Mrs Bennet and the Body in the Library
By Susannah Donim

To please his girlfriend Mike agrees to spend the summer as a cast member of The Pride and Prejudice Experience. He didn’t expect to become the Prime Suspect in a murder and have to hide out as a middle-aged mother of five in 1813!
[Author’s Note: this is my attempt to write a proper TV/TG detective story. Let me know what you think!]

Prologue

As I later told the police, I had been in the parlour entertaining my visitors to afternoon tea. I remembered the clock on the mantelpiece striking four and being thankful that the day was nearly over, and that I could soon get out of this damned corset. Hill had just brought in another plate of cakes.

I had been explaining the iniquity of the entail system to our guests, and how with five unmarried daughters I would be thrown out onto the street when Mr Bennet died and his loathsome cousin, Mr Collins, inherited. At least two of our visitors didn’t understand how that could happen but I couldn’t explain any more clearly without breaking character. According to Miss Austen, my father had been an attorney but as Mrs Bennet I had little knowledge of the law.

Jane and Lizzy went past the south window with their little group. They would have been walking the grounds, pointing out features of interest, and talking about how young ladies like themselves passed their time while waiting to be married, out here in rural Hertfordshire in the early nineteenth century. Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy were due to arrive on horseback for their fourth and last visit of the session. They would talk about how rich young men found themselves wives these days.

I could hear Mary playing the piano in the music room for Lydia and Mr Wickham to show their little group some of the dances of the day. Mr Bennet was in his study of course, showing his books to his visitors, and attempting to explain to any of them who might be interested (not many) the business of running an estate like Longbourn.

So it was probably at about five past four that Kitty burst in.

“Mama!” she cried. “There’s a body in the library!”

I blinked. This was a new scenario. Had the others made this up just to see if I had the improv skills to respond in character?

“Foolish girl!” I admonished her. “You know better than to interrupt when I am entertaining guests…”

“I’m serious, Mike,” she interrupted. “There’s been an, uh, accident… You need to come.”

The moment she broke character and abandoned Regency period speech, I knew something had happened. Our instructions were clear. If anything went wrong, if the twenty-first century intruded on our little world, we should still try and maintain the illusion until it was no longer possible. In particular, it was sometimes a challenge to ignore low-flying aircraft circling on their approach to Heathrow…

It was especially egregious to use our real names. I hoped none of our guests had noticed she had called me ‘Mike’, or if they had, that they thought it might be short for ‘Michelle’. We really didn’t want paying visitors to know that the role of Mrs Bennet was being played by a man.

I tutted – in character, of course. “Excuse us for a moment, everyone,” I said. “I shall return momentarily. Hill, pour our guests some more tea.”

The maid was clearly rattled by Kitty’s intrusion, but she moved to comply. Gathering my voluminous skirts, I rose and moved quickly but in the most feminine manner I could manage, to intercept the frantic Kitty and escort her from the room.

“Really, girl,” I scolded her, “I don’t know how my nerves will cope with all your foolishness.”

Once the parlour door was safely closed behind us I followed my pretend daughter through the hall to the library.

“One of the visitors was asking about the local militia,” Kitty was explaining, “and I remembered seeing a book on military encampments…”

She trailed off. We stared at the body on the floor. It wasn’t one of our little troop. It was a guest, female, and wearing a pretty green morning gown of the period. She was lying on her back, her lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. I approached her more closely to see if there was anything that could be done, but the dagger protruding from her chest made that unlikely. I put the back of my hand close to her lips for a few seconds. She certainly wasn’t breathing.

I resisted the temptation to touch the corpse. I pushed Kitty back and closed the library door. I reached into my reticule and took out my mobile phone. I switched it on and started thinking about how I would explain to the police that my estranged stepsister, whom I hadn’t seen for nearly two years, had been murdered while I was serving tea next door.

And in drag. The things one has to do to get an Equity Card! Beats busking, I suppose.

Chapter One – How I became a Character in a Regency Novel

It was all Holly’s idea and the irony was: I never planned to go into Show Business.

