Filming for 'The Framed Rose' was finally over. After a tumultuous year for almost all concerned, the film was complete and merely awaited editing and continuity checks. Within a few months it would hit the big screen and would underwrite the fate of all concerned.
Darcy left for home: Pemberley. He had resigned himself to the fact that Lizzy would never be his. Robert's words had pushed him into action; he gave up the drink as well as the hope of winning her heart. And though it would prove difficult at first, he was determined it could be the only way to preserve his sanity.
Lizzy, now an engaged woman, had nothing more to do but take herself and her fiancé back to Longbourn, where she awaited all the distraction and inanity the family home could provide. Her mother did not disappoint. Her exclamations and delight at having two daughters on the verge of marriage could not be talked of quickly or nauseatingly enough, and Mrs Bennet could only be matched by Mr Collins in profusion of emotion and words.
All Jane's hopes of saving Lizzy from the mistake she was making rested with their father. But for the first time in her life, she found herself disappointed in Mr Bennet. She thought he would set about talking her out of it as soon as he arrived, but he had stayed inexplicably quiet. It had been almost a month, and still Jane could not discern from him that he had spoken to Lizzy on the subject at all.
Mr Collins had chosen to stay at a nearby hotel, Lucas Lodge, but they still suffered his company during almost every meal, and still Mr Bennet did not broach the subject with either of them. He knew Lizzy well enough; he was certain that the farther he pushed her into breaking off the engagement, the more determined she would be to go through with it. Not because she was being deliberately stubborn or spiteful, but simply because she had convinced herself she was doing the right thing. Mr Bennet decided to wait it out, to see how far she was willing to go with this. There was no question that he would speak… it was merely a question of when.
As for Lizzy herself, she was not blind; she knew her father's objections barely rested on his lips, but there was no going back now. Every paper had announced the engagement. To break it off now would be cruel. Besides, through some inane reasoning, she reckoned the less she thought of the impending marriage, the further away the event would be, almost as if it wouldn't take place at all.
As long as she allowed neither reason nor feeling to enter the equation or stand in the way, Mr Collins seemed the perfectly rational choice. She was certain, something she could not say of the other men in her life, that he could never shock or surprise her, thus she deemed her heart as safe as it was untouched. She had no inclination to be hurt again.
Mr Collins turned up the same time as usual every morning to spend the day with his fiancée. Jane, as usual, would always get up to leave; the spectacle turned her stomach. Relations between the sisters, who had at one time been so close, were fractious to say the least. Jane could not forgive Lizzy the impetuousness and sheer obstinacy of her decision.
Mr Collins was that morning even dizzier and more excited than usual. He set about explaining the reasons for it to Lizzy and Mr Bennet. Attentive and generous as ever, he had organised a holiday for both himself and Lizzy touring the grandest and most famous theatres across England. Knowing Mr Bennet's love of the theatre, he extended the invite to him as well.
Mr Bennet took it up readily. The sacrifice of spending time with Mr Collins was a small one compared to the prospect of seeing some of the most famous buildings and theatres in the world.
Mr Collins was delighted; even Lizzy looked animated at the idea. 'Yes, we'll take in all the best ones, and no doubt we'll make a stop at Pemberley Theatre.'
Lizzy suddenly gasped and stared at Mr Collins. 'No…' she shook her head emphatically, '….no, we couldn't possibly'
Mr Collins merely smiled and failed to see the obvious distress Lizzy was in. Mr Bennet saw and noted it with some curiosity.
'Well, of course we must. It would hardly be a worthwhile tour if we didn't take in one of the biggest and grandest…'
Lizzy still sought to protest. 'But surely there'll be theatres enough elsewhere for us to see…' She struggled to come up with any viable excuse.
Mr Collins laughed. 'Yes, of course there will be, my dear…' He was using that same patronising tone Lizzy had come to loathe. 'But wouldn't you like to see the place where your co-star grew up and learnt his trade? And your father has no objections. Besides, I should like to see Darcy again…if only to tell him how things have changed…' In other words, to crow over him about his engagement.
