I wasn’t the only one struggling. While Lydia twirled about in a new cream dress with a neckline so plunging it would be sure to divert attention from my ‘racy’ color choice, the boys were getting a lesson in pulling on stockings. Morrie had his twisted around his ankle, while Heathcliff had knotted his into a noose and was pretending to hang himself with it. Behind them, a small audience of younger Janeites and an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair that matched her muslin dress stifled laughter. I recognized the woman’s face from somewhere, but I couldn’t place it.
“You roll them on your fingers, like this…” Mrs. Maitland demonstrated. Heathcliff copied her, and somehow shoved his thumbs through the silk, leaving two gaping holes.
Morrie, at least, got the hang of his, rolling up the stockings and managing to give Mrs. Maitland an eyeful of his crotch, likely on purpose. She didn’t even turn away. I guess in her line of work, you saw it all.
“These really do hug everything.” Morrie pirouetted, wearing only his stockings and a black flouncy shirt. At the sight of… well…everything,several members of our audience tittered and looked bashfully away. “I feel a pleasing sense of support and security.”
“Before you prance off, you’ll need to be fitted for your breeches.” Mrs. Maitland steered him back into the depths of her shop. As one, the audience let out a disappointed sigh.
“Oh dear,” the older woman said. “I know whose dance card will be booked solid at the ball.”
“I’m sorry for my friends,” I said to her. “They don’t mean to be so… licentious.”
“Nonsense,” she smiled back at me. “It’s good to see young men enjoying Jane Austen, even if they do need a few lessons in the proper decorum. Honestly, I think mandatory costumes are a little silly myself, but I can’t deny the organizers have put on a spectacular event.”
“Is this your first Jane Austen event?” I asked.
“Heavens, no. I’m Professor Michaela Carmichael. I’ll be giving a lecture on medicine and cosmetics in Jane Austen’s fiction this afternoon.”
“That’s right.” I remembered where I’d seen her face before – her picture was in the brochure as one of the invited Austen scholars. “You’re a physician turned Janeite. You wrote a famous book on Regency medical practices.”
“I’d hardly call itfamous,” she said, with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “My royalties would barely keep one of the Bennet girls in bonnets and bonbons. People would far rather read James Patterson or Jane Austen erotica than any serious academic text.”
“I work at a bookshop. I know all about that,” I smiled, thinking of the tall stack of James Patterson books we had to send to recycling every month because we got more than we could ever hope to sell. “Still, it must be nice to be surrounded by so many adoring Janeites. I bet everyone in this room is excited about your lecture.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” her features turned stony. “They’re all here to see thefamous and handsomeProfessor Julius Hathaway.”
“That makes sense. He’s the academic who discovered Jane Austen’s connection to Baddesley Hall. The local shopkeepers want to hug him for all the extra business he brings to the village with the yearly festival. Plus, I guess you’re always guaranteed to pull a crowd with a lecture on sex and sensuality in Regency novels, even if you are an academic and not an erotic novelist.” I recalled Professor Hathaway’s lecture topic only because it had set Heathcliff off in a tirade about the frivolity of Austen novels that included at least three curse words I’d never heard before.
“I’d hardly refer to Hathaway as anacademic.” Professor Carmichael visibly stiffened. “His books pander to popular tastes. And between us ladies, that man would be the last person on earth I’d want to listen to on matters of sensuality. But you didn’t hear that from me.”
“Hear what?” I had no idea academics were so inclined to gossip.
“Far be it for me to speak ill of a colleague.” Her eyes lit up, as if that was precisely what she intended to do. “But Professor Hathaway has somewhat of a sordid past. His late wife, may she rest in peace, would turn in her grave to know he had to leave his post at Oxford after sleeping with one of his undergraduate students.”
“Heavens!” I gasped, in a perfect mockery of one of Austen’s characters reacting to such scandalous news. I remembered I was carrying a fan, and I held it over my face in an expression of surprise.
“Indeed,” Professor Carmichael nodded at my fan, acknowledging my joke. “The wife died of an aggressive hereditary bone disease when their daughter was very young, and his bed’s never been cold since. I’d watch out if I were you. His taste runs to young, pretty women with Regency manners and little sense, and he’s extremely charismatic and manipulative. There’s many a whispered story about inappropriate happenings at these Austen events and young women leaving his suite in tears.”
“I may not know how to tie a bonnet,” I said, resentment creeping into my voice, “but I have enough sense not to be seduced by an aging Lothario.”
“Oh, of course. My apologies, but I was referring to your companion.” Professor Carmichael pointed to Lydia, who chased Morrie through the crowd, yelling at him to wear his breeches. I nodded.
“Fair point. If Hathaway’s as bad as you say… that’s an abuse of his power. Why doesn’t someone report him?”
“A few brave souls have tried, but he’s beloved in the Jane Austen community, and he knows how to spin a story so he ends up as the victim. He fancies himself a handsome Bingley or Darcy, dancing with all the girls and leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake. In reality, he is worse than Wickham. Hathaway spends more time chasing tail than working on serious scholarship. It might be why his recent book,Chaste and Carnality, has been so heavily criticized.”
“It has?”
“Oh, yes. Outside of Austen circles, he’s something of a laughingstock. His academic work is often juvenile and full of holes, but this recent book is practically nonsensical.” Professor Carmichael gestured to the center of the market. “But I have monopolized you too long. It appears at least two of your suitors are now properly attired. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mina Wilde. I hope to see you at my lecture.”
I glanced over to where Lydia and Morrie danced in the middle of the aisle, while the string band in the corner played a Regency reel version of Lady Gaga’s latest hit. Morrie still wore only his stockings and shirt. Young women in bonnets crowded around, clapping their hands in delight while Lydia tried to pinch his bottom. Behind them, a group of older ladies whispered disapprovingly at the spectacle.We haven’t even got to our rooms yet and we’re already more scandalous than the Bennets at the Netherfield ball. This is going to be an interesting weekend. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“I hope you’ll bring your delightful friends.” Professor Carmichael curtseyed. “At least then I shall have four souls in attendance.”
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll drum up an audience for you if you cut me in on your book royalties.”
She laughed. “How about if I buy you a drink at the ball tomorrow night? You’re likely to come out better off.”