I’d known her throughout secondary school but we didn’t become lovers till our last year. At first I thought that was because I did most of her homework for her (poor lovestruck idiot), but she eventually persuaded me that she loved me for myself and not just for my ability to write the same English essay twice while making the two versions seem different. I didn’t regard myself as a great writer, but I could string words together and spell them correctly, and I knew how to use a semi-colon – all skills that were beyond my beautiful girlfriend.

As a result, we both did well enough at school to have a fair choice of universities. I had no idea at all what I wanted to do there or indeed afterwards. Nothing unusual about that. Lots of my fellow undergraduates were in the same boat. But Holly was very clear about what she wanted. She was going to be an actress. She was only doing a degree at all because her parents insisted. They were well off, and they would support her ambitions indefinitely, but only if she got a decent education first.

So she had chosen a BA in Drama and English Literature in the hope that future prospective employers would regard it as just as good as going to Drama School. I had to go along and do the same course at the same university. I don’t always do absolutely everything Holly tells me to do, just most of the time. Anyway I thought the curriculum sounded interesting. (Honest.)

In fact, it was great. We studied written English, both poetry and prose, from Anglo-Saxon illuminated manuscripts to the graphic novels of the present day, with every great book in between, from Britain and throughout the Anglosphere. The Drama units took in all forms across stage, screen and beyond, improvisation, street theatre, playwriting and directing.

Also, because the course was ‘performance-related’, we could enrol as Student Members of the Actors’ Union, Equity. Naturally Holly insisted we both did that. When we graduated, we would only need to notch up a few performance credits on our resumés and we could become Full Members.

To avoid living in a small bedsit on campus, Holly persuaded her parents to buy a flat within walking distance of the English Department. “It will be an investment,” she argued. “You’ll sell it for more than you paid when I graduate.”

My parental situation was different. My own family weren’t poor but we had little to spare. When I was in my early teens my father had died suddenly. I was my mother’s sole heir but she had very little of her own. I was delighted when after a couple of years she remarried.

My stepfather, Keith Matthews, was a wealthy widower with a daughter a little older than me. Mum persuaded him to pay for my tuition to avoid me being saddled with student debt. He didn’t have to do it – he never adopted me – but that was the sort of guy he was. He encouraged me to take whatever part-time jobs I could get (as he had done at my age), but he quietly made sure I was always able to pay my way.

He was a property developer who had built up his own firm. I had no idea what he actually did, but I suspected he was as rich as Holly’s parents - perhaps more so - but I had no expectations of him. In any case, I never got to know him well. I went off to university less than a month after my mother and I moved into his huge, six-bedroom house. In my vacations either he was working, or I was away from home, or they were.

Keith was an okay guy, but his daughter, Hannah, was a total bitch. I tried to be friendly when Mum and I first moved in, but she didn’t want to know. She avoided both of us as much as she could. When Keith offered to fund my university career she was incandescent, despite having no interest in higher education herself. As far as she was concerned, that was fifty grand that she deserved and I didn’t. She left school as soon as she could and moved out into an expensive flat in Chelsea, taking a lover and a ream of credit cards with her. She planned to do ‘something in Fashion’ and live off her father’s generosity.

I didn’t miss her at all. I looked forward to student life with Holly. I took a room in one of the Halls of Residence, but in the end we mostly lived together at her place.

* * *

The bizarre turn my life has taken now began when we all had to choose an eight-week Drama course in the summer term of our second year. There were several options, but each unit had a limited number of places, so you needed to get your application in early or be stuck with something boring.

Holly wanted to do ‘Performing Shakespeare’ but nothing would persuade me to join her on that. Neither of us liked the look of ‘Improvisation’. I fancied ‘Literary Adaptation’ because in my heart of hearts I knew that I was never going to be a star of stage or screen, but I reckoned I might be good at writing, and adapting someone else’s novel sounded easier than dreaming up my own stories and characters. We were allowed to apply for two options. I chose ‘Directing for Television’ as my alternate. Grudgingly Holly agreed to put Literary Adaptation as her second choice.

