Variation on a Theme

Variation On A Theme--Section I

By Hilary

Section I, Next Section

Chapter One

t is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. It is also a truth (acknowledged, though perhaps not so universally) that a young musician in possession of a lot of talent and ability, must be in want of connections.

"Calvin! Calvin!" Frances Bennet's high-pitched voice echoed throughout the halls. "Oh, Calvin, where are you?"

Calvin Bennet sat in the living room/kitchenette, his eyes focused on the laptop in front of him. He made no reply to his wife's calls, only smiled slightly at his daughters. "She'll find me," he murmured.

Sure enough, Frances soon entered the room. "Oh," she gasped, "Thank God! I was afraid you'd all left the place already."

"Mom, what's the matter?" Jenna Bennet helped her mother off with her coat. "What's going on?"

"The most marvelous thing in the whole entire world!" she replied, collapsing into a large armchair. "Guess who's coming to the festival this year!"

Liz Bennet decided to humor her poor mother. "Who?"

"The Netherfield Trio!" Fran's face quivered with excitement, and she looked around the room for reactions from her husband and five daughters.

"The Netherfield Trio..." It was Livia who spoke this time. "Isn't that the British group with --"

"Only F. William D'Arcy, one of the top violinists in this country and Europe! Charlie Bingley too, a great cellist, and his sister Louise, the pianist. Plus, Carolyn Bingley is of course coming, since she usually travels with her brother and sister. You must know of Carolyn Bingley -- the famous opera soprano?!"

"Yes, of course we know of her, Mom," said Jenna soothingly, handing her mother a glass of water and an Advil. "But why would they come here?"

"Well, I could hardly believe my ears when I heard it." Fran eagerly accepted the glass and pill. "They all have incredible solo careers, you know, but it seems they want to do more chamber music. Especially Charlie Bingley. He's the one who called up, just last night, and asked if it was too late to sign up for a spot on the program. William Lucas talked to him himself! Imagine, the Netherfield Trio! What a fine thing for you girls."

"How so?" Calvin Bennet finally decided to chime in. "How can it affect them? They're not looking for any replacements, are they?"

"Oh, Calvin, don't be such an idiot! Of course they're not looking for replacements. But they'll hear the girls play one way or another, and then they're bound to think one is right for stardom. Knowing some top-notch musicians never hurts a career, you know!"

She looked fondly on the five girls in the room. Liz and Livia both played the violin, Katie the viola, and Jenna the cello. Together, they formed the Longbourn Quartet. (Mary, the other daughter, played the piano and sang, although she had never quite reached her sisters' level of expertise.) Each year, the Bennet family would travel up to the Hertfordborough Summer Chamber Music Festival. It was run by William and Lonna Lucas, and was comprised of mostly young, talented musicians. There were many recitals, concerts, and master classes held. It was a good chance to get to know different people and look out for prospective teachers, job offers, and agents.

"So," Fran continued, still on the subject of the prestigious Netherfield Trio, "if we're going to get to know them well, you, Calvin, have got to visit them."

"Visit them?" He sounded incredulous.

"Yes, of course, visit them! They're flying in tomorrow afternoon. If you're at the hotel by three, you can catch them on the way up to their rooms."

"I see no cause for that. They're sure to be at the opening house party on Friday."

"Yes, yes." Fran was irritated by her husband's thick-headedness. "But if you meet them before that, then at the house party, they'll single us out, and the girls will have a better chance of getting to know them, and then who knows what will happen from there!"

"Oh, what a clever plan!" Livia squealed. She received warning glances from two of her older sisters.

"I certainly shall do no such thing." Calvin shut his laptop with a bang and stood up from the table. "I will not be part of any plan to weasel my daughters higher up the musical food chain!" And with that he left the room.

Chapter Two

Fran Bennet, nee Gardiner, had studied the violin in her youth. When she met the dashing young conductor Cal Bennet, she gave up the instrument, and instead married him and had a family. Through those daughters, especially through the violinists, she could live the life she herself had missed.

Now, she was very distressed about her husband's apparent lack of interest in their daughters' musical careers. You'd think Calvin Bennet, being a retired reputable musician himself, would care about how the girls got their starts! He knew what a tough world music is, how you have to grab any chance you have to get ahead, and that every little thing counts...

Liz Bennet stumbled out of bed at ten thirty the next morning. Through the paper-thin walls in the dingy apartment her family had rented, she could hear voices -- one loud and upset, the other calm and whispering. "What's going on?" she asked lethargically, entering her mother's bedroom.

"Mom has a head-ache," explained Jenna, who sat on the side of her mother's bed.

"A migraine!" Fran cried. "I knew it would come! It always does when your father acts like this! He takes delight in tormenting me -- has no respect for my poor head."

Liz, being still not quite awake, was confused. "Wha...? What did Dad do?"

"He still insists he won't meet the Netherfield Trio before the house party tomorrow!" Fran buried her head in her pillow, agonized. "He should at least do it out of courtesy and respect -- oh, think of what a horrible impression it will make on them..."

"There, there. It'll all work out for the best." Jenna looked up to Liz, who rolled her eyes and smiled.

"Where's the rest of the family?" Liz wanted to know.

"Livia and Katie have gone off somewhere -- probably to see if there's any cute guys on the list of musicians and teachers. Mary's practicing."

As if on cue, Liz heard the sound of a piano etude, drifting from a bedroom down the hall. "Oh yeah, I hear her now. I'm so glad Mary decided to take her electronic keyboard." Not. "Well, I have to take a shower, and then let's go. I have some things to do in town, plus I want to check out what concerts are lined up for this year."

Jenna nodded. "Me too. Coming, Mom?"

"No, no," Fran whimpered nobly. "Go on without me; I'll just lay here by myself, all alone."

If Fran didn't really want her daughters to go on without her, they didn't realize it, and were soon out the door.

When they returned, five hours later, the whole family was home. Fran was beaming and prancing about the place, crying with delight, and occasionally placing a kiss on her husband's cheek.

"Now what's happening?" Liz asked Mary. She was getting quite sick of all these mood swings.

"Dad met those people, that Netherfield Trio," Mary explained, looking up from her science textbook.

Jenna and Liz were shocked, but happy, all the same. "How wonderful!" Jenna cried.

"Isn't it?" said Fran. "What a funny little joke your father played on us all! Haha!"

"It was no joke." Calvin plopped down on the couch and opened a newspaper.

"But Dad, I thought you said you wouldn't go see them," said Jenna.

"I never said I wouldn't. What I said was, I wouldn't go on a mission to boost my daughters' careers. And I didn't. I went because I myself worked with the Bingley family in the past, when I was conducting, and thought it polite to say hello."

"Oh, then did you meet them all, Dad?" Livia cried from the other side of the room, where she was cleaning the fingerboard of her violin. "Did you meet F. William D'Arcy? Geez, I'm just dying to know what he looks like."

"Mariah Lucas got an autographed head-shot of him in New York last year, and she's says he's really hot," Katie informed her sister.

Exclamations of "Ooh, really!?" came from the mouths of both Livia Bennet and her mother.

Calvin decided the sooner he put an end to this, the better. "I didn't meet F. William D'Arcy. He has a concert in Paris, and will be flying in late tonight." He was met by very disappointed faces, and so continued, "I did, however, meet Charlie Bingley and his sisters."

"The cellist? What's he like?"

Calvin sighed and hid himself behind his paper.

Chapter Three

The following day brought the opening house party. This was a tradition at the Hertfordborough Summer Chamber Music Festival: the evening before the opening day, the directors -- William and Lonna Lucas -- would throw a house party for the musicians and their families. This was always fun, and gave them a chance to meet

and relax before the concerts and classes began. The musicians often sight-read together, to get to know each other's playing.

The Bennets got to the Lucases' a little early. This was all right, for the families had always been close friends.

"Lotty! Great to see you again!" Liz embraced her friend, Lotty Lucas -- the oldest child in the Lucas family, and also a violinist. She was twenty-four -- four years older than Liz -- and had been out of college for nearly two years.

"You too, Liz! How've ya been?"

"Okay, you?"

"Mmm, okay. It's been real hell getting ready for this thing, as always. Especially this year, since the Netherfield Trio's coming, and on such short notice."

Liz laughed. "Ack, don't even mention them! My mom's been going on and on -- Netherfield this, F. William D'Arcy that -- nonstop for the past two days!"

Lotty nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, my dad nearly had a heart attack when Charlie Bingley called up. We haven't had something that big and international come here since... well, since never!"

"Are they really as great as everyone makes them out to be?"

"You mean you've never heard them?"

"Nope, never."

"Wait, I've got a flyer from a concert they played over here last year. I'll run and get it..." Liz waited for a few minutes, sipping some newly made punch out of a styrofoam cup, until her friend returned. In her hand she held a bright yellow sheet of paper.

"Here they are."

The flyer announced in large, blaring letters: The Netherfield Trio -- Brahms' C Major Piano Trio and Schubert's B flat Piano Trio, Fri. & Sat. October -----. There was also a picture -- small and black and white, but Liz could still make out the three people in it. A woman -- Louise Bingley -- sat at the piano; small and skinny, her head held high and her hands pressed firmly on the keys. To her left was a man with a cello. He had curly blond hair and a wide smile. Charlie Bingley. Across from him sat the violinist. Liz had never seen F. William D'Arcy before, had never even heard a recording of him, despite his fame as a soloist. He made a startling contrast to Charlie: dark and handsome, with intense eyes and aquiline features. He looked straight and unsmiling into the camera, clutching his violin like it was a baby.

"Hmm, not too friendly, eh?" Liz observed, pointing to D'Arcy.

"Well, let's not judge too quickly," Lotty replied. "After all, we'll be seeing him in person tonight."

And with that, the doorbell rang, and the company began to arrive.

Chapter Four

Author's note: CK, this chapter is dedicated to you -- for always posting entertaining, wonderful stories, and for providing us all with a little chance to drool over a certain real life violinist.

At nine o'clock, two hours after the party began, the long awaited, much anticipated guests appeared. The room, which had been alive with laughter, talking, and music, came to a standstill as the Netherfield Trio plus Carolyn Bingley entered.

Liz, Lotty, and Jenna were reading Haydn's Neuberg trio together when Fran came rushing over. "Girls, girls!" she hissed. "Look who's here!"

Liz glanced across to the four people who had caused the disruption. "At last. I was wondering when they'd get here." Turning back to her musical partners: "Shall we start from 125, then?"

"Oh, Liz, stop it! Don't worry about your little piece," Fran exclaimed.

Lotty stood up. "Sorry Liz, sorry Jenna, it looks like my mom needs help serving the cake. I'm afraid we're gonna have to put the Haydn on hold for a little while." Saying so, she walked away.

"Okay, buh-bye Lot." Liz placed her violin down on one knee with a sigh and looked at Fran. "Mom, what's the big deal? It's only the Netherfield Trio and that singer woman."

Fran was appalled. "Child, how can you talk like that?! You act as if you didn't care a jot about them!"

"Well, I have little reason to. First, they got here ridiculously late. Second, they're looking at everyone like we're a bunch of cretins or something. Third, they've interrupted all the sight-reading and now Lotty has left."

"Oh, that must be F. William D'Arcy!" Fran had paid no attention to what her second oldest daughter was saying. "My, my, my. What a hunk! Makes Joshua Bell look plain in comparison -- and that's saying a lot, heehee. If I were twenty years younger and unmarried, he'd be the one I'd keep my eyes on!"

Liz resigned herself. Lotty was right, she was judging these people before she actually knew them. They were probably perfectly nice and friendly. She searched for Jenna's eyes, but found her sister to be watching something across the room. Following her

sister's gaze, Liz discovered it to be settled on a bright, beaming young man, carrying a cello case, and making his way across to their group -- Charlie Bingley.

"Lord, they're coming over!" Fran gasped. "Smile, girls, smile. Get that Haydn off your stands and put something more impressive up -- where's the Paganini...?"

There was no time, for they were soon face-to-face with William Lucas and the cellist of the Netherfield Trio.

"Fran," William Lucas began, "this young man here said he would like to meet you and your family. I believe you've heard of him: Fran, this is Charlie Bingley. Mr. Bingley, Frances Bennet."

After shaking Charlie's hand, Fran stared down at her own as if it had been turned to gold. "Mr. Bingley --"

"Please, call me Charlie," the young man interjected.

"Charlie." It took all her effort to keep from swooning. "So... so glad to meet you finally. I've heard so much about you and your friends." Then, remembering her daughters, "This is my oldest daughter, Jenna. She plays the cello too, you see."

Charlie's grinning face turned to Jenna, and at once their eyes locked. "Hi."

"Hi." Jenna's voice was a mere whisper.

"And this is my second -- Liz," Fran proceeded. "She plays the violin. Mary is the pianist -- she's somewhere around here... Katie is our violist and Livia plays violin -- they're both over there." She motioned to where her youngest two sat with a group of young men. Livia was playing a flashy piece in between laughing and chugging down a conspicuous bottled beverage.

"This looks like a wonderful party," Charlie remarked. "I love sight-reading and ad-libbing and all that." He forced his eyes to leave Jenna for a short second, only to find their way back to her again. "I have some Kraft duets for two cellos..."

Jenna and Charlie were soon off in a corner, playing and talking and laughing together.

Awhile later, Liz went into the bathroom to clean some spilled punch off her blouse. This little seclusion gave her time to think, and clear her head of the ringing that was caused by playing chamber music for hours on end. She was having a lot of fun at the party this year. Sure, the way her mother and Livia acted was embarrassing, but she'd gotten used to that a long time ago.

Jenna seemed to be having a good time with Charlie Bingley. Liz had to admit she had been wrong about him. He seemed a nice, pleasant, good sort of guy. Very English. His friends, on the other hand...

Liz chuckled as she thought of the change her mother's opinion of F. William D'Arcy had gone through during the course of the evening. At the beginning, he was the most magnificent, brilliant, gorgeous man and violinist ever known -- now he had firmly established himself as the meanest, snobbiest, self-assured jerk who had ever had the nerve to show up at Hertfordborough. He had refused to play chamber music with anyone, standing quietly by himself or with one of the Bingley women, who were likewise unenthusiastic.

"Ah well," Liz reflected. "Takes all kinds."

She was drying her shirt with a towel when she heard a familiar voice right outside the door. "Come, William, I must have you play." It was Charlie Bingley. "You've got to. I hate to look over and see you standing alone like a doofus. You'd much better play."

"Are you kidding?" The next voice was lower. Liz strained to hear. The notorious F. William D'Arcy himself, it seemed. "With these people? Who in the world would I play with? Anyway, I didn't bring my Strad -- I wouldn't dare take it here ."

"I'm sure we could find another instrument for you to play on!"

"Chuck, you're not getting my point. I don't want to play."

"I wouldn't be as fussy as you if my life depended on it. There are some wonderful musicians here -- some of them exceptionally talented..."

"You are playing with the only decent one in the whole bunch -- that cellist."

"William, she's the most amazing, beautiful, dazzling girl, uh, player I've ever met! But wait, she has a lot of sisters, you know. Her sister Liz is a violinist, and really good, I hear. There's a lot of violin duet sheet music available --"

His friend cut him short. "She's okay; but not skillful enough to tempt me; and I really don't feel like playing a bunch of Borghi duets with some mediocre fiddler from Podunksville, USA who no one else wants to deal with! Now go back to that Jenna Bennet, enjoy her smiles, and stop bugging me."

Liz, from her hiding place behind the bathroom door, was aghast, humiliated, injured, insulted, and -- most importantly -- angry. But, struggling to control her temper and reminding herself (over and over again) that fire doesn't fight fire, she edged open the door which F. William D'Arcy had been leaning against.

"'Scuse me," she muttered. D'Arcy was shocked and mortified to see Liz Bennet come out of the bathroom. Oh God, how much of that did she hear? he wondered in panic.

"Sorry," he muttered, stepping out of her way. He watched her retreat back into the crowd and join a few of her friends. After laughing over something or other, they picked up their instruments and began playing the last movement of Beethoven's String Quartet in C major, no. 3. It was an incredibly hard piece, and they played it from memory. They're kind of good. He began to regret what he had said to Charlie Bingley. Man, me and my big mouth. Oh well. He tried to think about something else,

but his ears and eyes kept wandering over to that group of four string players, where Liz was performing the first violin part -- her tone light and cheerful, her bow moving gracefully over the strings, her eyes sparkling with fun.

Chapter Five

"Hello?"

"Hi, Liz, it's me, Lotty."

"Oh, hi." Liz shifted the phone from one ear to the other and began to pour herself a bowl of cereal. "Some party last night, huh?"

There was laughter at the other end. "Not for me! We ran out of refreshments, and by the end I was stuck in the kitchen helping mom make endless amounts of pigs-in-blankets."

"Mmph. That sucks."

"Ah, I'm a trooper. Anyway, heard your night wasn't so peachy either."

"News travels fast! Yes, it's all true; I have been fully put down by F. William D'Arcy . Seems I'm not worthy of him and his Strad." She affected a stiff British accent and tried to suppress her giggles. "'She's okay; but not skillful enough to tempt me .'"

"Liz! I'm so sorry."

"Don't be! I didn't like him either, so it really doesn't matter. Jenna had a wonderful time with that cellist, and that's good enough for me."

"Charlie Bingley! I only played one little piece with him, but he seemed really sociable."

"Yeah, he's a sweetie. And I've never seen Jenna's head so up in the clouds as it was after we got back last night! Now, so what's up? Why'd you call?"

"Your quartet's rehearsing in the big hall today, right?"

"Right..."

"Could my dad and I come over sometime during your rehearsal? We just want to hear the acoustics, and see if they work with a small chamber group."

"Sure."

"Okay, terrific. See you then."

"See ya. Bye."

"Check out the sound in this place!" Livia bellowed. She and her sister were running down the center aisle in the large Lodge Memorial Concert Hall, which was filled with empty seats. "This is gonna be so great! Listen how far my voice projects!"

"Livia, please!" Jenna cried from on-stage, where she was adjusting her cello's end-pin. "I really don't think you need to yell; we can hear you from anywhere in here. We should start -- Katie, you too."

"And put your instruments down," Liz added. "I can just see you both tripping, dropping your cases, your beautiful hundred-grand instruments springing out and shattering."

Livia and Katie climbed up to where the four chairs sat arranged in a semi-circle. The former set her case down with a 'Humph!' "You're all a bunch of prudes, you know that?" she panted crossly. "Sound like old grandmas."

"Smart old grandmas," Liz corrected. "Now, let's go."

They began to rehearse. It was the first day of the festival, but since it was the middle of the afternoon they had this whole hall to themselves.

The work was intensive. The first piece was Dvorŕk's "American" Quartet. Liz was the first violin on this, and Livia was first on their other piece, the "Harp" Quartet by Beethoven. This was okay for both -- Liz liked Dvorŕk, she had a strong but light-hearted approach, a beautiful tone, and brilliant technique, although she was not in the habit of showing off. Livia, on the other hand, liked things wild and fast. She could play a Paganini Caprice quicker than lightning, but had trouble making a simple Mozart Concerto interesting. Her sound was pleasing, but rather shallow. Altogether, she lacked the maturity and depth of Liz's playing. But, ironically, a lot of Livia's musical appeal was in her age and juvenility. She was not yet sixteen, and from a far off distance (such as a balcony seat) and given the right kind of dress, she could pass for twelve. Despite, or maybe because of this precocious attraction, Livia was determined not to become a "reclusive weirdo". She wanted to have the eminence of a child prodigy, yet was desperate to be a "typical" American teenage girl -- or, as she would have it, a flake.

In the middle of the second movement, Liz noticed the auditorium door open and several people enter. She knew that Lotty and William Lucas would be coming, but who were those others...? Glancing over without losing her place in the music, she recognized two of them to be the young pianist Denny Kim and oboist Sanderson Little. And the other four -- the Netherfield Trio, plus Carolyn Bingley!

"Denny!" Livia chirped, standing up and (obviously) stopping the music.

"Oh, don't mind us!" William Lucas called. "I'm just showing these folks the excellent resonance we've got in here."

Oh, great, Liz mused sardonically. Just what I need: F. William D'Arcy watching me in rehearsal, ready to catch every little mistake I make.

"Let's move on to the Beethoven," she suggested to her fellow musicians. The violinists made the proper adjustments. Now Liz was the second, and thus on the inside.

Livia was perfectly happy to be the first violin now, just so long as she could be seen by Denny and Sanderson. "Start on the third movement, the presto," she instructed, and then, giving the cue, they began to play -- two times faster than usual.

"Livia, slow down," Jenna whispered, but Livia paid no heed: in fact, she began to push the tempo even further.

"Livia, please!" Liz pleaded softly. Katie was in a frenzy trying to keep up, everything was going out of tune, dynamics were ignored -- it was all pretty much falling apart -- thanks to Livia's urge to display.

But still Livia did not obey. Faster and faster, until -- SPROING!!! "Oh, dangit!" she cried. "My E-string popped! Don't worry, there's an extra in my case. Let's take a little break, okay?"

Liz cornered Livia as they moved away from their chairs. "What the --" Liz, aware she was under close scrutiny by those in the audience, no matter what was said to the contrary, took a deep breath and inwardly counted to ten. Then, "Olivia Ysa˙e Bennet, what was that? You know this thing goes 100 to the quarter, tops. You drove it up to 120 at least."

The younger girl tittered. "Oh well, lot of fun, wasn't it?"

Liz was fuming, but managed to get out, in a rough plaint, "Don't do it again. Now go change your string."

Livia did so, shouting, "Denny! Sanderson! Come over here while I change my E."

Liz sighed and jumped down into the audience. "Lotty!" she hailed, walking over to her friend.

"Hi Liz. You guys sound great."

Liz rolled her eyes. "Sorry you had to see that. Livia's been acting like a real brat lately."

"No, no, it wasn't a big deal."

Out of the corner of her eye, Liz could see F. William D'Arcy observing them. Slightly uncomfortable, she murmured, "I thought it was just going to be you and your dad."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that. We were talking to Denny Kim and Sanderson Little -- they have recitals in here in a couple days, and wanted to hear the acoustics. We agreed -- I

really hope you don't mind. Charlie Bingley overheard it all, and asked if he could come too -- hmm, wonder why..." she added wryly. Charlie and Jenna were now talking on the edge of the stage, apart from everyone else. "And so since he was coming, his friend and sisters tagged along as well."

"I see."

"Charlie Bingley seems to be paying your sister as much attention now as he did before."

Liz glimpsed at them, smiling. "I'm very happy for her, Lotty. She only met him last night, but I think she's fallen for him already."

"And Charlie? Has he fallen for Jenna?"

"Well, he likes her a lot, that's for sure."

"Charlie is very... influential."

"What do you mean, 'influential'?"

"He's a famous cellist, Liz. I mean famous. You think he's big here, wait 'till you find out what he's like over in Britain. It would never... hurt for the two of them to hit it off."

"You're sounding just like my mom!" laughed Liz. "'Knowing some top-notch musicians never hurts a career', or whatever it was she said..."

"Mmm, maybe. But it's not such a bad plan, you know. Think of it this way -- if Jenna and Charlie keep getting closer at the rate they are now they should be married before the festival's over! Okay, okay, but seriously... it really doesn't hurt a career to be friends with someone prominent."

"It doesn't always work that way," Liz reminded her. "There are many examples of how a relationship can destroy a career as well as make one."

"All the examples I can think of are stupid things that could've been avoided. You know, like a young girl fooling around with her older, married teacher. Jenna doesn't seem like one who would do that . But there are plenty times when a relationship has ended wonderfully. It's a tough field we're in, Liz. Jenna's a wonderful cellist, yeah, but..."

"Lotty, you know it's not right! You'd never sacrifice something, or do something crafty, just to get a job."

"Well, it really makes no difference, for it's clear that Charlie is fond of Jenna, no matter what. Although I don't think his sisters encourage him any."

Carolyn and Louise Bingley were seated way in the back row of chairs, their heads close together in vicious whispering, occasionally shooting a scathing glance.

"No, they don't, do they?" Liz replied. "He doesn't get encouragement from his friend either." She made a slight motion to F. William D'Arcy with her head.

Lotty said nothing for a moment, her eyes going slowly back and forth between Liz and D'Arcy. Finally, "He's looking at you a lot, Liz."

Liz made a face. "I don't know why he would be. He just wants to freak me out, probably. I wish he wouldn't come mingle with us 'commoners' who don't own two-million dollar violins. It makes everyone jittery."

Lotty's eyes left D'Arcy's figure as she exclaimed, "Speaking of two-million dollar violins, Liz -- you haven't really shown me your new violin yet. Oh no, don't demur, I want to hear it! Please, we can just go up on-stage and you can play me a little tune, nothing big."

"Ah, great friend you are!" Liz cried. "I really rather not play around all these people who are used to such better things. Anyway, my instrument is nothing spectacular -- and I'm only just borrowing it!"

"I insist you play, Liz, and you know how stubborn I can be. Come on, no one will hear us. No one's up there right now, except Livia and Katie and their two friends, and I'm sure they won't notice."

Liz submitted, and they walked up on-stage. After removing her violin from its case, re-rosining her bow, and quickly tuning, she began a movement of the Bach Solo Partita no. 3. She became, as always when playing Bach, engrossed in the music, and soon was not conscious of anything but herself and the violin. She was not aware that everyone was looking up at her in surprise, that F. William D'Arcy watched her with astonishment and then, when that faded, admiration. That piece always reminded him of sunlight pouring down through a cathedral window. Hearing her play it, he could almost see a shining ray reflected off her instrument, casting a golden aura around her dark hair. Realizing what his thoughts were leading to, he quickly straightened and began to count how many exit signs were visible from where he sat.

When Liz was finished, and the last note rang out through the hall, she heard a loud eruption of applause. "Oh no," she muttered to Lotty. "Did everyone hear me?"

Lotty, clapping too, answered, "Of course they did, Liz. That violin is something incredible. But you really deserve it. No, I mean it! I've never heard that preludio played so well."

Liz shook her head, smiling, and put the instrument away again. "Well, I'm glad of that at least. I'm never quite sure of how I play in situations like these -- I mean, I lose myself in the music, but I'm not able to be objective."

From the other side of the stage, Livia -- never to be outdone -- proclaimed, "Oh, that looked like fun! Denny, Sanderson, let's play something together. There's a piano back in the corner there. Oh yeah, you don't have your oboe, do you Sanderson... Well, you can still watch. Yes, Katie you can play too, if you want -- but no slowing us down."

The pianist, violinist, and violist were soon engaged in a brisk, noisy piece. Livia did her best to play louder and swifter than anyone else, and let out clamors of delight sporadically throughout. "Isn't this great, Denny? ... Katie, stop lagging behind!"

Liz was annoyed by her sister's obnoxious behavior but resolved not to get involved. Heading to the lobby to get a drink of water, she was blocked by the large form of William Lucas. William Lucas had been a neighborhood piano teacher his whole adult life when, ten years ago, a distant relative died and left him a tremendous amount of money. With that, the Lucas family had formed this chamber music festival, and could live very comfortably at that. Now he was saying, "Marvelous playing, Liz! Marvelous! I'm really looking forward to hearing you play throughout the festival!"

"Thank you."

"But why did you stop? Please play some more, I'd love to hear you."

"Oh, but Livia and her friends are playing."

"That doesn't matter, they're almost finished. Anyway, this place is huge -- we could fit a whole orchestra in here! Ah, Mr. D'Arcy -- would you care to play a duet with Liz? I know you're both Bach enthusiasts -- why not try the Bach Double together?"

Liz was startled by the sudden appearance of D'Arcy, and mumbled, "Really, William, I don't think I'll play anymore -- don't imagine I went this way just to get a partner."

"I'd enjoy playing the Bach Double with you, Miss Bennet," F. William D'Arcy spoke.

"There, you see!" said William Lucas. "Mr. D'Arcy's dying to. He has his instrument with him, and was going to try it out here anyway."

"Thanks... but no thanks." Liz glanced up to D'Arcy's face for one moment, but on meeting his eyes, immediately looked away. "I'm really tired, and don't want to play anymore right now."

F. William D'Arcy watched her move out of the auditorium, lost in his own thoughts, until he heard a familiar voice at his ear.

"I bet I know what you're thinking, Will." Carolyn Bingley had approached D'Arcy quietly, and was now standing directly behind him, her extremely made-up face practically touching the side of his head.

"I bet not." He continued to stare at the door where Liz had gone.

Carolyn chuckled and persisted, "You're picturing how awful it would be to always play with such menial musicians, and I couldn't agree with you more."

"Guess again. I've been meditating on the great feeling that some cheerful eyes in the face of a extraordinary musician can bring about."

D'Arcy felt Carolyn's gaze. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. I wish she'd stop slobbering on me.

"And will you let me in on your little secret? Will you tell me whose eyes you're talking about?" Evidently, Carolyn thought it was herself.

"Liz Bennet."

