After skipping the rest of the panels for
the day, Lizzy finally made her appearance at the conference dinner.
She had changed into another Chanel suit, a
simple black pair of trousers, a white jacket, and a blue shirt underneath it.
Her accessories were the same, except she’d left the Philip Treacy hat at the
hotel.
As she stepped inside the busy restaurant,
she was greeted by Carlotta Lucas, one of the professors attending the
conference, and a close acquaintance of hers.
“You’ll never guess what happened after you
left, Lizzie,” she said. “Professor Dashwood fainted.”
Lizzie couldn’t suppress a gasp.
“It must be because of the flu,” Carlotta
explained. “Professor Brandon is with her at the hospital.”
“That’s very nice of him,” Lizzy remarked.
“He is a nice man,” Carlotta mused. “I can’t
say the same for Professor Darcy, though. When I heard how he attacked you
today I was appalled. We all were.”
Lizzie smiled, relieved that everyone agreed
with her. “He is an arrogant and hateful man. Is he here?”
Carlotta nodded. “He may be hateful, but
he’s hungry.”
“Professor Bennet,” Emmaline Woodhouse
greeted her. “I would like to apologize for today. I simply did not expect this
to happen.”
“Of course,” Lizzy assured the woman,
unwilling to discuss the topic anymore.
“She won’t need to interact with him again,”
Charlotta said. “Mary Dashwood was supposed to sit next to me, so you can take
her place, Lizzie.”
She saw Emmaline open her mouth, and
wondered if the woman was going to reject the arrangement. Instead, Professor Woodhouse
shrugged. “That would be the best, I think,” she said.
The dinner was considerably more enjoyable.
To Lizzie’s relief, Professor Darcy had been seated far away from her, at a
different table, so she didn’t have to speak with him for the rest of the
evening. She did, however, have to deal with his scrutinizing gaze on occasion,
which she opted to return with equal distaste.
Near the end of the dinner it started
raining cats and dogs. As the restaurant was merely ten minutes away, the
professors all went in pairs with those who had been wise enough to bring
umbrellas with them. Having left the hotel in a hurry, Lizzie was trying to
find someone to help her.
Carlotta had already left with Professor
Collins, who had kindly offered to take her back. She could not see Emmaline
anywhere, and most of the people she knew from before the conference had
already paired up with someone they had befriended while she had been gone from
the conference.
The whole situation was ridiculous and
reminiscent of a school field trip.
“Do you need any help?” she heard Professor
Darcy speak from behind her.
She didn’t bother to turn around. “I am
perfectly fine.”
“The restaurant is going to close soon and
you still have no way to get to the hotel,” he pointed out.
“I’ll phone a taxi,” Lizzie said with a
shrug.
She heard him sigh. “You can’t phone a taxi
to drive you for two minutes,” he told her. “I have an umbrella. I can take you
to the hotel.”
Placing a hand on her hip she turned around.
“Why would you help me anyway?” she
asked him. “Especially after you tried to humiliate me today.”
“I didn’t –”
“It was a personal attack,” she exclaimed.
“How is that not humiliating?”
“How can I remain silent when I see someone
speak about something they don’t believe in?” he countered. “You say you don’t
believe in classes. You want people to try and live according to More’s
principles, yet you wouldn’t do the same.”
“And you try to make people believe that
your views are right by insulting me.”
“I am not saying that your views are wrong or
right,” he cried out. “I’m saying that you shouldn’t behave hypocritically.”
“Oh, so I’m a hypocrite now?” Lizzie
scoffed.
He pinched the bridge of his nose with his
thumb and forefinger. “There’s no need to scream,” he said. “You’ll get us
kicked out and then you’ll be forced to walk back with me.”
“You started it!”
***
“I told you we would get kicked out,”
Professor Darcy said as they walked back to the hotel under his umbrella.
“Stop gloating.”
He let out a sigh. “I am merely stating the
facts.”
Lizzie shuddered. “You provoked me.”
“You’re cold,” he pointed out and stopped in
front of a closed shop.
Handing her his umbrella, he proceeded to
take off his tweed jacket. “Take my coat or you’ll end up like Mary Dashwood.”
She shook her head. “I don’t need it,” she
protested, yet he didn’t listen as he set the jacket on her shoulders.
Taking back the umbrella, he left her with
no choice but to put it on. As much as she hated to admit it, the jacket was
warm.
“Thank you, I guess,” she said as they
continued walking back to the hotel.
For a few minutes they walked in complete
silence, until Professor Darcy spoke again. “I am sorry for insulting you. You
are right. I should not have tried to embarrass you like that.”
Surprised, she looked up at him, trying to
find out if he was lying to her or not.
“I am not lying,” he said, as if reading her
thoughts. “It’s not my business how you behave in your personal life and it was
in poor taste to bring it up.”
“T-thank you,” she stuttered, still taken
aback by the sudden apology.
“I realize that you have the right to
separate your personal and professional life as you see fit.”
Lizzie couldn’t suppress a smile. “That’s
very kind of you,” she told him. “Though you really are right about practicing
what you’re preaching.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Please tell me you’re
not going to start living like the people in your experiment, Professor Bennet.”
