Professor Carmichael’s shoulders sagged, but she straightened her back, pushed her glasses up her nose, and began her lecture on medicine in Jane Austen’s life. She spoke with passion and authority, and her joy for the subject made her whole face light up, becoming more animated and youthful as she dug deeper, telling us how vinegar was distilled and used on a range of ailments, from reviving a fainted person, to croup, dropsy, and stomach aches. She had lots of charts and medical facts to back up her conclusions, no doubt gleaned from her previous occupation as a doctor.
As she talked, more and more people left the room, heading toward their suites to prepare for the ball. My heart went out to Professor Carmichael. As the end of the hour neared, all who was left was me, Alice Yo, Gerald, and Professor Hathaway and Christina right in the front row.
When she presented her conclusion and clicked off her slide, Professor Hathaway stood, clapping over his head as if she was a rock star finishing her encore at Earl’s Court.
“Go to hell,” she glared at him.
By Isis, there’s no love lost there. Alice gave me a pained look. I wanted to stick around and ask her more about her article and if it had anything to do with Gerald and Professor Hathaway’s argument and the subsequent clandestine meeting, but a glance at my phone screen revealed I only had an hour left to get ready for the ball. I packed up my things in a hurry and raced off to my room to change, frantically trying to remember all the steps to the dances I’d learned yesterday.
“Have either of you seen Lydia?” I asked as we milled around in the antechamber. By the time I’d returned to our room after Professor Carmichael’s lecture, Lydia was already gone. She’d left every towel sopping wet and had somehow looped my favorite bra over the ceiling fan. I had to call a staff member to help me get it down. Without Lydia’s help, I’d barely managed to pull on the beautiful red dress and get my hair up in time.
“Maybe she’s on the roof, polishing her broom,” Morrie said.
I punched him in the arm. “Don’t say that.”
“She’ll be here somewhere,” Heathcliff said, indicating the crowd of people who packed every corner of Undercross. “I wish they’d open the windows. All the hairspray fumes are doing my head in.”
I peered at the series of high windows along the wall, remembering that Quoth had promised he’d be here. “I want to look for Lydia and see if Quoth’s here yet. Let’s take a turn about the room.” I looped my arms in Heathcliff and Morrie and dragged them toward the wall. I peered outside, but the windows revealed only a dark void. If Quoth was looking in at me, I’d be none the wiser, thanks to my stupid eyes. Inside, at least, the chandelier was bright enough that I could make out most faces. There’s Gerald and the rest of the Brontë society. There’s Professor Carmichael in a beautiful cream dress, and Cynthia looking stunning in blue.
“I see Lydia.” Morrie pulled me in the direction of the fireplace.
“Oh no,” I breathed. Professor Hathaway sat in the crimson chair in front of the fire, wearing a fine topcoat with gold details and an elaborate sword on his belt. In his lap, Lydia bounced on his knee, whispering something in his ear. “When she said she’d acquired new suitors, it never occurred to me that she’d be after him.”
Behind me, I heard a disgusted sigh. I turned around in time to see Professor Carmichael make a disgusted face and push her way through the crowd to get away from Hathaway and his sycophants.
“Well, he is a bachelor, and definitely eligible.” Morrie grinned. “I bet he has a fortune of ten thousand a year.”
“He’s also old – even under that dyed hair – and gross. I told you what Professor Carmichael said about him, and there was Gerald’s outburst this morning.”
“Indeed, although I’d be careful to believe the words of rival academics. I’ve read at a top university, and I can tell you that the dons bicker incessantly and constantly try to throw each other under the bus in order to score a book deal, speaking slot, or professional accolade for themselves. It’s a lot like Hollywood, except that the fashion lends more ‘tweed and tipsy’.”
I watched Lydia toss her head back and laugh at something Professor Hathaway said. Beside her, David leaned down and handed her a drink. “I can’t stop thinking about Hannah’s face when she was confronting Hathaway. She looked scared. That makes me worry about Lydia. She’s only sixteen. Should we rescue her?”
