Professor Hathaway launched into a lewd and hilarious lecture, which mostly consisted of taking dialogue from the books out of context and making suggestive remarks about the size of Jane Austen’s breasts. His delivery was such a triumph of wit and charisma that I doubted anyone in the room noticed just how little actual scholarship he expounded.
All except one. After Professor Hathaway mentioned her name for the umpteenth time, Lydia leaned toward me. “Who does this gentleman think he is?” she whispered. “Why does he keep talking about me as though I’m some kind of rabid dog?”
“He’s a renowned historian and Austen scholar. He believes he knows more about your habits than you do. He even wrote a book about you.”
“But that’s preposterous, otherwise he wouldn’t have called me ‘a caterwauling strumpet’.” Lydia shrieked. “I resent it. I have a mild and agreeable voice! I have a mind to stand up right now and give him a piece of my mind.”
Now more heads were turning to frown at us.
Morrie threw out his hand. “You do that, and you risk exposing us all. Remember, no one can know you’re the real Lydia Bennet. Now sit back, and staysilent. Or we’ll sick Professor Hathaway on you. I heard he has quite the reputation as a lover of young women.”
“Really?” Lydia eyed the professor with interest, her previous outrage forgotten. “He is awfully rich.”
“Morrie, don’t even kid about that,” I snapped. “If what’s been said about that man is true, he’s abusing his power and may be sexually harassing young women. That’s not funny.”
“What is funny is how a man that old even gets stiff enough to do everything he’s accused of,” Morrie mused, his voice a little louder than I thought wise.
“He’s not that old. Only in his fifties—”
“Yes he is,” Morrie huffed. “He looks like he’d be just the right age for Jane Austen herself, and she’sdead.”
“I’ve heard it on good authority he’s a fan of little blue pills,” an unfamiliar voice cut in.
I turned to meet the piercing eyes of the Korean woman. Up close, I could see she had one of those faces with the startling symmetry and intense cheekbones that made men stop in their tracks. She clutched her phone in her hand, and the dictaphone continued to record. The pages of her open notebook were already filled with scribbles. Around her neck was her lanyard and a camera I recognized as the same model my friend Ashley used to shoot her social media selfies.
I snorted. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“I can’t believe I have to sit here and listen to this waste of oxygen speak.” She flipped her lanyard around to show me her press credentials. Alice Yo – she was with theCustodian, an online news site famous for award-winning journalism. They’d once done an exposé into transgender models that had nearly derailed Paris Fashion Week.
I stretched out my leg and lifted the hem of my skirt to show her my boots. “It’s not exactly my usual scene, either.” I grinned. “I’m far more comfortable in boots than bonnets. Want a sandwich?”
I held out my purse. Alice shook her head, smiling as she showed me the pocket of her jacket, also lined with napkins and filled with a variety of food items.
“At least the food is decent.” Alice rolled her eyes. “A good thing too, because my flat fridge is completely empty. Maybe that could be my headline – LET JANEITES EAT CAKE. My boss didn’t even have an angle for this story. He basically wants me to write a piece about these sad spinsters and virgin LARPers. I’ve been in war zones and covered international politics, but I had to take it because I need the work. That’s what happens when you’re a woman in my business. You get given the fluff stories.”
“Are you sure it’s just because none of the male journalists know how to tie a cravat?”
We both giggled. I liked this reporter already. From the stage, the professor shot us a filthy look, but continued to drone on.
“My name’s Mina Wilde. I work at Nevermore Bookshop, in the village. Although I used to work in fashion, so I know a little about industry-sanctioned misogyny.”
“I recognize your name. You’re on my table for the ball. My editor got me these expensive VIP tickets. An all-access pass, he told me. ‘It’s going to be like Woodstock, except with bonnets. You’ll love it, Alice’.” She mimicked his voice. Then she leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. “He’s expecting a fluffy story about how endearingly colonial this weekend is, but I’ve got arealstory for him instead.”
“Oh, intrigue.”
“I can’t say anything now, but there’s a scandal brewing among the Janeites, and I intend to bring it to light.”
A woman in the row in front of Alice, sporting a rather magnificent bonnet resplendent with fabric flowers turned in her seat to shush us. Alice turned back to the front. I straightened my back and tried to pay attention to Professor Hathaway.
“… and when Captain Wentworth lays hands on Anne Elliot for the first time following their estrangement, it’s with an act of authority that leaves her perfectly speechless and of the most disordered feelings. The man in charge left any Regency woman hot under the bodice—”
CRASH.
The ballroom door burst open. I jumped in my seat as a rotund man sporting an impressive goatee and a floor-length black leather trench coat thundered up the aisle, followed by three women in gothic-style black dresses and corsets.
“In the words of one of the greatest writers in the English language, Jane Austen was nothing but an accurate daguerreotyped portrait of a commonplace face,” he sneered.
Professor Hathaway’s expression remained even, but anger flashed in his eyes. “What are you doing here, Gerald? This event is for Janeites only.”
