My Dearest Mr. Darcy: An Amazing Journey into Love Everlasting

Chapter Five Magic Lantern

Over the following days the Darcys altered their schedule somewhat. They wandered into Caister-on-Sea, deciding to walk the half-mile, well-maintained, oak-lined trail from the resort to the small hamlet. The village itself was wholly unremarkable: quaint and tidy with a meager number of shops catering to the locals, small fishing boats in abundance, and a people universally rustic and hardy. The only true draws to the town were the church and castle, both of immense significance and interest to Darcy and Lizzy.

The Holy Trinity Church was in appearance like many other churches they had seen, architecture of the fourteenth century standard throughout the country. Of course, that is not to say it was not lovely. Built of grey brick with a tall castellated tower, high arched windows, and a long nave leading to an unusual pipe organ at the chancel. The organ pipes were split into two sets on either side of the aisle and appeared to lean toward each other as if whispering, creating a vague tunnel-like sensation entering the chancel. An ornately detailed hatchment with the royal coat of arms patently commemorated George III, yet it also showed cleverly painted-over markings for James I from two hundred years prior. The building was very old and deteriorating in subtle places, the modest community likely unable to contribute the monies necessary to sustain the structure. Darcy left a generous donation, feeling particularly charitable after a time of quiet contemplation both inside the sanctuary and strolling with his wife through the ancient cemetery and gardens.

Caister Castle was located near the church, a pleasant walk over the heathland. Sparse clusters of birch trees with a thick underbrush of gorse scrub and bracken with trailing vines of wild honeysuckle and bluebells adding a pleasing fragrance to overcome the faint but persistent odor of fish. Butterflies fluttered in abundance, unperturbed by the scores of bees attacking the fall blooms. The ruins of the castle sat rather forlornly on an expanse of wild land, the main pathway and road the only areas attended to. The moat had long since been drained and filled in with the debris of time, only the vaguest markings indicating that it had ever existed.

Built in 1432, the glorified manor house was notable for a couple reasons. One, the owner and architect was Sir John Falstaff, or Fastolfe depending on the reference, who was the inspiration for William Shakespeare's character of the same name. Luckily for Sir Falstaff, he was long since deceased before his name was immortalized in three of Shakespeare's plays as the depiction was not a favorable one. Secondly, Henry VI granted only five licenses to crenellate during his entire fifty-year reign, a legal necessity from the crown in order to build a defensible structure with battlements, moats, and gunports. Caister Manor, the home of Sir Falstaff, received this honor, allowing him to fortify his home with a ninety-foot tower, three-foot-thick bricks, and separate courtyards.

Lizzy and Darcy were two of a dozen persons wandering via the lush grounds and tumbling stones. The castle was actually well preserved despite the anomalous holes and general decay. The rusted chains to the absent drawbridge dangled beside the main entrance, the inner courtyard building frames were readily discernible, and the tall tower with sturdy spiraling stairway was easily navigable. Lizzy felt perky after so many days of lazing about, but did ascend the stairs in gradual stages with Darcy's hand as a rock on her elbow. The view from on high was well worth the breathlessness.

Another day found them comfortably settled into one of the resort's phaetons as they passed several hours meandering about the immediate countryside with no distinct destination on the agenda. This was a highly irregular occurrence, Darcy being a man extremely detail oriented and organized with little spontaneity to his character! It was Lizzy's idea to set out randomly and Darcy blanched and spluttered at the concept, Lizzy laughing as she propelled him to the cozy carriage stocked with a picnic lunch, local map, and thick rug.

“Anywhere but east, Mr. Darcy,” she said with lifted chin and imperiously pointing finger.

Darcy stared at her for a whole ten minutes, Lizzy maintaining her humorously commanding pose, while his mind raced with nearly audible clicks as the meticulous list of activities written in his firm hand were mentally checked. Finally he nodded, a tiny smile lifting the corners of his lips. “Certainly not east. Very well, Mrs. Darcy, as you wish. Ha!” The last to the horses and with a slap of the reins, they set off.

