Much Ado About Many Things

by Sophie Lynbrook

  …one may smile, and smile, and be a villain.

  hamlet, ACT i, SCENE v

  The first thing that Mr. Darcy saw when he walked back into the drawing room was that Mr. Wickham was still sitting beside Elizabeth, and she was looking very pleased with her company. They were both laughing, and she was displaying at its best that lively spirit which had so often caught his attention. He had sometimes wished to have a share instead of watching from a distance, and now Mr. Wickham was enjoying the very privilege which he had himself never managed to attain.

  He wanted to turn around and walk away from this disturbing scene. He wanted to rush forward and claim her for himself. He did not know what he wanted. But one thing was certain. Another element had been added to his torment, and it was a bitter one.

  Do not be misled by his smooth tongue, Mr. Darcy silently beseeched her. He may appear to be good, but he is not to be trusted. He may smile and smile, but he is no true friend. I wish you could see him for what he really is. But nobody ever does in the beginning.

  I wish you were not liking him so much. I hope you will not fall in love with him. He will only disappoint in the end. And I could not bear it. The sight of him basking in your smiles turns a knife in my heart.

  He was glad Miss Bingley called for everybody’s attention at that moment. She explained her plan of dividing the rehearsals between various rooms, and the intention of getting a start by reading through the scenes of the first act. Then everybody could go away and start memorizing their lines for the next day.

  The first scene was to be done in this room and it required several of the officers, but not Wickham. Instead of sitting down to watch, he expressed an interest in immediately going to the other room in order to start studying his lines for the third scene, which he, Captain Carter, and Colonel Forster were to practice after the colonel had finished participating in the first scene.

  This was just what Mr. Darcy wanted. This evidence that Mr. Wickham was indeed equally desirous of avoiding him was a source of some comfort. He breathed a sigh of relief as Miss Bingley went to show Mr. Wickham the way, as well as Captain Carter, who also wanted to look over his lines.

  Now if only Mr. Collins could be so obliging as to take himself off to a quiet corner. But he was again at Mr. Darcy’s side and now anticipating the pleasure of witnessing “your superlative acting talents.”

  There followed the beginning of another speech, all about nothing since Mr. Darcy’s acting talents remained to be seen, but Mr. Collins came to an abrupt halt when Elizabeth walked by.

  He eagerly caught at her arm, crying. “Come, Cousin Elizabeth. “Since neither of us is to act in this scene, we can sit together and watch.”

  Having no desire to see her in the company of this gentleman either, Mr. Darcy glared at the offending hand which was attached to her arm. His vexation was only a little relieved by seeing obvious reluctance on her part.

  “Would you not prefer to spend the time learning your part?” she suggested. “I believe the library is available if you would like to sit in a quiet room.”

  It was a valiant effort, but a doomed one. Mr. Darcy was not surprised when Mr. Collins waved away her suggestion, saying, “I can study my lines in the evenings. My current purpose is to watch Mr. Darcy so that I may describe his performance to Lady Catherine.”

  She extricated her arm. “I was not intending to watch. Indeed, if you do not wish to use the library, then I shall be happy to take advantage of a quiet space for reading.”

  Mr. Collins looked at her with consternation. “You do not want to watch Mr. Darcy? How can you choose to miss such a great privilege?”

  Mr. Darcy was wondering about this too. Not that he thought it any great privilege to hear him read through his lines, but he had the distressing idea that she was really going to join Mr. Wickham.

  “I am sure you will be able to remember every detail better without me distracting you,” she said, “and we would not want Lady Catherine to be disappointed in your account.”

  Mr. Darcy thought that this was masterfully managed.

  “No, indeed,” Mr. Collins cried. “You have an excellent grasp of things, Cousin Elizabeth. I see that you understand the importance of gratifying her ladyship’s wishes. I cannot tell you how much this pleases me.”

  It seemed to Mr. Darcy that Mr. Collins was forgetting his remarkable talent for telling people everything, but one could only be grateful for this sudden incapacity. Long might it last.

