My Jane Austen Summer: A Season in Mansfield Park

in love,' he added. Sixby lifted me off the ground and kissed me; the unrehearsed spectacle of the two Fannys embracing created a fitting end of hostilities for the Fanny Wars. The audience hooted and whistled; there was more laughter and applause. Sixby and I left the stage together, holding hands as if we both knew what came next. I could lose myself in him, numb the pain at least for a while.

We passed through the butler pantry and into the main hallway where My Jane Austen waited, pacing nervously. People lingered, stepping outside to smoke. But as Sixby ducked into the Freezer to drop off his dress, Willis approached from the ballroom door, walking straight to me.

'Are you all right, Lily?' he asked, very serious.

I shivered. I wanted him alone in the music room, not here in the crowded hallway with Pippa on her way. I had two seconds to decide what to say. Continue playing Fanny Price and say yes, absolve Willis, and suffer in silence awaiting a miracle? I played myself. 'No,' I said and stared him down. When he left, it would be over. Once he was gone, I wouldn't be able to breathe.

'There you are,' Pippa said, walking up, pushing her arms into her sweater. She handed Willis her purse while she arranged herself. I shivered again. 'You were just delightful,' Pippa said to me. 'Weren't they, Willis?'

'Yes,' Willis said without conviction.

'Are you cold?' Pippa asked. She heard my teeth chattering. 'Willis, give her your jacket, she's freezing.'

I wasn't cold, just nerves hyper tensing.

'We don't want anyone freezing to death.' She removed the jacket from Willis's back herself. 'We'd never sell this old house with the frozen ghost of Fanny Price wandering the halls.' She smiled.

I slipped into Willis's still-warm jacket, the armpits damp from perspiration, folded papers in the pockets. Surely he'd do something to spare me the grief of watching him walk out with her. But he just looked at me, waiting, as if I were at fault. I thought I might speak my mind in front of everyone, right there in the hallway, but Sixby rejoined us and Omar appeared from the ballroom as applause signaled the end of the follies.

'That was fun.' Pippa stifled a yawn, touching Willis's arm. 'But it's getting late,' she said. Willis stood watching as Sixby stood behind me, both hands on my waist.

'Nice jacket,' Sixby said, lifting me slightly as if I were a ballerina.

I spoke recklessly over my shoulder to Sixby, certain that Willis could hear me. 'I feel like improvising some more.'

'You've got my attention,' Sixby said.

Willis turned away and the agony began. He touched Pippa's shoulder and she nodded, stepping away from us, a thick curtain drawing around their casual intimacy, separating them as a couple.

'Let's go,' a no-nonsense Omar said to me as people distracted Sixby to autograph their programs, but I swatted his hand, watching Pippa wave to us as Willis ushered her out the door. Once Willis was outside, I ran. My Jane Austen followed close behind. I disappeared into the darkness beyond the gathering, moving through halls by memory, hiding behind a door until I could be sure Omar wasn't looking for me.

Twenty

Floundering in the dark, I gathered candles from the office stash since the orange cord did not power my destination. A candle lit my way past dead people in portraits as I climbed the stairs to the second floor, holding on to the rail to keep from falling. At the top, I sobered, remembering where I was and entertaining second thoughts. By the time I found the door I sought, my second thoughts had receded, replaced by surging desperation of pain. Plunging into disaster felt so much better than lame suffering.

Inside, my candle illuminated the Romeo and Juliet poster taped to the wardrobe door, assuring me I'd found Sixby's room. I placed candles strategically, the floorboards creaking as I relocated myself to another time and place in a different body. It wasn't me doing this. Removing Willis's jacket, I buried my face in the fabric, taking a good hit of his masculine scent before placing the folded jacket on a wicker chair. And then, rather than picture the engaged couple walking home together, I sat on the iron bed, once painted white, and unlaced the ribbons around my ankles, removing my slippers. Instead of imagining their good-night intimacy, I peeled the knee-highs off my legs and swept a dead fly off the covers.

My Jane Austen worked on another list in the candlelight: 'The Bad Men in Lily's Life,' and there, at the top of the page, I read my father's name. Yes. I'm so glad someone finally had the courage to call a spade a spade. I wanted to see whose name followed. Willis? Surely not Martin. But I'd never seen My Jane Austen so dim and I worried she'd grow too faint to finish the list.

I unfastened Bets's dress and by the time I laid the spotted muslin on top of Willis's jacket, My Jane Austen had completely vanished. For the first time since my arrival at the literary festival, I felt her absence. Not her cup of tea, this. Heedless, I placed my short stays, shift, and pantaloons on top in a neat pile, wondering if My Jane Austen was mad at me for doing this. She'd never faded away like that before. I couldn't help it; I'd drunk too much wine. My fingertips ice cold, I shivered, catching a glimpse of my naked torso, candlelit in the cracked dusky mirror over the chest of drawers; the word sacrifice came to mind, the image of an Aztec maiden preparing for her death.

You see, Willis, I said to myself, I'm not thinking about you at all now, as I pulled down the bedspread and climbed between the sheets, wondering when they had last been changed, reminding myself not to think realistic thoughts. Waiting, I studied the shadowy molding on the ceiling, decoding patterns in the water spots like Madeline in her hospital bed. Footsteps in the hall indicated my wait was over. As I listened for the final approach and watched for the turn of the shiny black knob on the yellow door, the footsteps passed and all sounds stopped. After that, I wondered what had happened but my thoughts drifted, and for a while I forgot where I lay, thinking about my mother and what she would say if she saw me like this.

When the door opened at last, it took a moment to remember what I was doing there.

'Ah, who is this?' Sixby's voice sounded playful.

Silent, my eyes closed; my heart beat. I craved the feel of his body on me, heavy and obliterating. Take me away, I pleaded silently, longing to fold myself into his arms and let him help me deny what was happening. Sixby carefully lifted the covers and found the answer he expected from the evidence on the chair. 'The right idea, Lil, but the execution's all wrong. Let's take it from the top.'

I opened my eyes and sat up, pulling the covers up to my neck.

'I'll be back in five minutes,' he said. 'Put all your lovely clothes back on and sit in the window seat. When I come in, you don't say a word. Here's the scene: We're in the drawing room and your husband is visiting a sick tenant in the neighborhood. We have very little time before he returns.' He spoke quickly, as if he was directing an experienced actress, but his audible breathing gave him away.

'Can't you be my husband?' I asked.

'That would ruin everything, my dear.' Sixby smiled, a hyped look in his eyes.

I let the covers slip, exposing my naked breasts in the candle glow, attempting to break through his fantasy; I didn't care for the story in his head; and didn't particularly want to end up there. But my naked breasts did not break his enchantment and he left, pulling the door shut behind him. Alone again, dressing myself, I marveled he had been working up to this.

*   *   *

Sixby didn't look at my face. His hands moved over my dress, his eyes boring into the fabric illuminated by candlelight. Was his fantasy supported solely by the drape of my muslin? Neither of us had removed a single item of apparel from either body, duly noted by the dear departed, watching from sepia portraits suspended from high moldings. Sixby knelt between my knees, the hem of my skirt still touching the floor, his head resting against my fully clothed bosom; I was a body in a dress.

I watched the table, wardrobe, chairs; the hole where the wall had settled leaving a crack large enough to reach through, where tendrils of vines grew inside like the bedroom in Where the Wild Things