To her surprise and chagrin the Shakespeare course was massively over-subscribed and she didn’t get in. Literary Adaptation was run by a popular lecturer called Graham MacNair and it was also difficult to get onto. As there would be a lot of practical work involved, it was limited to twelve places. Denied her time with the Bard, Holly was determined that we would be together in lectures that term, and she somehow managed to get us both accepted. But then that was what she did; she managed – me and everybody else.

The first half of the course had us studying adaptations of great books for the stage, TV and film. We read novels and their corresponding screenplays. We looked at three movie versions of The Great Gatsby from 1949, 1974 and 2013; several adaptations of David Copperfield and Pride and Prejudice; and the Alec Guinness BBC serial of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy to compare it with the later film starring Gary Oldman and Colin Firth.

In a session at the mid-point of the course Dr MacNair asked us what lessons we had learned so far.

As always, Douglas Miller was the first to speak up. “Your first choice is to decide whether to be faithful to the book, or if you want to create something new and different. I think I would always want to put something original, something of my own, into anything I adapted.”

Holly and I looked at each other and exchanged grins. This was Miller all over. He was tall, good-looking and absolutely full of himself. He thought he was an artiste. Holly thought he was a wanker (I’m glad to say). But he was a year older than the rest of us having taken a Gap Year, most of which he spent interning at some place in London, so he thought he knew more about the world than anyone else.

“In which case you’re trading on the reputation of the novel to get support from investors, and to get bums on seats, aren’t you?” said MacNair with a smile. Miller looked discomfited. “Nothing wrong with that, actually,” MacNair reassured him. “Plenty of writers greater than you or I have done that; we all have our livings to earn. But of course it can backfire. If the book has a big fanbase and they don’t like your changes, you’ll get caned.”

A lively discussion followed about ‘art’ and the practical problems of writing screenplays. I kept my head down during this, as I usually did.
The end of the session was approaching.

“Any other lessons from what we’ve done so far?” MacNair said, prior to wrapping up for the day. I thought he was looking at me. I knew I didn’t speak up enough for his liking and I didn’t want a bad mark for the course.

“This may sound a little cynical,” I said diffidently, “but I would have thought the first decision the writer has to make is about the length of the piece…”

I paused. MacNair nodded encouragingly.

“Well, the 1979 television version of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy was seven episodes – five and a quarter hours – while the 2011 film was just two.”

“And?” MacNair liked to prompt us with one-word questions.

“Well, that tells you a lot about what you can afford to put in and what you have to leave out.”

“Quite right,” MacNair confirmed. “Good to see you are with us in spirit, Mike, despite your famous reticence. Yes, it may be boring and mundane, but it’s the first question you should be asking yourself. The whole structure of your screenplay will be determined by how much room you will have for character development, sub-plots, and so on. Not that you’ll actually have a choice very often. The BBC were incredibly generous giving Arthur Hopcraft seven episodes in which to adapt Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. Back in 1979 John Le Carré wasn’t the superstar novelist he became later, and the book was hardly a classic like Pride and Prejudice.”

“Which is another good example, isn’t it?” said Holly. “The Andrew Davies TV version with Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth was much better than the 2013 film with Keira Knightley, but it was six hour-long episodes – three times as long as the film – so of course it was better.”
“They were very different,” I added. “It’s not really fair to say that either was better.”

“Agreed,” said MacNair, “and that’s a good note to end this discussion on.” People started packing up. “But before you go, a few words about the next stage of this course. You’re going to do some Literary Adaptation yourselves. We’ll work on Pride and Prejudice, seeing as you all know it pretty well by now, so you won’t have to read anything new.”

He smiled at the relieved-looking faces round the room.

“So for next time, I’d like you all to pick a few characters from the book and do some really in-depth analysis of them. Think about the context of their lives. What would be their motivations? What might they be afraid of? Are they good or bad people by the parameters of their time? What really makes them tick? It doesn’t matter whether the characters you choose are principals or extras who only appear in a few scenes. You can even make up stuff that isn’t in the novel, as long as it’s consistent with the story and the period. Use your imaginations. Everyone should be prepared to talk about their favourite character for five minutes or so, OK?”

Holly grabbed my arm as we were leaving the classroom.

“You’re going to have to help me, Mike,” she said. “I’m hopeless at all this ‘character analysis’ stuff.”