In truth, if one did not travel due south into Great Yarmouth, a destination for another day, or north where they had already traversed, west was the only remaining direction, and this meant touring the Broads. The extensive wetlands unique in all of England, given the name “Broads” due to the seemingly endless expanses of shallow lakes and connecting rivers, was honestly a sight to behold. Darcy drove the road north of the River Bure heading toward Stokesby. Within two miles they were on the fringes of the marsh, the ground notably soggier and air humid. Darcy cleared his throat, the usual precursor to an oration, but Lizzy spoke into the silence first.

“The Norfolk Broads,” she began, in a strong lecturing tone as if reciting from a textbook, “an area approximately one hundred twenty square miles composed of seven rivers and fifty broads, most navigable. Home to a plethora of diverse wildlife, many believed to only reside here, and the necessary livelihood for the residents from Norwich and all the small burgs in the vicinity as the essential commerce route to Great Yarmouth and beyond. Most believe the vast waterways a natural landscape fashioned by God and time; others contend it at least partially a result of centuries of peat excavation. Whatever the case, currently the marshlands serve as a perfect habitation for farmers and fishermen. With vegetation naturally in abundance, cattle, sheep, and waterfowl flourish. The infinite quantities of hay, sedge, and reed are easily cultivated and sold.”

She continued to ramble on as Darcy drove, his grin spreading with each passing word. When she had memorized the book he had brought with him, he had no idea, but his pleasure in her interest and recall was tremendous. He said little as they wheeled along the rutted tracks and across the numerous bridges, allowing his delightful wife to bask in her education and tease with her frequent inflections, gestures, and word usages, which were precisely meant to mimic him.

All the while they passed sprawling flatlands thick with reeds, rushes, fen orchid, ragged robin, and meadow thistle; all inundated with moths, butterflies, and dragonflies of truly astounding proportions and colors. Neither Lizzy nor Darcy had ever seen so many flying bugs. At times it was rather frightening, the masses of damselflies and gnats swarming about their heads. Twice they caught glimpses of otters slipping into the murky waters, and Darcy spied a red deer that agilely bounded behind a copse of sallow trees before Lizzy turned the direction of Darcy's pointing finger. The birds were as abundant as the insects, far too many to adequately identify. Even Darcy relinquished the endeavor, opting to purely take pleasure in the array of colors, shapes, and sounds.

Darcy kept the map on his knees, useful as a blanket shielding Lizzy's rubbing hand, but primarily to prevent him driving them astray. Unlike all their previous journeys where either Lizzy was supremely oriented, as during their frequent treks about Hertfordshire while engaged, or Darcy was knowledgeable, as in London and Derbyshire, here they were both utterly out of their element. The vague sense of unease never left him throughout the day, Darcy not comfortable in unfamiliar terrains. Lizzy had no trepidation whatsoever, giddily admiring the stupendous environs and trusting her husband's formidable competence as well as her own excellent sense of direction.

In the end, they suffered no mishaps. Aside from the reams of wildlife, people were also a constant. The river keels and wherries were interminable, not to mention the intermittent homesteads, all with congenially waving individuals aplenty. At Acle they veered northward to Thurne then turning easterly until reaching Hemesby, where they looped south to Caister. The landscaping remained stupendous and wildly diverse with wonders so numerous that they gave up even pointing or commenting, simply observing in serene awe.

By mid afternoon they were safely returned to the inn. Darcy escorted his wilting wife to their room, intent on tucking her in for a needed nap. Faint hopes were momentarily raised when she pivoted in his arms at the bedside, one arm slithering over his shoulder while tiny creeping fingertips fiddled with his cravat.

“Care to join me, my love?” she asked with upturned face and presented lips.

Darcy bent, accepting her invitation wholeheartedly, only to have her gift abruptly nullified by a jaw-cracking yawn. He chuckled against her mouth, withdrawing inches and caressing her rosy cheek. “Thank you for the offer, dearest, but I think I shall put you both to bed.” He bussed her nose, whirling her about gently, and with a pat on the bottom assisted her into the bed. Sitting next to her warm body, he noticed not for the first time the increased inability to nestle snuggly against the front part of her. Not that he in any way was perturbed by this, joyously settling as close as feasible and resting a large hand over their child. He was extremely active at the present, kicking and jabbing his father's hand with great enthusiasm.

“I do not believe he appreciated the pickled herring,” Lizzy mumbled, eyes already slipping closed. “He has been pummeling me since lunch.”

