"THE TWEED JACKET" 2/2

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