I grumbled but agreed, of course. I may have mentioned that Holly usually gets what she wants – especially from me.

* * *

“I have two dice here,” said MacNair at the beginning of the next Literary Adaptation class, “and there are twelve of you. So that works out nicely.”

Everyone looked puzzled. He rolled the dice.

“Seven.” He consulted a list in his notebook. “Seven is – Holly Woodbridge. So, Holly, which Pride and Prejudice character have you chosen?”

Holly was delighted. The roll of the dice gave her the opportunity to be the Leading Lady.

“I’d like to talk about Elizabeth Bennet, please.” A couple of the other girls groaned. Obviously they had picked Lizzie too, and now Holly was going to steal their thunder.

“She’s only twenty at the start of the book,” Holly began, “and completely unattached, as are all her sisters, which of course is a worry for their parents. In this time lots of girls would be married at her age. She’s beautiful and as well-educated as any of her peers, but it is her personality which makes her stand out and establishes her as the heroine of the novel. She is high-spirited but sensible, something that can’t be said of most of the other female characters. Some are very unpleasant but many, like the younger Bennet girls, are just silly and immature. Lizzie is confident, outspoken, and assertive, as the awful Lady Catherine de Bourgh points out when they first meet. ‘Upon my word,’ she says, ‘you give your opinion very decidedly for so young a person!’”

Holly had learned her lines well – lines which I had written, and she had reeled off word for word.

“But Elizabeth is never rude or aggressive,” she went on, “unless someone is rude to her first. I imagine her outspokenness might have shocked readers when the book came out in 1813. They were probably expecting her to be a gentle and demure maiden, and the book to be just a romance, and of course it is that, but it’s also a satire. The reader is encouraged to see the folly and injustice of English Society of the time through the eyes of a highly intelligent young woman, who is nevertheless helpless to secure a decent life for herself without a good marriage.”

“That’s excellent, Holly,” said MacNair, when she paused for breath. “I think you’ve summed her up very well. I’m sure there’s a lot more you could tell us, but we’d better move on. Lots to get through.”

Holly threw me a look of thanks. MacNair rolled the dice again.

“Three,” he said. “Douglas Miller.”

“I’ll talk about Mr Darcy,” Miller announced grandly.

Of course he would. He would have googled ‘Pride and Prejudice – Mr Darcy – character analysis’ and copied out the entry verbatim. I just hoped Dr MacNair would recognise the words.

He did and he did.

“Thank you, Douglas,” MacNair said when Google had finished. He didn’t look pleased, and he certainly didn’t offer any praise for original insights. He rolled the dice again. “Five – that’s Samantha Spears.”

“I chose Lydia,” said Sam, “because she’s all about sex.” She paused, as if seeking permission to continue.

MacNair chuckled. “Go on, Sam. This should be interesting.”

“Well, people think of Lydia as being a silly, immature scatterbrain, easily seduced by a handsome soldier, but I think there’s more to her than that. She’s very clever at manipulating people to get her own way. She’s her mother’s favourite, presumably because Mrs Bennet sees her younger self in Lydia. She clearly has a strong sex drive which results in her throwing herself at any male in the vicinity. You could even say that it’s only natural for a young, fertile female.”

We were all thinking the same: Sam herself was noted for her ‘fertility’…

“Julia Sawalha brought out Lydia’s sexuality and promiscuity in the 1995 TV version, and I think that’s how Jane Austen wanted us to think of her, but of course she couldn’t say so explicitly in a novel of the time. It would never get published! I dare say that if the book were being written today, Lydia wouldn’t just be eloping with Wickham, she’d be pregnant by him! And who exactly was the victim here in the end – Lydia or Wickham?”

We all enjoyed Samantha’s original analysis of Lydia Bennet. MacNair was scribbling furiously in his notebook.

“Very nice, Samantha,” he said with a smile. “An original take on the character.” He threw the dice again.

“Nine,” he said. “That’s you, Amy.”