Darcy laughed softly, leaning until his mouth rested over Lizzy's flattening navel. “Listen carefully, young one. Your father commands you to behave and allow your mother to rest. She promises to never consume pickled herring again. Be a good boy now and sleep.” He continued on, Lizzy smiling at his silliness while the baby apparently disregarded his father's authority, exercise unabating. Internal calisthenics were not a deterrent to Lizzy's slumber after all, sleep claiming her within minutes. Darcy gently massaged her belly, sitting in serene contemplation for a bit before rising. After a soft kiss to her forehead and whispered I love you, he retrieved his book from the table and left the room.

The main patio was cast in deep shadows this time of day and nearly vacant. The men were bathing, but Darcy opted to enjoy the solitude. The book, Moll Flanders by Daniel Defoe, sat open on his knees, forgotten for the moment as he watched the waves and a group of children splashing.

“Mr. Darcy. I am surprised to see you here all alone and not bathing with the gentlemen.”

Darcy glanced upward with a start, rising and bowing elegantly. “Lady Underwood. I trust you are well today and enjoying your visit?”

“Tolerably,” she said with a smile, sitting gracefully on an empty chair across from Darcy. “It can be boring and somewhat lonely to travel unaccompanied, but I refuse to be a burden to my friends. Please sit, Mr. Darcy. No need to stand at attention.” She smiled sweetly, fluttering her fan toward his chair.

Darcy hesitated, uncomfortably glancing about to ensure they were not alone, before resuming his seat. He sat with back ramrod straight, his bottom on the extreme edge, ready to spring up at the first opportunity for escape.

Lady Underwood laughed. “Relax, Mr. Darcy! I shan't bite, promise. Where is Mrs. Darcy, by the way?”

“She is resting.”

Lady Underwood fanned her face, staring boldly at Darcy with a pensive expression. “Have you been married long, Mr. Darcy?”

Darcy stiffened even further, meeting her eyes with studied indifference. “Nearly a year.”

“I must say I was surprised to see a woman so advanced in her pregnancy traveling. Few men would wish to squire their wives about in such a state. It is impressive and… touching.”

Darcy remained silent, countenance impassive as he returned his gaze to the waves. Lady Underwood continued, “The two of you seem to have an unusual relationship. At least unusual compared to most I have observed. It intrigues me.”

“Lady Underwood, forgive my rudeness, but I do not wish to discuss my personal relationship.”

To his surprise, she laughed. “As you wish, Mr. Darcy. I meant no offense.”

Silence fell. Lady Underwood eventually filled the quiet with casual chatter, Darcy responding in mostly monosyllables. Another fifteen minutes passed, Darcy wound tighter than a coil. Just as he prepared to excuse himself, Lady Underwood rose, lowering her voice seductively and leaning toward him. “Your wife is an adorable creature and I can certainly understand the attraction. Nonetheless, I know how difficult it can be for some men when their wives are in the advanced stages of pregnancy. Traveling unescorted does have its advantages, Mr. Darcy, but it gets lonely. Very lonely. Perhaps we can help each other.”

The expression of disgust with flinty blue eyes leveled at her face caused Lady Underwood to retreat a step. Darcy said nothing, but his answer was clear. Still, she smiled, shrugging slightly. “Merely an offer, Mr. Darcy. Think about it. Have a lovely evening.”

Darcy shuddered, rising quickly once she was gone, heart pounding with the need to touch his wife. He was not overly stunned by Lady Underwood's proposition, having been the recipient of similar sexual solicitations more times than he could recall, all of which revolted him and were never accepted. As disdainful as he considered the practice, he knew it was common. Nonetheless, he always felt dirty when accosted, but never more than now that he was married.

Elizabeth slept, face relaxed and gloriously beautiful. Darcy removed his jacket, waistcoat, and boots, cautiously nestling against her back. Lizzy sighed, murmured his name, and melted into his embrace without waking. He did not sleep, but held her close and tranquil for the next hour, renewed and cleansed in her presence. Only when she began to stir slightly with the familiar shifting cadence to her respirations indicative of pending wakefulness did he release the top buttons of her gown and slide a hand in to cup one ripe, warm breast. Squeezing tenderly and playing with a pert nipple, he feathered kisses along the nape of her neck. He was not yet aroused, instead merely delighting in the joy of holding her and knowing that eternally she would be his to love and talk with and share his soul.