“Oh no,” she chuckled, realizing that he was
teasing her. “I don’t think I could, to be honest,” she said. “But I think that
my paper will suffer some modifications before it is published.”
As they went inside the hotel she turned
around and added: “And please call me Lizzie.”
***
When Lizzie and Will sat down in the
conference room together, much to everyone’s shock and disbelief, the two
couldn’t help but laugh at the sight.
“They look like they’ve seen a ghost,”
Lizzie remarked.
“They’re probably wondering if we’ve staged
all the arguments,” Will told her.
“Yes,” Lizzie added. “They probably think
this was all for another experiment I’m concocting.”
“It would be an interesting topic, you
know,” he pointed out.
“I can already see it: Conference Clashes: A Social Study. My father would be amused by
the whole thing.”
He glanced at his watch. “Is he coming to
the conference?”
Lizzie shrugged. “Seeing as he’s supposed to
present in five minutes, I think I might have to read his paper for him,” he
said. “He called me this morning saying his flight got delayed.”
“Oh, Professor Bennet,” Emmaline Woodhouse
approached them. “Please tell me your father is coming.”
“If he’s not,” Will chipped in. “Maybe
Lizzie and I will put together a debate.”
Seeing the woman blanch, Lizzie gave her a
weak smile. “I have the paper with me and I can read it in his place,” she
said. “I know it sounds terrible but–”
“I
have arrived,” someone boomed.
The relief on Emmaline’s face was visible
when she saw Professor Bennet, the father, enter the room.
“I came straight from the airport,” the man
said as he got on stage, with two large suitcases as proof. His grey shoulder
length hair billowed in the breeze of the air conditioner.
He placed the pieces of luggage on the table
next to the video projector. “Please excuse my attire,” he motioned towards his
white and blue floral shirt, brown shorts, large sunglasses, and flip flops.
“But I was determined to come and talk to you all about cultural memory.”
He looked at the people sitting in the first
row, waving at Lizzie and giving Darcy a friendly greeting.
Then he turned to Professor Woodhouse. “You
may introduce me now, dear.”
Emmaline
scrambled to get the microphone from one of the technicians. “Oh, of course,”
she said. “Professor Bennet is the leading scholar in cultural memory. He
currently teaches Anglo-Saxon History and Religious Cultural and Intellectual
History at Cambridge
University, where his
daughter is also based. Professor Bennet is also the founder of the Anglo-Saxon
Cultual Memory Society and he is an honorary member of the Celtic Society. He
is the author of the New History of the
Anglo-Saxons, The Cultural Memory of
Anglo-Saxons, and of the History of
Histories of Anglo-Saxons, among many renowned publications. Please join me
in welcoming Professor Bennet.”
After the audience’s tumultuous applause,
Professor Bennet began his presentation: “As I look at you all in this room, I
can’t help but think and wonder what you’re all doing here.”
The listeners laughed good-heartedly,
clearly having asked themselves the same question multiple times.
“After all,” he said. “None of you are
specialized in cultural memory. And I would know.”
He
cleared his throat. “But have no fear. I am here to tell you all there is to
know.”
***
The moment Fran Price had been waiting for
all her life had arrived. Here she was, standing in the same room as the famous
Professor Bennet, paying attention to every word he said, furiously scribbling
in her notebook. She noted all the important names Professor Bennet had
mentioned: Sigmund Freud, Lord Byron, Napoleon Bonaparte, and many others. She
also underlined words and scribbled possible questions, waiting for her moment
to strike and impress.
“Oh arr”, she muttered to herself. ‘This be
me moment of glory now’.
Shortly before the keynote speech, she’d
snuck two bottles of cider in the bathroom and drunk them as she’d been nervous about the prospect of
actually interacting with her hero in the academic world.
The cider was making
her feel particularly bold at the moment.
“Thank you so much Professor Bennet for the
light-shedding presentation,” Emmaline Woodhouse said. “I am sure there are
many questions from –”
Fran
raised her hand. She heard a groan, this time coming from the front of the
room, but she ignored it.
“P-Professor B-Bennet,” Fran stood up
wobbling. “Your talk was groundbreaking. I-I enjoyed it i-immensely. I am your
biggest fan.”
“That’s nice, girl,” the man in question
said. “Now get on with the question.”
“Y-yes,” she stammered. “You mentioned Freud
in your speech a-and I was wondering what you think of his use o-of pseudonyms
in his cases.”
Professor Bennet scratched his head. “I
don’t really understand what this has to do with my talk.”
“W-well you mentioned F-Freud,” Fran
insisted. “And I’ve read about him.”
“My dear child,” the man said with a gentle
tone, as if talking to a child, “It’s really nice that you like to read, but
rather than asking pointless questions, I’d rather you not ask any at all.”
“B-but….”
“Next question, please,” Professor Bennet
cut her off. “Ah, yes Darcy, ask away,” the man continued. “And wipe that
lipstick stain my daughter left on your neck, that’s a good chap.”
