Mrs Bennet and the Body in the Library

By Susannah Donim

In between performances, Holly takes Michelle out for dinner.

Chapter Six – Mrs Bennet in 2021

“I really enjoyed that,” said Sheila back in the dressing room after our half hour (OK, forty minutes) synopsis of Miss Austen’s five-hundred-page novel. “You were all really good. You must be so proud of Holly.”

“Oh I am,” I said, “but I already knew she was brilliant from seeing her in school plays and a couple of other productions here.”

“You were great too,” Esther said. “You may not want to hear this, but if I hadn’t known it was you, it would never have occurred to me that Mrs Bennet was being played by a boy – man, I mean.”

“Thanks... I think.”

“I overheard people talking on my way out of the auditorium,” Sheila continued. “Quite a few singled you out for praise as well as Holly, even though you were only on for a few minutes at the beginning. I’m quite sure nobody had the slightest suspicion that ‘Michelle’ was actually ‘Michael’.”

She started undoing the buttons of my bodice. I still couldn’t reach them round my back. I took my silly gloves off.

Suddenly I heard voices outside in the corridor. I realised I had left the door ajar. I didn’t want anyone to come in and see me getting undressed, so I broke away from my lady’s maid and my beautician and moved to close it properly. I stopped when I realised the voice was Holly’s and she was arguing with her parents.

“But you said you’d stay for a drink afterwards,” she was saying.

“You just want to humiliate poor Mike, don’t you?” said Richard angrily.

“I saw his face when I handed you the holdall this morning,” Susan said. “He knew what was in it, didn’t he? And he clearly wasn’t happy.”

“I’m very disappointed in you, Holly,” added her father. “We really like Mike, and I’m sure he would be horribly embarrassed if we saw him dressed as a woman. Any man would.”

They had passed the door now and their voices were fading as they reached the stairs at the end of the corridor.

“No, he wouldn’t; he’s an actor! Anyway, you said you thought he was really good as Mrs Bennet,” Holly argued.

“He was,” said her father, “and make sure you tell him from us.”

“Why can’t you tell him yourselves?”

“We’ve explained why,” he said. “Dressing up as a woman outside the theatre is completely different. Believe me, he won’t want us to see him like that.”

“Bye now,” said Susan. “Give him our love and tell him we’ll see him sometime over the holidays.”

Holly was still arguing but I didn’t hear any more after that. I turned back to Sheila and Esther, who had heard everything.

“I bet that’s a relief,” Sheila said with a smile. “Come on, let’s get you changed. I need to check your costume for damage and stains.” She reached to untie my cap.

“Since you can’t remove all your makeup, presumably you’ll leave your wig on?” said Esther.

“I suppose so. If I’m stuck with this old woman face until tonight, I’ll attract less attention with a feminine hairdo.”

“Not to mention the outfit in the holdall,” Sheila said.

“I can tone down your makeup a little, if you like,” said Esther, “so it doesn’t look like you’ve just come off stage.”

She quickly wiped away some of the more garish colours and replaced them with an ordinary modern daytime makeup. When she finished I looked frighteningly like my mother.

“I’m off,” said Esther. “I’ll leave you the lipstick and powder I’ve just used. See you at half-past eight tonight. Don’t be late.”

“I must go too,” said Sheila. “Let me finish undressing you.”

She removed my petticoat and – thankfully – the corset. I took off my slippers and stockings.

“Aren’t you going to need those shoes?” said Sheila. “I don’t know if Holly’s Mum included any of hers, but they probably wouldn’t fit you if she did. Actually, I think I have a pair of outdoor shoes in the same size in my locker.”

She went off to have a rummage and returned five minutes later with a pair of black pumps with one-inch heels. They looked about my size in length but a bit narrow. By now I was down to just the body shaper.

“I suppose I’ll have to keep this thing on – for the padding?” I asked.

“I think so,” she said. “Assuming Holly’s right about her mother’s sizes, that’s the only way these clothes will fit. I’ve got your other body shaper here, by the way. That one is probably a little sweaty. Can you have a shower and change into the clean one before you come back tonight?”

I grunted acceptance.

“With your ‘body’ you don’t need a bra or knickers, so you can put these on next.” She passed me a pair of tights from the holdall. “Do you know how?”

“Why? Is there some special trick to it?”

“There certainly is. If you’re not careful you can ladder them.”

So she gave me a lesson in putting on tights without ruining them. (When would I ever need that again?)