The opera singer nearly jumped. "L--Liz Bennet... I don't believe it, heh." Her voice was wobbly, and she began to back away. "Perfect! You two can play little duets together -- it'll be so cute. Oh, and Will, please remember to include me on your wedding guest list."

F. William D'Arcy didn't notice her teasing, for Liz Bennet had just re-entered the auditorium.

Chapter Six

Jenna, look here!"

Jenna left her practicing to stand behind Fran at the laptop. "Yes, Mom?"

"There's an email here for you -- from Carolyn Bingley!"

"Carolyn Bingley?" Jenna repeated, her eyes instantly meeting with Liz's, who was reading across the room.

"Yes, Carolyn Bingley! Here, I'll read it to you: 'Dear Jenna; Louise and I tremendously enjoyed hearing you play at your rehearsal yesterday.' -- There now! -- 'You have a sweet tone and seem like an excellent musician.' -- Well, I can't say I disagree with them on that. -- 'We'll be attending a concert of the Woodwind Quintet by Elliot Carter this afternoon at 3 PM and, as Charlie can't come, have an extra ticket. Please email me back, and tell whether or not you'll be able to join us. Thanks, Carolyn.' -- Oh, 'Carolyn,' she says! Jenna, you must go. It's a shame that Charlie won't be there, but Carolyn and Louise Bingley are highly praised musicians as well. You have got to go."

Jenna, unlike her sister, still held a high opinion of the Bingley sisters, and could hardly keep from beaming. "I'll answer her right away," she told Fran, and began to type a quick message.

After lunch, Liz, on entering the room she shared with her older sister, found her mother fussing over Jenna in front of the full-length mirror. The latter wore a long broomstick skirt with a light blue sweater that complimented her complexion. Fran, however, held a little black dress on a hanger, and was crying, "Jenna dear, you must wear this dress -- not that old skirt and sweater! Ah Liz, there you are. Jenna would look simply stunning in this , don't you think?"

Liz looked back and forth between mother and sister. Fran appeared eager and demanding, Jenna helpless and dismayed. Liz was not sure what to say. "Well, Jenna looks beautiful in anything."

"And especially beautiful in this." Fran turned back to the mirror and forced the black dress into her daughter's hands. "Go put it on." Jenna sighed and moved into the bathroom to change.

By the scheming look in her eye, Liz could tell her mother had a plan. "Mom, this is only a day-concert Jenna's going to. That tiny black thing is very dressy."

"Yes, of course! Don't you see -- the concert gets out right in time for dinner, and if the Bingley sisters see Jenna wearing a nice formal dress, their immediate thoughts will be to take her out to eat!"

"Mother!"

"Elizabeth Kreisler Bennet, I know what I am doing! If you care anything about your sister's future as a cellist, you'll let it be!"

Liz drew an angry breath and stared at the floor. There was nothing she could do to change her mother's mind, especially if Jenna didn't stick up for herself.

So it was settled, and at two thirty Jenna set out, wearing the bantam black dress and four inch heels. The few drops that had begun to fall on the windshield as she was driving gradually grew in number, so by the time she had arrived and parked it was pouring. "Oh dear," she said to herself, and searched in vain for a coat. "I'll just have to make a run for it, and hope I don't get very wet." Well, it's not too easy to make a run for it in four inch heels, and Jenna entered the lobby more drenched than had she just walked.

She found Carolyn and Louise Bingley over by the espresso bar. "Hello," she greeted them, rather self-consciously.

"Why... Jenna -- dear." The two sisters stared at Jenna as if she was covered in slime. "How good of you to come. Care for an espresso?"

"No, thank you," Jenna replied courteously. She sneezed. "Oh, pardon me."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like one, dear?" Louise inquired, with a touch of condescension. "I'm afraid you look a little... cold."

"No, really I'm fine, thanks. I just got a little wet on the way in."

"You must learn to carry an umbrella with you at all times," Carolyn reprimanded. "You can never be too careful. I always carry one -- well, of course, I must be extra careful with my voice, but..."

After the Bingley sisters finished their espressos, the party headed to their seats. "What an extremely small hall this is," Carolyn observed as they sat down. "I could

have sworn it had at least two thousand seats when we were here yesterday, but now I'd be amazed if it had eight hundred."

"Quite right, my dear," Louise agreed.

"It could be that it looks smaller with lots of people in it," Jane suggested.

Carolyn laughed. "That could be, dear Jenna -- but Louise and I have been in so many halls in our lives, whether as performers or audience members, that I believe we can justly tell the size of any."

"Yes, of course." Jenna smiled politely and began to read her program, but was soon interrupted by Louise.

"Jenna, tell us about yourself," she began. "Is everyone in your family musical?"

"Many of them are," she responded softly. "All my sisters play an instrument, of course, and my father was a conductor."

"And your mother?"

"She played the violin in high school."

"And now she, uh...?"

"She gave it up when she got married."

"Oh, that is surprising," said Carolyn. "She seemed to show such -- oh, such ebullience at the house party Friday; I could have sworn she still played. Well, what does she do now?"

"She's a homemaker, mainly."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Raising five daughters is a full-time job."

"Of course it is." There was a hint of disdain in Carolyn's voice, covered with a sugary sweet coating. "Especially when the five daughters are all so musical."

"Who are your teachers? Are they here at Hertfordborough?" Louise went on.

Jenna was beginning to feel uncomfortable. "I study with Kathy Gardiner, and my sisters Liz and Livia study with her husband, Ed Gardiner. And no, they're not here at Hertfordborough."

Louise frowned. "I don't believe I've ever heard of them. Funny. Are they American?"

"Actually, they're British. They spend a good amount of time in America (we study with them when they're over here, of course), but they're often in England. I believe they're in London right now."

"Oh." A contemptuous glance -- slight but visible -- passed between the sisters. "Exactly where in London, Jenna?"

Jenna was spared any further interrogation, at least for the present, because at that moment the lights went down and the music began.

The concert was very long. Once in a while, a wave of nausea would sweep over Jenna's body. She did everything to stifle her coughs and sneezes. She tried to calm her shiverings. It was freezing in the auditorium, and being in a skin-tight dress damp with water didn't help. Be patient. This thing is almost over, and then you can just go home and go to bed.

It took all Jenna's strength to stand and applaud with the rest of the audience. Her head felt stuffed with cotton.

"Jenna dear, so glad you could come," the Bingley sisters told her as they stood in the lobby.

"Thank you for inviting me," Jenna replied, coughing, and left for her car.

"The rain hasn't let up a bit," she thought as she headed down the parking lot. On reaching her vehicle, she fumbled for the correct key, straining to see through the rain. "A-choo!" The door unlocked, and she was safely in the warm, dry interior. She began the motor. "Start... " But it wouldn't. She tried and tried, desperate. "Oh, please... please start... start, will you?"

It made a spluttering noise, but that was it. Jenna let out a low utterance -- very rare for her-- and rested her forehead on the steering wheel. I feel terrible... I don't want to... I'd give anything in the world not to... Oh Jenna, they won't mind it if... Stepping once again out into the downpour and locking the door, she trudged back to the lobby.

Carolyn and Louise Bingley were at the pay phones when they saw Jenna Bennet return. She looked soaked and miserable.

"I'm... I'm afraid my car won't start," she managed to get out.

Even Carolyn and Louise couldn't turn their backs on that. They insisted that Jenna come back to their hotel with them -- for it was much closer than the Bennet's apartment -- and from there they would call the autoclub.

Chapter Seven

"Where in the world could Jenna be?" Liz pondered aloud as she booted up the laptop. "The concert must have gone seriously over-time."

"Or perhaps she's dining out with the Bingleys -- ever thought of that, eh?" Fran called jubilantly across the room. "It's all exactly as I planned..."

"There's an e-mail here, it's from Carolyn Bingley's address..." Liz started. "But wait -- it's from Jenna! Oh, no..."

Fran looked up from her needlepoint. "What? What is it? For heaven's sake, Liz, read it aloud so the rest of the family can hear!"

Liz read in a halting voice, "'Dear Liz; I tried calling but you were out. The car broke down after the concert, and so I'm writing this from Carolyn's e-mail in their hotel. I've caught a cold -- a fever, a sore-throat, and stuffy nose, is all -- but the Bingleys won't hear of my leaving until I am all better. That's why I won't be home tonight. Please tell everyone not to worry about me. Love, Jenna.'"

"Well, my dear, I hope you're happy now," Calvin observed from his book. "Not only is Jenna going to spend more time with the Bingleys, she'll be spending the night in their rooms. And if she gets worse, and the Longbourn Quartet's concert has to be called off because of it, it will be satisfying to know that it's all the best for her real career, and under your orders."

"Oh well, Jenna always recovers quickly." Fran waved her hand restlessly. "She said herself not to worry. And now she will be able to see Charlie! This whole thing is wonderful if you put it in that light... and as you know, I'm always one to look on the bright side of things."

Liz could take no more, and raced to her room. She was disgusted by Fran's self-centered behavior. She was impatient and worried over her sister's health. Jenna did not recover from things quickly: last time she had the flu, it had developed into pneumonia and she had been in bed for a week and a half. Liz tried not to think of what would happen if they really did have to call off the concert. Slipping into a pair of pajamas, she laid down on the bed to rest.

When she opened her eyes again, sunshine lit the room and a nearby bird sang a blissful melody. Liz sat up and stretched. She didn't remember sleeping at all -- and yet she felt refreshed and restored. The worries of last night had transformed into determination.

It was ten till eight. Discovering the air outside her window to be warm, she pulled on a pair of running shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, and tiptoed down to the kitchenette, so as not to wake the rest of the family.

Liz was tying her Asics, a peanut butter bagel taste remnant on her lips, when she heard the sound of Fran's slippers come padding down the hall.

"Cripes," Liz grumbled, and straightened up to meet her mother.

"Child, where on earth are you going?" Fran demanded, appearing complete with bathrobe, curlers, and green rejuvenating face mask.

"To Jenna, naturally."

"What? It's eight in the morning -- you've got to practice."

"I can practice when I get home. I practiced for eight hours yesterday, don't forget! And seeing Jenna is the most important thing right now."

"I'm sure the Bingleys are taking excellent care of her, Elizabeth."

Liz looked the other woman in the eye. "I know she'd like me to be with her."

"And how are you planning to get there? We can't have you drive off in our extra car."

"No problem. I was going to run anyway."

"Run?!" Fran was disbelieving. "It's seven miles -- you'll be all sweaty and disheveled by the time you arrive."

"Jenna won't care how I look, and that's all that matters. I'm resolved, Mom."

The run was delightful. Liz had not gotten much exercise since their arrival at Hertfordborough, so this was a welcome change. The storm had completely subsided -- not a single cloud littered the sky. She smiled and breathed the mountain air deeply into her lungs.

Finally she reached the hotel. As she began to open one of the glass doors, she came face-to-face with F. William D'Arcy, who was going the other way.

"Li--Miss Bennet!" he cried.

"Oh, hello." Liz considered edging past him, and thus not having to say another word, but thought better of it. "I'm here to see Jenna."

"You ran here?" he asked, noticing her clothes.

"Yep." A pause. She continued coolly, "Could you take me to your rooms -- unless you're on your way out."

"No, no, I was just, um..." D'Arcy didn't seem quite sure what to say, so instead he bid her, "Right this way."

He led her through the lobby into a glass elevator, up to the top floor. Liz had gone by this hotel probably a thousand times during her times at Hertfordborough, but had never actually been inside. It all struck her as a sort of meager attempt at grandeur, though it was probably the most majestic building at Hertfordborough, and therefore the only one fit to hold the distinguished Netherfield Trio.

They walked all the way down to the end of the hall. As D'Arcy unlocked the door and they stepped inside, Liz caught her breath. The room was huge -- well, the rooms, rather. The main one was long and bright. The far wall was covered in window,

opening out to the distant mountains. The floor was richly carpeted in white, the furniture modern Italian leather. To her right, she spied a kitchen, which in itself seemed bigger than her family's whole apartment.

Beside the window was a grand piano, where Louise now sat. She was accompanying Carolyn in a very shrill rendition of The Jewel Song. When Liz entered, the women stopped their music and gave each other panicked looks. Louise recuperated first, and was able to say, "Good day, Liz. What an... unexpected pleasure."

However unexpected, it was obviously not a pleasure to her, Liz could sense. They were saved by Charlie Bingley hastening in from another room.

"Liz! How good to see you! Please, make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink -- a glass of water, or coffee, maybe?"

"No, no, thank you. I've come to see Jenna."

She was shown to her sister's room. Jenna looked pale and unwell, but still smiled up at her sister. "Liz. I didn't know you were coming."

"Of course! How could I stay at home with you here?"

"Our rehearsals, and -- and --"

"Shh..." Liz placed a thermometer in her sister's mouth.

When it beeped, Jenna said, "I'm so sorry about all this, Liz. I'm sorry I got sick. When I just think about our concert, and how hard we've worked, and that I might stop it from happening --"

"Jenna, please!" Liz smiled and sighed. Her sister was so anxious for everyone else to be happy, she often forgot about herself. "Please don't worry. It'll all work out for the best, just like you always say. I promise."

Jenna smiled too. "Yes, I guess you're right." She yawned.

"Now I'll leave and let you get some more sleep, okay?"

Jenna nodded and closed her eyes.

As Liz scuttled out of her sister's room, she could hear voices.

"Rude, that's what I say she is." Carolyn. "Just showing up, not even calling first! But I guess that's what we get for coming to an American festival."

"Well, at least she must be a wonderful runner." Now it was Louise. "But the way she looked when she came through that door! Dripping with perspiration, and ...!"

"I could hardly keep from laughing. What does she mean, running up and down the mountains because her sister has the sniffles? I hate to admit it, but I think it's all a lot

of overreacting. And did you see her hair? It was practically falling down her back in one sloppy tangle."

"How about her running clothes? So dirty and worn-out looking."

"Oh, stop it, will you?" Charlie Bingley suddenly decided to speak up. "I don't believe either of you. She's just in the other room! Besides, I thought she looked very nice and energized. I didn't notice anything so terribly wrong with her hair or her running clothes."

"I'm sure you noticed her running clothes, Will," Carolyn snickered.

"I did."

"I bet you wouldn't want your sister running miles and miles, wearing those little things."

"No, I wouldn't." His reply was low and short.

"It shows such immodest independence. Really taking that whole women's lib thing a little too far, in my opinion." She lowered her voice, and Liz couldn't hear what she said -- something about Will and cheerful eyes. D'Arcy answered a bit more audibly -- "Not at all. They were brightened by the exercise."

"Did I tell you who they study with? Some couple called Gardiner. I've never heard of them in my life -- have you, Will? Poor Jenna didn't mention any university ties. No, they're British; but I still think that at twenty or however old they are, they ought to --"

Liz decided to stop this conversation before it was too late, so quickly set foot into the room, and reported on her sister's present condition.

Charlie looked very distressed upon hearing that Jenna was unimproved. "Oh, that's terrible. I hope it's nothing serious. You, as her sister, must stay here until she's better."

Liz objected at first, but Charlie was tenacious. She finally gave in, and called home for her violin to be brought over.

Chapter Eight

After six hours of rigorous practice interspersed with visits to her sister, Liz set her violin into its case. As she stretched her exhausted shoulders and massaged her well-callused fingers, she realized there was another violin playing somewhere close-by. At first she passed it off as imaginary reverberations from her own concentrated application, but soon realized it was F. William D'Arcy practicing in another part of the hotel suite. Big deal. Go on with your stretching, and pay no attention. But curiosity got the better of Liz. She listened closely. He was playing a piece high on the G string -- Ravel's "Tzigane," no doubt for his recital. His tone held some resemblance

to Heifetz, with an intense, fast vibrato and a bow that dug vigorously into the string. It wasn't her style of playing, but... well, as much as Liz hated to admit it, he was good -- very good.

She stopped eavesdropping when her stomach began to rumble, and she remembered how tired and famished she was. After another check on Jenna (still asleep), Liz made her way through the large white halls to find the others. As she came into the main room, the aroma of delicious Chinese food hit her like the sound of a waterfall might to a person who has trudged for days through the Sahara desert.

A small card table had been pulled out to the middle of the room, and on it were piled several little take-out boxes, which Carolyn, Louise, and Charlie were eagerly emptying. Carolyn looked up as Liz walked in. "Oh, you're here." She smiled coldly. "Care to join us?"

Liz was too hungry to heed the scorn. "Thank you."

She sat down and was helping herself to some vegetable lo mein when D'Arcy came in. "There you are, Will!" The difference between Carolyn's welcomes to Liz and D'Arcy was pitifully evident. "I was wondering if you'd ever stop practicing!"

D'Arcy appeared not to have heard her. He stopped at Liz's chair, and said, "I hope your sister's feeling better."

Liz was more than a little surprised. "She's sleeping, but I think she's a little better, yes."

"Good." He looked at her a moment longer, and Liz could almost swear she saw a small smile on his lips.

Carolyn apparently saw it too, for she urged, "Will, come have some Chinese with us! There's room for you -- here, you can sit over by me."

D'Arcy glanced in her direction, and replied, "Thanks, but I'm not hungry just this moment." He proceeded to sit himself on the couch at the other side of the room and start up his computer.

Carolyn was displeased, and began to tensely peel the skin off an eggroll.

"Liz, I hope your practicing went well," Louise remarked, aware of the precarious quietude. "You were practicing scales for an awfully long time -- an hour at least."

"Yeah." Liz smiled and blew on a spoonful of hot and sour soup.

"Liz adores playing scales and etudes," Carolyn broke in. "She would play them all the time, if it wasn't for those solo pieces, yes?"

Liz laughed dubiously. "The exact opposite, actually! Etudes and scales are very helpful, but they're not something anyone adores."

Carolyn had no clue what to say in return. She looked over at D'Arcy. "Will, what are you doing over there on that ghastly machine of yours?"

"I'm e-mailing my sister."

"Oh, dear Georgette! How is she? How's her music coming along? I'm dying to hear her again."

"She has a concert in London this week. Mozart's D Major Flute Concerto."

"I'm sure she'll be wonderful. She has such a developed sound for only seventeen -- truly exquisite. And not just on the flute -- she plays so many other instruments as well: the piano, the piccolo, she even sings a little! Do you play anything apart from the violin, Liz?"

"Well, I used to take piano lessons, and picked up a bit of cello and viola from my sisters."

"There is so much musical talent in the world today!" Charlie observed buoyantly. "So many phenomenal players."

"I can only think of a few who are genuinely outstanding in this day and age," D'Arcy murmured.

Yeah, and I'm sure you're on the top of the list.

"You're absolutely right," Carolyn exclaimed. "There seems to be a sea of indifferent musicians in the world right now -- competent, but nothing astounding. To be really great, your facility and phrasing requires perfection, of course, but there must also be a spark, a way of captivating the audience; you must live and breathe the piece, must perform it with perpetual truth and conviction, as if you wrote the piece yourself."

Had this been said by anyone else, Liz would've agreed completely; but Carolyn's only aim, she knew, was to impress Will.

"And to all this," D'Arcy added, "there must yet be something more: a solid and basic knowledge of your instrument, that can only be acquired through repetitive practicing of scales and etudes."

Liz looked down at the table, trying to conceal a grin. Carolyn was hushed.

D'Arcy finished his letter a little later, and sat down to eat. At the same time Fran Bennet showed up ("I was over at Livia's rehearsal at Lodge Hall, and thought I'd just pop over to see how Jenna's doing."). On returning from her eldest daughter's sick room, she was asked by an anxious Charlie, "Is... is she at all better?"

"She is recovering, yes, though I still hate to disturb her..."

"Don't worry, she can stay another night here. No problem at all -- and Liz, I extend the invitation to you too. We have plenty of rooms in here."

Staying the night within a mile of D'Arcy and the Bingley sisters was about as appealing to Liz as jumping into a pit of piranhas, but when she remembered Jenna, suffering and desolate... "Thank you..." Liz couldn't help notice a sickened expression pass between Carolyn and Louise. "Yes, I will most definitely spend the night here," she stated more assertively. "I know Jenna wants me to be here with her."

Fran was happy. "I'm sure that's the best thing. My my my, what a lovely room you have here! So big and fashionable -- and look at that view. I bet you'll never want to leave."

Charlie beamed. "I bet you're right. This country is beautiful. If the Hertfordborough Festival was year round, I'd be here all the time! Right, Will?"

F. William D'Arcy glanced up from his kung pao chicken. "You would? You don't find it a little limited?"

Fran spun to face him, outraged. "Limited ? How could you say so?! Hertfordborough has so many incredible musicians -- how on earth could it be limited?!"

D'Arcy studied his kung pao chicken.

"Mom," Liz interpolated, highly disconcerted, "that's not what he meant. Now, I'm sure Livia wants you back at her rehearsal, so why don't you go, okay?"

"Well, all right. But you'll need a change of clothes for tomorrow, and your toiletries," Fran grumbled. "Thankfully, I just happened to bring some."

Bags in hand, Liz waved good-bye to her mother, and turned back to her hosts with a lightened spirit.

"Thank you again, Charlie," she began, sitting down and picking up a book. "I really mean it."

"Oh Liz, no trouble at all. Anything for Je -- uh, anything to make your sister feel better."

"Nothing on this damn television set," Carolyn snapped, as she mindlessly clicked a remote control.

"Wait, what was that?" Liz wondered, looking up at the TV. "A few channels back -- there."

It was an English movie, set two hundred years or so ago. A man and a woman were walking along a green field. A mansion loomed in the background. "Are you disposed to call his interference -- officious?" the man was saying.

"What, this?" Carolyn asked skeptically.

"Yeah, seems interesting."

"Mm." Carolyn turned off the set. "Some costume drama -- the BBC is full of them these days. I can't stand it. I really don't understand this huge fascination people have -- history is all done and completed, why mull over it! -- Oh Will, the fortune cookies! I entirely forgot."

Will walked over to the group, and set a basket of fortune cookies on the coffee table.

"Choose one for me, will you, Will?" Carolyn beseeched.

D'Arcy's eyes rolled slightly, but it went unnoticed by Carolyn. He opened a cookie from its plastic and broke it in two.

"Well, what does it say?" she wanted to know.

"'Good fortune may come your way, but you'll miss it if you don't lower your nose.'"

It took Carolyn a few moments to comprehend what the others were laughing about. "Oh... ah-ha-ha-ha..."

Charlie said he would like one too. D'Arcy unwrapped one for him, and read,

"'You go through the world eager to approve of everyone you meet.'"

"Hardly a fortune, but I like it all the same," laughed Charlie. "At least it didn't say anything about noses!"

"Now my turn, Will," Louise spoke.

"Eagles will soar high over your life. Always wear a hat.'"

Louise didn't think it was funny.

"Don't worry, Louise," Liz chuckled. "I'm sure Will's fortune will be terrible for that."

"How could Will's fortune be terrible?" Carolyn broke in. "He is a man without blemishes -- He has perfect karma!"

"Does he really?" Liz asked, her eyes twinkling. "Perfect karma?"

"No one can have perfect karma," D'Arcy interjected. "It's impossible. But I hope I haven't done something so horrible that I come back as an ant or a toilet bowl scrubber in my next life."

"Oh, I don't think anyone can come back as a toilet bowl scrubber, technically," Liz responded archly.

"And," he continued, "I hope I've guarded against the failings that one is punished for in this life."

"Hmm, such as narcissism and pride, perhaps?"

"Narcissism is definitely a failing. But pride... Well, it depends on the individual case. Sometimes it is warranted."

Liz sighed, grabbing a cookie from the basket. "Well, I guess you must be perfect then. You have squeaky-clean karma -- you're destined to be emperor of the universe in your next life."

"I didn't say that. I have plenty of faults deep-down. My temper is not the longest on earth. And I'm not one to forgive and forget... To put it plainly, my good opinion once gone is gone for good."

"That certainly is a fault, but I can't blame you for it." Liz cracked open the cookie. "But enough talk..." She held up the small white scrap of paper. "It says you are doomed to hate everyone you meet!" she read triumphantly.

He took a cookie for her. "And yours says you will willfully misunderstand everyone you meet."

Liz knew he had made that fortune up. Can't blame him. I made his up too. She was not aware that they were staring at each other until Carolyn broke the silence. "I think I'll put on some music now," she announced. "Everyone like LaToya Jackson?" She left her chair with an apprehensive glance at D'Arcy and Liz.

"Thank you so much for all your hospitality." Jenna shook Charlie's hand, smiling bashfully.

"It was my pleasure, I assure you!" Charlie responded, beaming. "But are you certain you feel better? Truly, you're both welcome to stay at our hotel a day longer, if you wish --"

"Thank you for the offer, but no," Liz interrupted. "We promised to meet our family at a coffee house in half an hour."

"I'm feeling much, much better," Jenna guaranteed. "Thank you. Besides, the quartet really needs to rehearse."

"Of course," Charlie said. "It would be best that way. Say, when is your quartet's concert?"

"On Friday," Jenna replied. "And Liz's recital is on Thursday."

"Wonderful! We'll be sure to come to both... And when is your recital, Jenna?"

"Not for another week and a half."

Liz inquired into the dates of Charlie's concerts.

"Mmm? Oh, ah, my recital is performing in two weeks, the day before the festival closes. Our trio's concert is only next week, however; and Will is giving his recital the day prior. Say, y'know, I really think I might give a house party. Really, I loved the one at the Lucases' so much. Maybe we could rent out that big banquet hall in the hotel, and after our trio concert next week everyone could come over and play chamber music again."

"That would be great," Jenna responded, with as much zeal as her customary serenity would allow.

"Our bus is here," Liz informed them. "Come on, Jenna -- got your bag?"

Jenna nodded, but seemed reluctant to go. "I'll be there in a second, Liz."

"Oh, okay," Liz grinned. "I'll go save us a seat."

She got on and paid the driver, then made her way to the back of the bus. In a few minutes Jenna joined her. The latter was smiling blissfully.

The bus pulled away from the curb, and both girls waved out the window to Charlie.

"Well, Jenna," Liz sighed, "not counting the superb Charlie Bingley, I've never been happier to leave a place as I am now. It was terribly claustrophobic in there."

Jenna laughed, and gave her sister's hand a supportive squeeze.

Meanwhile, back at the hotel, D'Arcy was staring out the window. It was a clear day, and if he looked very carefully, he thought he could see the bus Liz and her sister were traveling on.

Carolyn sat at the breakfast table, chopping a piece of ham. "So nice to have this place to ourselves again!" she told her sister, eyeing D'Arcy acutely. "You never really appreciate privacy until you lose it for awhile. But I think Will is languishing over the loss of Liz Bennet's running clothes and 'cheerful eyes.'"

"Don't be ridiculous," D'Arcy muttered, taking a sip of his coffee. He continued to stare out the window.

Chapter Nine

The coffee house was large and very new; this was its first year open at Hertfordborough. The owners obviously thought it would be well received, as the festival was full of young musicians in want of caffeine. They were right: the place was packed. Liz and Jenna weaved their way through the crowd, lifting their bags over their shoulders so as not to bump into anyone. They spotted more than one person they knew among the masses of people with large colorful cups, but no one from their family. Finally, Jenna spotted Fran, and called to Liz, "Over there, in the corner."

Liz looked, and saw her family squeezed into a little booth at the far end of the room. Fran was waving wildly to them. "Ah, here we go," Liz said to Jenna, smiling dryly.

As they made their way closer, they noticed another person sitting with their family -- one they had never seen before.

"Liz, Jenna, there you are!" Fran cried as they, at length, reached the table. "How are you, my dears? Jenna, you still look pale; you're sure you're feeling better? Yes? Good, now you can get underway with your rehearsals. Liz, for heaven's sake, child, where's your instrument?"

"It's right --"

"Oh, there it is. Good gracious, you were about to give me a nervous attack." She sighed heavily, taking a long swig of her coffee and wiping her forehead with a napkin. Then, fully recovered, she smiled and gestured across the table. "This, girls, is Bill Collins."

He was a man of rather indiscernible age. He was plump, with a thin layer of greasy brown hair matted atop his very round head, and wore a white short-sleeved polo shirt and trousers that were not exactly flattering to his physique. Liz also noted his white loafers and the large gold chain that hung around his fleshy neck. He stood as Fran introduced him, smiling oleaginously. "Jenna, Liz, it is an honor to meet you finally in person." He grasped both their hands and shook them fervently. His handshake was damp and spongy.

"Liz, how good it is to make your acquaintance," he gushed to Jenna, the repugnant grin still spread across his face. "I hear you're quite a bassoonist."

"Actually, I'm Jenna -- this is Liz. I play the cello, and Liz plays the violin." Jenna glanced at her sister, giving her a half-amused, half "don't-kill-him-yet" look.

Bill Collins was mortified, and apologized profusely for this mistake. "I'm truly very, very sorry about this misunderstanding, and hope with all my soul that you will forgive me."

Liz forced a smile. "Don't worry about it," she said, her teeth painfully clenched.

"Sit down, girls," Fran requested. "I've ordered you both drinks -- they should be coming soon. You like espresso, don't you, sweet peas?"