'Yes, I should like to see Pemberley Theatre,' Mr Bennet offered. 'As for meeting the infamous Mr Darcy, well, I don't know about that. I had heard he is unlikely to be there, as he rarely stays at the place before the new season begins…'
Lizzy seemed more comfortable about the idea. 'So I won't have to see him again…perhaps I may steal a glance at Pemberley Theatre after all…' she thought.
It was done, all the arrangements were soon made with Mr Collins' characteristic efficiency, and the three of them were all set to go within a week.
Though Mr Bennet had not yet deemed it wise to broach the subject of the engagement with his daughter, no such scruples held where his wife was concerned. He had watched with growing unease and maddening frustration her continuation of encouragement to Mr Collins, and the level of joy and happiness she portrayed at the impending union would be sickening were it not so clearly false.
He waited until they were alone one morning in the living room and unleashed his anger at her. 'Why are you doing this? You must know she's not happy, but you're making such a point that her marrying this man is a good thing…'
Mrs Bennet could not see the objection. Lizzy was by no means her favourite daughter; she thought it a good enough match for her. 'And why not? He's comfortably well off financially…he'll take care of her…'
Mr Bennet shook his head sternly. 'She doesn't love him.'
He was amazed at her response: she laughed cruelly. 'And what has that got to do with anything? We've managed very well without it…'
For a moment all Mr Bennet could do was to stare incoherently at her, but he gradually came to realise she was right, and he wondered how long it had been. When had love gone and been replaced with indifference…? Months…years…? Even the thought of it did not sadden him as it ought to have.
He sighed deeply, determined Lizzy would not suffer the same fate. 'I know Lizzy, she will never be happy, not unless she looks up to the man she intends to marry, respects him…looks up to him as an equal and Mr Collins is not equal to Lizzy.'
But Mrs Bennet was adamant. 'She's agreed to marry him hasn't she? It must be what she wants...'
Mr Bennet could not believe what he was hearing. 'How can you be so cold, to your own child…I would never have thought it possible…'
Mrs Bennet suddenly exploded with rage, 'Cold…?' How dare you…you have no right to berate me on the treatment of our children! I practically raised them all by myself. I gave up my career to look after them, but you…you just carried on, posing and swaggering over the tread boards…'
'I shouldn't really be surprised at how resentful you're being, God knows I've had to listen to it long enough, but now to punish Lizzy for it…'
'Nobody's forcing her to marry him…'
Mr Bennet scoffed, 'With all your subtlety, it'd be kinder to put a gun to the poor girl's head…' And with that he stormed out, banging the door as he went.
Lizzy, standing quietly in the shadows of the stairs, heard it all.
Lizzy watched her bags being carried to the rooms by the porter until they were out of sight. Then she stood quietly by the front desk and observed with growing envy a clearly newly married couple sitting in the restaurant. They were holding hands and sharing a dessert.
The scene made her think of her own impending nuptials; Mr Collins was by no means the most comfortable of men when it came to intimacy. She cringed inwardly at the conversation she had initiated with him the night before they set off on their travels. She had managed, after some hesitation, to bring up the awkward topic and to persuade him that their level of intimacy would be taken no further, that they ought to wait until they were married before sleeping together…the event would then prove all the more special. Thankfully for her, Mr Collins was as afraid of 'intimacy' as she was, certainly not what the sentiments of a recently engaged couple deeply in love ought to have been.
Pemberley Theatre was no more than a couple of miles from the hotel; they were to visit the place that very afternoon.
Lizzy had to catch her breath, and not for the first time. Standing on the steps, she thought she had never seen a building as beautiful as Pemberley Theatre. The steps were numerous and at the head were flanked by angels. Or muses, Lizzy couldn't be sure; they carried harps and lutes and seemed to appear as if they were flying.
But nothing could tear Lizzy's eyes away from the face of the building itself. It was unique, an octagonal shape, with huge Corinthian columns, heavy old doors and leaded windows that seemed to reach up to the roof.