“Roll them up until you can put your foot all the way in. Then pull them up your leg as far as your knee. Then slide in the other foot in the same way. Then stand up and pull the whole thing up to your waist.”

I assumed the tights were in Susan’s size. I wasn’t much taller than her and supposedly my ‘body’ gave me the same shape. In any case the tights stretched enough to go over my big padded hips and bum. They reached my waist and seemed to be staying up.

Sheila was eyeing me dubiously. “We should have shaved your legs after all,” she said. “Oh well, let’s see what it all looks like together.” She reached into the holdall again. “Ah,” she said, “I think I can see why Holly’s Mum was throwing this dress away.”

She held it up for me to see. It was red with white flowers. It was calf-length with sleeves that stopped at the elbow, and frills everywhere. It wasn’t hideous, exactly, but even I recognised that it was out of fashion – way out.

“This appears to be the only option,” Sheila said pityingly. “At least it doesn’t need a slip, which as just as well as she didn’t include one. It’s long enough that most of your legs will be covered. There’s a white cardigan that is actually quite nice, so you don’t need to worry about your forearms being exposed. But there are no other clothes in here, just a slightly worn handbag.”

She helped me drop the dress over my head, making sure not to disturb my wig or my makeup, and zipped it up. I turned to check myself in the mirror. I changed my mind about it being hideous. That was an understatement. It was low-cut with absurd frills around the neckline. The waist was just below the bust, very like the Regency dresses we were all wearing in the show, but for some reason the only effect of that was to emphasise my over-large bosom and battleship hips.

I doubt any woman my age – I mean the age I’m supposed to be – would ever choose to wear this. I wondered what possessed Susan to buy it in the first place. She normally had better taste.

“You’d better give me that cardigan,” I said. “I need to cover up as much as possible of this monstrosity.”

I shrugged it on and it helped – a little. I sensed the door opening behind me, but I was still captivated by the gruesome image in the mirror.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” I said. “I’ll wear my own clothes, even with old lady makeup. I’ll put a bag over my head or something.”

“Oh no, you won’t! You look lovely,” said Holly behind me.

I turned to her, preparing to argue. She was back in her own clothes, jeans and a pretty peasant top that hung off the shoulder and emphasised her perfect breasts. She had removed her stage makeup but kept her hair in Regency style. I sighed. She had that determined look. I wasn’t going to win this, at least not without upsetting her. Suddenly I could see my future: years and years of losing arguments with this woman.

“I thought you might try and chicken out,” she said, cutting off any protest. “But I want you to stay just as you are. My real Mum and Dad might have rushed off, but at least I can spend the rest of the day with my substitute Mum!”

Sheila cleared her throat. “I’ll be off then, you two. I’ll see you tonight.”

She obviously didn’t want to be present when Holly and I started our ‘discussion’ of what I would be wearing for the next five hours.

“Yes, thanks, Sheila,” I said. “See you later.”

“I’m a little surprised Mum gave you that dress though,” said Holly when Sheila had gone. “It was a birthday present from my Dad about five years ago. I helped him pick it out.”

Which explained that, I suppose. It seemed neither father nor daughter shared Susan’s fashion sense, and she had taken a golden opportunity to dump the dress. No wonder she didn’t want to see me in it. Quite apart from the mutual embarrassment, she probably wouldn’t have been able to keep a straight face.

“But if you really don’t like it, we can go and buy you something new. Then I can give it to Mum for her next birthday.” She grinned. “I’ll know that if it fits you, it will fit her.”

“No!” I said hurriedly. “No, it’s actually not that bad.” I did a little twirl in front of the mirror, as I’d seen women do when trying on a new outfit. (Well, only Holly really.)

“Well, if you’re sure… Pity. I would have enjoyed going round the shops with my new Mum.”

“No, that’s all right, dear,” I said, unintentionally sounding like a mother. “Didn’t we have plans for… other activities back at the flat?” I added, trying to sound like a lecherous boyfriend. I was going to get a split personality if I wasn’t careful.

I packed my own clothes and the clean body shaper into the holdall. Then I reached for Susan’s old handbag and started putting my wallet and keys in it.

“Don’t forget your makeup, Mum!” Holly said with a triumphant grin.

* * *

The walk back to the flat that afternoon was more convivial than the previous one in the small hours when Holly wouldn’t let me touch her. We were arm-in-arm now, like a mother and daughter, and we went much more slowly because of my new weight and girth. It took me a while to get used to the unfamiliar heels too. I was thankful they were only one-inch. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could manage anything higher. They seemed to make my backside swing from side to side even more.