Bill Collins sat on one side of the booth next to Mary and Livia (the latter gawking at him in blatant disgust); Jenna squeezed in next to her mother and father on the other side of the booth; and with Katie at the end in a chair, there was no room for Liz.

Livia noticed this, and volunteered, "Here, Liz! You can have my place next to Mr. Collins and Mary." She bustled out of the booth, perhaps a little too eagerly. Liz felt very ungrateful to her youngest sister, but nevertheless took a place beside Mr. Collins.

"I think I spotted Denny and Hannah across the room," Livia went on. "I'll just go join them for a second --"

"You'll do no such thing," Fran commanded. "It would be intolerably rude to Mr. Collins if you left. Now sit back down!"

Livia pulled up a chair at the end of the table next to Katie, grumbling stormily under her breath.

Fran waited until her daughter was seated, and then turned back to Bill Collins. "Mr. Collins, I'm so sorry about all of this. It's just been one hectic thing after another, as it always is at festivals such as these. But, that's the price you pay, for having such gifted daughters."

"Indeed, I fully understand. Even in the few minutes I have known your daughters, I have already detected an astonishing amount of intrinsic, artistic sensibilities that must unequivocally surface in their musical performance." Mr. Collins laughed; a smarmy, slightly-nasal chuckle. Liz felt her natural gag reflex coming on. "And, by the way, please call me Bill."

Fran was thoroughly delighted. "I am sure the girls would like to know of the occasion for our having a visitor such as yourself, Bill. Girls, Bill is the son of one of your father's cousins, Ferdinand Collins."

All of the Bennet daughters, save Mary, looked aghast. We're related to this guy??

Bill, gratefully, did not notice the alarm. "I am the adopted son of Ferdinand Collins the Second, actually," he told them, accepting a glass of carrot juice from the waitress. Livia sighed loudly in relief. "Ferdinand was, like your father, a conductor. Unfortunately, the two men never quite got along."

Liz heard her father snort.

"I believe there might have been some feelings of rivalry, which I don't quite understand, for both were very successful in their own ways," Bill Collins went on, completely oblivious to anything but his own oration. "Needless to say, I myself was put in a very awkward position, and have many times wished to 'heal the breach,' if you will. Now, since I have so recently had the bad fortune of losing my father, it seems like the perfect opportunity of bridging the gap. I just happened to be in this part of the country, and when I heard that you were up here as well, why, I thought, 'What a perfect opportunity!' And here I am!"

"Bill is going to be staying with us for the next week or so," Fran said.

Liz hoped she hadn't heard her mother correctly. "You mean, he'll be staying at Hertfordborough. In the hotel, perhaps?"

"No, no, Liz -- how appallingly unwelcoming you can seem at times, haha! Please, forgive her, Bill. No, Liz, Bill we be staying with us, in our apartment. Oh, and we're giving him your and Jenna's room. You know that we have limited space, and it's just for this week! You can two can sleep on the cot in the living room; it will be just fine."

"I truly hope it is no bother," Bill contended, his thick brow wrinkled on his shiny forehead.

Liz flushed with exasperation, but contrived another smile. "No bother."

Jenna sensed her sister's anger, and thought it best to steer away from the subject. "Are you a musician, Bill?"

"Why, I'm a conductor, as a matter of fact.

"Do you have an orchestra?"

"I am very glad you asked me that, Janie -- uh, Jenna! I have of lately received a very large grant from the worthy arts patron, Catherine de Bourgh." He spoke the name 'Catherine de Bourgh' as if it was holy. "There is a little town in South America, by the name of Labias de Vaca --"

"Labias de Vaca," Mary said, speaking for the first time since her sisters had arrived. "I've heard of that place before. Isn't it the town with the warring tribes, and the riots, and --"

Bill cleared his throat noisily. "Ah, that's the place. It is indeed a little, should we say, barbarous at times, but all that will surely change. Catherine de Bourgh herself has bought most of it up -- and, uh, some of the neighboring forest land -- and intends to turn it into the next Rio de Janeiro! The first step, as she so intelligently knows, is the integration of culture -- and, for that reason, she has hired me to start an orchestra down there."

"You say that Ms. de Bourgh has bought up some of the surrounding forest land," Liz said. "About how much forest land exactly?"

"I do not know the exact amount, but I believe it to be somewhere between ten and fifty thousand acres."

"And what does she intend to do with this amount of rainforest, sir -- if you would permit me to ask?"

"Well, uh..." Bill emptied a packet of sugar into his carrot juice and stirred nervously.

"You know what she intends to do with it, Liz -- to build up the city of course!" Fran cut in. "Now please stop bothering the poor man. Bill, please, tell me more about your orchestra. Do you have all the positions filled?"

"No, madam, I do not. I have hired quite a number of players, but am still in need of a few more positions -- namely, principals for all the sections, and a concertmaster."

Liz felt a pang of horror, as she suddenly realized her mother's full intentions in bringing Bill Collins to stay with them. Oh no, mother. Please, even you wouldn't stoop this low.

"I am fully looking forward to hearing all of my young cousins in concert this week." Bill grinned at the girls, raised his glass in salute, and took a long gulp. He apparently found the carrot juice a bit too sweet, for he choked, spilling the orange liquid all over the table and his nice white shirt.

Liz spent the better part of the next day trying to avoid any contact with Bill Collins. He was the most irritating, abominable, and slimy man she had ever had to deal with. On the unfortunate occasions that she was forced to be in his company, she was continually amazed at his pompous, foolish behavior and the constant praising of Catherine de Bourgh.

The second evening of his stay, Liz was sitting out on the front stoop, watching the sunset, when two loud voices began to waft through the kitchen window.

"You have such wonderful daughters!" Bill Collins was spewing. "Thoroughly delightful!"

"Yes," Fran replied. "They're remarkable girls, though I say so myself."

"And all so brilliantly musical," Bill went on. "Especially, perhaps, your eldest daughter, Jenna... I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but I have an opening for principal cello in my orchestra. I've been looking long and hard for just the right player."

Liz, about to inform them of her presence, stopped dead in her tracks.

"Jenna is admired wherever she goes." Fran's voice was, for once, cautious. "But I think I should warn you, that she may very soon have some opportunities for, if not solo work, chamber music in a higher sphere than the one she now occupies."

"Oh, I see."

Liz breathed with relaxation for her sister.

"As for the other daughters," Fran continued; "Livia and Katie are still very young, of course, and -- especially Livia -- have great futures ahead of them. But as for Liz... well, I don't think she has any plans at all, after this summer."

Liz stifled an exclamation of rage. So it was true! That was her mother's aim!

"Ah, Liz..." Even from out on the stoop, Liz could hear Bill Collins' brain ticking. Slow ticking, of course, but ticking all the same. "Yes, Liz plays the violin, doesn't she. Hmm..."

"Rrgh, Jenna, I'm going insane!" she growled to her sister as they went to bed that night. "Ick! That's all I can think when I see him -- ick! He makes me want to throw up --"

"Liz, please!" Jenna laughed, looking up from her book. "He might hear you! You know it's only five more days, and then he'll be gone."

"Oh no he won't." Liz got out of bed and began to pace. "You know what Mom's been planning for me -- I'm sure you do. What can she be thinking? That I'm that desperate??"

"Liz, calm down. I'm sure Mom's only reason for having Bill stay with us is to be friendly. He is family, after all."

"Yeah, right, 'family.' It doesn't matter -- I can see through it all like a window. Did I tell you what happened this evening?"

Liz related to her sister what she had heard pass between Fran and Bill, tactfully omitting his initial interest in Jenna.

"So you see, Mom wants me to be concertmaster of that orchestra! I looked up that town, that Labias de Vaca. It used to be a peaceful little rain forest village until about ten years ago, when a bunch of businesses began to hack down the trees. The people living there were forced to become 'civilized,' as the businesses put it, but all it's resulted in is warring between tribes. It's one hundred miles from any other city. And now Catherine de Bourgh wants an orchestra there -- oh, it makes me fume just thinking about it!"

"Liz!" Jenna's voice was unusually stern. "Chill. You're going to drive yourself nuts -- and is that really what you want the night before your recital?"

Liz sighed deeply and sat down on the bed. "You're right. I don't know what's wrong with me." She smiled. "Oh, Jenna, how much you have to put up with."

Chapter Ten

Author's Note: I'm sorry my posts here have been so sporadic. Life is very crazy at the moment (but then, when isn't it?). Comments, either here or by e-mail, are always appreciated. Thanks! -Hilary

Liz woke at six the next morning. This was not her usual time of rising -- far from it -- but today she was too excited to sleep. The day of her recital had come.

The first thing Liz wanted to do was to warm up on her violin, to play until her fingers were totally pliant. You can't practice now, silly. Everyone is sleeping, and God forbid you should wake up Bill Collins. This thought was so scary that Liz decided it best to get out of the house altogether.

The sun was just rising over the pine trees as she shut the front door and hopped onto her mountain bike. She began pedaling as fast as she could, up onto the bike trail. It was steep, narrow, and winding, but the view at the top made it all worth it. During the easier parts of the trail she hummed various tunes from her recital pieces. Once in a while another early-riser, passing by, would look at her oddly for crooning a Mozart Sonata at this time in the morning.

Liz reached the summit at seven. She balanced the bike against one leg, took a swig from her water bottle, and stared in awe at the vista spread in front of her. She had never truly appreciated its real beauty until this morning. The sky was a crystal-clear blue, the trees emerald-green, the encircling mountains dark purple. In one corner she could see the town that Hertfordborough inhabited; the little doll-like houses, the first cars of the morning moving like busy ants. Liz philosophized there for a moment longer, feeling truly peaceful, and then made her way back down the path.

On reaching the bottom, Liz still didn't feel like going home, so she did a cool-down ride over to a little bagel shop not far from the apartment. It was now almost eight, and the atmosphere in town was beginning to liven up. Liz found an empty stool at the counter and ordered a cream-cheese bagel and some lemonade. As she waited for her victuals, a familiar figure took the stool beside her.

"Hannah?"

The person turned. "Oh, hi Liz! What are you doing up at this time of day?"

"I would ask the same of you, but I believe the answer's written in the circles under your eyes."

Hannah Forster, a pianist and one of Livia's good friends, grinned naughtily.

"I see that I'm correct," Liz chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah. There was a big party at Denny Kim's apartment last night till about two-thirty, and some of us went out after that. No big deal; my dad lets me do it all the time." One of Hannah's main pleasures in life was shocking other people.

But Liz was perceptive. She tsk-tsked, feigning solemnity. The waiter handed her the lemonade, which she began to suck eagerly out of a red and white striped straw. "I dunno, Hannah... Isn't your recital soon?"

Hannah tossed her hair over one shoulder flippantly. "Not for another week. Anyway, that's no problem -- I know my pieces like the back of my hand."

"Well, it's your decision what you do with your time. You're a responsible seventeen-year-old. Just so long as Livia doesn't try to pull something like that..."

"Livia wasn't at the party, although I know she really wanted to be. She said Fran made her stay home, because of some visitor. What was his name -- Colon, or --?"

"Bill Collins." Liz groaned. "And please, don't ask."

Hannah laughed. "Anyway, your recital is tonight, right? I'll try my best to be there. Oh, and did you here about Mr. George?"

Liz took a bite of her bagel. "Who's Mr. George?"

"There's a new teacher here, an English guy named Wickley George -- you haven't heard of him? Neither had I, until last night. Well, he's a violinist and a violist, and he might be joining us at the conservatory this fall. He's, like, pretty young for a teacher, and really amazing, I hear. Really amazing to look at, that is!" She giggled.

Liz raised her eyebrows. "English, you say? We seem to be having a British invasion this year," she mused.

"Anyway, I gotta go take a nap before this afternoon. If I don't see you at your recitals, you'll be at Sue Long's masterclass Saturday, right?"

"Probably -- although right now anything beyond my recital tonight and the quartet concert tomorrow seems unimaginable."

"I know how it is. See ya around!"

Liz watched Hannah bounce out of the shop, then turned back to eat the rest of her breakfast in peace.

"Oh, Liz, are you nervous? Oh, you look very nice in that dress! Do you feel all right; could I get you something? Water? No? Well, you do look pretty in that dress." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "You're too short to have Jenna's body, but the material does bring out the color in your eyes." Fran Bennet took a mother's liberty and pinched her daughter affectionately on the cheek.

"Really, Mom, I'm fine." Liz batted the hand away, then smiled. "But thank you for asking. Now I think you should take your seats."

"Yes, yes, of course." Fran grinned at her daughter, a spot of bright pink lipstick evident on her teeth. "We'll leave you to your warming-up."

She made her way to the door of the green room. Bill Collins stepped up to Liz and shook her hand with enthusiasm. "Let me tell you with what expectation and delight I am awaiting this recital," he told her, beaming goonishly. "Zigeunerweisen , especially, is a particular favorite of mine."

"Actually," Liz replied, "Livia is the one playing Zigeunerweisen on her recital."

One of Bill's meaty paws flew to his mouth in concern, and he tried to apologize.

"No, no, it's fine," she promised him, glancing at the clock. "Now, I really think you should go -- to get good seats, of course."

"Of course," he repeated. "Then with this" -- grabbing her hand and pressing it to his lips -- "I shall bid you adieu; and, as they say (in particular Catherine de Bourgh), break both your legs!"

Liz pulled her hand away, repulsed beyond belief. "Thank you," she snarled.

He flashed her one more repellent grin, and backed out of the room, joining Fran in the hall. Liz waited until the orange and purple polyester-clad form was safely gone, then shut the door with a shudder. She hurried over to the bathroom sink and scrubbed the front of her hand until it was red.

Put all thoughts of Bill Collins and his kisses out of your head. You've got more important things to think about.

Liz walked to the chair where her violin was laid and took it into her arms. She looked into the long mirror beside the sink. The reflection showed a young woman in a long, sleeveless blue empire gown, dark brown curls piled atop her head, rosy cheeks flushed with excitement. She felt a bit strange in all this make-up Livia and Katie had applied to her face -- dark eye-shadow, wine-red lipstick, even a little foundation. Smothering. And the heels her feet were squeezed into -- she hoped she could make it through the recital without toppling over. And the color of her dress -- Liz had always preferred light yellows and greens, but Fran had insisted this dress was perfect. Oh, come on, Liz, she thought to herself. You look marvelous and you know it.

There was a rap on the door. "Liz?" Linda Phillips, the pianist for Liz's recital and a friend of the family, stuck her head into the room. "They're waiting for you out there, whenever you're ready."

Liz felt her heart jump to her throat. "I'm ready."

"You sure?"

"Uh-huh. Let's go."

Picking up her sheet music, Liz marched to the stage door.

Liz looked out into the audience as she set her music on the stand. At first all she could see was black; then, as her eyes adjusted, the rows of people began to take shape. Don't look out there; it will only make you nervous.

She took her own advice and turned to Linda at the piano.

"Ready?" she whispered.

"Whenever you are."

Liz took one deep breath, raised the violin to her chin and the frog of her bow to the string, gave the cue, and the music began. The first piece was the Mozart Sonata in B flat major K 378. Liz loved this piece: it was elegant, yet still playful enough to be Mozart. At the beginning the piano sung the melody, and then the violin took over. Liz

and Linda made eye contact. The latter was smiling confidently. She does these things all the time. But it still gave Liz encouragement, and she played out even more. The second movement was beautiful, with a dream-like quality, until the end, when the mood changed abruptly to loud, strong chords. The third movement was merry and gleeful -- first a happy little melody, then quick triplets, and then the melody again.

When the sonata was finished, Liz and Linda took their bows, and walked briskly off stage. In the wings, as Liz turned to go back on, Linda gave her one more encouraging pat on the arm. "You're doing great," she whispered.

Liz thanked her and headed back onstage, facing the full but silent auditorium. This time, she was all alone, no piano or music stand to give her comfort. Liz closed her eyes, taking two long breaths. And she began to play. It was the Bach Solo Partita in E major; the one from which she had played the first movement for Lotty in this same hall, on Saturday. Was that only five days ago? Seems like weeks... Those were Liz's last thoughts, for she soon drifted into a half-meditative state, sensible only of the music. The preludio flew by like a fleeting cast of light. The loure came next, slow and sweet, followed by a faster, spinning gavotte en rondeau . The minuets one and two were calm, the bourrče fast and frolicsome.

Finally the last movement, the gigue , arrived: a fast, lively dance. This was Liz's favorite of all the movements; she always played it excellently. This time, Liz decided to take full opportunity of her current relaxation, to attempt some risks in the piece that normally she would not dare.

There was a spot that Liz usually played on the D string, but knew it would sound better if she shifted up on the G string. Should I do it? I never have before...

She was two bars away from the spot, getting ready to do it... And then, she caught a glimpse of her mother, father, sisters, Bill Collins, and behind them the Bingleys and F. William D'Arcy. Dear God, what is Netherfield doing at my recital?? Liz's mind was suddenly so preoccupied, that she almost forgot what she was doing. She was able to save herself, but her concentration was knocked, and all thoughts of the G string shift was out of the question. She had to settle for an uncertain smudge on the D, followed by a very bumpy ending.

The piece was over, and the audience began to applaud. Liz was perturbed, and though smiling and bowing like a true performer, once she reached the wings, she leaned unsteadily against one of Linda's arms.

"Did you see what happened?" Liz asked. "Did you hear me? I totally screwed up!"

Linda patted her on the back. "I heard it, Liz, but that's only because I've heard you do that piece a thousand times before."

"I messed up the whole gigue ! I --"

"Liz, no one in the audience heard it, I'm certain. You are beautiful, self-confident, and secure, and that's what comes across."

Liz smirked and sniffed into a tissue. "You're right -- I'm being foolish. It's just... I had it, you know? And then I had to look out into the audience, and see --"

"Ah, Liz, never look out into the audience! First rule of performance!" They both laughed. "Well," Linda continued, "the intermission is almost over. Your exalted piece is next; think you're ready to handle it?"

Liz discarded the tissue and nodded firmly. "Yes, I'm ready," she proclaimed.

After a short excursion to the drinking fountain, the two women went back out onstage. The talking in the hall ceased, and clapping took its place, as the musicians walked to their spots.

You can do this; this is your best piece, Liz thought as she quietly tuned her instrument. So what if F. Wil-- the Netherfield Trio is out there. Good! This is your chance to wow them and everyone else.

Liz nodded to Linda's questioning look. She motioned with her violin, and they started to play. It was Kreisler's "Praeludium and Allegro." Liz loved the power, force, and energy of this piece. In the first part, the piano and violin began together: the piano holding chords, the violin playing broad, bell-like tones. Then came the andante : softer, and full of rubato . After that the bell theme recurred, followed by the allegro : technically demanding, but boisterous and free at the same time. It ended with three bars of another andante -- the violin playing high on the G string, trilling, and then coming down in junction with the piano. The audience's reply was thundering, and the musicians looked satisfied.

As Liz prepared herself for the final piece, she felt fully confident and happy again. She remembered why she was up here, why she loved doing this so much.

Their final piece was the Brahms Sonata in G major. The first movement had a lot of communication between the violin and piano: moving from soothing to vigorous and back again. The adagio was slow and haunting. The last movement was allegro molto moderato -- a lovely, contemplative conclusion to the sonata and Liz's recital. As Liz heard it end, and the two soft chords faded away, she could not believe the whole thing was over. And then applause began, pealing through the hall like a waterfall. Liz glowed with exhilaration as she joined Linda for their final bows together. They walked offstage and waited a few seconds, but when the noise didn't subside they went back out. Liz was shocked at what she saw: half the room was standing in ovation.

When at length the performers left the stage for the last time, Liz proceeded hastily to her dressing-room to put her violin away. As she appeared again, her family was there, unluckily still with Bill Collins.

"Liz, my dear, dear girl! You were splendid! Indescribable!" Fran kissed her daughter on the cheek and handed her a bundle of flowers. "That Kreisler piece has never been played as well as you did it tonight, Lizzy! Of course, the Bach could've been better -- the mistake in the last part was unfortunate -- and the Mozart sounded a little unsure, but besides that, it was terrific!"

Liz smiled and shook her head. "Thank you, Mother."

Noticing Bill Collins inching towards her, most likely with another horrible smooch in mind, Liz took Jenna's arm and said, "Let's go out to the reception area. I'm starving."

"You were really excellent, Liz," Jenna told her sister as they walked. "Don't mind what Mom said -- I didn't notice it at all myself."

Liz laughed. "Don't worry about it, Jen. I had a good time, and that's all I wanted."

Livia and Katie joined them. "Liz, congrats. Great job," Livia said. "Really nice, especially the fast part of the Kreisler. Oh Lord, you know what? I had to sit next to Bill Collins the entire way through. Yuck! It was awful! I much rather would've sat with Denny and Carter and Greg Chamberlayne -- they were a couple rows over. But mom said 'no.' It was totally unfair -- I was so angry!" They entered the lobby, and Livia's eager eyes began to appraise the room. "Hey, there's Hannah! C'mon, Katie, let's go say hi!"

Jenna went off somewhere as well, so after many congratulations and "well-dones" from friends, familiar acquaintances, and even people she had never seen before in her life, Liz made her way to the refreshment table alone. She was scooping some punch into a plastic cup when, out of the corner of her eye, she spied a man advancing towards her.

"Wonderful, simply wonderful," he commended, his voice British. He was tall, young -- about twenty-three or twenty-four -- and extremely good-looking. He had wavy, light brown hair, blue eyes, and a bright smile that went nicely with his tanned complexion.

"Thank you." Liz smiled, and took a gulp of her drink.

"No, I mean it. The Brahms G major is probably my favorite violin and piano sonata, and your rendition was absolutely superb."

Liz set the glass down and faced him, still smiling. "That's very nice of you to say so."

The man bowed slightly. "It is my utmost pleasure, I assure you."

"Liz!" Fran wailed from across the room. "Come over here!"

"I'll be there in a second, Mother," Liz answered. When she turned back, the man was gone. Liz groaned in frustration. Why does she always interrupt at the worst times?

Liz was about to stalk over, when Charlie and Jenna approached. A few steps behind them F. William D'Arcy was admiring a very interesting floor plant.

"Brilliant, Liz!" Charlie cried. "I loved it!"

"Thanks, Charlie." Liz shot her sister a knowing little grin. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"I'm glad you're glad! I can't wait to come back for your quartet's concert tomorrow. Can you, Will?"

F. William D'Arcy looked surprised at being addressed. "What? Oh, no, no, I can't wait. Very nice performance by the way, Liz."

"Thank you."

"Liz!" Fran's howl was becoming more impatient.

"Ah, Mother is calling. If you'll excuse me, Charlie, Jenna, Mr. D'Arcy."

What Fran wanted to tell Liz was something so trivial that I need not even recount it.

The Bennets arrived back at their apartment at half-past ten. Liz was for once exhausted. After a quick shower, she hopped right in bed. But once there, her mind began to float back to the recital, to the reception, to the handsome stranger who had praised her so earnestly...

Musical terms:

(These are not the official definitions, so please forgive me.)

Triplets are three notes are squeezed into one beat. Try clapping a steady beat and saying "mer-ri-ly" or "pep-per-mint" at the same time.

All of the movements to the Bach Solo Partita are kinds of dances (minuet, gigue, etc.).

"Shifting up on a string" means moving your hand higher up (closer to your face on a vioin). Thus the amount of string vibrating gets smaller, and the note gets higher.

Musical Notes:

Andante is a slow walking tempo. Allegro is, literally, fast. Rubato is taking musical time; stressing or leaning on a particular note. As it's usually not written on the music, it is up to the musician's interpretation. Adagio means slow. Allegro molto moderato means fast, but not too fast.

Chapter Eleven

Katie was chewing her thumbnail. "I'm so worried! I know I should've practiced the Dvorŕk more. What if I mess up?"

"Katie, nonsense, child," Fran said to her daughter. They and the four other Bennet women stood backstage at Lodge Auditorium. "You'll do fine, and even if you don't, it won't really matter, for you play so quietly anyway."

"Mother!" Liz and Jenna cried. Katie looked hurt.

Fran huffed and looked into the mirror, patting her tightly curled tresses. "I wonder where your father could be! I hope he hasn't gotten lost -- that man has no sense of direction. He was almost late to our wedding; he said he couldn't find the church!" She laughed, and then in a snap her face was rigid again. She tapped her watch. "Oh, I do hope he hasn't gotten lost. It is so important for Bill Collins to hear you girls play! If he misses the concert, it will be your father's fault, as usual. I don't know why he insisted on taking Bill in the other car."

Liz was secretly grateful to her father for driving Bill Collins in a separate car. Nevertheless, she was trying to warm-up, and Fran's constant laments were not making it any easier.

Livia decided it was her turn to complain. "This is totally gross. Look at all this dust and hair in my violin case! Denny commented on it the other day: he said, 'Does your cat sit in your case or something?' I was so embarrassed!"

"If a man gives censure on something one has no control over, then that man's opinion is not worth having at all," Mary observed stolidly.

"Oh shut up, will you!"

"Girls, girls, would you tear my nerves into shreds?!" Fran screeched. "Livia, my dear, I am sure Denny was just teasing you. And as for you, Mary, please keep your opinions to yourself! Your sisters are about to play a concert, and the last thing they need is someone pestering them!"

Mary turned back to her book. Liz rubbed her forehead. She felt a little queasy.

"Well, it's about time for you girls to go on stage. Come along, Mary. And there is your father, just arriving! Thank goodness."

"Bye, Mom. Wish us luck." Liz kissed her mother on the cheek, then joined her sisters beside the curtain.

The Longbourn Quartet appeared onstage and took their seats -- Livia in the first violin spot, facing stage left, Jenna opposite her, and Liz and Katie in the middle. It was less than twenty-four hours since Liz had played in almost the exact same spot.

Their first piece, the Beethoven "Harp" Quartet, began with a few lines of adagio , and then moved its way into an active allegro . It was called "Harp" because throughout the first movement there was a recurring pizzicato theme passed between the instruments. Near the end of the first movement, the first violin had several lines of fast and crazy broken arpeggios , while the other instruments took the melody. These sixteenth notes were Livia's specialty.

Next was the andante movement, and then the infamous presto . Livia received several warning glances before they began. She rolled her eyes, but nonetheless started at a reasonable tempo. Finally, the brief, calmer last movement, and the Longbourn Quartet took their first bows.

"Did you see Denny and Carter in the audience?" Katie asked as they bustled offstage.

"They were sitting in the very front row, heehee!" Livia laughed resoundingly. "But who was that guy with them? I almost lost my place in the adagio , I was looking over so much."

"For goodness sake, they can hear you out there," Liz reprimanded her sisters from the water cooler.

Once they were refreshed, they again took their places in front of the audience. This time Liz sat first violin.

The "American" Quartet by Antonin Dvorŕk was a fun piece. It had so many moods: sometimes fast, other times slow and dreamy, but always beautiful and very exciting. During the last movement, it occurred to Liz that this was her last real performance at Hertfordborough this year. She felt an odd combination of sorrow and relief. Suddenly, her mind flashed back to what Fran had said to Bill Collins: "But as for Liz... well, I don't think she has any plans at all, after this summer." Liz knew her mother was wrong, but she still had to wonder... What was she going to do? This fall she would be starting her last year at the music conservatory, and after that she had no plans whatsoever.

Liz willed these anxieties away, for they were harming her concentration. The piece ended with a flourish, and the audience was on its feet at once.

After the last curtain call, the Longbourn Quartet went back offstage to put away their instruments. Livia and Katie were in that certain intoxicated state that occasionally comes from playing a successful concert. Livia, especially, rattled on at a mile a minute. Liz and Jenna packed up a little more tranquilly, however pleased they were on the inside.

"That was so cool! The best concert we've had yet! I can't wait to have my recital here, can you Katie? -- Oh Liz, where are you going?" Livia asked her sister, who was heading towards the door.

"To the reception area," Liz replied, "before --"

Too late. Fran flew in, hands shaking wildly, face flushed in ecstasy. Bill Collins stood beside her with Mary, and farther back still was Calvin. Liz was repellently aware that Bill was grinning at her.

"My dear, dear girls, you are the best quartet in the world! Let me give you all a kiss!" Fran cried in delight. She proceeded to talk for five minutes at least. At length she ended with, "Well, we best be off -- Come along, girls!"

"What?" Livia exclaimed. "We can't leave now; I promised to see Denny in the lobby!"

"And Carter and Sanderson," Katie added.

"No no, we're going out to dinner; Bill has graciously offered to treat us all," Fran asserted.

Liz saw that her youngest sister was about to have a tantrum. "Mom, why don't you, Dad, Bill, and Mary go to the restaurant in one car, and the rest of us will meet you there in fifteen minutes or so?" she volunteered. "I can drive, and it means a lot to Livia to see her friends."

"No, no, absolutely not! It would be unimaginably impolite to Bill --"

"No, madam, I assure you that I would not be offended at all," Bill said. For one second, Liz thought he might not be so bad after all, until he added, "You and dear Calvin and Mary may go to the restaurant, and I shall stay with the rest of your daughters here. I have been so desirous to become better acquainted with my dear cousins, as well as the other musicians at Hertfordborough. This seems a perfect opportunity."