***
Fran Price wasn’t going to let an angry old
man in a floral shirt ruin her day. She cleared her throat and faced the people
who were attending the panel she was presenting in. Carlotta Lucas, the person
who was in charge of moderating the discussion, signalled for her to start.
“The culture of cultural memory is
culturally determined by culture,” Fran began. “As culturally determined,
culture acculturates itself by a process of cultural renewal. The culturality
of cultural removal is another aspect culturally determined by culture.”
As she continued reading her paper, Fran
could feel her confidence multiply by a thousand. She’d spent weeks editing
this particular piece and she was sure it would be a success.
“That’s my undergraduate paper,” she heard
someone cry out from across the room.
Fran lifted her head, her flushed cheeks
visible to the entire room.
“That’s my undergraduate paper,” the same
person whom she knew as Harriet Smythe, her classmate from university,
repeated. “You plagiarized me,” she exclaimed.
“No, no,” Fran tried to defend herself. “I
swear I didn’t.”
“I would recognize that paper anywhere,”
Harriet insister. Her nose was scrunched, visibly showing her disapproval.
“It’s the paper I wrote for Professor Weston’s course when I was drunk.”
Fran gulped. She should have done a better
job at editing it.
“You plagiarized me,” Harried said again.
“How could you?”
“This is outrageous,” she heard Professor
Woodhouse exclaim. “Professor Price, you have no shame.”
“Something must be done,” Carlotta Lucas
spoke up.
“I will sue you,” Harriet threatened. “Who
knows how many papers you’ve plagiarized before mine,” she added before turning
to Professor Lucas. “I demand an investigation.”
“I’ve only done it three times,” Fran
defended herself.
“You have no morals and no work ethic,”
Harriet accused her. “This will not remain unpunished.”
Carlotta nodded. “I completely agree. I will
not allow plagiarism to be rewarded.”
***
Emmaline Woodhouse had expected her matchmaking
efforts to work: Professor Brandon was nursing Professor Dashwood back to
health, while Professor Lizzie Bennet had found a suitable partner in William
Darcy.
After saying goodbye to Professor Bennet
(the father), who had to catch a flight to Nepal, and after dealing with the
plagiarism scandal, Emmaline was now ready to deliver her presentation.
She looked at Professor Knightley, who was
about to introduce her. Maybe it was time to play matchmaker for herself after
this conference. “Professor Woodhouse,” he began, “is one of the leading
scholars in Adaptation Studies, and one of my dearest colleagues here at the University of Southern Bath.”
He gave her a wide smile and she returned
it. After this conference she would make sure she was the only dearest
colleague.
“Professor Woodhouse is the author of The Great Expectations in Adapting Charles
Dickens on Screen, Techniques in the
Stage Adaptations of Hamlet, and Twelfth
Fright: Bakhtinian Thought in Titus Andronicus. Please join me in welcoming
the incomparable Professor Emmaline Woodhouse.”
“Oh, thank you George for the wonderful
introduction,” Emmaline said. “The paper I will present today has been nine
years in the making and I have called it Modern
Adaptations of Jane Austen’s Emma.”
She paused for dramatic effect. “I
envisioned this project as a sort of experiment and I spent quite a long time
thinking of who should take part in it,” she continued. “My first subjects were
my dear colleagues the Tilneys. At the time, some of you knew them as Professor
Harry Tilney and Professor Ekaterina Morland. As I looked at them, I couldn’t
help but think what would happen if I made my own adaptation of Emma to bring
these two together.”
Emmaline regarded the audience with a
satisfied smile. “My adaptation was a success,” she told them, “and so were all
the other adaptations I have worked on during all the annual conferences
dedicated to cultural memory in this university. This one included.”
She heard someone gasp, but continued
nonetheless. “Now I think it is time to end matchmaking career. I have gained
sufficient information to compare the ways in which my adaptations have
differed from the source material.”
“And,” Emmaline added with a playful tone,
as she made eye contact with Professor Knightley, “I think it is also time I
play matchmaker on myself.”
Turning her attention to the audience, she
continued: “This conference has been a modern adaptation of my favourite Jane
Austen novel. Now, let me tell you the riveting conclusions which resulted from
my adaptation.”
***
“That was a light-shedding
presentation,” Will exclaimed after the conference ended. “Don’t you think so,
Lizzie?”
A soft laugh escaped her lips. “Yes,
I would say Emmaline Woodhouse succeeded with all her adaptations.”
They were standing in the parking
lot, both clearly reluctant to say goodbye.
“We don’t live so far from each
other,” she remarked.
The implication didn’t escape him.
“Yes,” Will agreed. “Professor Woodhouse seems to have planned it all very
well.”
“I am certain she did not anticipate
the plagiarism scandal,” Lizzie pointed out. “But I am glad it will be handled.
I think we can both at least agree on that, if not on anything else.”
Will nodded. “Speaking of plans,” he
said. “I’m going to spend the week at my estate in Derbyshire.”
“Is this an invitation?” she asked,
though she knew the answer already. “I’m driving then.”
FIN
WRITTEN BY: ANTONIA GIRMACEA
ILLUSTRATIONS AND EDITING BY: MADALINA BORCAU