“Well, I think all the Bennet sisters except Lizzy are boring,” Amy said, never one to be afraid of controversy, so I’ll talk about the villainess, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

MacNair smiled encouragingly

“Mr Collins is the first to mention Lady Catherine. She is his patroness and such is his praise that we expect to find her kind and generous. But when Elizabeth is introduced to her at Rosings, it turns out she is arrogant and proud, and she clearly thinks good manners are only for one’s equals, and she doesn’t have any. She has no regard for the feelings of others.

“Her wealth and position in society, and the outrageous flattery of people like Mr Collins, have made her vain and conceited. She enjoys displaying her wealth and showing off the grandeur of her mansion. When she invites people into her home, it is not out of kindness or generosity but because it allows her to show off. She is only interested in impressing people and assumes she will be admired by all around her. She also expects everyone to do as she says and is not only angry but genuinely surprised when Lizzy refuses her demands.”

“Very good, Amy,” said MacNair. I think you’ve got the measure of Her Ladyship.”

The morning wore on. The guys talked about Mr Bingley, Mr Bennet, Mr Collins and Mr Wickham. The remaining girls picked Jane Bennet, Charlotte Lucas, and Caroline Bingley. I wondered why no one talked about Mrs Bennet. Was I the only one who found her interesting?
With about a quarter of an hour to go MacNair changed tack.

“OK, I know a lot of the leading characters have already been covered now,” he said. “So if your choice has been taken, please see what you can add to what’s already been said. Just try and point out anything you think has been missed so far.”

He had to roll the dice a few times before coming up with a number that hadn’t been seen before. “Ah, eleven – Mike Bradshaw.”

Just as I was beginning to think I could escape... I’d prepared some analysis of Mr Bennet and Mr Collins, but everything I’d thought of had already been said. I also had some stuff about Mr Darcy that Miller had missed, but I had to admit that Google had done quite a good job for him. I could only add a few thin theories based on what the Pemberley housekeeper had said to Lizzie and the Gardiners. Boring.

“I have a few ideas about Mrs Bennet,” I said, taking the bull by the horns. “Actually, I’m a little surprised that no one else has wanted to talk about her. I think she’s really interesting.”

I got the impression that most of my classmates were less than impressed. One of the girls muttered something about her being ‘a silly old bat’, but MacNair looked up with curiosity.

“Tell us more, Mike,” he said.

“OK, she was Miss Jane Gardiner, the daughter of a Meryton attorney. He must have been a gentleman but according to Lady Catherine, he was a nobody from a lowly background, which of course made Lizzie quite unsuitable for marriage into the Darcy or de Bourgh families. Jane Gardiner was by no means a clever girl, so she must have been a considerable beauty in her youth to enchant her social superior, Mr Bennet.

“Now, however, she is loud and opinionated, and oblivious to the mortification she causes the rest of her family. She is completely unaware of her vulgarity and lack of education, and is a continual embarrassment to her husband and the sensible older girls, Jane and Elizabeth. The Bennets have been married for twenty-three years at the start of the novel, but Mrs Bennet doesn’t understand her spouse at all.

“Her single focus in life is finding husbands for her five daughters, and she doesn’t understand that her behaviour does more to harm their chances than it does to help. It has also caused Mr Bennet to withdraw from Society as much as he can, neglecting his duties as husband and father.

“So far, so awful. To modern readers Mrs Bennet is an irritating character, but as Holly pointed out, the novel is intended as a satire. Austen is commenting on the times she lives in through the voices and behaviours of her characters. Mrs Bennet serves two purposes: one, she shows how foolish it is to attach so much importance to social standing – you just risk alienating people and making a fool of yourself; and two, she shows the terrible pressures on people of the time to marry advantageously. This became especially difficult for young women with no fortune, as so many promising husbands were lost in the Napoleonic Wars.”

I was aware that MacNair had let me waffle on for longer than anyone else. I sensed impatience from some of my peers.

“Sorry, I’ll wrap up now. The Bennets’ situation also allows the author to demonstrate the iniquities of the entail system in property ownership and inheritance. This is Mrs Bennet’s key motivation. Her situation is extremely precarious. If Mr Bennet dies – and he was already beyond the average lifespan of males of the time – then the family will lose Longbourn to the odious Mr Collins, and the six women could be out on the street with no means of support. Her behaviour comes from the desperation of living on a knife-edge. We should be sympathetic, not critical.”