Fran beamed. "What an excellent idea!"

And so, with excruciating reluctance, all of the Bennet daughters (for Mary had insisted on coming along too) headed to the reception area with Bill Collins, while Calvin and Fran drove on ahead to the restaurant.

They soon found themselves in the crowded lobby. Livia and Katie began scanning for their friends.

"There they are!" Livia cried, and she and Katie began to push their way through to the other side of the room. The other four could do nothing but follow.

"Great concert, ladies," Denny told them on their arrival. "Please let me introduce you to my friend, Wickley George."

Hello s were said all around. Livia and Katie seemed intrigued by the newcomer, and took up much of his attention. When they finally lost interest, he drew near to Liz. "I have been extremely lucky this week, to hear you play not one but two concerts."

Liz laughed. "Thanks. So you're Wickley George -- I've heard of you."

"You have?"

"Yes, from Hannah Forster."

"Oh! Yes, Hannah and I met at Denny's flat a couple nights ago. Pleasant girl."

"Yeah."

"Wickley," Livia interrupted, coming up beside him, "I hear you play the violin and the viola. I hope you'll come to Sue Long's master class here tomorrow at ten. Sue's a sweet old lady, and we have some fun afterwards."

"I'd love to come, but I'm afraid I haven't been invited by Ms. Long herself."

Livia laughed. "She doesn't care about that."

"Please come, Wickley," Katie pleaded, as she joined them.

Wickley shrugged, and smiled. "All right then."

They were then approached by Charlie Bingley and F. William D'Arcy.

"Absolutely marvelous!" Charlie's compliment was intended for the whole group, but he looked only at Jenna.

"Liz..." Liz turned at hearing her name spoken, and was surprised to see D'Arcy coming towards her; and -- could it be? -- she could almost swear he was smiling. "I really --"

Suddenly his voice stopped, his smile faded, and his jaw tightened. His eyes were fixed on an object beyond Liz's shoulder.

Liz turned, following his glare. At first she was confused, for the only thing behind her was a table of food, and Wickley... Wickley. D'Arcy was staring in surprise -- perhaps horror -- at Wickley, and, to Liz's extreme bewilderment, Wickley returned the stare. The latter had colored, and nodded his head in a curt acknowledgment. The former did not return this salutation; but, turning abruptly, he disappeared into the crowd.

Liz looked back at Wickley, who was wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. He didn't offer any explanation for what had just passed, and she did not press him. He murmured only, "Till tomorrow, Liz," and was gone.

More musical terms

Presto means just what you think it means: really fast!

Pizzicato is where, instead of bowing, string players pluck the strings with their fingers.

Author's Note: (And I must apologize for giving a wrong definition of allegro in my last post. I said allegro means fast, when it really means happy.)

Chapter Eleven Continued

The master class assembled at ten the next morning at the small auditorium. The small auditorium (as it had always been called) was not really an auditorium at all, but a refurbished warehouse, with a cluster of black metal chairs facing a large raised block that worked as the stage.

As Livia had said, Sue Long was a sweet old lady, but she was not the strictest in the world. Therefore, after everyone had played once, she let them chat together in a casual manner.

Liz was struggling to tune her G-string; the peg was being very stubborn. Suddenly, the violin was taken out of her hands, and in one swift motion tuned exactly.

"Thank you," Liz said, smiling, as Wickley George handed back her instrument. "That peg is monstrous -- especially in this weather."

"Peg dope will do the trick," he replied. "I admit, I thought I'd never get away from your younger sisters. They are very enthusiastic performers."

Liz chuckled. "They can be real hams at times; Livia especially."

"But they're pleasant girls; and really phenomenal musicians. And as for you... Well, let me say that I am constantly amazed. At your musicality, your performance -- I could go on and on. It was quite extraordinary this morning, but then it always is."

Liz laughed, blushing, and looked away. "Please stop, Wickley."

He sighed. "If you wish." He abruptly turned, surveying the room. "I don't see anyone from the Netherfield Trio here today."

"Mm, I think some people would think it beneath their status to be seen here."

Wickley raised his eyebrows. "Really?" He paused, as if considering something, then hesitantly asked, "Have you known F. William D'Arcy a long time, Liz?"

Liz shook her head. "Just this week."

"I've known him all my life."

Liz was baffled. "But --"

"Yes, you're surprised. Perhaps you noticed how we greeted each other yesterday at the concert."

"Yes, I did," she admitted.

"We're not quite as... close as we once were. But pardon me, I don't want to bother you with my troubles."

"No, no, it's okay," Liz insisted. "In the week that I've known F. William D'Arcy, I've realized what a self-satisfied snob he is, and I really don't mind hearing anything you have to say against him."

Liz was uncertain of how Wickley would take her bluntness, and relieved when he smiled. "I see you take my opinion of him," he said. "But there are few people, besides me, who would agree with you."

"But no one likes him here at Hertfordborough! He's turns people off with his conceit, his smug silences."

Wickley nodded. "Exactly. But it took me years to figure out how far his conceit extended. You see, William's father, Gautier D'Arcy, was an excellent violinist and composer, and one of the best men who ever walked the earth. He and my father were good friends. When my father died unexpectedly (I was seventeen at the time) Gautier took me in, cared for me, loved me as a son. I even studied at Pemberley -- You've heard of Pemberley, of course."

"It rings a bell..."

"Pemberley is an arts school in Derbyshire. Gautier D'Arcy founded it twenty years ago. He was an excellent man, very caring, and did a wonderful job as head of the school. When he died, almost five years ago, his son inherited it. Instantly, William made some extreme changes concerning the way the school was run (and I'm sure quite against what his father would have wanted). Not only that, but... Liz, in Gautier D'Arcy's will, he had explicitly stated that I was to be conductor of the orchestra at Pemberley when the position fell vacant. Well, the current conductor left soon after William became head of the school (no coincidence, I'm sure) and I naturally assumed William would follow his father's wishes, and give me the post. But instead, I was ignored, and he gave the job to someone else. I was hurt, but I still had hopes to get a job in an orchestra. William made sure that wasn't an option for me either. You know how powerful he is in the music business, even at twenty-five. I have no idea what he said or did, what tales he might have fabricated... The fact of the matter is that I took audition after audition, and didn't win any of them. I didn't even make it past the preliminaries. So now I must be content with teaching, and moving from conservatory to conservatory, looking for a full-time position. Never mind that I never reached my own full potential."

Liz was gaping, her cheeks flushed with anger. "This... this is... incredible," she stammered. "I didn't think William was as bad as all this. To go blatantly against his father's wishes, to make inappropriate changes to the school, to cheat you out of a job -- you, obviously very loved by Gautier D'Arcy himself. It's unimaginable! F. William D'Arcy deserves to be publicly disgraced! You could sue him for going against his father's will!"

Wickley smiled, and shook his head resignedly. "Until I forget Gautier, I could never bring shame upon the D'Arcy family. This will all come back to him some day, but not by me. Karma, you know."

"How could he treat you like this?" Liz wondered. "I remember him once saying that he had a short temper, and that he could be resentful. But this... all this, because of his idiotic pride!"

"Pride was always his best friend," said Wickley. "It's helped him get where he is in life. And he always had plenty of it, I assure you. Even when we were little -- I remember once, when we were boys, I beat him at a game of checkers. He was furious, and for the rest of the day he insisted I had cheated. But… I don't think pride was his only motive in taking away my job. Gautier D'Arcy was always affectionate to me; treated me pretty much as another son. William was extremely jealous -- he still is. I'm afraid I've been the brunt of some strange, misplaced childhood frustration. Really, his childhood itself -- traveling all over the world to give recitals, performing with major orchestras at the age of eight -- offers somewhat of an explanation for his behavior now."

Liz looked at Wickley with compassion and respect. How could anyone treat him like this, when it was obvious how intelligent and honest he was?

"William has a sister, doesn't he?" Liz asked. "What's she like?"

Wickley sighed. "I wish I could say she was nice. She's a very pretty girl, but too like her brother -- very, very proud. When she was a little girl, I baby-sat her quite often, and she was very fond of me. Really liked having me around. But then her mother died, and her father got sick, and she was more and more under the influence of William. I haven't seen her in a while. But I hear she's quite an up-and-coming flutist in London. She's now seventeen -- Lydia's age."

Liz glanced over to where her youngest sister stood, incessantly flirting with seven or eight different guys. "Uh, Lydia just turned sixteen." She smiled at Wickley's obvious surprise, then continued, "But I wonder, does Charlie Bingley know about all of this? He's such a nice guy -- how could he put up with William's behavior?"

"He probably doesn't know," Wickley replied. "Really, I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression of William. He can hide his ego in public -- I've witnessed him being even friendly, in his own way, and with people he doesn't think it a punishment to be seen with. Anyway, most people forgive him for his pride; some figure he's done so much, he's allowed to be a little ego-centric."

Just then, the loud, slightly pompous voice of Bill Collins (who had insisted on tagging along to the master class) floated their way. He had trapped poor Sue Long in a corner, and was forcing her to endure his speeches on the splendor that is Catherine de Bourgh.

"Does your cousin know Catherine de Bourgh personally?" Wickley asked Liz as they watched this funny scene.

"Yes," Liz replied. "Ms. de Bourgh has just hired him to be the music director of an orchestra down in South America. Heaven knows why she picked a character like him."

"You know that Catherine de Bourgh and Anne Fitzwilliam were sisters, don't you? That Ms. de Bourgh is the aunt of F. William D'Arcy?"

Liz shook her head, startled. "No, I didn't know that. To tell you the truth, I hadn't even heard her name until Bill started praising it to the sky. Was she ever a musician?"

"No, she gives money, that's all. She has a daughter who will inherit her fortune after her death." Wickley looked around, and then, in a lowered voice, said, "This is not public knowledge, Liz, but I trust you to keep the secret. Ms. De Bourgh's daughter and William have been, uh, intended for each other since their birth."

Liz stared in horror. "Intended for each other? You mean… to marry?! But they're first cousins! I thought that that was illegal!"

"William is half-French, and apparently it isn't illegal for first cousins to marry in France."

"Jeez," Liz breathed. "This is totally disgusting. Is this really what William and Ms. de Bourgh's daughter want? Are they really in love?"

"I have no idea. All I know is, F. William D'Arcy and Anne de Bourgh will be married, and their two families' fortunes united."

Liz was appalled -- an old-fashioned arranged marriage, and first cousins even! But then, as she thought of Carolyn Bingley, she couldn't help grinning; that poor, uninformed woman, who practically threw herself at William whenever she got the chance. Wouldn't she be horrified, when she learned the truth!

"Well, I best be off," Wickley said finally. "This was lovely; thank you so much for telling me about it."

"Not at all. Will you be around the next couple days?"

"Maybe. I have some stuff to take care of up north, but I should be back by Monday."

"And are you coming to that party Charlie Bingley's throwing on Tuesday?"

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"Then I will most definitely be there."

"Great. See you then."

Liz watched him leave, and then turned to gather all her things.

Note: The G-string is the lowest string on a violin. Peg dope is sometimes used to loosen pegs.

Chapter Twelve

When they arrived back at the apartment, Livia and Katie wanted to go out for pizza, but Liz opted out. Instead, she lay down on the couch in the living room, intending to take a nap. As she lay there staring up at the ceiling, her mind was full of Wickley and what he had said to her. At first Liz could hardly stay still, she was still so angry. But eventually, as the daily mountain rain began to fall, drumming lightly on the windowpanes, Liz's thoughts turned to daydreams, and daydreams to a quiet, peaceful slumber.

The sound of Jenna's cello awakened her. The clock read 4:30 PM. Yawning, Liz went to join her sister in the room next door.

"Oh, hi Liz," said Jenna, looking up from her instrument. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"No, no, it's fine. I had something to talk to you about, actually."

"I'm all ears."

Liz related Wickley's whole tragic history to her sister (excluding the information about D'Arcy and Anne de Bourgh, of course). When it was over, Jenna looked shocked and concerned. "…Unbelievable! Poor Wickley!"

"Yes, poor Wickley."

After a moment's pause, Jenna probed carefully, "But… but are you sure it's the… the whole truth, Liz?"

Liz raised her head in surprise. "How could it not be? It makes such perfect sense! Are you saying you don't think D'Arcy cut him out of the Pemberley conducting job?"

"No, I'm not saying that. I just… Maybe D'Arcy didn't have any dealings in those auditions; maybe Wickley didn't win them because he simply didn't play the best."

"That's ridiculous," Liz sighed. "You heard him play at the master class this morning. He put so much thoughtfulness into everything. Such gentle honesty."

"Yes, of course," Jenna grinned, and then, growing pensive again, she said, "I hope that there's been some kind of mistake or misunderstanding. D'Arcy couldn't be all that bad! How could Charlie stand to be around him, knowing what he'd done?"

"He probably doesn't know, Jen."

"But it's just so weird! There's got to be some mistake. That's all we can think," her sister continued. She sighed. "If we can really think anything."

"'Scuse me? I know exactly what to think!"

At that moment the phone rang. On placing the receiver to her ear, Jenna's countenance changed from worried consternation to bashful delight. "Hi Charlie…"

Liz grinned and picked up a book, trying to be unobtrusive.

"Uh-huh. Yes, of course," Jenna quietly responded; Charlie's quick, cheerful voice sounding on the other end. "We were planning on it. Yeah, a lot. We're really looking forward to it. Would you like us to bring some –- Oh, okay. Sure. All right. Bye…"

Jenna hung up the phone, and Liz looked up from her reading. "Well?"

"He called to issue a 'formal' invitation to that party on Tuesday."

"Oh?"

"Yes. It will at the convention room at their hotel, at nine o'clock, right after the Netherfield concert. We should bring our instruments, because there will be sight-reading." Jenna tried to seem indifferent as she spoke, but failed miserably. Liz giggled.

"You look excited, Jenna."

"Oh, do I?" she asked playfully, picking up her cello bow. "So do you."

"Me?!" Liz cried.

"Mmm-hmm. Will Wickley be there?"

Liz blushed, and both sisters burst out laughing.

Chapter Thirteen

During the next two days, Liz both looked forward to and dreaded Tuesday. The anticipation was because of Charlie's party, and, therefore, the chance to spend more time with Wickley; the dread because Liz knew that she'd see D'Arcy there. "Oh well," she sighed, as she dressed on Tuesday evening. "I'll simply ignore him, just like he does to everyone else."

As she was leaving the bathroom, she bumped into Bill Collins. "Oh! My most humble apologies!" he cried, stooping to pick up the toiletries that had fallen to the floor. "I hope I haven't injured you…"

"I'm fine," Liz said, and forced herself to smile. She tried to move away, but he was blocking her path.

"You look quite pretty this evening, Cousin Elizabeth," he said -- and clearly not meaning her hair. "That's a very nice dress you have on. I like that one strap look excessively. Catherine de Bourgh's daughter Anne has many gorgeous gowns –- all from the top French and Italian designers, of course. Where is yours from?"

"Sears." Liz tried to push past him, but he still had something else to say.

"Please, before we leave –-"

"We?" Liz cried. "You mean –- you're coming to the concert too?"

He nodded. "And the party afterwards."

"But, but…" Liz stuttered. She really had nothing to say; there was no reason why he shouldn't come, except that she didn't want him there, but she could hardly mention that .

"That's what I wanted to ask you about. I hear that it's all the rage at Hertfordborough this year to hold 'sight-reading' parties, correct?"

"Yes," Liz acknowledged.

"I sincerely wish that, since I now know for myself what an excellent chamber musician you are, you'll be so thoughtful as to play a duet with me." He grinned, leaning closer towards her. "I would like it very, very much."

Liz unconsciously backed up a step. "I didn't know you played an instrument."

"I've never mentioned it before, but I was quite a bassoonist, before I took up conducting."

"Really…"

"Yes, and I just happened to bring my old bassoon along with me."

"Oh, great."

"Then I take it you're agreeing to play a couple numbers with me. Spectacular! I can't wait!"

Saying so, he trotted off. "Me neither," Liz muttered sourly. She now had two things to fear: seeing D'Arcy and playing a duet with Bill Collins.

But Liz was an optimist, and by the time her family reached Lodge Auditorium, she was in high spirits, and even her youngest sisters' constant bickering didn't bother her.

Inside the hall, Liz sat between Mary and Fran. "I hope you'll pay a lot of attention to Bill at the party, Liz," Fran whispered to her as they waited for the concert to begin.

"What?"

"You heard me. He really likes your violin playing, and thinks you have a lot of potential. I don't want you to go blowing it with one of your saucy remarks."

Liz shifted uncomfortably. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Blow what? What is there to blow?"

"You know what. Don't pretend that you don't know about the orchestra down in South America."

"Mother!"

"Shh, the lights are going down now. Just… keep it all in mind."

Liz snorted and looked away. Keep it all in mind -- ha!

The audience began to applaud as the Netherfield Trio walked out on stage. They bowed –- Louise, with endeavored elegance; Charlie, with bubbling jollity; and D'Arcy, with a quick, icy head-bob. What a group they make, thought Liz.

The first piece on the program was the Brahms Trio No. 2 in C Major. As Liz watched and listened, she accepted (though with more than a little reluctance) the fact that they were pretty good. Okay, so they were more than good. They were great. But Charlie is holding the whole thing together. D'Arcy's hardly even looking up from his music –- how typical.

During the intermission, Liz took the opportunity of looking around for Wickley. She spotted Denny and some of his friends, but didn't see Wickley with them. Of course he's not with them. It would be awful for him to sit through a whole F. William D'Arcy performance. Patience, my dear -- you'll get plenty of chances to see him at the party later.

The second piece was the Shostakovich Trio No. 2 in E Minor. Liz adored the piece, but tonight she was restless; impatient for it to be over with. When the performance was over, Liz almost rushed towards the door, and had to remind herself to wait for her family.

At length they reached the hotel. Jenna and Liz exchanged excited looks as they made their way into the large convention room. It was brightly lit, and streamed with decorations.

Liz found herself eagerly looking through the masses for Wickley. Silly. You're as bad as Livia and Katie.

"Hiya, Liz." There was Denny Kim, grinning, and looking very suave in his pin-stripe suit and purple tie. "Nice party, huh?"

"Yeah," Liz agreed. Just cut the crap and tell me where Wickley is!

"Oh, I have something to tell you. Wickley won't be able to make it tonight."

"…What?"

"He has to stay in Portland a few days longer; although I think, more importantly, he wanted to avoid someone." Denny looked pointedly at D'Arcy, who was standing alone in a corner, somberly observing the people who were filing into the room.

"I see."

"Well, that's it. Have fun!" He ambled off. Liz realized that Jenna was gone. Probably with Charlie.

Liz walked awkwardly over to the side of the room and laid her violin case on a chair. She felt extremely self-conscious, and hoped that she didn't look as disappointed as she felt.

After her instrument was out and tuned, she searched for someone -- any one -- she knew. There was Lotty, over by the chip bowl. Liz rushed over to join her friend.

"Hi Lotty!"

Lotty, who had been casually strumming her violin and looking very bored, smiled at her friend in relief. "Hi Liz, how's it going?"

"Ehh, comme ci comme ça."

"Tell me about it. It's times like these when I wish I had a boyfriend."

Liz laughed.

"So, what's up with you?" Lotty continued. "We haven't talked in a week."

"Well, we have a new visitor…"

"Really? Who?"

Before Liz could reply, they were accosted by a thickset man, sweating lavishly and carrying a bassoon. "Liz, I've been looking all over for you. I've got five different pieces for violin and bassoon with me, so -- whenever you're ready!"

Liz realized that Bill hadn't noticed her friend. "Lotty, this is my cousin Bill Collins. Bill, my good friend Lotty Lucas."

Bill turned to Lotty, a bit surprised. "Oh, hello."

"How do you do?" Lotty returned cordially, shaking his hand.

"Bill is the music director of an orchestra down in South America," Liz informed her friend.

"Really?" said Lotty. "Where in South America exactly, Mr. Collins? I have an uncle who works in Venezuela."

He didn't reply -- nay, didn't even look at her. "Liz, I really think we should start reading this music now if we want to get through all of it," he whined.

Liz saw Lotty's cheeks turning pink from the obvious slight, and scowled at Bill. She was fiercely protective of her friends, especially someone so close as Lotty. She almost told Bill to go jump in a lake, stopping only because of what her mother had said to her earlier that evening, at the concert.

"Go ahead and get two stands," Liz said to her cousin. "I'll be right there." She watched Bill waddle off, then turned back to Lotty. "I'm… sorry about that. Bill's an unbelievable slimeball."

Lotty smiled quickly, and looked away. "Don't worry about it. I don't blame him, really. You're so pretty; it's a wonder anyone ever notices me when you're around." This was spoken in jest, but Liz sensed a trace of bitterness behind her friend's words.

The pieces that Bill Collins had mentioned were five Bach Inventions, arranged for violin and bassoon. Liz loved Bach -- really she did -- but playing Bach with Bill Collins seemed endless. First of all, his bassoon was very loud, and squawked and squeeked uncontrollably. Second, he could barely play it, and had to stop for breath every other measure. Third, he couldn't count -- something always vital, especially when playing chamber music, and when that music happens to be Bach. Liz was repeatedly having to count out loud to help him, and their tempo dragged so much that by the end of the piece they always ended in largo, no matter what the original marking was.

One Invention was so particularly awful that Liz became sensible of people staring at them. To make matters worse, Liz saw D'Arcy, not ten feet away, watching them with a look of smug diversion. Laugh all you want. Jerk. She didn't know who she was most angry with -- Bill Collins, for making her play with him; D'Arcy, for laughing at them; or herself, for getting into this mess.

"No, Bill, that's a B, not a G," Liz whispered viciously, while trying to keep some degree of dignity. "And it's a only half note -- you're holding it too long."

At last the horrible ordeal was over, and Liz stomped back over to Lotty, who looked softly amused. "I've never been so mortified in my entire life," Liz fumed, violently shoveling some ice into a plastic cup.

"Oh, you didn't sound that bad."

Evidently not, for Liz was presently tapped on the shoulder, and beseeched by Sanderson Little to play a movement of the Mozart Quartet in F Major with him and two others. Liz consented, and took advantage of asking them about Wickley George.

"It's too bad he can't be here tonight," said Sanderson, as he carefully searched his case for the right oboe reed.

The girl who played cello (whose name escaped Liz for the moment) agreed. "Yeah, what a bummer. He's such a nice guy."

"When I talked to him Saturday, he said he would be here," Liz informed them. "I wonder when he realized that he couldn't come."

"Oh, he was planning on being here up to almost the last minute," said Greg Chamberlayne, who was playing viola. "It was right before we left for the concert that he phoned Denny from Portland and said he couldn't make it ."

The four young people continued to discuss Wickley (in-between playing, of course), and Liz found that he was universally liked and admired. That cheered her up considerably, and it was in a good mood that Lotty found her afterwards.

"You're beaming," Lotty stated in wonder.

"Yeah. Guess my grumpiness wore off. You know, I have a new philosophy for life: Always look on the bright side, and never get frustrated. Things are never as bad as they seem."

"Funny, I thought you've always had that philosophy."

"Yes, but this time I'm really going to live by it."

Lotty chuckled. "Come on, Liz! You may not be gullible, but you're certainly an optimist! You were born one, and you'll die one."

"Really? I never thought so."

"Then what are you, a cynic? Ha! If you're a cynic, then I must be Antisthenes himself."

They both laughed, and kept conversing in this lively manner, until Lotty straightened, nudging her friend. "Look who's coming," she murmured.

"How are you ladies this evening?" F. William D'Arcy inquired.

It took Liz a couple seconds before she could reply, "Fine." Her voice sounded vapid.

"I'm glad to hear it. Listen, there's a group over there playing 'Death and the Maiden,' and we need another violinist. If you're not doing anything else, Liz, would you favor us with your company?"

Liz was flabbergasted. "I, uh… that is to say, I don't think I'll…" She searched uselessly for the right words to decline. "Sure. I'll be over in a sec."

He walked away, and Liz crushed an empty cup in her hands. "Great. Just great. Why couldn't I think up an excuse?! I always talk too much, and now, just when I need my wits the most, my tongue freezes up!"

"Hey, where's that 'look on the bright side' attitude you were talking about?" Lotty asked slyly.

Liz smiled. "Throwing my own words back in my face, are you?"

"Well, at least you know D'Arcy's a good musician. You can be sure you won't have to count out-loud for him like you did for Bill Collins. I bet you'll even start to like him," Lotty teased.

"Oh, heaven forbid!"

"If I were you, which unfortunately I'm not, I'd take this opportunity. Just 'cause you've got the hots for Wickley doesn't mean you can snub F. William D'Arcy and not regret it."

Liz couldn't argue with the voice of reason, and, with one last glance at her friend, marched to meet her doom.

Chapter Thirteen Continued

There were four chairs set up, in the normal quartet position. The violist and cellist were already seated; chatting light-heartedly as they warmed up. They looked vaguely familiar to Liz, especially the violist -- a tall young man with light brown hair, a nobly arched nose, and a large black mustache. Could he be…? No, impossible.

D'Arcy was seated in the first violin spot, as if that was the most natural thing in the world. "Here's your music," he said, handing Liz the second violin part. He paused, realizing that she was staring at him sharply, and asked, albeit somewhat puzzled, "Oh, would you like to sit first violin?"

"No, no," Liz replied innocently, breaking the glare, and took her music with a small smile. The meaningful glance, passed quietly between the violist and cellist, went unseen by both violinists.

After tuning to D'Arcy's A, Liz turned to the violist and cellist and said, "Hi, I'm Liz Bennet. I don't think we've met."

The cellist reached across her stand and shook hands with Liz. "I'm Cindy," she replied. "And this my friend, uh --"

"Bèla," the violist blurted.

"Pleased to meet you." Liz smiled and sat back in her seat, casting a few quizzical glances over at that viola player. She was certain that she'd seen him somewhere before.

"Death and the Maiden" is the most serious of Schubert's quartets. It consists of four movements: an Allegro , followed by an Andante con moto , a Scherzo (Allegro molto) , and finally a Presto .

At the end of the first movement, Cindy stood abruptly. "It's so dreadfully hot in this room," she clamored; "it's making me very thirsty. Could I get anyone else a drink, while I'm over there?"

"No, thank you," said Liz, thinking it actually rather cold in the room. D'Arcy declined as well. So there they were, alone together (for Bèla had scurried off with Cindy). There were a few moments of silence, in which Liz debated whether or not she should say anything to the man sitting beside her. She finally decided that she would say something, knowing that it was probably the last thing D'Arcy wanted. "The room looks nice tonight. Did Carolyn do the decorations?"

"I believe she hired someone to do it."

"Oh."

My, that was quick. Liz was not discouraged, however, and proceeded, "I think it's your turn to say something now, William. I just commented on the room; you could say something about the marvelous mountain weather we've been having."

He smiled. "I'll say whatever you want me to say."

"Never mind; that should do just fine. Perhaps a little later I'll tell you about the ten-mile run I took all alone this morning -- ha, wouldn't Carolyn disapprove! -- but for right now, I'll hold my peace."

D'Arcy began to wipe the fingerboard of his violin with a piece of cloth. Eventually, he asked, "Do you always talk by rule then?"

She was brisk in her retort. "Sometimes that's the best way. It allows us to say as little as possible." She likewise began to wipe her fingerboard.

"Do you really like saying as little as possible, or are you just thinking of me ?"

"Both," Liz replied archly. "You see, I think that we're very alike. We're both quiet, unsociable people, who don't like to speak unless we'll say something that will amaze the whole room."

"That doesn't sound anything like you. Whether it sounds like me or not…"

"Oh it does, I promise."

At that moment, Cindy and Bèla came hastening back to their seats, both quite out of breath. "Sorry it took us so long," Cindy panted.

They resumed the piece. After finishing the Scherzo , the cellist left her seat again, saying, "I'm sorry, but I really have to use the restroom. Bèla, why don't you come with me?"

Liz thought it very strange that Cindy should want her male friend to come with her to the bathroom, but said nothing. Now she had that terrible annoyance of making conversation with D'Arcy again. This time, however, he spoke first.

"I enjoyed your quartet's concert on Friday."

"Thanks." She paused, and then said, "When you saw me in the lobby after that concert, I had just made a new friend."

Immediately, the features on D'Arcy's face grew rigid and cold, and he turned back to his instrument. "It's easy for Wickley George to make friends -- whether he can keep them or not is a different story."

"Losing your friendship is something that will probably handicap him for the rest of his life," Liz shot back.

D'Arcy glowered, but was unable to say anything else, for at that moment William Lucas joined them. "Liz, Mr. D'Arcy! I just had to come over and tell you how much I've been enjoying your music this evening. It's obvious, Mr. D'Arcy, how excellent a violinist you are -- just by watching you sight-read! And Liz, you've been doing a great job as well. Hopefully, you'll have more time in the future to play together, especially with another friendship blooming so fully, eh?" He nodded conspicuously over to where Jenna and Charlie were sitting, still together.