Lizzy rolled in his arms with a heady sigh, sleepy eyes meeting his. His hand resumed its pleasure at her breast, the other stroking a now exposed shoulder. “I did not anticipate you being here when I awoke. It is a most pleasant surprise.”

He smiled brilliantly in response, the dazzling smile only given to Lizzy with all his pearly teeth flashing and faint dimples appearing; the smile that extended into his eyes, blue orbs so crystalline as to nearly be transparent, sparkling, and shining so brightly that she could see a tiny image of her face in the mirror-like surface. Her breath caught at the boundless adoration and cavernous love reflected therein.

“I love you, William, with all my soul!”

“I love you, my Elizabeth. You are my soul, my blood and bone, my very life.” He continued to stare at her, fondling her breasts but making no other moves, content to gaze at her for the present. Lizzy stared in return, hands slowly stroking over his body, as content as he to allow passion to gradually rise on the wings of idolization.

It could have been ten minutes, perhaps an hour, but eventually his shirt was discarded and her buttons were released with lips following the line of exposed flesh. Darcy tasted her, relishing the mildly salty flavor and musky odor of her skin. Mostly he thrilled at the soft mews of pleasure passing her lips and the rushing heat flushing her skin wherever he touched. Her breasts swelled and hardened under his hands and mouth. She tensed and shivered continually, the passage of time only heightening her response to his ministrations. Endlessly she murmured his name, driving him insane with desire and happiness.

Over the swell of their child, peacefully at rest, Darcy devotedly worshipped. He loved her belly, firm in its expansion yet remarkably soft; the outward shape changing as the baby shifted or as she moved. Each time they loved he asked if it was uncomfortable, especially with his large frame on top, but she insisted all was well as of yet. He gloried in this, fervidly excited by the sensation of their child pressed into his abdomen when they made love. If the growing bulk intruded somewhat, it mattered little to him, the emotional rapture in this tangible evidence of their love far superior. Now, he kissed over the perfectly stretched flesh, licking her navel and making her giggle, kneading gently before traveling lower.

Her legs were wholly unaltered. Strong, supple, toned; skin like finest alabaster or freshly fallen snow. Darcy could never name one part of his wife's body that he loved the most, all of her exquisite as far as he was concerned. Certainly there were specific areas that reacted to his touch with greater intensity, but as with her touch to his flesh, every inch was erotic and arousing.

Lizzy was lost in a hazy realm of purest passion. Remembering her name would be difficult, so crazily roused was she. Beautifully her husband transported her; hands, lips, tongue combined masterfully to provoke. Rhapsody grasped and waved through her head to toe as she screamed his name and arched in blissful surrender. Her muscles trembled, the sensations extending beyond what was humanly endurable as Darcy leisurely kissed, licked, and stroked his way back to her mouth, crushing her in a starved kiss.

His hands never ceased caressing, tenderly and lightly. He only allowed her to minimally calm, knowing that it would absolutely be only the beginning of the pleasure he could give her. “Beautiful wife, I so adore you. To love you is truly all I wish to do in life. If only all else could fade and I could endlessly rouse you. The satisfaction I derive from this alone is glorious.”

She smiled, smoothing his rumpled hair and fingering over his radiant face. “How fortunate for us both, my heart, that I feel precisely the same. Loving you, watching your face as you attain your ecstasy with me, because of your love for me, is my greatest joy. How tremendously I love you, Fitzwilliam!”

Languid stimulation rapidly gave way to frantic need. Voracious yearning led swiftly to scorching delirium. Conscious thought rarely interjected when their mutual thirst rose to such unquenchable levels. Instead, they acted with pure animal lust, blindly moving as emotions guided. They fused as one with whispered endearments and promises uttered between pants. Indescribable flames of glory raced between their melded bodies, each feeling their partner's passion as intently as their own.

Each and every time they made love, whether playfully or hungrily, the sensations both physical and spiritual eclipsed what seemed logically possible. The thought of another never entered either of their minds; not a glimmer of curiosity or shred of wondering. How could it when paradise was achieved in each other's embrace?

