What Would Jane Austen Do?

Chapter Nine

When Shermont returned from the picnic at one o’clock, his valet waited impatiently with news. In spite of instructions to stay inside and nurse the cold he’d caught after the night in the rain and the mad ride to town, Carl had slipped out and checked the tree. He’d found a note.

“You were right,” he said to Shermont in a begrudging tone. “The note referred to the article in the paper about the capturing of Napoleon’s agent and said they would have to discontinue operations and leave immediately.”

“Let me see the note.”

“I left it, so they wouldn’t know their secret spot had been discovered.”

“Probably a wise move.” Shermont leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Tell me everything you can remember.”

“No salutation. Female hand. Written on house stationery.”

That didn’t help. House stationery was left in every room in case the guest had not brought his or her own. That meant every female in the house was suspect. Even the servants had access, though most were likely illiterate. “Perfume?”

“I think so, but to be honest, with this stuffy head I can’t say for sure.”

Shermont jumped up. “I have to see that note myself.” Perhaps he could identify the perfume and that would either clear Eleanor or seal her fate. He found himself hoping for the former. Eleanor was intelligent and beautiful, and the same qualities that made her attractive also suited her to espionage, the work he dreaded she might be doing. He was torn between his attraction to her and his mission. Either way, he had to know.

He couldn’t sneak out in broad daylight, so he simply walked out the door and down the drive as if going for a stroll. Once beyond the sight of anyone at the house, he left the road and cut through the woods. At the old oak tree he found a different note. In bold strokes the writer reassured the receiver. There is no imminent threat. Remain steadfast. We leave as scheduled. Same paper. Second writer.

He now knew there were at least two persons plus the courier, and they intended to escape, probably soon if plans were already made. He returned to the house determined to catch the agents before that happened. And before he fell in love with one.

He decided to take a role in the play, the better to keep an eye on Eleanor. He found Digby in the ballroom checking on the construction of a rudimentary stage by several footmen and what appeared to be several gardeners.

“I’m willing to take a role in your play,” he said, gritting his teeth and forcing a smile. He’d already heard a good portion, and there was nothing he wanted less than to get up on a stage and emote the inane, self-aggrandizing lines Digby had penned.

“I knew you would come around,” Digby said with a satisfied grin. “I’m just on my way to hand out the parts now.”

Shermont joined Digby on his way to the parlor, where most of the guests waited to receive their assigned roles. As soon as they entered, Digby called for everyone’s attention.

“I have here …” He paused for dramatic effect and raised a sheaf of papers. “Your parts for tonight’s play.”

Everyone cheered.

“But before I hand them out …”

Everyone groaned.

“I want to explain how this is going to be staged. Due to the short time available, we didn’t have time to copy a complete script for each person, so these papers contain an explanation of the story, facts for your character, and only a few key lines to memorize.”

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

“The rest of the lines you’ll make up as we go along.” Digby passed out a paper to each young person.

“What if I can’t think of anything to say?” Beatrix asked as she took her page with a shaking hand.

“As long as you say those few lines I’ve given you that are crucial to the progress of the story, everything will be fine.” Digby walked by her without apparent concern for her distress and went on to the next person.

Shermont hoped she wouldn’t swoon. The poor girl was probably only doing this to please her supposed fiancé, who didn’t act as though he was her intended. “It won’t be as difficult as you imagine,” he reassured her. “We’ll all help one another.”

Beatrix flashed him a grateful smile.

Shermont looked at his assigned part and stifled a guffaw. A pirate?

“What’s all this?” Deirdre asked, thumbing her sheaf of pages. “I can’t memorize all—”

“You will be able to read your lines. As the narrator you’ll stand to the side of the stage, like the Greek chorus did in ancient times. Your lines will bridge the story action, and you can fill in the gap if someone forgets a line.”

Deirdre leaned back in her chair, obviously not excited with her role. Judging by the mostly silent reactions, no one but Digby seemed overly pleased.

“This is not fair,” Lieutenant Parker said. “Why do I have to be a soldier? I have to wear a uniform all the time.”