Liz blushed at William Lucas' indiscretion; at the same time she saw D'Arcy start, and begin to stare fixedly at Charlie and Jenna.

Meanwhile, out in the hall, the cellist named Cindy was leaning beside the restroom door. Her friend, the violist, stood next to her, and seemed somewhat confused. "I don't understand it, CK," he told her. "First, we go over to get some punch, and you're not thirsty; and now we're at the restroom, and you don't have to go! What's up? Why do you keep interrupting the quartet?"

"I have my reasons, Josh," she answered, smiling mischievously. "Oh, and while we're out here, you can take off that mustache. Why did you put it on, anyway?"

"So no one would recognize me," he said, peeling off the stick-on black facial hair. "I've been having a real problem lately -- I get mobbed wherever I go by screaming fans."

"And so that's why you said your name was Bèla."

He grinned. "It was the first thing that popped into my head. Y'know: Bell… Bèla. It wasn't too apparent, was it?"

"No, not at all," CK assured him.

"Say, shouldn't we go back in there soon? They may be wondering where we went."

The cellist glanced nonchalantly at her watch. "Nah. We have plenty of time."

"Okay."

What they did or said after this does not affect the storyline, so, without further ado, let us go back to Liz and D'Arcy, who are talking of very different matters.

"I remember you once said that you never forgave and forgot," Liz said to D'Arcy, after William Lucas had left; "that your opinion, once made, was implacable. You're careful not to form the wrong opinion of someone, right?"

"I am," he said firmly.

"And you're never biased?"

"I hope not. May I inquire why you're asking me all these questions?"

Liz sighed. "Oh, to understand you better. I'm trying to figure you out."

"And how's it going?"

She shook her head. "Terribly. I've heard you spoken of so many different ways -- I'm totally puzzled."

"I can believe that." He rose from his seat. "I wish you wouldn't try to sketch my character right now, Liz. The result would reflect badly on both of us."

Liz wondered what he meant by this. "But if I don't sketch your character now, I'll probably never get another chance to."

"I would never suspend any pleasure of yours," he said coldly. "Forgive me, but I've had enough of this non-quartet."

Liz watched as he stalked to the other side of the room, and packed up his expensive violin. When she turned back, she was surprised to see Carolyn Bingley sitting in his vacated seat, smiling acidly. "Liz! I've been meaning to talk to you."

This was the last thing Liz could have wished for. "Well, here I am."

"I hear you've become quite friendly with Wickley George. No doubt he forgot to tell you that he's merely the son of Stewart George, Gautier D'Arcy's best friend!" She laughed at this as if it was the most clever thing she had ever said; then, taking a more somber and condescending air, she said, "Liz, as a friend, let me warn you not to believe everything Wickley George tells you. He treated Will in an infamous manner!"

"Really? How?"

"I don't remember all the details, but I do know that it wasn't poor Will's fault at all. I'm sorry I had to tell you this, Liz, knowing how much you like Wickley; but really, considering what kind of man he is, you couldn't possibly expect much better."

"What kind of man is he?" Liz responded, starting to get angry. "The only thing you've accused him of is being the son of Gautier D'Arcy's best friend, and he told me that himself."

The Great Carolyn Bingley looked shocked at being spoken to in such a manner by this little nobody. "I beg your pardon," she replied, mustering all the scorn and contempt that she felt for Liz Bennet into one icy glare. "Forgive my interference. I thought you would be glad I warned you, in view of Folge-Habe. But never mind!"

They parted -- Carolyn in an injured waltz, Liz in a furious storm. "Insolent woman!" Liz muttered. "You think you can influence me by this petty little argument?! It convinced me of nothing, besides what an ignorant harpy you are, and how malicious your beloved Will is!"

This was indeed the last straw. Liz had totally had it with this party, and wanted nothing more than to go home. She put her violin away, and was about to search for the rest of her family, when Jenna approached.

"Hi Liz," she said. "I've been talking to -- Oh, you look so upset! What's wrong?"

Liz had no wish of ruining her sister's obviously great evening with her own complaints. "Nothing, nothing. What have you been up to?"

"I've been talking to Charlie about Wickley George," Jenna replied in a whisper. "Liz, he says Wickley and William did have a falling out, but it was entirely Wickley's fault! He says Wickley 's not at all trustworthy."

"Does he know Wickley himself?"

"No; the first time he saw him was at the reception Friday."

"Then all he's heard is D'Arcy's story! Jenna, it's great that Charlie believes his friend, but since he's only had a one-sided account of things, my opinion of Wickley and D'Arcy remains unchanged. Now, may I please change the subject? Let's talk about happier things, like… you and Charlie!"

Jenna smiled, and looked down at her hands. "He's so nice, Liz. I like him a lot."

Liz grinned, and was about to reply, when Jenna gasped in horror. "Liz, look!"

She turned just in time to see Bill Collins slinking over to a table, at which D'Arcy was seated.

"Oh no," Liz moaned. "He's going to talk to him!"

"Is there any way we can stop him?"

Liz shook her head in anguish. "Too late."

The sisters watched helplessly as Bill Collins slid into the seat next to D'Arcy. "F. William D'Arcy? I'm Bill Collins, the Bennets' cousin, and I've just made an amazing discovery! Is it true that you're the nephew of Catherine de Bourgh?!"

"Yes," D'Arcy muttered, eyeing him warily.

"My goodness, what a coincidence! I was hired by Ms. de Bourgh herself to conduct the Labias de la Vaca Philharmonic!"

"Remarkable." This was the same as saying Leave me alone, you buffoon, but Bill Collins was never one to take a hint, and continued to shower praises on D'Arcy's exemplary aunt. D'Arcy was now staring at him in visible disgust, and then boredom. When Bill finally stopped for breath, D'Arcy walked away.

"Good, it's over. I'm gonna go talk to Charlie," Jenna told her sister, squeezing her hand. She left, and Liz went to get herself a plate of food. On her way back, she passed the table where her mother was sitting with Lonna Lucas.

"Jenna and Charlie make such a nice couple, don't they, Lonna?" Fran was exclaiming. "Just look at them over there -- ah, young romance!"

"Jane is such a sweet girl," Lonna added.

"Charlie is a very lucky young man," said Fran. "But, as I always remind my girls, knowing some top-notch musicians never hurt a career! -- Do you have any idea how much he makes a year…?!"

Liz was horrified. Fran was talking loud enough to be heard by half the hotel. Jenna and Charlie, who could obviously hear every word, looked extremely embarrassed. D'Arcy and the Bingley sisters were with them, and had also overheard. The latter two were now whispering turbulently, and the former was looking at Fran in dismay.

"Mom, please ," Liz murmured. "Everyone can hear you!"

"I don't care if they do! Who wouldn't want to hear me?"

"F. William D'Arcy, for one matter, and --"

"F.William D'Arcy! Oh, well la di da! I don't give a rat's backside what he hears, the intolerable man!"

Liz's head began to throb. And then, just when things seemed like they couldn't get any worse, a familiar voice began to wail…

"Memmmorrrrrrrrryyyyy!"

It was Mary, who had appeared quite out of nowhere, and was now accompanying herself in a slow, laborious version of her favorite Andrew Lloyd Webber song. Her voice was so loud and out of tune, and her piano playing so thick and clumsy, that she had attracted the attention of the whole room.

It seemed to go on forever. Mary sung all the verses, pausing now and again for dramatic affect. A few people clapped politely at the end, and, taking this as a request for an encore, Mary started on another song -- this time "Don't Cry For Me Argentina." But before she could get through two lines, Calvin appeared at her side, and said, "That'll do just fine, dear. You've delighted us long enough. Let someone else have a chance to show off."

Mary flushed deeply, and stumbled back to her seat. Liz felt bad for her sister, and sorry that her father had had to humiliate her; but at the same time, a little relieved in knowing they would hear no more of Mary's musical renditions that night.

Louise Bingley took Mary's place at the piano, and, smiling synthetically, proceeded to play the whirling Presto from Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. As Louise was a professional pianist, and Mary a very untalented amateur, the difference between the two was shamefully evident.

"Livia! Livia!" It was now time for the youngest Bennet daughter to make a fool out of herself. She ran wildly about the room, while carrying an oboe over her head. Sanderson Little, to whom the instrument belonged, was chasing her, as well as Denny, Carter, and a few other young men.

"If you want it back, you'll have to catch me first!" she squealed. She continued to run and giggle, until, colliding with a table, the oboe flew out of her hands. Luckily, it was caught by someone closeby, and delivered safely back to Sanderson Little.

"Oh, that was fun, wasn't it?" Livia breathed, plopping down in a chair. "Go get me a Coke, will you, Denny -- I'm so tired!"

I've died -- yeah, that's it. I've died and this is what hell is like, Liz mused. She heard a loud HONK! Bill Collins had his bassoon out again. Oh God, why me? Why me?

Chapter 14

Posted on Sunday, 11-Oct-98

"Liz?"

"Yes?!"

Jenna stuck her head into the practice room, where Liz had been struggling persistently with a Gavinies etude. "Oh, I'm sorry… I didn't mean to bother you --"

"No, come on in. I'm not frustrated with you, just this annoying etude."

Jenna laughed. "I know how it is. Hey, I'm going to F. William D'Arcy's recital, and thought you might like to come… but if you're busy…"

"I am definitely not busy. In fact, I was just about to put this piece of wood away." Liz set her violin down in its case with a sigh of relief. "Wait a second -- You're going to F. William D'Arcy's recital?"

"Charlie invited me at the party last night." Jenna smiled, reddening. "You and me, that is. We're going to meet afterwards for a drink."

"I see." Liz grinned guilefully. "In that case, are you sure you want me coming along?"

"Yes, of course!"

"Well, all right then. First let me change."

Liz cast off her tee shirt and sweatpants, and deciding it was warm enough outside, slipped into a comfortable short green dress. Jenna appeared in a long blue thing.

They were a little late in arriving, so, after getting their tickets, they hurried to find their seats, which were right in the front row. Liz had just enough time to glance through her program as the lights went down. "First half: Sonata for Solo Violin by Bèla Bartok, Sonata in D minor by Cèsar Franck," she read; "Second half: Tzigane by Maurice Ravel, Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso by Camille Saint-Saëns. With Louise Bingley, piano, and the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra … what ?!" Liz nudged her sister. "Jenna, look!"

"Shh," said someone behind them, and Liz diffidently obeyed. She couldn't help but wonder, though, as F. William D'Arcy walked out onstage… The Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra? Had she read it correctly?

She would have to wait to find out, as the first piece was for violin alone. Bartok's Solo Sonata is a wild and dissonant piece, terribly difficult. Liz was loath to admit that D'Arcy played it well, and she was consequently the only one in the whole auditorium not spell-bound by F. William D'Arcy's amazing interpretation of that daring opening piece.

When it was over, it took a few moments for people to respond, as if they were all in shock; then came the peals of applause -- so thundering one would have thought the recital was over. But no, it was just beginning. D'Arcy acknowledged the cheers with a brief, small nod, and walked off stage. He reappeared soon after, and with him was Louise Bingley, whose response to the audience was much more prominent. She smiled with all her phony sweetness, and bowed, and mouthed "thank you", and bowed, and smiled, and bowed again, all before sitting down at the piano. Liz was rather disgusted -- I don't think it's you they're clapping for, dear.

The Franck Sonata was well done, if a little stiff on D'Arcy's part, and melodramatic on Louise's.

During the intermission, Jenna made the excuse of having to use the restroom, but when she didn't return after ten minutes Liz knew that she was looking for Charlie.

Jenna came back looking somewhat bewildered. "Did you find the restroom all right?" Liz asked.

"What? Oh, yes, thanks." Jenna was quiet after that, looking a little at her program, and then off in another direction until the second half began.

The curtain, which had lowered during the intermission, rose again, and lo and behold, there was an orchestra on stage! "Ah, so it is the L.A. Chamber Orchestra after all," Liz muttered to herself. "I really can't believe it -- Well, maybe I can; after all, this is F. William D'Arcy, The Great."

D'Arcy conducted both the Ravel and the Saint-Saëns from the violin. Liz might have been brought to admit that it was an incredible performance, maybe… Maybe, but not quite.

"Well, where are you going to meet Charlie?" Liz asked her sister as they gathered their things to leave. "You're sure you want me to come along? 'Cause, y'know, I could always take the bus home if not…"

"No, please stay. He said he'd meet us by the backstage entrance."

So that was where they went. At first the line to get backstage was so long that it was impossible to see anything; but then, as it began to disperse, and Charlie wasn't there…

"Maybe we'll see him if we go back there," Liz suggested.

Jenna nodded silently, and they pushed their way through the crowds of people who were waiting to see F. William D'Arcy.

"Let's stay by this bench," said Liz. "He'll be sure to see us here."

They waited five, ten, fifteen minutes, but saw no one they knew. Finally, after most of the people were gone and there was still no sign of Charlie, they heard an unfortunately familiar voice wail, "Dear Jenna! How are you, darling?!"

Carolyn Bingley waltzed over, wearing a long orange gown and carrying a glass of wine. "I'm so glad you could make it, Jenna darling!" she gushed, and then added as an afterthought, "Oh, hello Liz. Good to see you too, as ever. That is simply a stunning green dress you're wearing. Not my style, of course, but pretty in a cute sort of way. Now, what can I do for you ladies? Eager to see Will, like everyone else on this planet? Really, you wouldn't believe the crowds he pulls in –- utterly amazing! But it makes sense, I suppose, considering who he is. Hertfordborough is not used to having musicians of his calibre, apparently, and --"

"We didn't come to see Will," Liz interrupted.

"What?" said Carolyn, surprised. "Who, then?"

"I, uh, we were going to meet Charlie for some coffee, and…" Jenna's timid voice trailed off as Carolyn began to laugh.

"What's so amusing?" Liz asked hotly.

"Oh, nothing at all, I assure you!" Carolyn giggled. "You poor little thing, you mustn't have heard -- no, how could you have?" She took a sip of wine, and continued, "You see, my dear, Charlie left this morning for London. He's set to make a recording with Georgette D'Arcy. Will, Louise, and I are following tomorrow morning."

Jenna was too shocked to say a word. Liz was startled, but equally suspicious. "But Charlie's recital is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. Will he be coming back?"

"No, I'm afraid he won't. The festival is almost over, and his recital wasn't that important to him. Don't worry, my dears, the entire situation has been explained to William Lucas."

Jenna had paled and was staring down at her hands. "That's kind of inconsiderate, isn't it?" Liz asked, struggling to remain civil. "I mean, a lot of people bought tickets to hear Charlie play, and he just leaves when he feels like it?"

"Really, I'm very sorry, but that's all I can tell you! This recording is very important, and to own the truth, I, for one, am glad to be going back to London. I'm dying to see dear Georgette again. We were here for almost a fortnight as it is," she added, making a face.

Liz looked away indignantly, and, as she did so, caught a glimpse of D'Arcy, hastening down the hall in the other direction.

"Do you have an address or… or do you know anywhere I could reach him?" Jenna's voice was innocent, trusting.

"Well, let me think for a moment…" Carolyn's brow wrinkled in two little lines, and she tapped the wineglass deliberately. "You know I would willingly give you his address, Jenna, but the problem is that I'm not quite certain of it myself. He could be staying at his flat in London, or at our parent's home in Surrey, or at our aunt and uncle's in Windsor. I really haven't the faintest idea." Then, after a moment's consideration, she reached into her pocketbook and produced a small business card. "This is the address of Charlie's agent in London. It's the only thing I can give you. If you write him, I'm sure he'll be happy to send you an autographed copy of Charlie's new CD, once it's released."

"Thank you," Jenna said, accepting the card.

"We've got to go." Liz began to pull her sister away. "Bye, Carolyn. Thanks for the card."

A light rain began to fall as Liz drove the car out of the Lodge Hall parking garage. "I can't believe that woman," she growled. "It took all my will-power to keep from

punching her right then and there. She is the most snobby, self-satisfied twit that ever -–"

"Liz!" Jenna looked dismayed. "What are you talking about? Carolyn Bingley was being a friend in telling me about Charlie! How can you call her all those nasty things?"

So she still trusts her. She still believes her. "Jenna, I don't think Carolyn was being a friend. I think she could have given you Charlie's address if she wanted to –-"

"But she said herself that she wasn't sure where he is."

"You have to stop believing everything Carolyn Bingley tells you!"

"Lizzy, she was just being kind. She could have told me the truth directly, which is 'My brother doesn't care about you any more; that's why he didn't tell you he was leaving, and that's why he doesn't want you to have his address.' It's as simple as that." Jenna's voice broke on the last sentence, and she began rummaging around in the glove compartment for a tissue.

"Oh, that's not true. You know that's not true, Jen!" Liz exclaimed in frustration. "Charlie Bingley is in love with you. Anyone can see that! Carolyn Bingley certainly sees it, and she's panicking. She doesn't want her dear brother getting involved with anyone who can't help his career one hundred percent. So she hurries him home to London, and refuses to give you any clue as to his whereabouts."

"I just can't believe Carolyn would do something like that," Jenna sniffled. "Maybe she doesn't know how her brother feels. Maybe it's some big mistake."

"Fine, if you want to believe that."

"But –- I just… I'm so sad when I think I'll probably never see Charlie again…"

"Charlie Bingley is a smart man. He can dial a phone. Jen, you've got to believe me when I tell you that Charlie loves you. Not even Carolyn Bingley can deny that." She smiled. "I'll make a deal with you. If Charlie Bingley hasn't called in two days, I will buy you a plane ticket to England myself and send you on your way. Agreed?"

Jenna smiled through her tears. "Liz, you sound so confident…"

"I know when I'm right. Now, we're almost home. Do you think we should tell Mom about all this?"

"Oh, uh… I don't know. Probably not. I mean, I'm sure she'll overreact, and then she'll get her migraine, and –-"

"You're right. Don't say a word."

Chapter Fifteen

Posted on Tuesday, 13-Oct-98

Liz made a conscious effort the rest of that evening to remain lively and up beat, and to persuade Jenna to do the same, so no one would suspect anything was amiss. But the efforts were in vain; for, on the following morning, such circumstances were to occur as would subject Liz to Fran's wrath, regardless of Charlie Bingley.

It all started after breakfast. Liz was planning to take a bike ride, in hope that, by ignoring the rain that had been pounding ceaselessly on the windows ever since yesterday evening, she would convince the Rain Gods to desist.

But all would have to wait until she found her bike gloves. She was in the living room/kitchenette, scouring her bags for the missing articles, when she felt a sweaty hand on the back of her arm.

"Bill!" Liz straightened instinctively and jerked her arm away. "Can… I help you?"

"More than words may describe, Elizabeth," he gushed, plumping down on the sofa. He patted the cushion beside him. "Sit; I have something to speak with you about."

Liz felt her heart thud in alarm. She knew what this was. "No thanks," she replied warily. "I'm still searching for my bike gloves. You can talk while I look."

"Suit yourself." He cleared his throat. "When the time has arrived to disclose my aspiration, I am not (I flatter myself) superfluous in my use of words. Indeed, I believe that the shorter, the better. Therefore, I will deliver you my proposal in simple measures. I have been watching you, Elizabeth -- oh no, no need to interrupt. I know how surprised you are, you with your natural modesty as regards your violin playing, but you must listen to me, as you must listen to a critic or teacher, if you are ever to become a professional violinist. I have been listening all the while I've been at Hertfordborough -- during concerts, in rehearsals, even while you were practicing on your own. I've been watching you, and listening to you, and turning an idea over and over again in my mind, and have finally come to a decision." He rose from the couch, and taking her hand, he said, "Elizabeth, I shall now -- with happiness and total confidence -- offer you the position of Concertmaster of my orchestra in Labias de Vaca."

"Bill, I --"

"No no no no," he shushed, holding up a finger. "Please, let me finish. Perhaps you may wonder why I have chosen you -- you, who are as yet so inexperienced. Experience, though by no means negative, is not always essential. As Catherine de Bourgh wisely told me when she heard I was searching for a concertmaster, 'Be careful whom you choose. He or she must have control of the instrument, of course, but need not be a genius. A humble, unknown player, with a warm, sweet sound. Respectable training, though of course any truly preeminent connections are hardly to be expected. You want the audience to come to hear the whole Labias de Vaca

Philharmonic, not just the concertmaster.' And this is what I found in you, dear Elizabeth."

She could take no more of this. "Please! Let me save you the trouble of saying anything more. I'm very flattered that you're offering me the concertmaster position, but I'm sorry, I just can't accept it."

Bill looked confused for a second, then chortled smarmily. "Pardon? Oh, ahahaha. I know what you must be feeling: utter shock, and fear, at such a worthy position being offered to you. I expect you were counting on one more year at the music conservatory, and then perhaps taking some auditions for a section position in an orchestra. No, I've talked to your mother, and she agrees with me. Everything is worked out. You can come straight back to South America with me after Hertfordborough."

Liz let out an exasperated laugh that sounded more like a yelp. "Really, don't be absurd! Did you just hear what I said? I don't want the position."

"Let's stop playing these petty little games, Liz. You know I won't take 'no' for an answer."

"Excuse me? I think you'll have to."

His shiny round head was beginning to turn a very bright shade of pink. "You really can't be serious!" he stammered. "What with your family's connection to Folge-Haben, I would think you to be overjoyed by my offer!"

"Folge-Haben?" Where had she heard that word before?

"Never mind, never mind. I don't particularly feel like wasting my time trying to convince a girl to take a position I am no longer sure I want her to have!"

Suddenly, Fran burst in from the room next door, where she had been listening. She was furious with her daughter, while simultaneously trying to cajole Bill into believing that Liz was drunk, and would certainly accept his offer as soon as she was sober.

"Please, help yourself to some iced tea, Bill, while I just take Liz into the bathroom to get, uh, straightened out," she laughed, taking her daughter forcefully by the arm.

"No indeed, madam. I will not stay another minute with this, this amateur violinist who would not know the chance of a lifetime if it was offered to her on a silver platter!" He stalked out of the room.

"You think you can get away with this, Elizabeth Kreisler Bennet?" Fran fumed. "Just wait till your father hears about this!"

As if on cue, Calvin walked in. "What in the world's going on?" he asked placidly. "I could hear you shouting a mile down the street." He placed an arm around his wife's shoulder. "Please sit down, my dear. You look as though you're about to blow a fuse."

She threw his arm off violently. "I'm not sitting down until you do something about this crisis your daughter has caused!"

"Crisis? What crisis?"

"The crisis about Bill and Liz! Oh, how daft can you be, Calvin? Bill has offered Liz the once-in-a-lifetime job of concertmaster of the Labias de Vaca Philharmonic, and your daughter has stubbornly refused it!"

Calvin looked at Liz with lifted eyebrows. "Is this true, Elizabeth?"

Liz folded her arms across her chest. "Yes."

"Make her take this job, Calvin," said Fran, "or, as God as my witness, I'm disowning her!"

Calvin turned calmly from wife to daughter. "Well Liz, I'm afraid you're doomed to lead a semi-parentless life from this day on. Your mother will disown you if you don't take the job in Bill Collins' orchestra, and I will disown you if you do."

Fran let out a screech of horror. Liz kissed her father on the cheek.

The phone rang down the hall. Katie picked it up.

"Hello? Oh, hi. Yes she's in, but I don't think this is a good time. You see, Bill Collins just offered her a job as concertmaster, but she won't take it! Mom's gone ballistic; she's completely spazzing out. What? Hey, that's a great idea. Yeah, I'll tell them now. Okay, buh-bye."

Katie pranced into the living room. Fran was lying on the couch in a flood of hysterical tears. Liz was talking quietly to her father. "That was Lotty on the phone," Katie announced. "She's coming over."

"Katie, this is very bad timing," Liz said.

"No, you don't understand! I told her what happened, and she offered to take Bill Collins off our hands for a while. She's having her recital tonight -- he could go to that, and then spend the night at the Lucas's house."

"I think that is a wonderful idea," said Bill, appearing at the doorway with his suitcase in one hand and his bassoon in the other.

Fifteen minutes later, Bill had left with Lotty, Liz was on a bike ride in the rain, and Fran had gone to bed to sulk, eat a box of Snackwells, and wonder what was to become of them all.

After her bike ride, Liz dawdled in town, unwilling to come home for fear of what awaited her there. She went into her favorite coffeehouse to escape the rain and treat

herself to a cappuccino. As she waited for her drink, she spied a poster advertising Charlie Bingley's recital. Underneath it was a smaller, computer-printed sign. It read:

We regret to inform you that due to urgent business in England,Charlie Bingley will be unable to play his recital as scheduled.

Cellist Marisa King will replace him at Lodge Memorial Concert Hall.Ticket-holders may attend this performance at no extra cost.

Full ticket refunds are also available at the box office.

Liz shook her head. It was public knowledge, then, that Charlie had left. She felt very bad for Jenna. She had hardly spoken a word all morning, despite frequent questioning on Fran's part.

The whole Bennet family held tickets for Charlie's recital. Liz had been planning on returning hers, not having known there would be a replacement. Marisa King, it said. Liz thought her name was vaguely familiar, though she could not think from where.

When Liz had finished and paid, she headed back to the apartment. She would have to tell Fran about Charlie's departure -- if she hadn't heard already.

Fortunately, it was Jenna she first saw when she walked in the door.

"Hi Liz," she said, looking up from her book. "Have a nice ride?"

"If it's possible in all this rain. How's Mom doing?"

"She's still in her room."

"Great," Liz muttered, cringing as she imagined what her mother's reaction to the news about Charlie might be.

"What's wrong?" Jenna asked.

Liz told her sister about the sign in the coffeehouse. "Everyone will know about it soon. It'll be better if we just tell Mom now and get it over with."

"I'll tell her."

"No, Jenna, you don't have to –-"

"She's upset enough with you as it is, Liz. Please. It'll be good for me. I'm going to forget I ever felt anything for Charlie Bingley, starting right now." She said this courageously, but her eyes were dotted with tears.

Chapter Sixteen

"Without thinking highly either of men or of matrimony, marriage had always been her object…"

~~ Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

Liz went to Lotty's recital by herself that evening. She had tried to persuade her father or one of her sisters to join her, but received only negatives. She thought it best not to attempt to ask Fran. (She was right.)

The performance was pleasing. Lotty played sonatas by Handel and Haydn, a Schubert Sonatina, and a Mozart Rondo. As Liz listened to her friend play, she marveled at her perfect intonation and sterling technique. Lotty did not miss one note during the whole recital –- indeed, she never missed notes. There were many places, though, where a stress or some rubato would have been nice, but Lotty played it all completely straight. Something was missing; something that left one feeling slightly unsatisfied at the end of each piece. Her vibrato was thin, and her sound was nice, but dry.

After the performance, Liz tried to speak to Lotty, but was prevented by the large group that had clustered around her friend. Liz was rather surprised when she saw Bill Collins in the center as well, but not unduly, for he was a pompous little man and it was his wont to grab the spotlight whenever he could.

Liz had finally abandoned her hopes to talk to Lotty, and was getting ready to leave, when the voice of William Lucas began to boom across the loudspeaker. She turned around. He stood with his daughter on one side and Bill Collins on the other. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I have an announcement to make. Thank you all for coming to hear Lotty's performance this evening. I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did. Those of you who have come to Hertfordborough over the years have probably heard her in concert many times, and have witnessed the growth of her violin playing." (Lotty looked extremely embarrassed.) "After she graduated college," William continued, "she taught Suzuki violin, and played at weddings and other engagements of that sort around the city. But her free-lance days are now over, for as of tonight she is the new Concertmaster of the Labias de Vaca Philharmonic!"

At this, everyone began to applaud –- everyone except Liz, that is. She was too shocked to do anything but stare. Lotty, Concertmaster of Bill Collins' orchestra? Impossible!

Bill Collins took the microphone. "Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen. Many of you know me, but for those who do not, I am William Ambrosius Collins, music director of the Labias de Vaca Philharmonic. I came to Hertfordborough this year with two objectives in mind. The first was, of course, to hear the excellent music. The second was to look for a concertmaster for my orchestra (which is, by the way, funded in part by the esteemed British arts patron and connoisseur, Catherine de Bourgh). There are many violinists here, and each, in their way, very fine, but nothing comes close (in my humble opinion) to the musical beauty and excellence possessed by this woman you see here."

As he said so, he put his arm around Lotty's shoulder. Liz was horrified and repulsed. What are you thinking, Lotty? You could do so much better!

Bill Collins continued to ramble on and on and on about Lotty and her brilliance as a violinist and what a pleasure it will be to work with her and how delighted Catherine de Bourgh will be. More than once he glanced over at Liz, smiling smugly, exultantly. Liz began to feel sick, but, determined to speak to her friend, she made herself stay through the entirety of Bill's speech.

At length he had finished, and everyone began to leave. Liz walked over to Lotty. "Hi."

"Liz." A hundred different emotions flashed across Lotty's face in that one instant. Was it Apology? Embarrassment? Fear?