  Elizabeth left, leaving Mr. Darcy to discover that the verbose parson had not lost his powers of speech. Mr. Collins was not done anticipating the greatness of the performance he was about to have the privilege of beholding. The words flowed over Mr. Darcy, who was instead thinking of the scene which he had witnessed earlier and fearing that a conquest had been made during his absence from the room. He was certain of having seen great admiration on both sides, and the knowledge that Mr. Wickham could not afford to marry her was cold comfort.

  CHAPTER 18

  …there’s small choice in rotten apples.

  THE TAMING OF THE SHREW, ACT I, SCENE I

  Elizabeth did not go to watch Mr. Wickham. Having seen her younger sisters chase after the officers far too often in the short time since the regiment had come to Meryton, she was particularly inclined to be careful that her own behaviour could not be interpreted in that way. It was bad enough that her character in this play was a flirt. She was not.

  Mr. Wickham was handsome, well mannered, and excellent company, but she could get to know him better without throwing herself at him. The quiet of the library really was her goal, and mainly for the purpose of getting away from Mr. Collins. If he had not latched upon her, she would have stayed to watch the scene. But as it was only a first read through, at least she would not be missing much.

  In the hall, she passed Miss Bingley, who was still looking to be in the same excellent mood which had apparently spurred her strangely pleasant manner toward Mr. Collins earlier. Elizabeth had noted that with some surprise. She could only think that enthusiasm for the beginning of their rehearsals had been responsible for that unusual friendliness.

  “You are going to watch the officers, are you?” Miss Bingley said. “I am sure you will enjoy that very well.”

  And now there was derision in her tone. Things were not so far from normal after all.

  “I am going to the library,” Elizabeth said, and she walked past the other room without even glancing at the open door, but she was certain that Miss Bingley did not believe her and was probably expecting her to double back once the coast was clear.

  Settled in the library, she looked at her part with dissatisfaction. Some of her lines were shocking, and worst of all was the scene in which she had to flirt with Mr. Darcy. That would probably offend him, mortify her, and infuriate Miss Bingley.

  If only she could ask for her role to be modified beyond all recognition. But she was not as obtuse as Mr. Collins, who had failed to see the purpose of his ridiculous character. Margaret’s lowness functioned as a counterpoint to Hero’s goodness, and her flirting contrasted with Beatrice’s lack of coquettishness. Asking to have the character made more ladylike would give Mr. Darcy the impression that she was ignorant. And she certainly could not tell him that she dreaded having to flirt with him.

  Perhaps she might take a leaf from Mr. Wickham’s book and throw herself into the part well enough to forget that Benedick was really Mr. Darcy and to think of herself only as Margaret. Or would that just make her look like a practised flirt? It would almost be better to play the part badly, but then she would appear inept. It was one more dilemma in a lack of desirable choices which had lately been plaguing her.

  CHAPTER 19

  We few, we happy few, we band of brothers…

  HENRY V, ACT IV, SCENE III

  With torment and temptation both gone from the room, Mr. Darcy thought that he might have been able to relax, except for being unable to stop picturing Elizabeth sitting beside
Mr. Wickham and helping him to learn his lines. He saw two heads bent over a book together. Two hands grazing as the pages were turned.

  Miss Bingley was directing players into their places. The scene was to open with just four of them: herself, Mr. Bennet, Jane, and the officer who was playing the part of the messenger. Mr. Darcy’s character did not make an entrance until partway through the scene, so he was not yet required. If he were quick, there should be sufficient time for him to run along to the library and learn the truth of the matter.

  “I shall be back in just a moment,” he whispered to his cousin, slipping out of the room while Miss Bingley’s back was turned in case she took it into her head to forbid him to leave. In the hall, he saw that the door to the other room was open, but there was no sound to be heard. If anybody was talking, they were doing so very quietly. Or perhaps they were sitting silently together.

  Not wanting to be seen, he skirted the door widely and hurried on to the library. His expectation of finding that room empty made Elizabeth’s presence all the more staggering. As Mr. Darcy was overwhelmed by relief and joy, she looked up at him with puzzlement, causing him to realize that he needed some excuse for being there.