'To be mistress of Pemberley would be truly something,' she mused. 'How father must be enjoying this, and to think if I had accepted Darcy I might have been inviting him as a guest, rather than being one myself. But no…' she caught herself, 'Father would have been lost to me, along with the rest of the family. Darcy would never have tolerated their presence here…' She was glad for the thought; it saved her from something like regret.
Whatever her impressions of the outside were, nothing could prepare her for the delights waiting inside. A lengthy entrance hall opened up into a magnificent foyer: marble-tiled floors, deep red damask hangings, and a magnificent chandelier all to be found exactly as they would have been when the place was built. Everything appeared in refined taste, nothing was too gaudy or pretentious; every hanging, every painting, the smallest candle, all were placed strategically to extract from the visitor exactly the reaction Lizzy was having as she surveyed it all….breathless amazement.
The staircase inside was as lengthy and grand as the one outside, only all the more so with its deep red carpets and bronze gilding. It separated at the top, wound its way along opposite sides of the room and lengthened into corridors, all along which were hung huge, lifelike portraits of what Lizzy guessed were various family members. Each corridor separated into different rooms, corridors and rooms weaving into each other as a magical labyrinth.
It was a good thing they had a guide, Mrs Reynolds, a name with which Lizzy was already familiar. She was a good-natured woman, stout, red-faced and smiling. She guided them along the corridors, pointing out pictures and objects of interest.
But Lizzy soon had enough of portraits of people she did not know, or in whom she could not feign an interest, and quietly turning back, made her way down the grand staircase again, leaving her father and Mr Collins in the capable hands of Mrs Reynolds. She came down slowly and stopped in the centre. There, hung on the wall, was a magnificent portrait of a handsome but stern-looking man. The script underneath declared it to be Mr Percival Darcy. A bust of the same man was situated directly below it, on an eerily suited stone pedestal.
So this is Darcy's father, she thought, smiling sadly. 'Well, I congratulate you, sir. What a fine job you've done in raising your sons, giving one all the goodness and the other merely the appearance of it…' she murmured under her breath.
She ran her fingers over the bust and, looking up at the picture, noted the hardness about the features. It was plain to see in the eyes and the hard line of the jaw that this Mr Darcy had something of the tyrant about him, a trait she had to admit she was glad to have seen absent in the son.
It was whilst she was studying the works of art so closely that Lizzy first heard the music. It was very faint, barely a few notes carried on the cool air. But it wrought its magic on Lizzy and it seemed she almost floated down the steps towards the sound. She stopped in the middle of the foyer and listened intently. She recognised it; even from the few notes she could barely hear she knew what it was: her favourite piece, Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata'. She had played it as Celia when they were filming, and even when they hadn't been, she would sit at the pianoforte and play it all the same.
She walked towards where she thought the sound was coming from and, passing through yet another corridor, she came across a door. Pushing it open, she realised she had wandered into the side entrance of the main auditorium. The music was clear now; it was coming from the front, the darkened stage.
Lizzy approached it tentatively. She could not make out anything and still the music played. She was startled by a voice behind her.
'Oh hello, are you lost…?' Turning to look, Lizzy saw a beautiful young woman smiling kindly at her. She had the bluest eyes Lizzy had ever seen, a wonderful smile and long, long hair of golden hue.
Lizzy smiled readily in return. 'Yes, I suppose I must be…I'm sorry. I hope I'm not intruding…?'
'No, not at all…' The young woman stared at her with innocent curiosity. But Lizzy could not shake the effect the music was having on her senses; it seemed to be casting a spell on her.
'I'm sorry…but could you tell me who is playing that music? It's beautiful and haunting…' Lizzy looked intently at her.
She smiled and seemed to call out to the shadows, 'You must emerge from the shadows, brother, or you will quite unnerve this young woman and have her thinking we have our very own 'Phantom of the Opera'…'
Brother? The music stopped and Lizzy's heart skipped a beat as she heard someone approaching the front of the stage and emerging from the dark. She recognised the face instantly and felt her own blush.
'Mr Darcy…!'