"Uh, congratulations…" It came out like a question.

"Thanks," Lotty replied.

This is ridiculous. "We need to talk," Liz said, quiet but firmly. Lotty looked at her sharply, then nodded.

"Let's go outside."

It was still raining. The two women stood shivering under the overhang.

"I'm very surprised," Liz began.

"Liz, I would have told you sooner, but there was no time before the recital."

"That's not what I meant, Lot. I'm surprised that you took the job."

Lotty chuckled. "Why? Because you turned it down?"

"No, I… Well, yes. But Lotty, if this is really what you want, then I couldn't be happier for you."

"I know how you're feeling." She paused, staring out into the darkness and the sheets of rain. Her voice was slightly altered when she said: "I'm very practical, Liz. I've always been that way. I don't pretend to be a Perlman. I know what my violin playing is like; I know what my limits are. I'll be twenty-five in January, and frankly, I want a real job. I want security, stability. This is my best bet. It's only a ten hour plane trip, and I'll be back here for summers."

"That's true," Liz said softly. Lotty had obviously made up her mind. "Then I guess all I can say is good luck."

Chapter Seventeen

Posted on Thursday, 15-Oct-98

Lonna Lucas' phone call to tell Fran the "wonderful news" about Lotty and the concertmaster job coincided with Liz's return home that night. Before this, Fran had still held a glimmer of hope that Liz would come to her senses and accept the position -- but now? You may imagine the effect this news had on Fran, considering that she had also just heard about Charlie Bingley & Co. leaving Hertfordborough. Let us say she was very upset, and leave it at that.

The following morning Liz was at the bookstore. She was thumbing through Emma Thompson's Sense and Sensibility Diaries when she felt a presence beside her.

"And how are we this morning, Miss Lizzy?"

"Why hello, Wickley. I'm fine, thanks, and you?"

"Wonderful, now that I've seen you."

Liz smiled at this over-done gallantry. "I missed seeing you at Charlie Bingley's party Tuesday."

"And I was very sorry not to have been able to be there. But I was delayed in Sacramento, and… No, it's impossible to lie to you. I had second thoughts about going to that party, on account of you-know-who, so I stayed in Sacramento an extra night. I hope you forgive me."

"I completely understand," Liz assured him. "Not that I'd mind seeing F. William D'Arcy mortified, but that wasn't the time or place."

He laughed.

"I'll probably never have a chance to now," she continued, "because the whole Netherfield Trio plus Carolyn Bingley is back in London."

"I heard that, but I thought it was just a rumour."

"It's true, unfortunately. Don't get me wrong, I'm very happy to see D'Arcy and both the Bingley women go; but Charlie…"

He looked at her, understanding. "How's Jenna taking it?"

Liz sighed. "I really can't tell. She's so anxious for everyone else to be happy, that she hides her own emotions."

"That's too bad."

"Yeah. Hey! I just remembered. Our whole family bought tickets to see Charlie Bingley's recital this evening. We were going to return them, but now I hear there's a replacement, so I guess we're going. Mom's been feeling kind of, uh, sick lately, so she probably won't want to go. Would you like her ticket?"

He beamed. "Why yes, if you're sure your mother won't mind."

"I'm sure."

"Marvelous. Who's the replacement?"

"Oh, what was her name…? Something Queen, or… Oh yeah! Marisa King."

She could have sworn she saw him start. "Marisa… Marisa King? Are you sure?"

"Positive. Why, do you know her?"

"Oh, I think I've heard of her." He glanced at his watch. "Oh God, is it eleven already? Time for me to run. What time should I meet you there tonight?"

"How about seven?"

"Perfect. See you then."

Liz watched him dash out of the bookstore. Weird.

"I'm so glad you invited Wickley to come tonight," Livia told her sister that evening. They were sharing the bathroom mirror, the former applying generous amounts of perfume, the latter working a tangle out of her long, dark hair.

"Why?" Liz asked. "Ouch! Darn comb…"

"Oh, no reason," Livia giggled. "Only that he's so much fun to have around. You should see him at parties sometimes –- he is so hilarious!" She set the perfume bottle down and reached for the mascara.

"Ah." Liz gave her sister a sly smile. "Could you hand me that other bottle of perfume, please?"

Livia tossed her the bottle. "You, wearing perfume? I thought you'd rather die than wear the stuff!"

Liz tapped a bit of perfume on either side of her neck. "I never said that."

Livia's brow furrowed in annoyance. "Why are you being so noncommittal today?"

Liz raised her eyebrows innocently, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. "What in the world are you talking about?"

"You know!" Livia fluffed her hair impatiently. "Oh well, never mind then, if you're going to be so difficult. I just hope you don't plan on keeping Wickley all to yourself tonight. Katie and I want to talk to him too."

Liz laughed. "Of course I won't! Why should I?"

"Oh, come on. Everyone knows that Wickley has a major crush on you, Liz."

"What? Oh, don't be silly. We are two mature adults…" She smoothed her hair back calmly, but couldn't help casting a sideways glance at her little sister. "Everyone knows?"

When all the Bennets save Calvin (for when Fran had felt miraculously better that morning and decided that she wanted to come after all, Calvin willingly gave up his ticket) arrived at the concert, Liz told them to go to their seats while she waited in the lobby for Wickley.

She looked at her watch. Five past seven. The concert started at seven thirty. He should be here soon. She watched people enter the hall. Seven ten. She studied the paintings of various patrons that adorned the walls. Seven fifteen. She counted the black-and-white floor tiles. Finally, at seven twenty-two, Wickley breezed in, looking exceptionally gorgeous. "Hi, sorry I'm late," he said, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

"It's okay," Liz smiled. "Here, I have your ticket. We should probably go inside, and –-"

"Liz!" Fran appeared at the auditorium door and shuffled across the near-empty lobby to join her daughter. "Heavens, child, what's taking you so long?! I –-" She stopped when she noticed Wickley. "Why, hello there," she cooed. "You must be Wickley George. I've heard all about you."

"And you must be Liz's mother." He shook her hand courteously. "Delighted to meet you, Mrs. Bennet."

"Ooh!" Fran giggled. "I just adore your accent! But please, call me Fran, unless you expect me to call you Mr. George."

He laughed. "No indeed."

It was seven thirty by the time they found their seats, but the recital was a little late beginning. Wickley sat between Liz and Fran (to Livia's great disappointment). Liz could see the impression he had already made on her mother, for the latter simpered and flirted like one of her daughters.

Seven forty, and Marisa King still wasn't on stage. Liz opened her program. On the first page was a bio, which read:

At only twenty-two years of age, English cellist Marisa King has already dazzled audiences around the world with her sophistication and technical artistry. Born in

Liverpool, Ms. King received her first cello lesson at the age of four. She gave her first public performance at seven, and by fourteen had won both the Uncle Prize and the

prestigious Ten-Thousand Pound Career Grant. She studied with Augusta Hawkins at the Bath Conservatory of Music, and with Sophia Grau at the Pemberley School for

the Performing Arts in Derbyshire. This is her first appearance at the Hertfordborough Music Festival.

"Marisa King studied at Pemberley?" Liz mused aloud.

"Hmm?" asked Wickley. "What did you say?"

She couldn't answer. The lights went down rather hastily, to make up for time (it was a quarter till eight), and Marisa King walked out onstage. She was short and thin, with red hair and a light blue dress. For the first half she played Tchaikovsky's Rococco Variations and the Bach Solo Suite No. 3.

During the intermission, Liz asked Wickley his opinion of her.

He looked up from his program and smiled. "I think she's good," he said neutrally. "What do you think?"

"She has style, but not a lot of warmth. Marisa King… Did you know her when you were at Pemberley?"

He shrugged. "A little. We ran into each other now and again."

The second half, a Beethoven Sonata and "Elegy" by Faurè, was very like the first. Liz didn't think she was a bad cellist, but neither was she overly impressed. "Indifferent" was the word.

After the concert the Bennets invited Wickley out for coffee, but he said no, he really should be getting home.

"What a charming young man he is!" Fran squealed as soon as they were in the car. "So handsome and friendly!"

"Yes," said Livia sulkily, "and I don't see why Liz should get all his attention."

"Well, it doesn't matter anyhow," Fran said. "He lives on the other side of the world, and he'll be going soon."

"Oh, but that's not true, Mom," Liz corrected her. "He's staying in America. He wants to get a music education degree over here."

"Does he?" said Fran. "Even so, I bet he'll end up in Maine or Alaska, and then what will it matter?"

"There are things called airplanes and telephones," Liz teased.

Fran shook her head and cried, "I don't see why we're even having this conversation! Why should it matter to us what happens to an attractive young man like Wickley George? You two may be getting along, Elizabeth Kreisler, but I doubt if he'll want a girlfriend as headstrong and impractical as you are! English men like sweet, docile girls. I wonder if he knows about what happened with you and Bill Collins."

"I didn't care at all for Mr. George," said Mary. "I found his manners very brazen and frivolous. If I were you, Liz, I would look for a man with a more serious, steady character."

Livia groaned in disgust. Liz said, "Thanks Mary, I'll keep that in mind."

Chapter Eighteen

Posted on Saturday, 17-Oct-98

When they arrived home, there was a message flashing on the answering machine. Livia, presuming it to be for herself, skipped over and pressed the button.

"Hello, everyone! This is Emilie. Ivan and I are staying right down the street from you at the Gracechurch Hotel –- surprise, no? We were in Los Angeles for a conference and decided to drive up and see how everything was going. Call us if you will; we should be up very late. Our number here is 555-7854. OK, bye-bye."

"Emilie!" Liz cried, astonished.

"The Sadovniks at Hertfordborough? What a wonderful surprise!" said Jenna.

"I hope they brought presents!" said Livia.

"So do I," agreed Katie.

"I hate it when people turn up like this, without any notice," Fran complained. "Still, it'll be nice to see them, I suppose. Emilie will have the latest gossip on all our old friends!"

Ivan and Emilie Sadovnik were friends of the Bennets from way back. Ivan was an oboist and Emilie played the cello. The two had met while Emilie, a Frenchwoman, was studying in Moscow. They now lived in England, but spent a fair amount of time in the United States.

The Sadovniks were called, and it was arranged that they should come over to the Bennet's apartment for lunch the next day, and then go with them to End of Festival Picnic.

The Sadovniks arrived as planned the next day.

"Emilie and Ivan! My, what a pleasure to see you!" cried Fran, answering the door. "Come in, come in!"

"Hello, Fran," said Emilie, hugging the other woman. "I hope you do not mind us intruding like this."

"What? Me? Mind? Heavens no! You know my saying: 'the more the merrier!'" Fran laughed and turned to Ivan. "Well, Ivan, you look as fit as a fiddle, as usual. How do you do it?"

He laughed. "Good to see you again too, Fran."

"Well, come in, come in! You can't spend your whole visit out in the hall like that."

She ushered her guests into the living room, where the rest of the family was waiting.

Emilie Sadovnik was a tall woman, forty-five or so, and beautiful as ever. There was an elegance about her that one could not fail to notice. She had a long, refined face, quick, perceptive eyes, and a pile of silver-gold hair that she kept pinned up. Her husband Ivan, who was more than ten years her senior, was handsome as well. His hair had grown white, but he, like his wife, possessed a grace or elegance that immediately drew attention. Between them, there was an almost constant exchange of glances and smiles, so subtle that only a very watchful person could discern it. It was as if, underneath the ordinary conversation, they were having a private discussion of their own.

Liz had always noticed this between them. Now, as Fran spewed her usual "welcoming guests" routine, she caught it even more. Indeed, they almost looked on the verge of doubling over with laughter. They've known Mom longer than I have.

"It's really a shame you couldn't have come here sooner," Fran was saying. "After all, this is the closing day of the festival. The girls have already finished all their concerts. You should have seen them! They were all magnificent, though I say it myself. If you had only heard Livia playing the "Carmen Fantasy" -- it was enough to put tears in my eyes!"

"We have a tape of it," Livia said eagerly. "I'll go put it on."

"Why yes, uh, Livia dear. That would be wonderful," said Emilie, looking amused.

A little later, when Liz was in the kitchen fixing sandwiches for everyone, Emilie came up to her and said, "And how are you, Liz? We have not had a chance to talk yet."

"Yes," Liz laughed. "Between my mother and Livia's 'Carmen Fantasy' it's impossible to get a word in edgewise."

"So how are you doing, my dear girl?" Emilie repeated. She and Liz had always been close friends.

"Oh, I'm just fine," Liz replied, spreading mayonnaise on a piece of sourdough bread. "My recital went well, and so did the quartet recital."

"Fran tells me you had a job offer recently…"

Liz gave her a look. "Yeah, that's right. I'm sure she also told you how I impudently refused it."

Emilie chuckled. "Something to that extent, yes."

"It doesn't matter now. In the end, the job went to my good friend Lotty Lucas, who'll do a much better job than I ever could. Whole wheat, rye, or sourdough?"

"Whole wheat, please. Fran also told me something that seemed much more serious -- involving Jenna and a man?"

Liz nodded solemnly. "Charlie Bingley. You've heard of him?"

"Who hasn't?"

"Yes, he came here to Hertfordborough this year. We met him at an opening party, and from then on he and Jenna were always together. You should have seen them! They looked totally oblivious to anyone else."

"And then what happened?"

Liz sighed. "He went back to London a few days ago. He didn't tell anyone, not even Jenna. We found out from his sister, Carolyn. Tomato?"

"Yes, thank you. How is Jenna doing?"

"Not very well. She tries to keep her spirits up, but just look at her." From the kitchen door they could see Jenna, who was sitting somewhat apart from the rest of the group. Underneath the bronze of her complexion she was pale, and her large blue-gray eyes gazed sadly into space.

"She's been like that a lot," said Liz. "Thinking to herself, hardly responding to anyone else. I hate to see it."

"It should have happened to you instead, Lizzy. You would get over it by laughing," said Emilie.

"I wish it had happened to me, but it didn't, it happened to Jenna, who's so sensitive to begin with…"

"You sound angry, Liz."

"I am. You see, I don't think it was Charlie's intention to do this to Jenna. I think he's just as much in love with her as she is with him. I think it was his sisters who made sure he went back to England, and then refused to give Jenna his phone number or anything."

"His sisters? Carolyn and Louise Bingley?"

"The same. They absolutely hated the idea of Charlie getting involved with Jenna."

"That is horrible." Emilie stood for some moments in silence, while Liz finished making her sandwich. Finally she said, "Liz, do you think that Jenna would like to come visit us in London this fall? We could start her free-lancing there, if she likes."

"Oh, that would be wonderful!" Liz cried. "I'm sure she'd love to."

"And then, perhaps, if we are very lucky, we could attend a few Charlie Bingley concerts while she is with us? If he is as in love with her as you say, it should not be difficult to get them together, once he knows she is in England."

"Thank you, Em," said Liz, giving her a hug.

They told Jenna, and she was thrilled. At once Liz could see a difference in her. Her face regained its normal color, and she made more effort to join in the general conversation.

Chapter Nineteen

Posted on Saturday, 17-Oct-98

The evening brought the End of Festival Picnic, held in the town park. The Bennets, even Calvin, went to it, accompanied by the Sadovniks in another car.

As Liz and Jenna were helping their mother unpack food from the trunk, they were approached by Emilie, who asked where the bathroom was.

"You see that building over there?" said Liz, pointing. "Inside, to your right, then down a hall, and through a door on your left with a window in it. That takes you into a big room with a fireplace, and on the other side of that should be the bathroom."

Emilie followed Liz's instructions. As she neared the room with the fireplace, she spied two figures inside. It was a woman and a man who looked in their early twenties. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but they appeared to be having a heated argument. The woman, who was short with fiery red hair, tried to stalk away but the man –- tall and good-looking, with light brown hair –- held her back. He said something smilingly, she replied somewhat subdued, and he took her by the waist and, pulling her close, kissed her.

Emilie decided she should see no more. She hurried back out of the building and joined the Bennets on the lawn.

After dinner was finished, the Bennet girls dispersed in various directions, Ivan and Calvin took a walk towards the river, deep in conversation together, which left Emilie on the blanket with Fran. They began to talk –- or rather Fran began to talk, and Emilie to listen –- about Fran's daughters, beginning, of course, with Livia, moving on to Jenna and her sad situation, and finally to Liz ("When I think that Liz could have

had a steady job! And now she'll have to leach off of us for the rest of her life!") Sue Long joined them eventually, for which Emilie was very thankful, as it provided a break in the conversation.

Sue and Fran began to have a discussion in which Emilie had no part, so the latter decided to observe what the others of her party were doing. Livia and Katie were with a large group of boys, as usual, Jenna was talking to what looked like Lotty Lucas and another young woman, Mary was reading a book by herself, and Liz? Oh, there she was, talking to a man with light brown hair and a blue shirt. Was he…? Emilie couldn't tell from so great a distance, but she was quite sure that he…

As if Liz felt Emilie's eyes watching them, she said something to her friend and they walked over to the blanket.

"Emilie, let me introduce you to my friend Wickley George. Wickley, this is a good friend of mine, Emilie Sadovnik."

"How do you do, madam?" the man asked, smiling. Yes, now Emilie was quite sure. He was the man she had seen inside the building.

"I am fine, and you?" she replied. Her warm smile concealed her cold eyes, which were watching him very closely.

"I'm quite wonderful. Liz was telling me that you come from the town of Agneau in southern France. That's also the hometown of the late Gautier D'Arcy. You didn't happen to know him, did you?"

"No, but I knew of him, certainly. He was quite a local hero, as you say."

"So you're not acquainted with the D'Arcy family?"

"No, not at all."

"Ah. You must think me quite strange for asking all these questions, but you see, Gautier D'Arcy was my godfather."

"Oh, indeed?"

"Yes, I grew up in Derbyshire near his Pemberley School. My father was head of the drama division there."

"Now I see. No, I never had the good fortune to meet Monsieur D'Arcy, but growing up in Agneau you could not but help hear stories about him. He seemed a wonderful man."

"Indeed he was. I wish you could have known him."

"It's too bad his son turned out so differently," said Liz.

"His son? F. William D'Arcy, the violinist?" asked Emilie.

"Yeah. Oh, I forgot to tell you, didn't I, Em? F. William is a friend of Charlie Bingley's. He came to Hertfordborough with him." Liz went on to tell Emilie the reasons for her aversion to that man. She urged Wickley to tell Emilie the story of his dealings with F. William, which he did, not unwillingly. By the time he was through, there were many people gathered around their blanket, listening with wonder and contempt to all the horrible things D'Arcy had done to Wickley.

"Shocking!" said Emilie. "I remember Mr. D'Arcy when he was very young, ten or twelve. I was in an orchestra in Bristol and he was playing a concerto with us –- the Tchaikovsky, I believe it was. I do not remember what I thought of him them, but I believe, indeed I am sure the consensus was he was a very difficult child to work with."

Wickley nodded and said it was very likely.

Later on, Liz saw Lotty sitting on her own, and went up to talk to her. "Hi Lotty."

"Hi there."

Liz sat down beside her and asked, "When are you leaving for South America?"

"In a week."

"Wow, so soon?"

"Yeah. Bill's down there already; he left yesterday. Liz –-" Lotty's voice suddenly held an urgent note, "the orchestra is still not filled, and we'll be hiring subs soon. Mariah's coming down to play in the bass section in November. Will you come with her? There's plenty of room in the second violin section, and I'll be so happy to see you."

Liz was startled, but, smiling, she said, "November? I think I can work up enough credits to take a month off from college then. Yes, I'd love to, Lotty. But tell me, do you think I might catch a glimpse of the famous Catherine de Bourgh any time during my stay?"

Lotty rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm pretty sure you will, like it or not."

When the sun was setting, and it was time for everyone to leave, there was a sadness in the air. In light of the happiness of the picnic, one forgot its purpose: that they would now be leaving Hertfordborough, and going home.

Livia and Katie said their good-byes with great sobs and hugs, and promises of "I'll write you!", and seemed to forget the fact that half the friends they had at Hertfordborough lived within an hour drive of their home.

Liz felt the nostalgic pang she experienced at this picnic every year; but indeed, she felt something more. So much had happened at the festival this year! Was it only two

weeks ago that she had been called a 'mediocre fiddler' by F. William D'Arcy? Liz laughed despite herself at this memory.

"What are you thinking?" asked a voice from beside her. She felt an arm on her shoulder, and Wickley was there next to her.

"Oh, about Hertfordborough, and everything."

"Yes, I'll miss this place."

"Are you coming back next year, do you think?"

"I don't know. There's no way of knowing what I'll be doing in a year or so. I hope so very much, though."

Liz smiled. "So do I."

He continued to watch her intently. Then, after consideration, he ventured, "Liz, I have something I…"

Liz looked at him. "Yes?"

He turned away. "Never mind."

"Okay," said Liz, a little puzzled.

They stood watching the last rays of light disappear behind the familiar Hertfordborough mountains. Then, with a sigh and a laugh, Wickley withdrew his arm from Liz's shoulder and turned to go.

"Are you leaving?" asked she.

"Yes, I must. I'm flying to New York tomorrow for an interview, and then to Cincinnati."

"Oh, are you looking for schools there?"

"Yes, I am. May I have your address, or do I presume too much in asking?"

"Of course you can!" said Liz. He gave her a pen and paper and she wrote down her address and number. "I'll be at my parent's until school starts in September, and then you can reach me at the dorm, or at home on weekends."

"Thank you. Now, I must be going."

"Yes, I probably should too."

"Good-bye."

"Bye."

And as they parted, Liz wondered if they would meet again. She doubted it.

Emilie was worried. She remembered the discussion she had had with Liz about Jenna, saying it would have been better if Liz had been the one who was disappointed by a man, because she could laugh herself out of anything. Emilie wished she hadn't said that, for it seemed her declaration might very soon be tested.

She pulled Liz aside soon after they got back to the apartment. "Liz, I have something to speak to you about. Now, I am going to be very serious, so you have to promise to be serious too, all right?"

"Well, I won't promise anything till you tell me what it is you want me to be serious about."

"Liz…" Emilie hesitated. Should she tell Liz about what she had seen between Wickley and the redheaded girl? She didn't want to seem prying. "Tell me, what do you feel for this Wickley George person you introduced me to?"

"Wow," said Liz, looking a little embarrassed. "What do I feel for him? Well, um, what do you mean exactly?"

"I do not know what word you use for it nowadays, but do you feel like you may be, well, falling in love with him?"

"You're dead serious, aren't you?" Liz laughed. "Well, Em, let's see here. I like Wickley a lot, but no, I don't think I'm falling in love with him. I know I'm not falling in love with him."

"And he? Do you know what he feels towards you?"

"I'm pretty sure he's not in love with me either. I can't be positive, of course. But I'll do my best to discourage it."

"You are not being serious now."

"You're right, I'm sorry. I'm just wondering why you're suddenly asking me all these things. What's up?"

"Perhaps I do sound rather strange. I do not want to see you get hurt, that is all. It is a real shame what Jenna is going through."

"Well, you don't have to worry about me, Em. Wickley's very nice, and very good-looking, but there's something… Well, I don't know. I'm not in love with him, I don't plan on being in love with him, and even if I was, I can't imagine being like Jenna."

Emilie sighed. "That is good. It -- how do you say? -- takes a load of my mind."

Chapter Twenty

Posted on Tuesday, 20-Oct-98

August went slowly by. The Bennets were back home to their small house, in a shabby but respectable neighborhood, about a two hours out of Los Angeles. Liz practiced the violin, though perhaps not as much as she should. Jenna was often on the phone working out the details of her London trip with Emilie and Ivan. Calvin was composing another piece of music – this time a television jingle – without any enthusiasm. He knew he wouldn't be able to sell it. It was a good thing, a very good thing, that his college-aged daughters had been able to win scholarships, he thought to himself on more than one occasion.

"It's so boring around here!" cried Livia one hot afternoon. The air-conditioning had gone out, and she, along with her sisters and mother, was sitting in the kitchen, the coolest room in the house. "I wish I was going off to college like Liz and Mary. Or else going to England like Jen."

Liz smiled at her sister. "I thought you enjoyed high school, Liv."

"Oh, it's okay sometimes. I just hate the school part of it."

"I see."

"I know exactly how you feel," sighed Fran, waving a paper fan in front of her face. "I'd like to go somewhere myself this year. There's a very cheap plane fare to Maui in December."

"Maui!" cried Livia and Katie in unison. "I'd love to go to Maui!"

"Well, your father has refused it, and it's no use trying to make him change his mind. Really, that man is quite insane."

"You've got to make him take us," said Livia to Liz. "Dad listens to everything you say."

Liz was running an ice cube down the back of her neck. "I'm sorry, but Maui doesn't sound very appealing to me at the moment. Maybe Alaska, or the middle of Greenland…"

"I know something," said Katie, brightening up. "There's a music academy for high school kids in February down near San Diego. Carter told me about it at Hertfordborough. Here, I'll go get the brochure."

Katie went to her room and brought back a full, glossy brochure about the Brighton Academy of Music. Livia and Fran scanned it eagerly. "Do you know who'll be going?" Livia asked.

"Carter will, and Denny, and probably Hannah Forster."

Livia and Fran looked at each other. This was the perfect solution.

For the next few days, all Livia and Katie, and indeed their mother, talked about was the Brighton Academy, and how much fun it would all be.

Meanwhile, life went on for the other four members of the Bennet household. Among the more significant events was of course Jenna's departure, but also a certain phonecall that Liz received around the 20th of August.

"Hello?"

"Liz! It's good to hear your voice again."

"Wickley? Is that you?"

"Yes."

"Hi! Where are you?"

"I'm in New York."

"Oh, so you didn't go to Cincinnati?"

"No, I didn't actually."

There was a pause, as each searched for words. "It's very nice of you to call," Liz struggled.

"Yes." Another pause, and this time Liz thought she could hear a female voice in the background. Finally Wickley's voice cut in with: "God, this is bloody hard. I don't know how to say this, Liz, so I'll just say it. I'm married. I'm living in Manhattan with my wife, Marisa King."

"…Your wife?"

"I know you're surprised, and if you hate me now I don't blame you, but please, just let me explain." When she didn't say anything, he went on, "I was not entirely truthful when I said I knew Marisa just a little at Pemberley. We were married three years ago, when we were students there. Our marriage didn't seem to be working, however, and a little over a year ago we were separated. I thought we were headed for divorce. That's why I didn't tell anyone about her, you see. But when I heard she was at Hertfordborough, I knew it had to be some kind of sign. I called her up, and we got together, and realized we still have feelings for each other."

"Ah."

"She's getting her masters here at Julliard, and I'm trying to get into a music education program at NYU. I'm really, truly sorry, Liz."

"Don't be. I'm glad that you two have found each other again."

"I knew you'd understand." He sounded happy. "Now, I must be going. Say hi to all your sisters for me."

"I will."

Fran, Livia, and Katie were very depressed when told of Wickley's married state.

"I don't see how Wickley could be married to someone like Marisa King!" Livia cried. "She's so ugly; like a little red-headed rat. She must have a lot of money or something."

"I always knew he was hiding something," said Fran, "and now poor Liz has a broken heart because of it!"

"My heart's perfectly intact, Mom," Liz assured her.

"Oh, no it's not! No it's not!"

But it was true –- Liz's heart was completely untouched. Though she was disappointed by the deception Wickley had seemed to think was necessary, she felt no malice towards him, or his wife. In fact, her opinion of that girl was entirely unchanged. She remembered her as a thin, pouting cellist, but that was all. Where was the sorrow, the anger? The truth was, she had been totally straightforward when she had told Emilie that she didn't love Wickley. Even the infatuation had passed.

"So there goes yet another man," Liz mused to herself that night. "I wonder if I'll ever find someone who's right for me – and hopefully he won't be married."

Chapter 21

Posted on Wednesday, 28-Oct-98

(Author's Note: I decided to change Anne Fitzwilliam to Anne Wibble, and make her CdB's protégé instead of daughter. I just found the idea of D'Arcy marrying his cousin too revolting to put in my story.)

Wickley's newly revealed spouse was quickly surpassed in Liz's thoughts by the upcoming trip to Labias de Vaca. In the beginning Liz had cowered at the thought of playing a month in an orchestra under Bill Collins's direction, but then came Lotty's letters. Lotty wrote of how much she enjoyed it down there, how she was renting an apartment with a view of the ocean, and how she couldn't wait to see Liz. These letters, along with the excitement caused by Jenna's departure for London, rendered the idea of Labias de Vaca more and more favorable in Liz's mind; and soon she found herself anticipating the arrival of November with pleasure.

Everyone knows how time moves slower when one is anticipating something. But Liz kept herself busy, working up enough credit in college to take a month long break, and at length the day arrived.

Her family was there to see her off at the airport. Liz hugged each in turn. When she reached her father, he seemed more attentive than usual.

"You have everything you need, Lizzy?"

"Yes, Dad."

"Toothbrush, toothpaste?"

Liz laughed. "I think so."

"If you need any more money, just call."