“At least you’re not the narrator,” Deirdre grumbled.

“Why do you get to be the enchanted Frog Prince?” Whitby asked Digby. “You always get to be the hero.”

“Because I wrote the play, and I have a green waistcoat.”

“So does Uncle Huxley,” Mina whispered.

But the play was just for the young people. The older generation and any late arriving guests were the intended audience.

“What we need are costumes,” Digby said. He clapped his hands, the signal for four footmen, each carrying a large trunk, to enter. “Each person is responsible for putting together his or her own costume, but these items from the attic may give you some ideas.”

There was a mad dash for the trunks. Shermont waited for the rush to die down then picked up an ornate sword and belt. He debated between a black seventeenth-century Musketeer-style wide-brimmed hat with a sad white feather and one with lots of gold braid that looked like it had once been worn by an admiral. Since Digby had named the pirate the Black Blade, Shermont chose the first hat and held out the other to Parker.

“I don’t need a costume,” he said in a disheartened tone.

“Generals are also soldiers.”

It took a moment, but Parker’s face lit up. “I could be a general.” He stood at attention, stuck out his chin, and gazed into distant battlefields. “Sir Henry Parker, Commanding General, First Brigade.”

Shermont plopped the hat on the young man’s head.

“Just don’t expect me to salute you,” Alanbrooke said as he walked by carrying an armor breastplate and helmet.

“Your attention, please,” Digby called. “Your chosen items will be taken to your rooms, and you’ll have a chance to refine your costumes later. Right now, we’re going to walk through the scenes. Please bring your scripts and follow me.”

As they walked to the ballroom, Eleanor slowed Mina with a hand on her arm and whispered, “Where are Fiona and Hazel? Didn’t they want to participate in the play?”

“Their mother is scandalized at the very idea of us putting on a play and won’t let them take part unless she can read the script first and be present during the rehearsal,” Mina whispered back. “Teddy categorically refused.”

“I’m surprised Mrs. Holcum didn’t insist on chaperoning.”

“Did you forget? It’s Teddy’s project. And anything he does is perfect. At least until her precious daughter gets a wedding ring around her finger. How could she not agree to his terms? But I’d bet she gave Beatrix an earful of instructions. Do this. Don’t do that.”

“Mostly don’t do that,” Eleanor whispered, and Mina giggled.

“Whenever you’re ready to start,” Teddy called to them. He stood on the stage at the far end of the ballroom with his arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently.

Eleanor hadn’t noticed they’d fallen so far behind. All the others stood in front of a wooden platform framed by curtains that looked suspiciously like the drapes from the dining room.

Everyone soon learned Teddy took his theatrics seriously.

Eleanor stood to try on the costume she was making.

When her necklace caught on the material, she took it off and laid it on the table. Then, worried it might get misplaced, she set it inside a decorative ceramic box.

“I thought putting on a play was supposed to be fun,” Deirdre said. “Like when we were children.” She listlessly sorted through the two additional trunks the servants had brought down from the attic. She held up a white silk domino with elaborate gold braid around the edges and peeked through the eyeholes of the mask which covered the upper half of her face.

“You’re just crabby because you don’t get to dress up in a costume,” Mina said without looking up from the black material she was sewing. “I’m not all that thrilled with being the witch, but …”

“Go on. Say it’s better than being the narrator.”

“That wasn’t what I was—”

“What do you think?” Eleanor asked. She walked to the center of the sitting room and pirouetted. She’d found an old ball gown with a nearly sheer overskirt of pink and gold tulle. There must have been eight yards of material in the skirt alone. She’d cut and basted together a tunic with long bell-shaped sleeves that she could wear over her regular dress and still had enough leftover material to use as a veil. “A Camelot-style princess gown. Will it do?”

“It’s amazing,” Mina said.

A knock on the door forestalled Deirdre’s answer.