Embarrassed that maybe I had been a little too enthusiastic in my defence of the ‘silly old bat’ I stopped talking and looked around. A few people were nodding; a few more were nodding off.

“Thank you, Mike,” said MacNair. “Some good insights. We’ll leave it there, I think. Apologies to anyone who didn’t get the chance to speak, but now I need to brief you on the next part of the course.”

Everyone woke up. MacNair began handing out a sheet of instructions. “You’ll all receive this by e-mail as usual, of course,” he said as he walked round the room.

“There is to be an end-of-term show at the Little Theatre after exams, and each of the four classes will produce a piece of entertainment based on this term’s work. As we have twice as many ladies as gentlemen in this group, I’ve decided you will do a selection of scenes from Pride and Prejudice to fill our half-hour slot. We’ll be doing it on stage – there’s a Regency era living room set we can use – and in full costume. We have an arrangement with one of the bigger theatrical companies and they have very generously offered us free use of their wardrobe department. There will be small prizes for the best actor and actress of the show, and for the best team effort.”

I exchanged looks with Holly. She looked excited. Most of the others seemed happy enough too.

“I will allocate roles based on how you have all performed so far this term, and on what I’ve heard from you this morning. I’ll let you know my decisions by e-mail tonight.”

Faces fell round the room with a few exceptions. Holly, confident as ever, was sure she would be Elizabeth. Miller was already thinking about how to stamp his personality on Darcy. He certainly had his arrogance. As for the rest of us, those whose turns came late in the session knew we would be housekeepers, maids, or small parts like Sir William Lucas, Colonel Fitzwilliam, or one of the Gardiners. That included me of course. All the best male parts were long gone by the time I got to speak. My essays had always got good marks, but I knew Dr MacNair didn’t think much of my contributions in class. Oh well, that was the roll of the dice. I didn’t really want to be centre stage anyway.

“Your first job will be to get together in small teams to develop your scripts,” MacNair went on. “These must be your own original attempts at Literary Adaptation, based on what you’ve learnt. Obviously, you can use any of Jane Austen’s words from the novel, but don’t steal from any screenplays downloaded from the internet – I shall check!”

He was looking piercingly at Douglas as he said the last part.

“As we’ve discussed on this course, there are no unbreakable rules in Literary Adaptation. You can translate Austen’s nineteenth century language into modern English, if you wish. You can merge or rearrange scenes. All’s fair in the cause of making good theatre, but remember the original was a success for a reason. If you stray too far from it, if you introduce anachronisms, or get the setting wrong… Well, your version will need to be very good!

“I’ve chosen scenes that ensure that all twelve of you will be involved. Some of you will be in more than one scene. Each of the three groups needs to appoint a Director and a Script Editor and decide together how you will approach the adaptation. The sheet I’ve just handed out describes the sections of text that you will be adapting. But I’m happy to be flexible. As long as you use the assigned characters, and take the dialogue and plot from roughly the stages in the book I’ve suggested, each group can feel free to make the most amusing ten minutes’ worth you can manage.”

* * *

Holly and I had just finished dinner and were settling down to watch something brainless on TV when her laptop pinged. The much-anticipated e-mail had arrived. She dashed to open it. I continued to channel surf and left her to it. I had lower expectations. My viewing was interrupted by whoops of joy, suddenly curtailed by gasps of astonishment.

“What?” I asked. “Did you get ‘Lizzie’?”

“I did,” she said triumphantly, “but that’s not the biggest surprise. Look what you got!”

She thrust the laptop at me. I scanned MacNair’s cast list. The first thing I noticed was that Doug Miller wasn’t going to be happy. ‘Mr Darcy’ had gone to Derek Butcher, which was fair enough; he had presented some original ideas that Google hadn’t offered. Miller would have to settle for Mr Wickham. I carried on down the list till I came to:

Mrs Bennet …………………. Mike Bradshaw

Holly was laughing her head off. “You’re going to be my mother!” she chortled.

“He’s mad! This must be a mistake!”

But it wasn’t.

Next: Adaptation, Literary and Otherwise