"You can definitely count on that."

"Write as often as you can, and I might even be persuaded to write back!"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to force you to do anything that strenuous," she teased him.

"Well, go on, go on, they're calling your flight number. Oh, and do say 'hi' to Cousin Bill for me, will you?"

The flight departed at 7:30 pm. Ten hours, two movies, and five cups of coffee later, Lizzy was stepping off the plane at the Labias de Vaca Airport.

"Lotty! Mariah!" she cried, and rushed to hug the two sisters who were there waiting for her.

"How was your flight? Long?" asked Lotty as they drove to her house. "I bet you're hungry. It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day today. We could eat breakfast out on the beach."

Lotty's house was little and cozy, with the beach practically at its doorstep. After Liz had showered and changed, she found her way to the kitchen, where Lotty was preparing a picnic basket. "So this is Labias de Vaca, huh?" she said.

Lotty smiled. "This is it."

"The scenery is beautiful."

"Yes, it is."

"Do you enjoy it down here?"

Lotty didn't answer directly "I have a lot of time to myself. I love to sit out on my porch and read, or just look at the ocean. It's beautiful at sunrise. I feel very peaceful here."

They went out on the beach with the basket and a large blanket. Mariah chatted happily to Liz, probably thankful for another familiar face.

"How long have you been down here, Mariah?" Liz asked her.

"A week. I already played a set of concerts. The orchestra really isn't that bad; I was surprised."

Liz laughed, and Lotty gave her sister a playful slap.

"And have you met Catherine de Bourgh yet?"

Mariah's eyes grew wide with fear. "No, not yet. I've seen her in her box at the concerts, though. She's very scary looking."

"That reminds me." Lotty looked at Liz hesitantly. "Bill called last night, and asked, well, told me that we'll all be going to Mrs. De Bourgh's house for dinner tonight. I told him you would have just arrived, but he seemed to think that even more reason to go."

Liz groaned.

"I tried to think of a way out of it, but I just couldn't," Lotty apologized. "When Catherine de Bourgh offers you an invitation, you can't turn it down."

"Then I guess we have no choice," Liz sighed.

Bill was just as Liz remembered -- oily, fawning, bumbling. He came at seven to drive them to Catherine de Bourgh's house.

"How do you like Labias de Vaca?" he asked Liz, who was sitting next to him in the front seat.

"Well, from what I've seen it seems like a nice little village."

"Little village?" he cried. "My dear Liz, Labias de Vaca is hardly a 'little village.' Catherine de Bourgh has invested millions of pounds in it, and it is well on its way to becoming the next —"

"—Rio de Janeiro," Liz finished for him.

He looked at her, pleasantly surprised. "You understand me, I see. Music?"

He pushed a tape into the tape player. Soon Kenny G's saxophone was wailing from the car speaker. Bill tapped his hands on the steering wheel and made snapping noises with his mouth in an attempt to be cool. Liz looked down at her lap, trying hard not to laugh.

Bill mistook her action for something else. "Don't worry about your clothes, Liz. Though Catherine de Bourgh and her protégé, Miss Wibble, will undoubtedly be

wearing gowns of the top quality, they will not be angry with you for wearing slacks and an old blouse. They are quite charmed by our informal American ways."

Liz frowned. That "old blouse" had cost her fifty bucks. "Great, that makes me feel much better."

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at Catherine de Bourgh's house. Or perhaps I should not say house – mansion, palace, castle are all closer to the truth. It was gigantic. As Bill handed his keys to the valet attendant, he observed Liz out of the corner of his eye. This would make her realize what she had turned down.

They were then shown inside by no less than Fortescue, the butler. They proceeded down a long, high-ceilinged hall, its walls covered with oil-paintings of Mrs. De Bourgh's scowling ancestors from various centuries back.

"Is this place for real?" Liz whispered to Lotty.

They stopped in an anteroom. Fortescue disappeared inside a tall, oak-paneled door.

"He's introducing us," Bill explained proudly.

No sooner had he said this, than the door opened again, and they were admitted into the drawing room.

Chapter 22

The room was large and foreboding, like the rest of the place; filled with heavy, expensive looking furniture and smelling of dust and wood polish. Liz felt like she was in a museum, where one false step or misplaced hand could destroy thousands of dollars worth of valuables.

The only relief Liz could observe from the oppressive decorum of the room was the grand piano, which was situated on the far side of the room by a large window. Her hopes were raised – a musician can never be wholly bad.

This appraisal of her surroundings lasted only a second, before her attention was caught by the figure at the head of the room.

Catherine de Bourgh was as grand and formidable as her residence. She sat in a high-backed chair by the fireplace, one hand resting on the chair arm, the other stroking the purring cat that rested on her lap. Beside her, in a smaller chair, was a younger woman, thin, meek, and hardly noticeable in comparison to the impressive matriarch to her left.

"Elizabeth, Mariah," said Bill, his voice a reverent hush, "it is my esteemed honor to introduce you to Catherine de Bourgh and Anne Wibble. Mrs. De Bourgh, Miss Wibble, this is –-"

"You are very late this evening, William," Catherine de Bourgh interrupted. "We were almost ready to dine without you. I demand an explanation for this dilatory behaviour."

Bill rushed to sit on the couch to her left, while the others contented themselves with chairs further back. "Words can't describe how apologetic I am, Mrs. De Bourgh," he cowered. "I have no idea what could have taken us so long from Lotty's house, but –-"

Catherine de Bourgh turned her attention to Lotty. "Charlotte. I was most displeased with the way the first violins sounded at the concert on Saturday. I could barely hear them in the last movement. You must always play forte in a Tchaikovsky symphony."

"Of course, Mrs. De Bourgh. I'll remind the first violin section at the rehearsal tomorrow," Lotty promised.

"I will write a note in my score to have the first violins always play forte," Bill added, "and if you have any more of your very helpful suggestions, please –-"

"See that you remember, Charlotte."

Fortescue appeared in the room again, this time to announce that dinner was served.

The meal, which they ate at a table that could surely seat fifty, consisted of four courses in which meat was the primary ingredient. Liz, a vegetarian and proud of it, filled her plate with broccoli and potatoes.

Throughout the meal, Catherine de Bourgh's conversation and attention was divided between giving her opinions on music and other subjects to Lotty and Bill, and talking about herself and her ward, the colorless Miss Wibble. Anne Wibble, as Liz had learned from Lotty earlier that day, was the daughter of some good friends of Catherine de Bourgh's, Lord and Lady Edwin Wibble of Kent. When they were killed in an unfortunate yachting accident, Catherine, a childless widow, took the care of their daughter Anne upon herself. It was Anne who Catherine intended for her nephew, F. William D'Arcy.

Liz studied the young lady, who sat to her left. "Do you enjoy it here in South America, Miss Wibble?" she asked.

At first it seemed that Miss Wibble had not heard her, so Liz repeated the question. This time, Miss Wibble sent her an apathetic glance. "Enjoy myself? Miss Bennet, indeed…"

Liz wasn't sure what to make of this ambiguous response, so she continued with, "I just flew in this morning, but from what I've seen it seems very beautiful down here. It's my first time to South America. How long have you been here? Do you like it, or do you wish you were still in England?"

Miss Wibble dabbed her mouth with her napkin, and looked away.

Just as I suspected – dull and cranky, Liz thought scornfully. She's perfect for him.

After dinner, they retired to the drawing room for coffee. Liz was prepared for another hour or two of boredom, when, to her surprise, Catherine de Bourgh said, "Miss Bennet. That is your name? I noticed you ate no meat at dinner. You are not feeling ill, I hope?"

"No, I'm –-"

"Loss of appetite is a sign of illness. You should have a doctor see you immediately. Dr. Meyer is the primary physician in Labias de Vaca. I wouldn't trust anyone else down here."

"That's very kind of you, Mrs. De Bourgh, but I feel fine. I never eat meat."

Catherine de Bourgh recoiled in alarm. "Never eat meat?! You're not –- one of those, I hope?"

"A vegetarian? Why yes, actually, I am. I haven't eaten meat since I was thirteen years old."

"Shocking! Not since you were thirteen? And your parents didn't object? Why, I always made sure that Anne ate meat at every meal. You have been deprived of many essential vitamins and nutrients found only in meat. No wonder you're such a small thing."

Liz refrained from commenting on Anne Wibble's size.

Catherine de Bourgh began on another tangent. "Where did you go to school, Miss Bennet? A boarding school of any repute?"

"No, I was home-schooled during my high school years."

Catherine de Bourgh's countenance, already slightly pink from the shock of Liz's dietary preferences, turned a startling shade of crimson. "What? How on earth did you ever go to university?" she cried. "Did you go to university?"

Liz nodded. "I graduate this spring."

"Your mother was a slave to your education, I am sure."

Liz laughed at the thought of Fran being a slave to anything.

The older lady shook her head in disgust. "Your parents have made many grave mistakes with your upbringing, I see. No child can learn anything without the aid of a school. It is absolutely impossible."

Liz smiled, but did not reply.

"And your socialization!" Catherine de Bourgh continued. "A child will learn nothing about making friends, and getting along with his or her peers, without school. Without a traditional education, a child will not know how to operate in the real world."

"If that's so, then I suppose your Queen, who was also home-schooled, must have no idea how to operate in the 'real world', as you say."

Catherine de Bourgh, evidently deaf to this last remark, began to advise Bill and Lotty on music for upcoming concerts, and Liz sat the rest of the evening in silence.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Posted on Thursday, 19-Nov-98

"We'll start with the Rossini," Bill announced to the orchestra the following morning. It was the first of Liz's rehearsals with the Labias de Vaca Philharmonic Orchestra, and she was very eager to hear what they were like.

During the rehearsal (in which they played a Rossini overture, Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue, and Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade), Liz made the following observations: Bill Collins was just as bad a conductor as she had imagined; the orchestra didn't sound half as unpleasant as she had expected; and Lotty was the one with the real control.

Liz had a fairly good view of the orchestra from her place at the back of the second violins. She could see that, save for the first downbeat of a section and any terribly important hold or ritard, the orchestra members never looked at Bill. This was just as well, for, besides being a poor leader and an unreliable conductor, Bill Collins was not a person one would choose to spend hours watching. He stomped, wheezed, and made wild, unnecessary gestures with his flaccid hands. He spewed perspiration over everyone in the front row of players. He even had the impudence to wiggle his behind during the Gershwin.

It was clear to anyone who knew anything that Lotty was the one who was truly leading the orchestra, though from her seat as Concertmaster rather than the conductor's podium.

The principal horn player asked a question regarding tempo. Without a word, Bill bent down to consult with Lotty, then rose again and answered the man's question.

"Thanks, Maestro," the horn player said.

That's Lotty's job in a nutshell. Quietly doing all the work while Bill receives the credit and the money.

"I have an announcement to make regarding Mrs. De Bourgh's party in three weeks' time," Bill said at the end of the rehearsal. "As many of you know, she has expressed her wish that some of our members perform works of chamber music at this affair. I have here a list of these special musicians who will have the privilege of playing at Mrs. De Bourgh's home." He cleared his throat. "In the Trout Quintet – Lotty Lucas, violin, Elizabeth Elliot, viola, Frank Churchill, cello, and Mariah Lucas, bass. In the

Bartok Quartet No. 4 – Liz Bennet, violin, Mary Musgrove, viola, and Peter Elton, cello. You may pick up your music as you leave."

"I think it's really weird that I'm playing this chamber music thing," Liz said to Lotty as they drove home. "I mean, everyone else is a principal or far up in their section. Who am I? A single sub in the back of the second violins."

Lotty smiled. "That's true."

"Say, who are the other musicians?"

"Other musicians?"

"You know, the pianist in your group and the second violinist in mine. Bill forgot to mention them."

"There's a list clipped to the back of your music."

Liz flipped to the back page of her quartet part. "Trout Quintet… you, blah, blah, blah, Geoffrey Fitzwilliam, piano – hmm, don't think I've heard of him. Here we go – Bartok Quartet No. 4 – Liz Bennet, violin, F. Will… Oh God."

Lotty glanced at her. "Will D'Arcy's second violin, is he? It makes sense that his aunt wants him to play at her party. He's playing a solo with the orchestra in a few weeks – you knew that, of course."

Liz shook her head. "I didn't know. Jeez, this is the last thing I need. But am I really playing first to his second? It must be a misprint."

"I don't think so. Maybe it was Will who wanted you to play in that string quartet."

"Don't be ridiculous. He can't stand me any more than I can stand him."

A week later, as Liz was putting her violin in its case after a concert, she espied a man standing close by, and looking at her very intently. He was tall and fair-haired, about twenty-eight, with a black turtleneck, black trousers, and wire-rimmed spectacles.

Liz shut her case and smiled up at him. "Hi, anything I can do for you?"

The man returned the smile, and stuck out his hand. "Geoffrey Fitzwilliam," he introduced himself, in an easy English accent. "You must think me rather strange for staring at you like this, but I wanted to make sure you are who I think you are. You are Liz Bennet, I hope?"

Liz nodded.

"A pleasure to meet you, Liz. I've heard much about you from my cousin."

"Your cousin?"

"F. William D'Arcy. I understand you were acquainted during the summer."

"Oh! Yes, we were, a little." She took a better look at the man standing next to her. "You're F. William D'Arcy's cousin? I'm sorry, I'm a little surprised. You don't seem at all like him."

He laughed. "Many people have said that, regarding our appearances. I inherited the light colouring from the Fitzwilliam side, whilst William's darker looks came from his father."

"Is William here tonight?"

"Yes, we both flew in this afternoon, in time to see the concert. It was my first taste of the Labias de Vaca Philharmonic, and I must say, I was quite pleased by it."

"I'm glad. You're playing a Mozart piano concerto with us in a few weeks, I hear?"

He bowed his head in assent, then glanced at his watch. "Would you care to join my cousin and me for something to eat? Will is extremely anxious for you to come, but he's too shy to ask you himself."

Liz hesitated. Of course, Geoffrey Fitzwilliam wasn't as striking in appearance as his cousin, but he seemed very friendly, and eager to please. "Sure, I'd love to."

After telling Lotty that she wouldn't need a ride home that evening, Liz walked with Geoffrey out to his car.

"Liz. How are you?" came a voice from the darkness. She could just discern the tall form of F. William D'Arcy leaning against the car.

"Fine, you?"

"I'm well, thank you. And your family?"

"They're all just great, thanks."

Liz gave him a polite smile, and climbed into the front seat. She couldn't believe her ears. Was he actually going to be civil?

But it was too good to be true. William spent the whole ride to the restaurant sitting in silence, while Liz talked and laughed with his amiable cousin. Geoffrey was cheerful and affable, with an easy disposition that Liz found very refreshing.

Once they had arrived at the restaurant, the trio found a seat in the corner and gave their orders to the waiter.

Liz continued to talk to Geoffrey, but now and again she had the distinct feeling that the other member of their party was watching her. She glanced at William across the

table. He was looking at her with a steady gaze, though he didn't attempt to contribute to the conversation.

"So, Geoffrey, you're a professional pianist, I take it?" Liz asked, averting her eyes from William. He making her very uncomfortable. That's what he wants. Don't pay attention.

"Not professional actually," Geoffrey sighed. "I'm afraid I'm just an enthusiastic amateur, with an auntie who owns an orchestra. My career is in medicine."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. My parents receive the credit for that. They're both academics, you know, and were quite frightened by the idea of me becoming a musician, and turning out like a D'Arcy!"

He laughed, looking for encouragement from William.

William smiled a funny, half-sided smirk. "Heaven forbid you ever become a D'Arcy, Geoffrey."

"And what about you, Liz?" Geoffrey asked her. "Any plans for the future, after your work down here is done?"

She shrugged. "I don't know really. I'm getting my bachelor's this spring, but after that it's all up in the air. I love chamber music most of all, and would really love to do something with that."

"Then you should!" Geoffrey cried.

"But I'm not sure I'm good enough. After all, there are so many violinists…"

He scoffed. "You're being absurd, surely. Why, Will couldn't stop raving about your playing for a month after he came back from the States."

"Huh, yeah right," Liz laughed. "Will is my harshest critic."

"If he's your harshest critic, then you must be incredible!" Geoffrey rejoined.

Liz smiled, knowing he was just trying to flatter her.

Geoffrey and Liz began to talk about books and music, and discovered that they shared similar favorites, to the delight of both. But while Geoffrey was describing a fantastic book that he said Liz absolutely must read, she had the uneasy sensation of William's eyes upon her again.

This time she was going to do something about it.

"Geoffrey, I'm sorry," she cut in, "but can you tell me why your cousin keeps staring at me? What is it? Has my face gone blue?"

Surprised, Geoffrey looked at William, who flushed accordingly, and took a long gulp of his water. Liz sipped her soda with a smile of satisfaction.

When she arrived home later that night, Liz found an email message waiting for her from Jenna. "At last!" she thought.

To: [email protected]: [email protected]: Mon, 1– Nov 199– 23:40:44 -0000Subject: Hello Lizzy

Hi Lizzy,

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write to you. I hope you're having a good time in South America. Is Labias de Vaca all that you thought it would be? ;-) I'm sure you're having fun, though.

The Sadovniks are wonderful hosts, and keep me very busy. England is a beautiful country, and London is a wonderful city. I wish you were here with me. We've been to the usual sightseeing places, as well as lots of plays and concerts. Emilie and Ivan have even got me a couple free-lancing jobs (I thought this would be illegal, since I don't have a work permit, but they assure me it isn't). A couple days ago I did a recording session for the soundtrack of the latest BBC drama adaptation – very fun! :-)

Now I'll tell you what I'm sure you want to know the most. No, I haven't seen or heard from Charlie Bingley since I got here. I called up Carolyn soon after I arrived. She wasn't as glad to hear from me as I'd expected, but I thought she was just a little under-the-weather. She said she was on the other line, but that she'd call me back when she got off.

Two weeks later, Carolyn finally called me back. She told me that Charlie knows that I'm in England, but that he's very busy making an album with Georgette D'Arcy, and can't be bothered to visit people who are only slight acquaintances.

Liz, this can only mean one thing. If Charlie ever felt anything for me, he doesn't any more. Carolyn was just trying to shelter me from the truth. So that's it, then. Not worth dwelling on it, right?

Again, I hope you're having a great time. I miss you a lot.

See you at Christmas.

Love, Jenna

Liz's heart was heavy as she shut down the computer. Jenna had tried to make her email sound positive, but Liz could see right past that. She knew how crushed Jenna must be.

"Carolyn – sheltering Jenna from the truth?" Liz thought bitterly as she went to bed. "Oh please." Carolyn was doing her best to control her brother, and it looked like it was working.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Posted on Thursday, 19-Nov-98

The next time Liz saw Geoffrey Fitzwilliam was at his aunt's house, several days later. Catherine de Bourgh was having some members of the orchestra over for tea, and Liz was one of the lucky invited.

"Liz!" a friendly voice called as Liz, Lotty, and Mariah were admitted into the house. Geoffrey Fitzwilliam, dressed for tennis in an outfit of white, bounded down the large entrance hall to join them.

"Wonderful to see you again," he told Liz, shaking her hand warmly. "And these are your friends?"

Liz introduced him to Lotty and Mariah.

"A pleasure," Geoffrey said.

As they walked to the drawing room, Lotty whispered teasingly to her friend, "How do you do it, Liz? Isn't it enough that F. William D'Arcy is madly in love with you, but do you have to have his cousin too?"

Liz blushed severely, and began to object, but they had already reached the drawing room door.

Seven pairs of eyes turned to meet them. Catherine de Bourgh was in her usual spot by the fireplace, with Miss Wibble's faded self on one side, and Bill Collins on the other. Three orchestra members – two men and a woman – were sitting by the piano. William was on the couch.

"There you are, Geoffrey," Catherine spoke. "Charlotte, nice to see you as always." She nodded to Mariah, and acknowledged Liz with a raised eyebrow.

Liz sat down near the piano, and Geoffrey drew up next to her. Catherine conversed mainly with William, her clear favorite, and seemed to regard her other guests only as bodies to warm the room.

As usual, William didn't go out of his way to say anything to anyone. Liz watched him carefully, curious if she could detect any hint of love between him and Anne Wibble.

But it was just as she suspected – he ignored Anne just as he ignored everyone else, and Anne seemed equally indifferent.

"Tell me who those musicians are," Geoffrey whispered to Liz.

Liz looked across the room at the three other musicians whom Catherine had invited. "Peter Elton, a cellist. I'm – William and I are playing a Bartok quartet with him. The woman with the long blond hair, the one who's winking at you, is Isabella Thorpe, an oboist."

"Who's the other man, the good-looking one?"

"Frank Churchill, another cellist. He and Peter don't get along very well, or so I hear. See how they're not talking to each other? Something about a woman who used to be in this orchestra. Both men wanted her. Now she's married to another guy, and lives somewhere in Europe."

"I see."

The evening was predictable enough. Catherine de Bourgh presided over everyone in the party, with the exception of Liz, Geoffrey, and Frank Churchill. These three had managed, somehow, to find a quiet corner to talk without Mrs. De Bourgh's notice or interference.

Liz had hardly known Frank before that afternoon, their acquaintance extending only to brief nods and hellos exchanged in the halls. He was, as Geoffrey had pointed out, a very attractive young man, Australian, and extremely witty. Liz was certain she liked him when, displaying his talent for mimicry, he started, quietly, to do impressions of Catherine. He had her voice down exactly, and even threw in some of her ridiculous postures and gestures. Both Liz and Geoffrey were in agony, trying desperately to choke back their giggles. Frank grinned at the mischief he was producing.

"Well, Miss Bennet, you are very plain this evening, I dare say!" he proclaimed in a feigned aristocratic accent. "You should take my excellent advice, and try to be more like my dear Anne. You see how she sits there, so docile and placid? That is the way all young women should behave! Observe her pallid expression, so lifeless and dull. It is the essence of feminine beauty!"

"Stop!" Liz hissed, tears of constrained laughter clouding her vision. She didn't trust herself.

But it wasn't until Frank told Geoffrey that he should stop being so friendly, and start acting mean like his cousin William, that Liz and Geoffrey really lost it. They toppled over in their chairs, roaring with uncurbed laughter. This naturally got the attention of Catherine, as well as the rest of the people in the room.

"Well!" Catherine exclaimed. "This is most uncalled for. Geoffrey, get up off the floor. You're behaving like a – a wild ape! Is this the way you conduct yourself in front of guests?!"

Geoffrey rose, giving Liz a hand, and they sat back down in their chairs. Both were red with a mixture of merriment and embarrassment, but they strove to remain composed.

Catherine continued to speak to William as if the incident hadn't happened, but Liz felt her glare, angry and malevolent, more than once.

"Miss Bennet," Catherine de Bourgh finally said. Her voice was studiously calm, and she looked at Liz with a lofty superiority that could almost be called disdain. "Tell me, what does your father do for a living now?"

"Uh, he's a composer. He writes for TV commercials," Liz replied, trying to hide her confusion.

"Oh, I see." Catherine smiled condescendingly. "That would suit him very well, I imagine."

"Yes, he –"

"And your mother, does she still attempt a career in music?"

Now Liz was suspicious. "My mother hasn't played the violin since college."

"Aunt Catherine, would you like me to fetch you a deck of cards?" Geoffrey asked anxiously. "Or perhaps some music – would you like me to play something on the piano?"

"Has she not?" Catherine said, ignoring her nephew. "Perhaps that is true – yes, perhaps it is. How old is your eldest sister, Miss Bennet?"

"Jenna's twenty-three. Twenty-four in the spring."

"Are you very close to your parents, Miss Bennet?"

"Yes, pretty close."

"I suppose they tell you all about their past?"

Liz glanced around the room. Everyone else was silent, watching the exchange. "Sometimes."

"Then you know about Folge-Haben, of course."

That name again. The first two times she had heard it mentioned, by Carolyn Bingley and then by Bill, Liz had disregarded it; but this third time, its connotations, and the contempt with which Catherine spoke it, made Liz turn suddenly very cold. "I, uh–"

William said something to his aunt that Liz couldn't hear. Catherine looked at William, rather cross, but nodded her head. "Charlotte. I must speak to you about the turn out at the last concert. It was quite dreadful! Let me advise you, next time, to…"

Lotty Lucas pretended to listen to what Catherine de Bourgh was telling her, while actually she was in serious contemplation about her friend. If she wasn't careful, Liz would learn about the Folge-Haben business from the wrong people, and the results would be painful and humiliating. Lotty couldn't see her friend get hurt like that. But what to do?

Chapter 24 A

Posted on Sunday, 20 December 1998

On a rainy Monday evening, F. William D'Arcy stood in the reference area of the Labias de Vaca Public Library. It was a brand new facility, which would account for the overwhelming smell of fresh paint. William thought it quite lacking in fiction and literature, but there were already enough reference books to entertain you (if they could entertain you) for an entire year. This, he knew, could be attributed to his Aunt Catherine, who cared nothing for fiction.

So here he was, scanning encyclopedias. Encyclopedia of Marine Life, Encyclopedia of Medicine in Sixteenth Century Italy… Ah! Here was something interesting. William picked up the 1997 Encyclopedia of Musicians. He flipped through the pages, stopping on what caught his eye. He looked up Fitzwilliam, and found his mother, Anne, who had been a great mezzo-soprano; then, turning back, he searched for his father, Charlot Gautier D'Arcy. He read the small paragraph that outlined his father's career, his early life, his rise to fame and the founding of Pemberley, the pieces for the violin he had composed, and, finally, his date of death. After that was William's own paragraph, taking up a much larger portion of the page.

D'Arcy, F. William (baptized Fitzwilliam Robert Andrew D'Arcy), born August 23, 1971 in Derbyshire, England. Celebrated English violinist, known for his amazing virtuosity and passionate lyricism. Son of C. Gautier D'Arcy and Anne Fitzwilliam, brother of Georgette D'Arcy. He received his first violin lesson from his father, at the age of three and a half. At five, his father moved him to London to study at the Royal Academy of Music. His progress was so rapid that by age eight he made his professional debut, playing the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto with the London Symphony Orchestra, and at ten made his first recording, with pieces by Bach, Paganini, Kreisler, and Ysaÿe. For the next half dozen years he continued at a breathtaking pace, touring all of Europe as well as North America and Asia. But while he was touring the United States in the fall of 1987, F. William learned of his mother's untimely death from ovarian cancer…

William stopped reading. He knew what it would say.

His father had told him right after a concert with the Boston Symphony. He remembered it as if it was yesterday. He had been feeling rather sick – had caught the flu that was going around – but he had to play the concert. He walked off the stage after the last curtain call, and there was his father, standing in the wings. "We must

talk," his father had said. He had led him back to his dressing room, and, sitting him down in a chair, explained what had happened. His mother had been ill for quite some time, but she didn't want it to deter her son's career, so she and Gautier had kept the disease a secret. She had died that morning, at their home in Derbyshire.

William, barely sixteen, had sat there, stunned, for a very long time. Then, in a burst of rage, he shoved his violin at his father. "There!" he remembered saying, as he stormed out of the room. "You take it – I hate the sight of it. I'll never touch it again!"

And for the next two years, he didn't. He avoided the violin and classical music on the whole, until he was eighteen.

But even after he took up music again, and continued with his career, William still felt a bitter resentment towards his father. It was only five years ago, just before Gautier died, that William finally forgave him.

William had no wish to dwell on these memories that could only bring him pain. He found, with much more delight, that his little sister was listed on the next page. Georgette D'Arcy, it said, seventeen years old and already an up-and-coming flautist. It listed where she had toured, and who her family members were.

Dear Georgette. William missed her, but more than that, he was worried about her. I'll give her a ring, he thought.

He went to the library payphone and dialed the number of Georgette's flat in London.

"Yes?" answered a sleepy voice.

"Mrs. Jones? Will D'Arcy speaking. Is Georgette there?"

"Mr. D'Arcy, it's one in the morning. Georgette is asleep."

"Oh! Yes, of course. I forgot about the time change. How silly of me. Do tell Georgette that I rang, and I'll try back another time."

"Yes, sir."

William hung up the receiver, feeling quite dumb. It was only then that he recalled his original purpose in coming to the library: to copy the solo part of the Sibelius Violin Concerto – which he was playing with the orchestra next week – for the concertmaster.

The copy machine, he found, was currently in use. A tall woman with short brown hair stood at it with a stack of newspapers. On closer inspection, he realized it was Lotty Lucas.

Lotty saw William D'Arcy heading her way just in time to cover the newspaper she was copying. "Hi William. Nice to see you."

"You too." He pulled out the Sibelius part and handed it to her. "This is what you want?"

Lotty examined it, then nodded. "Do you want me to copy it?"

"No, no, keep it. I've had that piece memorized for fifteen years."

Lotty smiled. There was no bravado in his remark, just simple truth.

William noticed Mariah, who was looking for a book in the pathetically small science-fiction section. "Are you all on an outing to the library?"

Lotty knew what he meant by "all". "No, just Mariah and me. Liz is at De Bourgh Hall, practicing."

