The audience remained subdued after Gerald’s outburst, not clapping and laughing at every Austen reference. Gerald and his three gothic maidens whispered amongst themselves throughout the lecture, passing around a hip flash between them.
I didn’t speak to Alice for the rest of the lecture and lost her in the crowd when it was over. I hoped we’d see her again – she seemed like my kind of person.
After the plenary, we had a choice of lectures on various aspects of Austen’s world or a fencing demonstration on the back lawn. I had no intention of going outside in the freezing weather, but Cynthia swept past us on the stairs and informed me that as VIPs we were welcome to watch from the covered balcony in her first-floor office. Eager to explore more of the house and watch men swing swords around, I dragged Heathcliff after her. Morrie and Lydia followed us, leading a trail of Lydia’s admirers.
A roof over the balcony kept out the worst of the snow. I gravitated toward the large brazier at one end, where a man in period costume handed out small cups of hot chocolate. I collected two for myself and leaned over the side to view the fencers below while listening to the commentary on Regency fencing techniques. In the open courtyard below us, Lydia’s friend David parried with another gent in period attire. He deflected a thrust and lunged at his opponent, touching the point of his sword to the man’s heart. They bowed to each other and resumed another match.
After several more rounds, it was clear the mousy graduate student was no amateur with a blade. Again and again he deprived his opponent of his weapon, and twice knocked him on his arse. He didn’t utter a word of mockery, and even apologized and disqualified himself from a win for an imagined infraction.What a gentleman. He’d be swoon-worthy if he didn’t study coins for a living.
After twenty minutes of fighting, David removed his fencing mask to take a drink of water. Hathaway’s blonde daughter rushed over to him, offering him an embroidered handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his face.
“What do you think of the fighting?” Heathcliff asked.
“It’s exciting, but rather vicious,” I remarked.
“Please,” Morrie quipped. “I could take them all down with my middle finger.”
“You fence, do you?” I lifted an eyebrow.
“Please. I was champion of my college at Oxford. Although, I did always prefer dueling with a cane. It makes a satisfying sound when it splits a man’s skull.”
Beside him, Lydia shivered with delight. “Lord Moriarty, you say such wicked things!”
“What about you?” I asked Heathcliff. “You’ve got a sword hanging off your belt. Do you know how to use it?”
“I’m not schooled in that fancy sort of fencing with flimsy foils,” he muttered. “But I’ve slit a man open with a blade, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I shivered. Unlike Lydia, it wasn’t from delight. “When did you do that?”
“There were blades enough lying around in the North, and I’m an angry man who picked a lot of fights,” he replied. “I’m not proud of it, but you must never forget that I am Heathcliff. What did that woman call me just before – a vicious, dog-murdering sociopath.”
“I know that’s not who you are.”
Heathcliff turned his head away. I placed my hand on his, and he shrugged it off. I hadn’t realized that this weekend might be difficult for him in this way – being confronted with the legacy of the actions he took inside the pages of a book.
I wanted so badly for Heathcliff to see that man I saw in him – the one who took a stray cat in and cared for her, who locked his heart inside an iron chest and threw away the key because he’d been driven low and made into a beast by a brother who should have loved him, who may be a bit of a grump (okay, a lot of a grump) but would go to the ends of the earth to protect the people he cared about. Sometimes I caught a glimmer of hope in Heathcliff’s eyes, and the wild passion with which he kissed told me that maybe his edges were crumbling. But then…
But then he looked dark and dangerous – like he did now – and I wasn’t sure what to believe.
I needed to talk to him, but I couldn’t with Morrie and Lydia and all the Janeites around. So I changed the subject. “I wonder who that blonde woman is. I see a family resemblance, but Professor Carmichael did say he liked to date graduate students.”
“While he would be exactly her type, it’s highly unlikely that they are dating,” a soft American accent broke in behind me. “That’s Christina Hathaway.”
I glanced around to see Professor Carmichael clutching a hot chocolate in her hand. A fur-lined bonnet was tied around her salt-and-pepper hair.
“Let me guess, relation to the eminent professor?” Morrie inquired.
“His daughter.” Professor Carmichael sniffed. “He’s raised her to be his perfect Regency girl, based on his own studies of parenting and fatherhood in Jane Austen’s books. The poor girl probably believes she needs his permission in order to even have coffee alone with young David.”
“You’re serious?”
“Oh yes. Christina’s been utterly indoctrinated. She’s by Julius’ side at every event and book signing. She seems to have no life outside of him and his interests, and she defers to him always. In many ways, she’s more his wife than his daughter. Of course, he has seen to it that she has a thorough education in all pursuits deemed appropriate for young ladies, and is quite accomplished at the pianoforte, needlework, sewing, that sort of thing. She has that certain something in her air and manner of walking, in her address and expressions, that would have even Mr. Darcy award her with the title of ‘accomplished’. But I do not believe she’s ever once binge-watchedGilmore Girlsor snogged someone entirely inappropriate after too much wine.”
I laughed at her description. “That sounds like a lonely life.”
“Indeed. Although to many here this weekend, it is the life to aspire to.”
“But not you?”