But as far as I could tell nobody we passed saw anything amiss; certainly nothing that suggested I had been spotted as a fraud. I did see a couple of teenage girls with curled lips, but I think that was because of my ugly dress.

Once we were behind the closed doors of the bedroom Holly demanded I do a striptease so she could learn something of the dark arts that had transformed her boyfriend into a near clone of her mother. I agreed, but only on condition that she also shed an item of clothing for each one that I removed. She complied with alacrity, giggling seductively throughout.

Soon I was down to my body shaper and she was in just her bra and pants. While I was, as usual, paralysed by the sight of Holly in her lingerie, she had paused for a proper appraisal of Mrs Bennet’s foundation garment. Embarrassed by this forensic examination, I stepped forward to deal with the clasp of her bra. She immediately started tugging at the shoulder straps of my ‘body’. She managed to peel it halfway down but doing more was beyond her. The damn thing was much too heavy. It was nearly too heavy for me. I did the rest of the work and tossed it aside, while she stepped out of her knickers.

And then we were falling into bed, a beautiful girl and a man with the head of a middle-aged woman.

“I love the flavour of your lipstick, Mummy darling,” she said, panting. “What is it?”

“Fucked if I know,” I said, concentrating on sustaining my rhythm.

She giggled at the mild obscenity from the mouth of the middle-aged lady on top of her.

* * *

“Is it just me, or was that the best you-know-what we’ve ever had?” I said as we lay in our post-coital bliss.

“No question,” she murmured into my chest.

“The question is why?”

“Not sure,” she said. She lifted her head and looked me in the eyes. “Something to do with what you were wearing and your little striptease, maybe?”

“Do you mean the dress, or the un-dress?”

“Yes – one or the other.” She smiled. “But you should find it reassuring, shouldn’t you?”

“How so?”

“Well now you know I’m not put off by your cross-dressing.”

“My what?”

“If anything, quite the reverse…”

“I’m not proposing to make a habit of wearing your mother’s old clothes!”

She sat up and stretched. She jumped out of bed and went over to our piles of discarded clothes. She picked up my body shaper.

“I had no idea the padding in this thing was so heavy,” she said, changing the subject abruptly, as was her wont.

“And I have to wear a corset, petticoat and dress on top of it too,” I said, glad of a little sympathy.

“Yes, but all we ladies have to wear those things,” she protested. “Still, it’s no wonder you’re so slow and clumsy.”

“Yes, you’ll just have to be patient with me now,” I said, suddenly conscious of sounding like an old lady.

“But it means I’ll be able to get to the shower first for once, slowpoke!”

She jumped up and dashed to the bathroom. That was fine. I could have a little doze…

* * *

…which didn’t last long. It seemed like no time before she was shaking me awake. She was fully dressed, in an actual dress, and made up. Not for the first time, I reflected that Holly could never look less than gorgeous if she tried.

“Up you get, babe. Shower,” she said, “and shave your legs.”

“What? No!”

“People will be looking at you oddly if you don’t.”

“Nobody noticed on the way back here.”

“Nobody saw you for more than a few seconds as we passed them. Tonight you’ll be sitting still in a restaurant for an hour and a half. Someone will be bound to notice then, and if they see hairy legs they may wonder why and look for other clues – like a deeper than average voice. Want to risk it? What if you need to go to the Ladies? You could get arrested.”

“I’ll hold it till we get to the theatre.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she said. “Shave your legs. I’ll help you if you like. You have a razor in the bathroom, don’t you? If not, we can use my Ladyshave.”

“Yes, madam,” I sighed.

I don’t always do absolutely everything Holly tells me to do, just most of the time.

“And you’ll need to take your wig off to shower, won’t you? Hurry up, the table’s booked for six-thirty.”

* * *

The promised ninety minutes in Mario’s was the most terrifying of my life, thanks in part to Holly’s picture of what might happen if I was exposed as a male – which no doubt was her intention. She kept calling me ‘Mummy’ which meant I had to employ all my acting skills and imagination to play the part.

At least I was confident of my appearance. Holly had helped me repair my makeup after the shower and she did her best with my wig. I wore the clean body shaper, the ugly red floral dress, my tights, and the white cardigan. I had no coat of course, but it was a warm night. I didn’t have to worry about exposing my newly smooth legs, which were tingling in a pleasant way from continual contact with my hose. Nevertheless I couldn’t help resenting having had to shave them. We were seated in a quiet corner of the restaurant with subdued lighting and candles on the table. I couldn’t see my ankles in this light, so nobody else would. I could have got away with hairy legs.