Beatrix entered, face red and eyes swollen. “I don’t know how to act like a gypsy, and I can’t make a gypsy costume. Mother is horrified at the very thought of me being displayed on a stage, but she fears if she says anything to Teddy, he will put an end to our engagement. She’s so upset that she took to her bed with a headache.” She dumped a tangle of brightly colored silk scarves and shawls onto the chair. “What am I to say to your brother? He’ll think I ruined his play, and he’ll hate me.” She blinked away her tears and said to Eleanor, “Your costume is beautiful.”

“Thank you. We’ll help with your costume.” She slipped the dress off over her head carefully, since it was only basted together.

“I wish I could be the princess,” Beatrix said with a sigh.

“At least a gypsy is better than—”

“A narrator,” Mina and Eleanor finished in unison.

“Of course, Teddy did mention the narrator served the function of a Greek chorus,” Eleanor added.

“What’s your point?” Deirdre asked. She sat back, crossed her arms, and stuck out her lip in a pout.

“So wouldn’t it follow logically that the narrator could be a Greek goddess. The Goddess of Destiny would be an appropriate choice.”

Deirdre shook her head. “The Goddesses of Fate and Destiny were old hags. I’d rather be Aphrodite, Goddess of Love and Beauty.”

“I always liked Iris, Goddess of the Rainbow,” Beatrix said.

“If I have to be a witch, you can be a hag,” Mina said.

No one seemed happy with their assigned roles. If this were a Jane Austen novel, one of the women would come up with a clever idea. Suddenly, Eleanor realized how to solve one of her concerns. “I’ll be the witch,” she volunteered. “You can be the princess.” She held out her costume to Mina.

Mina looked horrified rather than pleased. “I’m not going to kiss the Frog Prince. Yuck.” She pushed Eleanor’s hand back.

“I’ll do it,” Beatrix said. She grabbed the princess dress and held it to her breast. “Please.”

“Fine with me,” Mina said. “I’d love to be the gypsy.”

“And I’ll be the witch,” Eleanor said.

Everyone smiled until Beatrix said, “We can’t change parts.” She gazed fondly at the pink tulle before giving it back to Eleanor. “Teddy would never allow it.”

Eleanor refused to take the dress. She didn’t want to kiss the frog either. The play called for the princess to kiss the frog mask, a hideous clay and paper head that their father had picked up on his Grand Tour during carnival in Florence. Why anyone would choose such a monstrosity was anyone’s guess. Teddy would then lean the princess over his arm, and while his back was to the audience, he would whip off the frog head. They would stand up still in an embrace. A bit of stage hocus-pocus that would change him back to a prince.

Eleanor ducked her head to think of something to say to convince the other women to exchange roles. She spied the white and gold domino Deirdre had dropped next to her on the settee. “We’ll all wear masks. What Teddy doesn’t know, he can’t change. And by the time he does find out, the play will be over and it won’t make any difference.”

“Great idea,” Mina said.

“Let’s do it,” Deirdre said.

“I don’t know,” Beatrix said, but she stroked the tulle material of the costume as if she cradled a beloved kitten or puppy in her arms. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

“Of course we should. It’s perfect,” Mina said.

“You have to go in with us or it won’t work,” Eleanor said. “You are not any man’s doormat. Stand up for what you want.”

Beatrix bit her bottom lip for a moment. “You’re right. I will do it.”

Eleanor grinned her approval. Maybe Beatrix had a backbone after all.

“Now … to work on an interesting costume. I’m not sure where to start. You’re clever with a needle,” Mina said to Eleanor as she sorted through the colorful scarves. “What would you do?”

Eleanor was in her element. She designed each costume to go over the dresses they would wear to dinner, so they could all get dressed backstage. Mina was turned into a gypsy by a wrap-around skirt she could tie around her waist like an apron. To the wide ribbon sash Eleanor tied a multitude of colorful strips of material, ribbons, and silk squares. At assorted spots she sewed on shiny bangles and tiny bells. A large shawl draped over her shoulders and another folded crossways and tied around her hips completed the basic costume.

Mina accented her costume with lots of jewelry, a red domino from the trunk, and another scarf tied around her head turban-style. Eleanor rummaged in the trunk and found a piano shawl with eight-inch black silk fringe that she cut off, twisted together, and tacked under the turban so that it hung over Mina’s shoulder like a long braid.