"Ah." He glanced at his watch. "Well, I was just heading that way myself, for the quartet rehearsal. See you later, then."

Lotty watched William leave the library. She had often suspected that F. William D'Arcy had romantic feelings for Liz. After all, one who seemed to go out of his way to be aloof must have other feelings to conceal. But, though she sometimes kidded Liz about it, Lotty knew not to voice her conjectures seriously. She was sure that the contempt Liz felt for William would vanish in a flash if Liz really thought he liked her; and Lotty didn't want her friend to get her hopes up, only to be disappointed. William and Liz were just too different. Not only in nationality, but also in wealth, upbringing, and philosophies.

Geoffrey Fitzwilliam, on the other hand. True, he was William's cousin, and was part of the same ancient Fitzwilliam family line, but he was open, friendly, more like Liz. Yes, they would be splendid together.

But first… Lotty turned back to the copy machine. She had to finish this, before she thought of anything else.

Chapter 24 B

Posted on Sunday, 20 December 1998

A knock on the rehearsal room door made Liz start. The clock said six-forty – twenty minutes before the Bartok Quartet rehearsal began. She had reserved the room till then.

"Come in," she called doubtfully.

The door swung open, and there was F. William D'Arcy, violin in tow.

"Oh, am I the first one here?" he murmured.

Liz looked around the otherwise empty room, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, we still have twenty minutes. I was just practicing."

He didn't leave. Instead, he sat down in a chair on the other side of the room, and started unpacking his instrument.

Liz's first thoughts were Well there goes my practice time. She watched William as he carefully attached his shoulder pad to the back of his violin. She thought she would try a little experiment.

"You guys left Hertfordborough so quickly this summer!" she said. "By the time we found out, Charlie had already left. I must say, it made a lot of people unhappy. Not that it's any of my business or anything."

"It was unfortunate that we had to leave so abruptly, but there was urgent business in England that called us home at once."

Liz tried another tactic. "I've meant to ask you – my sister Jenna has been staying with some friends in London since September. You never happened to see her there, did you?"

William's expression was an unusual blend of amusement and confusion. "London is a very big city."

"Yes, but I thought I remembered Jenna saying that she talked to Carolyn Bingley after she arrived. Carolyn never mentioned it to you?"

William seemed intent on rosining his bow. Liz looked longingly at the door. If only the other two musicians would arrive!

"Was that Swan Lake I heard you playing before I entered the room?" William asked after a pause.

"Yes, it was. It's for an audition."

"Oh, where?"

"New York City Ballet. First violin section. I haven't told my family about it yet."

"Are you afraid your family would object?"

"Really just my mother, and no, she wouldn't object, but…" Liz didn't finish her sentence. Why am I telling him this? Mr. Wealthy Virtuoso, everything served to him on a silver platter – like he'd understand.

William looked up. "You don't want to be near your parents forever. I understand completely."

The strange earnestness with which he said this, and the way he was staring straight into her eyes, made Liz momentarily speechless. The next second brought another

knock at the door, signaling the arrival of the violist and cellist, and the rehearsal was soon underway.

It was ten p.m. Liz, bike leaning against one leg, violin case slung over her shoulder, gazed at the unrelenting rain from the doorway of the De Bourgh parking lot.

A sleek black Jaguar pulled up, stopping right outside the door. The window lowered, revealing William at the wheel. "Do you have a ride home?" he asked, raising his voice to be heard above the howling wind.

"I was going to bike, but now I'm not sure that's such a good idea. I'll call Lotty."

"Nonsense. I'll take you home. I'm going right that way."

"Thanks, but it's really unnecessary. I'm sure Lotty will –"

"I won't have it any other way. Your bike won't fit in my car, I'm afraid, but you can leave it here until morning. It's very safe."

Liz gave in. After all, she was shivering and the last thing she needed was to catch a cold.

Neither one spoke as they drove to Lotty's house. The swish of the windshield wipers and the rain pelting against the car were the only sounds to be heard.

"Thanks for the ride home," Liz said briefly, as they pulled into Lotty's driveway. "See you tomorrow. Oh, and I should tell you – I usually like to take an hour or so before the rehearsal and practice in that room." She hoped he would get her point, and not show up early next time.

"Indeed?" He seemed suddenly bemused. "Well then. Have a good evening. Good-bye."

Liz ran up the steps to the front doorway. The door was locked, so she fumbled around in her pockets until she found the right key.

Once inside, it was clear that Lotty and Mariah were not home. Liz took off her coat and shoes, laying them by the front door to dry, and went to the kitchen for something to eat. On the counter was a note from Lotty, saying that she and Mariah had gone to pick up a pizza.

Liz poured herself a bowl of Rice Krispies and sat down at the computer. Now was the time to reply to the many emails she had received in the past week.

The modem demanded a password before it would go on-line. "Password?" Liz grumbled. She didn't remember having to use a password before.

She opened a filing cabinet, hoping to find some clue in there. Most of the cabinet was filled with sheet music, but at the back was a folder packed with non-music related papers. Liz felt a little guilty about snooping around like this, and was about to shut the cabinet, empty handed, when something in the back caught her eye.

Liz looked closer to make sure she wasn't dreaming it. Nope. There it was, a thin pile of copied newspaper cuttings, bound together with a rubberband. Printed across the top page, in huge letters, were the words Folge-Haben, and a picture of her father.

Chapter 25

Posted on Tuesday, 22 December 1998

All concern about invading Lotty's private property vanished from Liz's mind. There was only one thing she cared about at that moment, and that was to find out, once and for all, what Folge-Haben was.

Liz sat down on the floor. Lifting the top sheet from the stack of papers, she began to read.

BENNET TO BE MUSIC DIRECTOR OF FOLGE-HABEN

By Belinda Hunsford New York Enquirer, 1-11-73

After an extensive search, it was announced yesterday that Calvin Bennet will be the first music director of the Folge-Haben International Music Society.

Hans Folge and Josef Haben, both of Vienna, founded The Society for the purpose of bringing world-class musicians together to raise money for charity, scientific research, and worldwide peace.

"We are very happy to have Calvin with us," said Mr. Haben yesterday. "He is an excellent young man, with a brilliant conducting career ahead of him. An incredible amount of time, energy, and money has been spent in the preparation of this society, and we have no doubt that Calvin will use it all to its best advantage."

Mr. Bennet, 30, is a relative newcomer to the field of conducting. After graduating from the University of Southern California in 1964 with a degree in music composition, he studied with Giles Woodhouse in London, and worked as an apprentice to Walter Elliot with the Kellynch Chamber Orchestra in San Francisco.

The Society will give its opening concert in September at

Carnegie Hall.

Liz glanced at the picture next to the article. It was her father all right – younger, smiling, dark hair instead of gray – but still him.

She grabbed the next page in the pile.

FHIMS OPENING CONCERT A DISAPPOINTMENT

By Belinda Hunsford New York Enquirer, 9-10-73

Those who attended the opening concert of the Folge-Haben International Music Society last night witnessed an unsatisfactory beginning to what has been the most anticipated new musical ensemble of the year.

The program consisted of Debussy's "La Mer", the Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto No. 1 (John Willoughby, pianist), and Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. While the Debussy had some pretty spots, and John Willoughby sparkled on the piano, the overall effect was dull and anticlimactic – entirely the fault of Maestro Bennet. He displayed a lack of enthusiasm, which spread quickly to the audience.

It is not that Maestro Bennet is a bad conductor, for "bad" is too strong a word. "Indifferent", "listless", "detached", "lethargic" are much more appropriate titles.

I hope (as I'm sure Mr. Folge and Mr. Haben hope) that this was just a poor start for Maestro Bennet, and not a

forewarning of what we are to expect in the future.

Liz read the next article, and the next, and the next. Each was more scathing than the one before it. It was hard to remain neutral, and she cried out in protest more than once at the derogatory terms used against her father. It's as if, thought Liz, this critic has a personal grudge against Dad.

Belinda Hunsford. That name sounded vaguely familiar. Where had she heard it before?

The reviews continued in the same insulting manner. Liz began to flip the pages aimlessly, marveling at the absurdity of it all.

And then, abruptly, the music reviews stopped, and a large, official looking article proclaimed:

CALVIN BENNET FOUND GUILTY ON DRUG CHARGES

The sound of the garage door opening made Liz stop reading. Lotty and Mariah were home.

Liz went to her room, dazed, and hid the papers in her sock drawer. Drug charges? That was impossible!

"Pizza, Liz?" Lotty offered as Liz entered the kitchen. Liz shook her head no.

"How was your rehearsal?" Mariah asked. "What's it like playing with F. William D'Arcy?"

"Just like you imagine," Liz said.

"Hmm, sounds fun," Lotty joked. "Are you sure you don't want anything, Liz? We got pizza and popcorn, and rented some movies. What are you more in the mood for – A Month in the Country or Much Ado About Nothing?"

Liz drew a deep breath. "Actually, I'm kind of tired. I hate to be a wet blanket, but I think I'll just go to bed."

In the privacy of her room, Liz returned to the papers. Calvin Bennet Found Guilty On Drug Charges. Her eyes devoured the article, hardly believing what they read.

2-21-74

In a New York court Wednesday, Calvin Bennet, music director of the Folge-Haben International Music Society, was found guilty of drug possession and sentenced to two months in prison. Mr. Bennet was pulled over last Saturday for speeding, and found with marijuana in the car. Further investigation revealed that he had been growing marijuana inside his Manhattan apartment.

Mr. Bennet wed Frances Gardiner, a second violinist in his orchestra, just two weeks prior to this arrest. Mr. Bennet's first sentence of five months was reduced to two because the couple is expecting their first child in May.

Neither Mr. Folge nor Mr. Haben, the founders and co-chairmen of the International Music Society, were available for comment. Many speculate, however, that they will not only fire Mr. Bennet from his music director position, but also discontinue funding the orchestra

after next year, due to its lack of success.

Liz reread the article several times, then fell back on her bed, eyes closed, head in hands. She had to make sense of this.

The Bennet girls had always been told that their parents were married in February 1973, when in reality, it seemed, they had been married in 1974. Jenna was born in May, 1974, which meant that she had been conceived six months before her parents' marriage. These revelations led Liz to wonder if Jenna had been the reason her parents were married in the first place.

But her father – in jail? Liz couldn't picture it. Poor Mother. Two weeks after their wedding!

The clock read two a.m., and Liz had an early rehearsal. She went to bed, but she knew it would be a sleepless night.

Chapter 26 A

Posted on Sunday, 27 December 1998

Note: Robert K. Wallace discusses the similarities between P&P and Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 9 in his book Jane Austen and Mozart: Classical Equilibrium in Fiction and Music. Fascinating!

The week passed swiftly for some, tediously for others. During the day there were orchestra rehearsals. The program for the upcoming concert was the Haydn "Surprise" Symphony, Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 9 with Geoffrey as soloist, and the Sibelius Violin Concerto played by William.

Imagine, not one but two soloists to adulate, and both nephews of the mighty queen goddess herself, Catherine de Bourgh! Bill Collins was so excited he didn't know what to do with himself, and in the end he deteriorated into a bundle of nervous sweat. He conducted like he was being flogged – arms waving above his hunched shoulders, head buried in the score, face pinched in a gruesome wince. As a result, the orchestra was usually lost.

When this happened, Geoffrey Fitzwilliam, being the gentleman that he was, would stop and inform Bill (very politely) that they were not together. Then Bill would cry, "I'm so sorry, Dr. Fitzwilliam!" this and "It'll be better next time!" that, but things never got any better. F. William D'Arcy, however, seemed unaware of any of the orchestra's trouble, and glided through his piece without so much as an uncertain twinge in his flawless playing.

During the evenings, the members of the Bartok quartet continued to rehearse. On Tuesday evening William arrived half an hour early, on Wednesday forty minutes. Liz didn't understand it. She had gone out of her way to tell him that she used the room for practicing before the rehearsal. Why, then, was he arriving progressively earlier every night?

And then, of course, there was Folge-Haben. On Tuesday Lotty discovered that the copied newspaper clippings were missing, and immediately guessed the truth. Lotty had wanted to have a long, careful discussion with her friend about Folge-Haben, and use those papers as evidence only if Liz hadn't believed her. Never in her wildest dreams had she wanted Liz to find out like this!

But it was done, and done for the best. Liz didn't wanted any apologies, she just wanted the facts – the where, why, and how. Did everyone know? How could she and her sisters still be in the dark after so long? Why did her parents feel the use of such a disguise was necessary with their five grown and almost grown daughters?

Lotty, almost as upset as Liz, though in her own quiet way, suggested that Liz call Calvin. Liz debated whether to do this, or whether to try Jenna or Emilie. In the end she decided that for now she wouldn't say anything to anyone.

On Thursday night, Liz collapsed into bed in her Spartan-style bedroom and stared out the window at the ocean. She had just spent half a quartet rehearsal arguing with F. William D'Arcy about bowings and dynamics. Her whole body ached with exhaustion. And yet sleep would not come. I'm the only person awake on this whole continent, she thought wistfully. Outside, the waves sang a soothing mantra.

Miles away, in a bedroom very unlike Liz's, a man was gazing at the same ocean. His face was one of total tranquillity, but inside he was drowning – in desire, in indecision.

He ran a hand through his dark curls. Sleep was a stranger to him as well. With a sigh of impatience, he switched on the bedside lamp and took out a pad of paper from a large oak drawer. He would write a letter, he resolved. But it was impossible – the more he tried to concentrate, the more She was there in his mind, tantalizing him, tearing him to pieces! He looked down at the paper, and realized that all he had written was her name.

He ripped up the paper and fed it to the fire.

On Friday morning Liz went to the De Bourgh mansion to play tennis with Geoffrey. After three games – the first won by Liz, the second by Geoffrey, and the third a tie – they sprawled out on the deck with a pitcher of lemonade and sandwiches. "Nervous about tonight?" Liz asked him.

He grinned. "Oh no, not at all… Are you kidding? Yes, I'm nervous! I haven't performed a bloody piano piece for five years, let alone a concerto with orchestra! There's only one person in the world who's never nervous, and that's William. Isn't that right, Will?" Geoffrey called to his cousin, who was just returning from a run.

"Did you say something, Geoffrey?" William asked, joining them and helping himself to a sandwich.

"I was just telling our dear friend Liz that you're never nervous before a performance, unlike we ordinary mortals."

"Of course he's never nervous," Liz chimed in. Her adrenaline was still pumping from the exercise, and she was in a very teasing mood. "He is the famous F. William D'Arcy, after all." She smiled pertly at William over her glass of lemonade. "In fact, I think he likes making other people nervous. It's how he gets his kicks. But it won't work with me – my courage rises with every attempt to intimidate me."

"Touché," laughed Geoffrey.

William plucked a blade of grass from the lawn and rolled it between his forefinger and thumb. "You think you're very clever, don't you, Liz? But I'm not afraid of you."

"I'd be very afraid of me if I were you," Liz rejoined. "I have so much ammunition against you, I don't know where to begin." She wasn't kidding.

"Ammunition?" Geoffrey asked.

Liz turned to him conspiratorially. "As you know, I met your cousin this summer at a festival in California. What your cousin may not have told you is what happened when we first met. It was at a house party, a get-together type thing. Everyone had brought their instruments, except for William. He and his Strad couldn't be bothered to play with – oh, how did he put it? – 'mediocre fiddlers from Podunksville, USA', such as us."

"You said that, William?" Geoffrey said in disbelief.

William shrugged. "It was an excuse. I felt uncomfortable, I didn't know anyone there."

"Oh yeah, and I'm sure no one wanted to be introduced to you, either!" Liz laughed.

"I'm not good with strangers. It's difficult for me to make small talk, to chat with people I've just met."

Liz scoffed. "Let me tell you something, Sir William of Pemberley Kingdom. When I first started the violin, it was hard for me. I couldn't just pick it up and play the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto like you could. But I worked at it, and I improved, and now I'm a violinist. What it takes is hard work – but maybe that's something you've never had to experience before."

A smile, barely discernible, crossed William's lips. "You're exactly right. And I'm sure everyone who's heard you play is glad you stuck with the violin."

"William! Geoffrey!" The door opened and Catherine de Bourgh stepped out onto the deck. "Ah, there you are." She noticed Liz with them and frowned. "Come inside, boys. There are things to do before the concert, and I won't have you wasting your day like idlers."

William obeyed dutifully. Geoffrey gave Liz one last pat on the shoulder ("Wish me luck tonight!") and followed the others inside.

Chapter 26 Cont.

Posted on Monday, 11 January 1999

The concert was, miraculously, a success. Both soloists dazzled the audience, and the orchestra stayed together despite their foolish conductor. Liz thought it was too good to last, but when Saturday night rolled around, the second concert proved even better than the first! Catherine de Bourgh, sitting in her usual box seat, looked happier than anyone had ever seen her – even her nephews. "Catherine looked as proud as a

peacock at the concert last night," Geoffrey observed as he, Liz, and Frank Churchill took a walk on Sunday. "Which is good for me, but unfortunate for William."

"Why?"

"When she's pleased with me, she smiles and leaves me alone, but when she's pleased with William, she dotes on him to a laughable extent. I expect he's stuck with her and Anne in the drawing room right now."

"Oh, poor William!" Frank crowed, laughing like a drunken hyena. Liz inched away from him. She was beginning to think he was permanently inebriated.

"Liz, a letter for you!"

Liz dashed downstairs and took the sealed envelope from Mariah's outstretched hand. It had a postmark from Los Angeles. Liz tore it open and read eagerly.

November 19, 1997

Dear Liz,

Home at last! It seems like ages since I was in good old sunny California – almost three months, after all. What I miss the most, what I've missed more than anything since I left, is you. I can't wait for you to come back in two weeks!

The rest of my stay in London was not so good. I caught a cold at the beginning of November, and it still hasn't gone away. It's been very hard for me to practice the cello for long without getting totally worn out. I'm sure I'll feel better by Christmas, though.

Everyone back home is busy as usual. Livia and Katie have gone crazy over some sort of music school – Brighton Academy or something. They probably told you about it. Katie's practicing regularly four or five hours for the auditions in January. Livia's not so worried about practicing, but she talks a lot about the Academy, and all the people who will be there.

Mary has come home for Thanksgiving. She loves college, but is thinking of switching her major from molecular biology to theology. This came as quite a surprise to Mom and Dad (and her science professors, no doubt!).

Speaking of Mom – she's getting a job, and at Disneyland, of all places! It started a couple days ago when she realized that Livia goes away to college in less than two years. She started panicking about loneliness and having nothing to do, so Dad suggested she get a job. She liked that idea, and starts working the 9 to 5 shift of Storybook Canal next week.

Got to go now. Say hi to Lotty and Mariah for me.

Love, Jenna

The phone rang just as Liz was finishing the letter. It was Emilie.

At first their conversation was limited to surface affairs – Liz's time in South America, what Jenna did in London, and other such things. Finally, Emilie voiced a concern. "Liz, I am worried about Jenna. She is very ill."

Liz sighed. "She just wrote to me. She mentioned something about a cold."

"It is much worse than she admits. She has a fever; she's very pale. I took her to a doctor in London. He thinks that it is a – ah, what is the word – virus. He said she should have as much rest as possible."

"But in our house, that's hardly an option for Jenna," Liz sighed.

"I wonder, Liz, if this is just a regular virus… Surely she wrote to you about that young man –"

"Charlie Bingley?" said Liz. "Could it be depression connected with him?"

"I am very afraid it might be."

On Tuesday afternoon Liz went to De Bourgh Hall to practice. As she neared the door to her normal practice room she heard a piano playing the first movement of Bach's Italian Concerto. She put her head against the wall to listen. It was beautiful. As the pianist finished, Liz knocked on the door. She had to meet this wonderful musician.

"Knock knock, who's there?" Geoffrey said as he opened the door to her. "Why Liz, what a pleasant surprise!"

"Geoffrey, I heard you playing, and it was – you are – I'm speechless. That was marvelous."

"Oh, I just play Bach to keep my fingers nimble. Care to join me?"

"I don't know…" She looked at her bag full of audition music.

"Come on, there's lots of music locked in that cupboard over there – sonatas of all kinds. It will be fun."

"All right."

They played and they played. They played Brahms, Franck, and Schumman; Beethoven and Hindemith. Liz positioned her music stand so she could see out the window at the ocean and its lashing waves. Storm clouds were gathering to the north.

They took a break at last, and Liz bought fruit juices from the machine in the hall.

"You're a wonderful pianist, Geoffrey," Liz said as she sat down near the window. "But I'm sure you know that already." She hesitated. There was one question pressing in her mind, but she didn't want to seem rude. Not to him, at any rate.

Geoffrey answered it before she could say anything. "My brother is a doctor, you know – a surgeon. He's quite a bit older than me; I was only three when he went to Cambridge. My parents adored him – they still do. Then I came along with this incredible love for music. My parents humoured me at first and gave me piano lessons. But as I grew older, and my interest in music wasn't diminishing, they began to worry. I was serious when I said that they didn't want me to turn out like a D'Arcy. It was hard enough that my aunt, Anne Fitzwilliam, was a singer, and married a French violinist. Aunt Anne was always a rebel. Aunt Catherine loved music, but she knew it wasn't the way to make money – unless you were brilliant like William, of course. My parents didn't care for it at all. They wanted both their sons to be doctors."

"Do you regret it now?"

He chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. "What good does it do to regret? Medicine's all right. And it makes my family happy. Now all they need is to marry me off to an earl's daughter and their job is done!"

Liz looked at him with pity. Money was a strong force in the Fitzwilliam family; stronger than happiness or, it seemed, love – but what was the point in having something if it only made you miserable?

"How long are you staying after the party on Wednesday?" Liz asked, changing the subject.

"We were set to leave the following day, but William has put it off until Saturday. One of his whims, I suppose."

"Don't you have to get back?"

"Not until next week. William's the one who would want to get back, I should think, to see his sister before his next group of concerts."

"Does William like controlling his sister as much as he likes controlling everything else?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you just said that he changed your plans for no reason at all, and you're his adult cousin. Poor Georgette! Older brothers have a tendency to boss their little sisters

around. But then again, little sisters usually need it," Liz added, thinking of her own examples.

Geoffrey was not laughing like she'd expected him to. Indeed, he looked almost alarmed. "Why do you say that?"

"Oh, I didn't mean it that way. I haven't heard anything but the highest compliments for Georgette," Liz said hastily, embarrassed.

Geoffrey smiled for fear of having offended her. "Yes, William likes to have his own way, but it's only because he thinks he knows what's right and what's wrong – and he's usually right. An incident last summer with one of his close friends is a case in point. You know the friend, come to think of it. Charlie Bingley?"

"Oh, yes."

"Charlie looks up to Will almost as an older brother. William looks out for him, for the poor fellow is quite gullible. From what William says, Charlie Bingley fell head over heels last summer for some American girl. Quite infatuated. But William saved him – to use William's own words."

Now it was Liz's turn not to laugh. She stared at him, her countenance clouding like the sky outside. "Saved him?"

"Took him back to England. Told him to forget her; she was not the girl for him."

Liz tried to appear unconcerned. "And why didn't William think she was the girl for him?"

"She was out for his money and fame, sadly. She's a musician of some sort, and probably wanted to feed off his success. There are people like that; you have to be very careful. Charlie is trusting to a fault – he'd believe anyone."

"But how is it William's business what his friend does?"

"Well –"

"How on earth can he think that it's his right, let alone his duty, to bully Charlie like he's a little boy?"

Geoffrey was now quite confused. "Well, uh…"

"I'm sorry. It's really none of my business." Liz rose, dizzy for a moment as the blood rushed to her head. She stumbled to her case and put her violin away.

"Are you leaving?" Geoffrey asked, disappointed.

"Yeah. I have a headache suddenly. Maybe if I just go home and rest."

"But will I see you at Catherine's for dinner tonight?"

Liz said it was doubtful.

Lotty and Mariah went to Mrs. De Bourgh's without Liz that evening. Liz, thankful for the solitary peace, made herself a cup of tea and lay down on the couch. She turned on the TV, but after searching uselessly through a hundred different Spanish-speaking programs, she turned it off and reached for Jenna's letter to read again.

…The rest of my stay in London was not so good. I caught a cold at the beginning of November, and it still hasn't gone away. It's been very hard for me to practice the cello for long without getting totally worn out. …

Worn out. Jenna was never too tired to practice – she loved it more than anything. In the past it had even been the cure for sickness.

Before Liz had a chance to read the letter a third time the doorbell rang. Liz got up, a bit perplexed. Everyone she knew was having dinner with Catherine de Bourgh.

To her astonishment, F. William D'Arcy was on the doorstep. He strode quickly into the room, looking around like he didn't know how he had gotten there.

"William. Can I help you?" Her voice was ice.

"I'm sorry, I hope you're feeling better."

"I am," she lied. "Can I get you something to drink? Tea, juice?"

"A glass of water would be wonderful," he murmured.

Liz brought him what he asked for and sat down on the couch. "Do sit down." Do sit down? Had she said that? Why, of all times, was she choosing now to be a proper hostess?

He sat down, but rose again immediately. He drained the glass of water and set it on the table. He looked very tired – his black hair tousled, his face unshaven. He began to pace the room, breathing hard. He stopped and looked at her, opened his mouth, closed it again, and continued his stride, back and forth, back and forth. Liz felt fatigued just watching him.

Finally he turned to her. His eyes were dark and intense, almost wild. "I can't go on like this. I can't sleep, I can't eat – I must tell you how much I love and adore you."

Liz's throat went dry. Whatever she had expected, it wasn't this. Her cheeks were bright pink and her eyes were fixed on the floor beyond him, but she said nothing. So he went on.

"This has been a tremendous struggle for me, weighing all the pros and cons. My family expects me to marry someone rich, someone noble, someone British, and I always expected the same thing. You and I are very different, as I'm sure you know.

But it can't be helped. From the first moment we met, I've felt a fervent, overwhelming admiration for you. The more I fought it, the stronger my feelings became. You are my thoughts, my life. Please, say something – anything…"

Liz's cheeks were now quite white and she looked him straight in the eye as she said, "I really have nothing to say. There is nothing to say. I'm sorry to burst your passionate bubble, but I hope you'll recover enough to marry a rich noblewoman and settle down like everyone expects you to do."

William stared at her like she was speaking Chinese. He steadied himself against the edge of the table. Finally, after a full minute of stunned silence, he said, "And this is all you have to say? May I say that I'm a bit baffled? I had expected a little more of an explanation."

"You're not the only one who's baffled. Do you expect me to forget everything you've ever said, let alone thought, about me and my family? Just because you lust –"

"Love!"

"– Just because you claim you love me, am I supposed to ignore your disdain, your sneers, your derision of my friends, my family, everything that we are? You, who've ruined my sister's happiness, and consequently her health."

"What?"

"Jenna is seriously ill and it's all because of you and your 'concern' for your friend."

"If you're talking about Charlie Bingley, it's for his good and hers that I separated them from each other. I know it's hard for you to see right now, but you'll thank me eventually. I wish I could be as clearheaded with myself as I am with Charlie."

"But it wasn't on Jenna's account alone that I've come to dislike you so much. Long before you broke Jenna's heart, Wickley George told me what you did to him. What do you have to say about that?"

William staggered across the room. "What I did to Wickley George?" His voice was filled with disbelief.

"It's your fault that Wickley can't find a job anywhere. Your father promised him a position at Pemberley, and you refused to give it to him out of childish resentment. Now he has to scramble to make money any way he can."

"Hah!" William snorted.

Liz rose from her seat. "You see! You still feel a childish jealousy towards him, like some sort of Freudian nightmare. It's not fair to kick a man when he's down, yet you do it anyway – over and over again."

"So this is what you think of me. I don't blame you for thinking me a monster – I would too, if I'd believed all these lies. But maybe if I'd presented myself differently

you wouldn't have been so totally gullible. If I'd flirted with you like Wickley George, and hid all my worries and concerns. But I can't deceive people like that. I'm not in the least ashamed of the things I said; they're perfectly reasonable if you understand the position I'm in. You're American and you're not wealthy. Am I supposed to just ignore that? Am I supposed to ignore all the disadvantages I would suffer if I was associated with your family?"

"How dare you –"

"And your parents are notoriously connected to the Folge-Haben disaster. How could I forget that?"

"How dare you speak to me like that? How dare you come in here like this and start insulting me? Let me tell you, once and for all, what I think of you. You are a haughty, conceited man who thinks all the world should bow down and kiss your brilliant feet. From the very beginning, you've acted as if everyone owes you something, like we should praise heaven that you deign to mingle with anyone not part of your hand-picked, artificial little world. I wouldn't feel a drop of romantic interest in you if you and I were the last people on earth!"

William winced at these last words. "That's quite enough. Thank you for opening my eyes to the way you feel about me. Now I'm only embarrassed at what I felt myself. I'm sorry I've taken up so much of your time, but you'll never have to deal with me again. Please take my good wishes, and have a happy life." He reached for the door and then was gone, the sound of his car motor echoing down the street.