  “I left some notes here earlier,” he said, walking past her to a desk. Fortunately, there was a small stack of paper in one of the drawers. He seized a sheet, quickly rolled it up so that the lack of writing would not be apparent, and then rushed out of the room.

  Did she guess why I was there? What a fool I am. Foolish to doubt her, and foolish to check upon her. Foolish to be so jealous, especially when I have not the right to any interest in her concerns. I have not a shred of dignity at this moment. It was all undone by my own hand.

  He quietly re-entered the room where the scene was now in progress and went to stand beside Colonel Fitzwilliam, who asked in a whisper, “Was she in the library?”

  Mr. Darcy tried to brush this off by giving his cousin a look of indignation. He had forgotten about the paper, however. Colonel Fitzwilliam plucked the sheet from his hand, unrolled it, and then looked indignantly at him.

  “She was,” Mr. Darcy admitted, feeling utterly ridiculous.

  Nothing else was said, but the colonel smiled in satisfaction, which Mr. Darcy could not help sharing despite the shame of his foolishness. Mr. Wickham was out of sight and apparently embarrassed enough to make a point of keeping himself away. This was excellent. And Elizabeth might not be smitten by him after all. That was even better.

  In another couple of minutes, Mr. Darcy was needed in the scene, and with jealousy abated, he went to take his place in an almost buoyant mood. Indeed, while Miss Bingley was redirecting everybody, he had a pleasant chat with Mr. Bennet, which made him feel that he had been unjust to the man earlier.

  Once the reading resumed, he decided that Mr. Bennet was also quite a talented actor. The part of Leonato was evidently in good hands. So too were Claudio and Don Pedro. Mr. Darcy had never acted with Mr. Bingley before, but he saw now that his friend had reasonable skill. So did his cousin, as he already knew from past experience. Sir William was not quite so good, but he read competently, as did the officers. Mr. Darcy could not find any glaring fault with them.

  Now, if only he could have a better Beatrice. He would prefer one far less shrill. There was supposed to be, as Leonato put it, a kind of merry war between her and Benedick. The words which she was reading should be spoken playfully, but Miss Bingley did not know how to be playful. Instead, she was shrill and shrewish. She even cackled at the end of one speech.

  “I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me,” she said in a voice which Mr. Darcy thought would do very well for portraying one of the witches in Macbeth.

  I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than listen to you mangle these lines, he said to himself.

  This was a great disappointment. He knew how her lines should be spoken. He could hear another voice saying them in his head. It was Elizabeth’s voice. If only she were his Beatrice.

  Miss Bingley was looking at him, waiting for him to speak. Hoping he had not been distracted for any notable amount of time, he quickly read the lines, feeling that he was also failing to do his role justice. But how could he portray Benedick with the appropriate merriness when paired with such a harsh Beatrice?

  The next part of the scene, which Mr. Darcy acted with Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam, was a great improvement. With them, it was easy to play his part and to enjoy himself as well. When they finished, he chatted some more, even talking with the officers now. His cousin was getting along very well with them, presumably having forgiven them for bringing Mr. Wickham, which was fair enough. They could not have known how little he would be wanted or how false he was.

  Mr. Darcy decided that he could not hate them for it either. He was at first still hesitant about being friendly with them, but Colonel Fitzwilliam drew him into the conversation, and somewhat to his surprise, he found the company very agreeable. He had not enjoyed himself this much when they had dined with the officers the previous week, but perhaps that was his own fault. He had been reserved, as he generally was with strangers. Apparently acting together in a play was just the thing to get strangers onto terms of friendship.

  Their camaraderie was broken up when Colonel Forster recollected that Mr. Wickham and Captain Carter were waiting for him to practice their scene. He went to join them, and that was when Mr. Darcy realized that Miss Bingley was no longer with them. Mrs. Hurst was not in the room either, nor Mr. Hurst for that matter, but Mr. Darcy could not remember him having been there in the first place. Mrs. Hurst had definitely been there, however, and she and Miss Bingley were just as definitely absent now.