Darcy held Lizzy for long minutes as they gasped for air and gradually restored clarity to blissfully fogged minds. Rationality always seemed to reassert itself with tender kisses along shoulders or necks or chests or wherever they found skin nearby. Fingers danced over perspiring flesh, involuntary writhing continued with neither wishing to break the connection hastily. Voices speaking softly, the individual words not nearly as important as the intonation.

Finally they collapsed to the bed, entwined and sated. Darcy did not speak of Lady Underwood. As deplorable as secrets were to him, more heinous would be hurting Lizzy. He honestly did not know how she would react to the idea of women propositioning her husband. Trust was absolute between them, so he knew she would never doubt his fidelity, nor would he doubt hers. If the situation were reversed, he would promptly kill the man, or at least maim him for life, à la Orman. As repulsed as Darcy was by Lady Underwood's solicitation, he was capable of shrugging it aside as a flaw to her character and of no importance to him. However, due to the forced proximity as guests of the resort, he thought it best to keep Lizzy unaware of Lady Underwood's interest. He wished for nothing to spoil their holiday.

He was thankful that he had alternate plans for dinner.

Mr. Vernor had directed his attention to an exclusive café in Great Yarmouth. Apparently extremely posh and intimate with spectacular French cuisine served as ordered from a menu of choices, the unique style of dining was born in France and gradually spreading throughout Europe and even to America. Conceived as a way to please the masses of France yearning for what was previously only available to the aristocracy, as well as providing employment for the suddenly adrift chefs and servants from the great houses, these establishments offering fine cuisine flourished.

For Darcy, a man who appreciated exotic foods and revolutionary ideals, the experience of dining with his wife in such a place was highly appealing. Especially since she had never been to France and despite Mrs. Langton's skill, pure French cooking was an art form only perfected by an authentic chef. Reportedly the owner of Tregois' Taverne de Yarmouth was exceptional, having trained under the famed Beauvilliers of Paris.

They dressed in their finest, Lizzy wearing her Twelfth Night gown. Her fuller bosom was displayed lusciously to an appreciative Darcy and the baby's bulge perceptible, but not large enough yet to tarnish the stunning beauty of how the gown flowed.

Darcy grinned, approaching his bewitching spouse with breathless enchantment. “Elizabeth, I… well, I truly do not have the words. You are beautiful, captivating, magnifique, la femme plus belle dans l'univers, mon epouse, mon inspiration et survie…” Despite his claim, words fell in a French torrent until trailing away at the crevice between her breasts.

“William, do we not have dinner reservations? I am rather hungry after this afternoon's exertions, and I distinctly heard a few rumbles erupting from your perfect midsection over an hour ago. Surely you are starved by now.”

“I am famished, beloved, ravenous in fact, but not for food. God, Lizzy, how is it possible to want you so completely again?”

She laughed, pulling his face away from her décolletage and kissing him soundly. “Come, my dashing husband. I am currently famished for food, and I wish to be seen on the arm of the handsomest man to ever appear in Norfolk. Later, my lover, I will show you what it feels like to be wanted so completely.” She sucked gently on his lower lip, the tip of her tongue caressing, only then clasping his arm and propelling him toward the door, ignoring his groan and faltering step.

Dinner was stupendous. The cozy café afforded an amazing view of the River Yare, the atmosphere so unerringly French that Darcy was transported to Paris and tremendously impressed. Lizzy had grown accustomed to French cuisine as prepared by Mrs. Langton, but this was subtly different. Darcy ordered several unique dishes never served at Pemberley, the sequestered table laden with far more food than they could possibly consume, even with Darcy's appetite. He wanted her to taste a bit of everything, getting a wee bit carried away with enthusiasm at the inclusive menu. Additionally, the wine cellar sported wines nearly unattainable even with the improved trade to France. Darcy ordered a rare Bordeaux from Château Haut-Brion dated 1796, eyes sparkling in anticipation.

They departed the quaint establishment, Lizzy assuming they were to return to the inn and rather partial to the idea as she quite frankly felt bloated and nearly ill from so much rich food. Darcy, however, steered her along the sidewalk toward a destination unknown.

“Surprises, Mr. Darcy?” she said with a tilt of her head.