“No,” said Heathcliff and Morrie in unison.
It appeared we didn’t need to. As well as David, three other men hovered around her, offering food and wine and to fill up her dance card. It appeared Lydia had wasted no time in taking my advice. I made a note to speak to her about the dangers of men like Hathaway as soon as I got the chance.
“It’s a terrible tragedy,” a woman behind me gushed. I turned around, wondering if she was talking about Hathaway. But no, for she held on to Christina Hathaway’s hand. “For you to be without your jewels for the ball. Are you certain you’re not a victim of the Argleton Jewel Thief?”
“No, no. Father keeps them on his person at all times. I just don’t want to disturb his conversation,” Christina replied in her high, breathless voice. She looked absolutely radiant in a cream dress covered in fine lace. Rows of pearl beads dotted her demure neckline and edged her gloves, but I noticed she wore no earrings or necklace, as the other woman did. Behind her, Gerald moved closer, with Hannah on his arm. “Those jewels belonged to my mother. He would be terribly upset if something were to happen to them.”
Perhaps if your father wasn’t so busy trying to seduce sixteen-year-old girls, he might be able to find your jewels.
I didn’t get to eavesdrop any longer. Excitement rippled through the crowd as the doors swung open. Janeites surged toward the entrance, sweeping us along with the crowd. I held tight to Heathcliff and Morrie and gazed around the room in wonder.
The ballroom had been transformed. Gone were the folding chairs arranged in neat rows. Instead, the grand marble floor shone from a fresh polish, ready for dancing feet. Floral arrangements wound around the columns, drawing the eye upward to the ornate paintings of nymphs and satyrs that adorned the ceiling. A band set up in one corner, playing a jaunty reel to welcome us. In front of them, a microphone had been set up for Cynthia to call the dances. Round tables down one end waited for the guests, adorned with towering flower arrangements and glittering with crystal dinnerware.
“Mina, there you are!” Lydia grinned at me. Beside her, David held her hand. “Isn’t this great fun?”
“What happened to Professor Hathaway? I saw you two getting friendly together.” At the mention of his boss’ name, David frowned. Christina rushed over and took David’s other arm. “I heard you say that you saw my father. He keeps Mummy’s jewels on his person, and I wish to wear her pearl earrings tonight.”
“I think he’s had too much alcohol! He was nodding off by the fire, so I left him. David is a much better dancer, anyway, isn’t that right, David? What are those lights?” Lydia stared at the ceiling.
“They’re called fairy lights.”
“How delightful! Like fireflies except more… glamorous. I look forward to dancing beneath them. They will make my dress look most fetching.”
“Should I worry about Father?” Christina asked David. “I don’t want him to miss the ball.”
“He’s probably still surrounded by his fans,” David said. “We’ll take our seats and I’m sure he’ll be along presently. Shall I get you a drink from the bar?”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” They disappeared into the crowd. I couldn’t help but think they’d be perfect for each other with their lovely Regency manners, but then I remembered Morrie had seen Christina and Alice snogging in the courtyard. I wondered again what her father would think if he knew.
My phone – which still sat in my bra, along with my father’s letter – buzzed. I ignored it. I’d already received fifty-one texts from my mother this weekend, all of them ignored.
“Here’s our tab
le. After you, ladies.” Morrie held out two chairs. Lydia slid into one and put her purse on the other. Morrie went to move her purse, and she glared at him.
“David will be sitting there. Now, go away,” she waved her hands at us. “I’m saving this table for my other suitors. You’ll find plenty of other seats around the room.”
“Lydia, you can’t just sit wherever you want. You have to find your name on your place setting—”
Lydia’s cheeks reddened. “I said, move! Don’t force me to say something I’ll regret.”
Before I could give Lydia a piece of my mind, Morrie looped an arm in mine and led me away. “Why, I’m almost offended. I thought I was supposed to be her escort.”
“I think we’re supposed to sit at Cynthia’s table, anyway,” I said.
Heathcliff smirked as he took my other hand. “If your ego can’t take the bruising, you could go back and insist upon dueling David for her affections.”
