.”
The door slammed shut. And none too soon, for Darcy would be restrained by Elizabeth’s embrace no longer. He burst from the costumes to Lydia’s side, then made for the door with his face contorted by rage.
Elizabeth blocked his path. “I have a plan. Restrain your temper, please.”
With a clenching of his jaw, Darcy asked, “What is your plan, Elizabeth?”