He smiled, glancing sidelong into her face. “You know how I adore surprising you, Elizabeth. Next to making love with you it is undoubtedly my favorite pastime.” Lizzy actually blushed, although no one was nearby to overhear.

They strolled slowly, Lizzy grateful she remembered to wear a shawl as the air was nippy. Darcy tucked her as close to his side as propriety allowed and attempted to increase the pace, but Lizzy held him to a stately speed. It was cool, but so crisp and fresh. Lizzy inhaled deeply of the salty breeze, the fragrance of the orchids and heather that grew in abundance mingling to create an oddly pleasant odor.

“It is strange to feel the mild chill here and know that home is probably sweltering.” She paused to pick a sprig of heather, inserting it into his top buttonhole.

“It will begin cooling soon. Autumn is beautiful at Pemberley. Mr. Clark is a genius. He has the gardens planned so that they bloom in all seasons, but I do believe fall blooms are premiere. A final season to rediscover with you, my heart, then we will be entering our second year together and eagerly awaiting the birth of our first child.”

He halted next to an enormous oak on the edge of a town square, the shops all closed except for a café on the diagonal corner. A handful of people wandered about, but they were alone where they stood under the faint gaslight. He grasped both her dainty hands in his, gazing into her eyes with his typical piercing intensity.

“Elizabeth, there is something I have wanted to ask you. I have been searching for the perfect moment and this feels right.”

“Is everything all right, William?”

He smiled, stroking along her cheek. “Forgive me. I did not mean to alarm you. Everything is perfect. No, this is just a topic that has occurred to me from time to time, but especially since Marguerite and Samuel's wedding. I do not believe I ever told you, but every Darcy male, and many of the females, for generations unknown have been married in the Pemberley Chapel. It is one of those facts that simply are, without consciously holding much weight until the time comes to apply it. When we wed it was logical to marry in Hertfordshire with your sister and Bingley. I was mildly saddened to not say our vows at Pemberley, but it truthfully did not matter as I was so blissfully happy to have you.” He laughed in delight. “We could have wed in a barn and I would have been deliriously ecstatic! Nonetheless, I have realized how deeply I desire to stand before Reverend Bertram, in front of the altar where my parents exchanged their vows, where I have worshipped all my life, where our children will be dedicated and baptized, on my ancestral land, and repeat my undying pledge to you.”

He paused, squeezing her hands firmly, countenance serious but awash with devotion and love. “Elizabeth Darcy, will you marry me, again?”

Lizzy was speechless, her lips trembling and eyesight blurry with tears. She nodded and managed to croak a “yes.” Darcy smiled brilliantly, bringing her hands to his lips for a hard kiss.

“Excellent! We can discuss the details later. I do so incredibly love you, Elizabeth.” He bent and brushed her forehead. “Perhaps it can be a yearly event. Renewing our vows if for no other reason than to see you in your wedding dress again.”

Lizzy chuckled, taking the proffered handkerchief to wipe her tears. “I doubt sincerely if it would fit me this year.”

He extended his elbow, Lizzy snuggling close as they resumed their walk. “You can wear anything you wish, my love, as long as you promise to love me forever.”

She looked up into his face, shaking her head. “Have no fear, William. That is a promise easy for me to make.”

Darcy shepherded her toward the diagonal corner of the square, the café lively with numerous people sitting and standing, laughing and singing along with the minstrel band playing jauntily on the terrace. Darcy glanced at his pocketwatch, releasing a low whistle. “We need to step fast. I am afraid I miscalculated the time.”

Past the café, down a busy avenue, and two blocks to the right brought them before a brightly lit theater. The building was clearly very old, probably built in the Elizabethan Era or shortly thereafter as it greatly resembled drawings Lizzy had seen of the famous Shakespearean playhouse, the Rose, in London. The original lath and plaster structure had been reinforced over the centuries with attempts to stylize and flourish the plain building obvious, giving it an amalgamated appearance of divergent architecture. Still, despite the mélange design, the theater was lovely, aided greatly by the modern gaslights, scrolling marquee, and gaudily painted posters blanketing the walls. The posters advertised the theater's entertainments, mostly of a musical or comedic variety rather than dramatic plays. Tonight's show was boldly declared on the marquee and on an enormous folded sign located by the door:

“Ooh! How fantastic, William! I adore magic lantern shows!”