“Not on your life. That guy is brutal with a foil. If our charge doesn’t wish to sit with me, who am I to deny her?” Morrie steered us to a table near the front of the room, where we found our names on the list. Alice sat on one side of the circle, staring down at her phone. On the other side, two women and a man I didn’t recognize hooted with laughter while Christina and David talked with their heads bent close together. I guess he won’t be joining Lydia after all. “Shall we join the other VIPs?”
I nodded. Morrie pulled out the chair next to Alice, and I sank down into it. She looked up from her phone and smiled. “I was hoping you’d sit with me. I don’t know how much talk of bonnets and calligraphy I can stand.”
“You’ve already exhausted conversation with our table-mates?”
“Let’s see. Christina and David won’t speak to me, because they don’t like the questions I’ve been asking about Professor Hathaway.” It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her if that was true after their make-out session last night. But I didn’t want to make either of them into a spectacle if they’d chosen to keep it private. “We’ve also got Barbara, the tarot reader. Gina over there writes Jane Austen erotica. Quentin is a scholar of political science and a Marxist and has just spent the last fifteen minutes explaining to me in the most passionate terms the political history of the top hat.”
“At least you can’t say this is a gathering ‘too numerous for intimacy, too few for variety’,” I joked, quoting from Persuasion.
Alice rolled her eyes. “Not you, too.”
“Do you have an angle for your fluffy article yet?”
She jerked her head toward a couple of women at a nearby table who waited for their male escort to pull out their chairs and pour their drinks. “I’m thinking, ‘sexism still alive and well in Argleton’.”
I smiled, topping up her wine glass after filling my own. Solidarity, sister. “I’m guessing your other piece has something to do with Hathaway? I saw you speaking to Professor Carmichael yesterday, and after Gerald’s performance this morning—”
“Good guess.” Alice set down her phone on the table, turning the screen down so I couldn’t see what was on it. “Hathaway has had several inappropriate relationships with female students, and that’s only scratching the surface of that man’s depravity. Professor Carmichael was the one who came to me with information in the first place, and it was even more damning than she’d initially suggested. Gerald’s story could only add fuel to the fire. Hathaway’s been allowed to get away with too much for too long. This is going to be the #metoo story of the year. I want—”
Something dived under the table. Alice reached out to save our wine before it splashed on the pristine tablecloth.
I peered under the table. “Heathcliff, what are you doing?”
“Put the cloth down!” He wrenched it from my fingers and yanked it to the floor. The flower arrangement teetered dangerously. Hannah and her goth friends appeared at my side.
“Do you have any idea where Heathcliff got to?” Hannah asked. She flaunted the Regency theme of the ball and wore a fishtail-style black gown with a plunging neckline that would earn the Morticia Addams seal of approval. Her hair was teased out in a wild 80s style, her fake lashes so long they touched her cheeks when she widened her eyes to search the room. “He promised me the first dance.”
“Sure. He’s under the table,” I said. From beneath my feet, something bellowed.
Heathcliff yanked the tablecloth up on the other side of the table. Christina yelped in surprise as he barreled out and dashed off. A moment later, three black-clad goth girls raced after him. Morrie, Alice and I burst out laughing.
“David,” Christina folded her napkin on the table. “I need to go to the bathroom. Will you accompany me?”
“It would be my pleasure.” David rose and offered his arm. “Perhaps we will find your father on the way.” Just as they disappeared, Cynthia stopped by our table and wished us a fun night. I couldn’t help but feel a little flutter of excitement as the band struck up a jaunty tune. This really was quite fun.
When everyone in the room had taken their seats and the waiters came around with appetizers – smoked quail breast with Asian pear gel, cauliflower puree, and spelt grains – Cynthia took to the stage to welcome us and explain how the evening would work. There would be a round of dancing between appetizers and the main course, and then the music would continue long into the evening. The band struck up one of the popular tunes, the ‘Duke of Kent’s Waltz’, and two lines of dancers took to the floor.