  So too was Mr. Collins. Had the three of them left together? Mr. Darcy could not think why they would, but there had been that strange cordiality toward Mr. Collins which had caught his attention earlier. Now he wondered if there were something behind it. Knowing that Mr. Bingley’s sisters were capable of deceit and trickery, he suspected that they were up to something.

  But what? Was there some way in which they thought Mr. Collins could be of use to them? Or were they toying with him?

  Could they be wanting to sabotage his marriage plans? It did not seem likely. They had been too obviously gleeful about the prospect of him marrying Elizabeth. Indeed, they were more likely to encourage him. Perhaps that was it. Maybe they were egging him on to settle matters swiftly.

  Mr. Darcy did not like it. The urge to save Elizabeth returned. He looked speculatively at her father and thought that being connected to him would not be such a dreadful thing. There was an excessive amount of frivolity to his manner, but that was mitigated by his also having a pleasant manner and excellent sense. It was unfortunate that sense had failed him in the matter of his marriage. Mrs. Bennet was the stumbling block, and Mr. Darcy did not know how he could look past it.

  CHAPTER 20

  The charm’s wound up.

  MACBETH, ACT I, SCENE III

  Magnificent. Outstanding. Exceptional talent. A commanding presence.

  Mr. Collins was busy trying to store up words and phrases for describing Mr. Darcy’s performance to Lady Catherine when he had the great honour of being approached by Miss Bingley, who had been treating him with such wonderful amiability and condescension.

  “Do come with us, Mr. Collins,” she said. “My sister and I are going to sit elsewhere for a little while, and we have a great desire to know our friend’s cousin better.”

  Mr. Collins was torn for a fraction of a second. It had been his intention to watch Lady Catherine’s nephew in every minute of his acting endeavours to be able to give her a full account, but this was not an offer to be refused. Two of the most elegant women he had ever met were offering him their friendship. He was a very fortunate man indeed.

  He rose from his seat and accompanied the ladies out of the room with only a quick look back to see if anybody had observed him being singled out for such particular attention. Sadly, they
were all conversing with each other and oblivious to his triumph.

  “Tell us all about yourself,” Mrs. Hurst said once they were settled in another room, which they had all to themselves.

  Mr. Collins needed no more encouragement than this. He sat down and proceeded to fulfil their expressed desire for extensive knowledge of his family, his education, and his recent elevation in the world. They took particular interest in hearing about the parsonage of which he was so proud.

  “You have been very fortunate,” Miss Bingley said. “It seems that the only thing you are lacking is a wife.”

  “That is exactly what I think,” Mr. Collins said in eager agreement. “A wife is just what I need to achieve a state of perfect happiness.”

  “As long as you choose the right wife,” Mrs. Hurst said.

  “Quite so,” Miss Bingley said. “My sister and I cannot help thinking that you may be in some danger of making a grievous error.”

  A grievous error? Mr. Collins had no idea what she meant, but he was instantly willing to hear any persuasion against his choice from two such superior ladies. Their advice could no more be ignored than Lady Catherine’s might be. He was so keen to hear their wisdom that he refrained from speaking and listened with the greatest attentiveness.

  “Yesterday, it seemed to us that you very much admired your cousin Elizabeth.”

  Mr. Collins nodded in confirmation of this fact. He was somewhat surprised that they had been so perceptive, but it was his experience that superior ladies were quick to understand a great deal.

  “Eliza is indeed quite pretty, but we do not think that she is quite the right lady for you.”

  Mr. Collins was quite ready to believe this without requiring some supportive evidence, but they provided some anyway.”

  “Her spirited manner is delightful, but perhaps not quite right for a parson’s wife.”

  He nodded again. This was an excellent point. A parson’s wife should not be too spirited a person. How had he failed to see this for himself? He was usually an excellent judge in all things, but perhaps in this case, the matter had been too close to his heart.