Mina spun around. Her skirt swirled in a colorful circle and the bells tinkled. “I love my costume,” she said.

“Me next,” Beatrix said.

She already had the basic tunic overdress. To that Eleanor added a chain of coin disks around her hips, a yellow scarf to tie over her hair, and two long hanks of yellow wool yarn that she crisscrossed with ribbons to resemble Rapunzel braids. She placed the veil over the girl’s head Maid Marian-style. Mina provided a gold circlet crown from her stash of jewelry to hold it all in place.

“I feel like a princess,” Beatrix said. “Oh, thank you. Thank you, Eleanor. Mina, Deirdre. I can’t find the words—”

“You’re quite welcome,” Eleanor said.

“From all of us,” Mina added.

“I don’t think you have anything in that trunk for me,” Deirdre remarked.

“You’re right,” Eleanor said and then laughed at Deirdre’s sad face. “For your costume we need outside help.” She summoned the maid and whispered her directions through the door that she opened only a crack. “Once we have the right materials, your costume will be the easiest of all,” she said to Deirdre.

Very quickly, a befuddled Twilla returned and handed extra bedsheets through the door. Eleanor draped one length of white material over each of Deirdre’s shoulders to hide the small cap sleeves of her dress and fastened them in place with large ornate brooches. A chain of golden leaf shapes was put into use as a belt to keep the sheets from flapping wide. Deirdre insisted on a disguise like everyone else, even though she hadn’t traded her part. Eleanor made her a turban of shiny gold fabric, modified slightly to let a long streamer of gold hang over one shoulder. The white domino that had sparked the idea fit the outfit perfectly.

“You look amazing,” Mina said to her sister. “Do you want to switch—”

“No,” Deirdre said. “The narrator is an important role, and I am honored to be selected for such a responsibility.”

For herself, Eleanor basted together another long tunic out of dark purple silk with tiny gold embroidered stars. To that she added a long black cape. She wasn’t sure if witches during the Regency wore pointy hats, but she cut a circle of pasteboard from one of the boxes in the larger trunk and glued black material to it. After notching out a pie-shaped piece, she pasted the long sides together. Two holes over each ear allowed her to attach thin black ribbons to tie it on. For a mask, she cut holes for eyes and a slit for a mouth into a piece of green silk and tied it over her face. She needed something to add for hair.

Deirdre found a fly-whisk in the trunk. Three tassels of gray horsehair were attached to a stick, and she explained it was used to swish through the air and chase the flies away. Eleanor attached the tassels to her hat, one over each ear and one so that it made coarse bangs. She wouldn’t be able to disguise her height, a good three inches taller than the others, but as the witch she would be sitting by the pretend fire for most of the play. The rest of the time she would have to remember to hunch over.

Loathe to take off their costumes, they fiddled with this, that, and the other detail, adding a last bit of jewelry or another ribbon. A knock sounded on the door. Mina was closest and opened it a crack to peek out. Fiona and Hazel pushed their way into the room. They were already dressed for dinner.

“We finally talked Mother into letting us participate in the play,” Hazel blurted out.

“I got so upset I vomited,” Fiona said. “It always works.”

“Except now we can’t find your brother.”

Deirdre shook her head. “I’m sorry—”

“Please don’t say it’s too late,” Hazel begged.

“He’s already handed out the parts,” Mina said.

“And we’ve already had the rehearsal,” Beatrix added.

Fiona and Hazel were close to tears.

“I know what you can do,” Eleanor said. “Deirdre can hardly be a Greek chorus all by herself, right?”

“Well, we can’t all read it in unison,” Deirdre pointed out. “And there isn’t time to write out two more copies.”

“True, but they can stand at your side.”

“And do what?”

Eleanor felt the weight of their collective stares and fumbled for an idea, any idea. “Well, when you get to the end of each section of narrative, you can bow or make a hand signal or something, and they can repeat the last two or three words for dramatic effect. Like a Greek chorus.” Her voice trailed off as she ran out of steam.