“So you have seen them,” he said. “I was not sure if any had traveled to Hertfordshire.”

“Twice, at the assembly hall, as Meryton does not have a proper theater. The first was a repertoire of fairy tale stories, Aesop's Fables and Biblical tales primarily. The second was last summer, not too long after I returned from Kent. It was a re-creation of military battles from the Napoleonic Wars, complete with ships bursting into flames and cannon fire. Quite dramatic with accompanying sound effects and piano music; most patriotic and emotive. I have heard of Phantasmagoria though. Is it truly as frightening as written of?”

Darcy shrugged, handing over the coins to the ticket seller. “I do not know from firsthand experience. I have only seen three magic lantern performances, similar to your experiences. When I was eleven my family, including Lord and Lady Matlock with Richard, Annabella, and Jonathan, traveled to Paris. It was my first trip to the Continent. With the Revolution over and Bonaparte in control, it was deemed safe to travel.” He paused to shake his head at that folly. “Anyway, Father bought tickets to see the original Fantasmagorie by Etienne Gaspard Robert. The show was all the rage then, the French not having had enough fright in their lives apparently.” The last was spoken with dripping sarcasm, Lizzy also shaking her head.

“Of course, I was young and not fully aware of all the political intrigues, only wishing to see something reportedly so spectacular. Unfortunately, the day before the show Mother became very ill. It seems foolish now, but none of us considered the simple cause of pregnancy. My parents had given up on having more children so were caught unaware. Father insisted on staying with Mother until the physicians could diagnose and treat her illness; I would not leave although Father encouraged me to go, so the Fitzwilliams attended the show. Richard and Jonathan gushed on ad infinitum until I wanted to strangle them. Aunt Madeline found it too scary, Annabella had nightmares and refused to discuss it, poor thing, but Uncle liked it.” He shrugged again.

They were inside the small lobby. Lizzy glanced about, noting the majority of the attendees to be common folk with simple suits and gowns. A minority was of a higher class and dressed in finer attire, and only a handful of those dressed as well as Darcy and Lizzy. She felt terribly self-conscious in her elaborate ball gown, but Darcy glided through the press of people as if at the Royal Theatre in London, heading directly toward the balcony stairs and confidently expecting all to part before him. The strange thing is that they did! A hush preceded their steps, a gap instantly created for Darcy to escort his wife through, and muted whispers of awe rose in their wake. Lizzy wanted to shrink into her skin yet concurrently puffed with pride at her husband's natural nobility and grace. Darcy was innocently ignorant.

The theater balcony did not boast individual boxes but rather was designed with long rows of seats, larger and more comfortable than the seats on the main floor. The low balcony afforded an excellent view of the black-draped center stage and two smaller curtained areas to the sides. The room was dimly lit although whether this was normal or as a means of increasing the eerie atmosphere for the performance, Lizzy did not know. The Darcys were ushered to seats in the first row, near the right side. Most of the seats were already filled, and the fever of excitement with palpable shivers of fear raced through the assembly.

Lizzy leaned toward her husband and whispered, “Will you hold my hand, William, so I will not be afraid?” She looked up into his face with a smile, but her eyes were mildly anxious. She would sooner be horsewhipped than admit it, but she was a bit frightened.

Darcy chuckled and took her hand. “I will protect you, my dear. No ghosts or specters will be allowed to molest you so long as I am here.” He grinned and Lizzy laughed, slapping him with her folded fan.

Suddenly several of the dim lights were extinguished, throwing the already dusky room into deeper shadows. Numerous gasps were released, folks shuffling to their seats in earnest. A deep, sepulchral voice erupted into the hushed hall, startling everyone as the disembodied voice intoned without inflection:

“Ladies and gentlemen of the living, find thy seats hastily. The spirits are restless, desiring to arise in a dance macabre. None has the power to detain them. Do not be found wandering the empty aisles! This would be… unwise. Can thoust control the whimsy of the dead?”