“Now remember, Mummy, you are a little, er, portly,” she said, sotto voce, “so your usual plate of Spaghetti Bolognese and a huge Mixed Grill aren’t suitable at all. Minestrone soup and a Goat’s Cheese salad would be more sensible, don’t you think?”

I couldn’t tell whether she was having a laugh. She was too good an actress.

“I would have thought Spag Boll and a big plate of meat and chips would explain how I got to be 'portly' in the first place,” I said. “Tell you what, I’ll compromise. I’ll have a Seafood Platter and a Fillet Steak.”

As I said, I don’t give in to her all the time. I dig my high heels in for the really important stuff.

“Hmph. Not very Italian,” she grumbled. “And just one glass of wine. You’re on stage tonight, remember.”

“As if I could forget,” I said. “And you’re paying for all this, right? You know I’m skint.”

“Yes, yes, but get your act together, for Heaven’s sake! My other mother never uses words like ‘skint’.”

Holly mellowed after that exchange, and in the end we had a very pleasant evening. I found myself slipping into the role of the other Mrs Woodbridge with no great difficulty and Holly seemed delighted by my performance. The food was excellent; I wasn’t paying for it; and the waiters were especially attentive to ‘two such beautiful ladies’.

‘I could get used to this treatment,’ I caught myself thinking, and quickly gave myself a mental slap on the wrist for thinking it.

We lingered over coffee and made a quick trip to the Ladies to relieve ourselves and repair our lipstick. Then we made our way slowly, arm-in-arm, to the theatre, arriving at about a quarter past eight.

* * *

Having been wearing my body shaper, with its heavy padding and voluptuous curves, for most of the day, getting dressed as Mrs Bennet again with Sheila’s help had become almost routine. My corset, petticoat, stockings and dress were like old friends. Esther checked my latex wrinkles and double chin; restored my stage makeup; and tidied up my wig (which had got a little tangled in bed that afternoon). I was ready for my five minutes on stage as the harridan Bennet matriarch.

I joined the others in the Green Room while we waited for the show before us to finish.

“I’ll be sorry when this is all over,” said Amy to me, fiddling with her maid’s dress, “won’t you?”

“You’re joking, aren’t you?” I scoffed. “When this is all over, you won’t see me for dust. I’m dropping Drama next year. I’m never going on stage again.”

“Oh you mustn’t talk like that,” she said. “You’re really good. I can understand you not wanting to play a female part again, but you’ve proved you could be a great character actor.”

“He’s just afraid he’ll get to like his women’s clothes,” said Sam, who had been eavesdropping. We ignored her.

“Does Holly know this is how you feel?” Amy asked.

“We haven’t discussed it,” I admitted, “at least not in so many words. Anyway, one thing is for sure: no one will ever see me in women’s underwear again.”

At which point the Stage Manager’s voice came over the tannoy: “Pride and Prejudice beginners, please.”

* * *

The second performance went really well. We all knew our parts, and it would be our last chance to show off what we had learned over the year – in Literary Adaptation and all our other courses. We were determined to enjoy ourselves (even me) and it showed. There was at least ten percent more zip in every scene.

The reaction of the audience at the curtain call was especially enthusiastic. Perhaps they hadn’t enjoyed the other more ‘modern’ offerings as much, and we had saved their evening. As we lined up, I manoeuvred myself next to Holly.

After our second bow, when I thought the applause was starting to die down, I shoved her in the back, forcing her to take a couple of steps forward to preserve her balance. She was about to turn round and hit me or something, when she realised that the audience were laughing and the applause had redoubled, just for her.

I led the rest of the cast in joining in. Everyone in the theatre, including all her fellow actors, were now applauding her as the undoubted star of the show. She blushed and curtseyed beautifully.

Eventually the curtain fell. Everyone made to walk off but Holly stopped and slapped me on the shoulder.

“Don’t you ever do that again, Mike!” she said.

“I promise,” I said, “but you deserved a solo bow.”

And I knew I would never be on stage with her again anyway.

Then she threw her arms around me and kissed me hard. At least I was ‘Mike’ again, at least for the moment, rather than ‘Mummy’, ‘Mama’ or ‘Michelle’.

Next: Awards and Opportunities