“We can do it,” Fiona said. “Can’t we, Hazel? Please let us do it.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Mina said.

With a little more cajoling, Deirdre agreed. Mina explained the secrecy pact, and the girls were sworn to silence. They too insisted on masks to go with their costumes. Eleanor rang for the maid, made her request, and Twilla fetched more sheets. There wasn’t enough gold fabric left to make two more headpieces to match Deirdre’s, so Eleanor cut Lone Ranger-style masks from the remnants. She made smaller white turbans for the Maxwell girls while they practiced their routine with Deirdre.

A knock on the door silenced everyone.

“If that’s someone else wanting a costume, tell them I’m all sewed out,” Eleanor said, flexing her cramped fingers. Everyone had helped with the sewing, but she’d done a lot of work in a short time.

Mina went to the door and opened it a crack. Her aunt’s maid stood in the hall. “Yes?”

“Pardon me, Miss Mina, but Mrs. Aubin said to tell you and Miss Cracklebury that the assembly bell has rung and you have guests waiting in the parlor. Miss Austen and Miss Jane have arrived with Mr. Knight and Mr. Austen. Lord and Lady Maybrumble and their daughters are here. And … I forget the other names.”

“Don’t worry about that. You may tell her we’ll be down straightaway.” She closed the door a little too firmly. “Good heavens! Where has the afternoon gone?”

“Hurry up, everyone. We have to get downstairs,” Deirdre said. She grabbed the bellpull to summon Twilla. “We still have to change into evening dress.”

Eleanor had already removed her costume as soon as she’d heard Jane Austen was in the house. “Take your costumes off carefully,” she cautioned the others. “They’re only basted together. Fiona, if you will empty that smaller trunk, we can put everything in there to have it carried backstage.”

Beatrix left, promising to dress for dinner quickly so she could meet them in twenty minutes.

Deirdre and Mina changed clothes faster than ever with Twilla and Eleanor’s help.

“But you still have to change too,” Mina said to Eleanor.

“I can do that after you two go. It’s most important that you get downstairs quickly.”

While Twilla put the final touches on Mina’s hair, Eleanor went into the sitting room.

Deirdre followed. “Why aren’t you changing?”

“I’m looking for a book.”

“What book?” Deirdre asked.

“Pride and Prejudice,” Eleanor answered. “My favorite.” Then she remembered she’d placed it on the table by the window in her bedroom and left to fetch it.

Again, Deirdre followed her. “You’re not thinking of taking that book downstairs?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, no, no, no. No, you are not.”

“But Jane Austen is—”

Deirdre lowered her voice. “I wrote you about that rumor in confidence. Miss Jane has not openly acknowledged that she is … You absolutely cannot mention anything about her … ah … habit. That would be the epitome of rudeness.”

Eleanor looked at the book in her hands and sighed. She wasn’t sure what she’d planned on saying to Jane Austen if she actually met her, but talking about her books and her characters would have been wonderful. And apparently impossible. She put the novel on the table and gave it a little pat.

“You should take care of that book,” Eleanor said. “It’s going to be valuable someday. That and anything Jane Austen writes to you, even something as simple as an acceptance to an invitation.”

Deirdre gave her a strange look, and then she laughed. “Is that another one of your so-called premonitions? You know they’re nonsense. You were so scared about that dream you had of your ship going down, and yet here you are safe and sound.” She shook her head. “You always were melodramatic. Forget all that and get dressed. We have to go, but I want you to come down in ten minutes.”

Eleanor changed her dress and shoes in two minutes flat. Then she paced the room and watched the clock on the mantle. And worried about what she would say to Jane Austen.

Omigod. Jane Austen!

In the course of her jobs in the costume departments at several major movie studios, she’d met, talked to, and touched a number of big-name stars without a single qualm. But now she had a whole flock of butterflies. Austenipolo nerviosi.

The clock ticked ever so slowly, and yet the minutes flew by. Suddenly, it was time to go before she’d thought of something to say.