The voice continued in the same vein as the final stragglers took their seats. The remaining lights were doused one by one until total darkness was achieved. As the final lights went out, slowly one by one, music gradually swelled. Music eerily brought forth by a glass armonica and accompanied by whining winds and clapping thunder. The gloomy voice grew fainter as it beseeched the dead to rise and begged for pity on the living until drowned completely by the wailing sounds emanating from the depths of the orchestra pit. Abruptly a deafening boom rent the air, succeeded by utter silence.

Lizzy was clutching Darcy's hand so tightly he winced, attempting to wiggle his fingers enough to restore circulation, but she would not let go. He bent to where he thought her ear was, whispering, “Elizabeth, I cannot feel my fingers.” She started violently and then giggled, planting a kiss in the dark, which landed on the side of his nose, and loosened her crushing grip. He immediately encircled her shoulders and drew her into his side. No fear of inappropriate public behavior being frowned on here as no one could see them and he strongly suspected everyone would be tightly clenching each other before the show concluded.

The boom was rapidly followed by the appearance of a hazy red fog at center stage, the curtains apparently having been withdrawn. Out of the smoke a phantom appeared, growing larger and larger as it seemed to float over the gasping audience. The evilly grinning phantom was bathed in the red smoke, giving it the impression of blood, with a dagger in one hand and a severed head in the other. All instantly knew this to be the French Revolutionist Marat. Screeches pierced the void; fans could be heard fluttering wildly. Crazy laughter emanated from Marat's grin as he disappeared into thin air.

A collective breath was taken, but released in a rush as another apparition emerged. A woman in trailing garments, face beautiful initially but incrementally morphing into an old crone bent and wrinkled, her elaborate dress falling into rags as her old face decayed before their eyes until only a skeleton in strips of moldy cloth remained. She moved over their heads as she decomposed, skeletal form joining the now visible skeletons positioned all about the stage, or rather what had been the stage, but was now a cemetery replete with crypts and headstones. One by one the dead rose, walking on spindly legs, speaking from lipless mouths, empty sockets roving over the crowd.

On and on it went; one scene after another in rapid succession allowing no time to collect oneself. The haunting music rose and fell, ghostly voices droned, thunder and lightning crashed, specters and demons of all sizes materialized. Many of the scenes were familiar from literature or history: The Nightmare by Fuseli, The Head of Medusa, Macbeth and the Ghost of Banquo, other French Revolutionaries manning the guillotine, The Opening of Pandora's Box, The Mysteries of Udolpho, and more. Interspersed were the random bats, goblins, and ghosts, manifesting from all points on the main floor. The figures magically expanded to gargantuan sizes, hovering over the audience so closely that one felt they could touch them, and then shrunk before sinking into the ground as if returning to the underworld.

It was terrifying and fascinating. Fleetingly one would wonder how the effect was created, but generally the images and emotions engendered were so spectacular and realistic that coherent thought was eradicated. Lizzy, once past the introductory fright and comforted by Darcy's sturdy arm and warmth, calmed to a vague trembling and moderately heightened pulse rate. Screams were frequent, crying could be detected, and undoubtedly swooning occurred. The heat in the room increased from the combined press of bodies and raised body temperatures.

The crescendo was an appearance of all four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The Biblical Riders trampled across the stage and into the crowd, swords and scythe brandishing, the clap of horses hooves echoing, while the original inhumanly bleak voice quoted from Revelations. With final bursting neighs and a resounding crash of cymbals, the Horseman rode through the back wall and precipitous silence fell, the room plunged into cavernous darkness for a full ten minutes.

The lights were lit all at once, revealing a tiny figure before the drawn curtains on center stage. The familiar voice again penetrated the quiet, although now it spoke with a bit more warmth and normalcy, “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the Illusionist Extraordinaire, Master of the Magic Lantern and Limelight, Creator of the Macabre, Professor Leonardo Finocchi Sciarratta!”

The tiny man bowed with a flourish, his grandly feathered tricorne doffed and swept theatrically as he blew kisses to the audience. The crowd erupted in applause and cheers, standing for a glorious ovation. Darcy and Lizzy stood as well, clapping enthusiastically. Her heart still raced and she was yet torn between loving the spectacle or hating it, but there was no doubt it was a stupendously artistic performance. Certainly one she would never forget, her fervent hope being that the ghosts did not resurface in her dreams!