Heathcliff hadn’t returned by the time I finished my quail. Morrie swiped Heathcliff’s plate and refilled mine and Alice’s glasses. “We must take the opportunity to have the next dance together,” Morrie’s eyes sparkled at me.
“Standing close, staring adoringly into each other’s eyes while we remember a complex pattern of steps?” I raised a suggestive eyebrow. “Are you sure the world’s foremost criminal mind is up to the challenge?”
The band finished their song, and Morrie held out his hand. “Let us find out.”
Morrie led me onto the dance floor and we lined up alongside the other couples. Luckily, the next dance was ‘A Fig for Bonaparte’, which was one of the easier country dances we learned the previous day. Even so, I managed to begin by stepping the wrong way.
“Ooops, sorry, sorry,” I apologized as I bumped my way through the frowning dancers and found my way back to Morrie.
“At least when you go blind, you’ll have an excuse for your appalling sense of direction,” he grinned.
Weirdly, that comment that might’ve upset me on any other day just made me poke my tongue out at him. I stuck my foot out as Morrie swept past. He tripped and skidded into Lydia, who shoved him away with a grimace.
We wound our way down the line without any other disasters. The next dance was more complex, and I hadn’t been able to see the instructor very well. I shuffled us to the back of the line so I could watch the other couples first. When it came to our turn, I managed to spin the right way. As I twirled around the couple behind me, my gaze flicked to the bar. Gerald slumped over the hardwood surface, a piña colada in his hand. When I spun around again, he was still there, this time with a pink drink. On the next spin, he had a glass of clear liquid that I guessed wasn’t water.
“Morrie? Do you see Gerald?” I pointed toward the bar.
“He’s wearing an awfully cheap cotton shirt for the ball. And it hasn’t escaped my attention he’s trying to drink his way through the Baddesley cellars,” Morrie observed as he lifted his arm so I could pass under. “Heathcliff will not be amused if there’s nothing left for tomorrow’s whisky tasting.”
“Do you think he’s upset about that incident with Professor Hathaway this morning?” I turned back and noticed Gerald accepting an Old-Fashioned.
“He certainly appears agitated—ow.” Morrie winced as my boot landed on his foot. “Focus on the dance, gorgeous. My shins are not as robust as Heathcliff’s.”
I was puffing by the time we finished the set.
Cynthia bade us return to our seats amidst raucous applause. I beamed from my place on Morrie’s arm. That was actually heaps of fun.
My breasts vibrated. Another text message from Mum. I resisted the temptation to toss my phone into the nearest punch bowl.
Our main course was served – wild duck confit, quince poached in mulled wine, white bean puree – and I dug in, ravenous from all the dancing. Cynthia took the stage again. “We have a very special treat tonight. It is my pleasure as the President of the Jane Austen Appreciation Society Argleton chapter to present our Lifetime Achievement Award for the pursuit of Austen scholarship and the furtherance of the society’s aims to promote her work to a new generation. I think it’s no surprise that I stand here tonight to present this honor to Professor Julius Hathaway.”
The room erupted into applause – all except Professor Carmichael and Alice, who glared at the stage. I turned around to see what Gerald thought of this announcement. He scowled at the bartender and swiped another cocktail.
Cynthia beamed, scanning the crowd as the applause died down. “If Professor Hathaway could come to the stage and accept his award. Where is he?”
“I don’t think he’s arrived yet,” David called out. “Christina and I haven’t seen him at our table, although his dinner’s gone, so maybe he came by while we were taking a turn of the room—”
“Nope. That was me,” Morrie said, rubbing his stomach. “I couldn’t very well let a perfectly decent duck confit go to waste.”
“So no one’s seen the good professor all evening?” Cynthia looked confused. Murmurs stole through the crowd.
“He attended the final lecture of the day,” said Christina. “I left to prepare for the ball, and he stayed behind to correct Professor Carmichael on one or two points of scholarship. I went to his room immediately before the ball to collect my mother’s jewels, but he wasn’t there. Professor Carmichael must’ve been the last to see him.”
Pride and Premeditation Page 15