Advent Calendar Day 13: The Darcys and Lord Byron in Venice, Part Six

Last Christmas I began writing my series “The Darcys and Lord Byron in Venice,” in which Darcy and Elizabeth visit La Serenissima, and find that Lord Byron is their neighbor in the palazzo next door.  After five episodes, I was interrupted by my husband’s illness (now thankfully recovered from!), and so now I am happy  and able to resume the Italian adventures of Darcy and Elizabeth. The jewel-like city of Venice is a most beauteous setting for a story to read beside a cozy Christmas fire.  And I wish the happiest of Seasons Greetings to all our Austen Variations readers!

Lord Byron, in his costume as a friar, led Lydia by the hand through the bewildering, dazzling crowds at the Masqued Ball. The Teatro La Fenice was so well lit by hundreds of candlelabra, that the lights reflected like jewels on the water outside the long windows. Lydia turned this way and that, excitedly exclaiming at the variety of costumes and masks.

“Only look! What is that thing with the long nose like a witch?”

“That is a very famous Venetian commedia del arte figure – Dottore di Pesto. In medieval times, they stuffed cloths soaked with medicine up those long false noses, to prevent catching the plague.”

“Well, I think they are ugly. Oh! I like that golden cat mask much better, I wish I had one of those.”

“You can pick one up at every corner stall. They are very cheap,” returned Byron, smiling behind his mask at her taste.

“That man is dressed as a cock – a rooster!  And that lady, is she a Harlequin? A Columbine? A clown?” babbled Lydia.  “Oh, how short her skirt is, quite up to her knees. A good thing Darcy and Elizabeth are not looking.”

“No, they seem quite absorbed in the music.”

“Old bores that they are. Why, this ball is the most wonderful thing I have ever seen in my life! You would have to be half dead to prefer to sit in a corner and listen to a stupid opera.”

“I am of your opinion,” Byron agreed, “to watch men and women at their excesses is diverting sport.”

“I am only surprised you dressed as something as drab as a friar,” she observed. “You, who could be any thing!”

“That is just it. I tend to be rather noticeable in my own person, so the best disguise is to be drab,” he countered, leading her toward some stairs. “Now, I will show you the wickedest part of the ball, if you care to see it.”

“The little rooms,” Lydia nodded. “To be sure I do.”

By now they were on the second level, beside the row of little rooms curtained in red velvet. “You can tell which is unoccupied,” said Lord Byron, “by the tassel – see, this one is up.” He pulled aside the curtain and drew Lydia into a chamber which contained a red silk patterned divan and not much beside.

“Are all the other rooms all taken then?”

“I believe they are, and God only knows by whom! Half of these partners do not know the other.”

“What a joke these masks are,” Lydia laughed. “Why, any body can come up here with any body, and no one would know!”

“That’s rather the point. Your own wife – or husband – could be right next door.”

“Wickham? I suppose he might. I haven’t seen him all evening. But I don’t think he’d do that.”

“No? But you will?”

“Well – I would not come into the little room with just any body. But you are the most famous poet in the world, Lord Byron!”

“Well, then, take off your mask, and let me see what you look like.”

“I will if you will.”

They unmasked, and Lord Byron, after a moment, murmured, “Pretty girl enough, though not much like your sister after all.”

“I should hope not!” exclaimed Lydia. “She’s just a little dark thing. I’m a much finer girl, I will have you know, lusty and tall!”

“Lusty, are you?” he said, pulling her to him.

“Now you are much handsomer than any ugly old friar,” she said contentedly, tracing his beautiful Roman nose with her finger.

“Come, let us lie on the divan, and I will see something finer than any costume,  shall I?”

“Oh, yes, and I shall see what is in your monk’s robe. A regular defrocking, is not it?”

Deep in an embrace, Lord Byron lifted his lips from her neck and said, “I take it this is consent. I never force a woman.”

“You have to ask?”

“Well, some women have second thoughts, worried about falling pregnant and things of that sort.”

“Oh, not I,” said Lydia airily, “I think I’m probably in the family way any how, I missed my courses last month. But there – don’t stop!”

An hour went by, and over the Rossini songs, the Darcys became aware of shouting near at hand. Two burly masked men were dragging a soldierly, handsome young figure toward them. Their captive was protesting loudly.

“Take your hands off me, your Italian curs!  How dare you!  I tell you I am brother-in-law to one of the richest men in England – him right there, Darcy – Darcy, help me!”

“Why it is Wickham!” exclaimed Elizabeth, jumping up.

“Stay back, stay safe. Let me deal with this,” Darcy told her an went over to the three men. “There you are, Wickham. What do these gentlemen want with you?”

“You may well ask,” he fumed. “They grabbed me and are manhandling me – for nothing!”

“Can you explain this?” asked Darcy calmly, turning to the two Venetians. They spoke little English, but he understood Italian well enough to quickly gather that they were the signori di notte, night watchmen guarding the ball, and they had apprehended Wickham picking pockets. Holding him tightly they opened his gown and out fell a goodly number of trinkets, money bags, and pieces of jewelry. A spectacular diamond and ruby necklace glittered among the pieces falling to the floor.

Wickham shouted his protest. “They placed those there – they have nothing to do with me. Unhand me, I say!” But it was clear that he was fairly caught, and with a few brief questions Darcy gathered that the signori intended to take him across what Byron himself had dubbed The Bridge of Sighs, and throw him in a cell in the prigione nuove, or prison building, where thieves and other petty criminals were left to languish.

“Be quiet, Wickham,” Darcy directed him, and in conversation with the signori made them understand that he was a friend of the English ambassador, Signore Hoppner,and they would call upon the appropriate officials in the morning. The guards took the ready money Darcy offered but would not release Wickham to his custody, only promised that he would be gently treated. There was no help for it; Wickham would spend the rest of the night, at least, in the prigione.

This matter was just concluded when Lydia returned on Lord Byron’s arm. “It is my husband!” she screeched melodramatically. “Oh, don’t let them take him away, Byron dearest!”

“Where is he going? Oh, the Bridge of Sighs. Did you know that it was I who named it that, in my poem?

I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs

A prison and a palace on each hand.

I saw from out the wave the structures rise

As from the stroke of the enchanter’s wand…”

“Oh, yes, yes, it’s lovely, but they are taking my husband away, don’t you see, Byron?”

“Are you sure it’s necessary, my men?” he asked in his lordly way. They showed him the jewels.

“Did he take all that, in no more time than a shag?” he commented.

“Mr. Hoppner and I will call on the caribinieri in the morning,” Darcy told him shortly, and turning to his wife, added, “I think our departure from Venice will be somewhat delayed, my dear.”

Elizabeth lifted her eyes to heaven and sank back into her seat.

Previous installments of the story can be read here:

https://austenvariations.com/the-darcys-and-lord-byron-in-venice-part-5/

https://austenvariations.com/the-darcys-and-lord-byron-in-venice-part-4/

https://austenvariations.com/the-darcys-and-lord-byron-in-venice-part-3/

https://austenvariations.com/the-darcys-and-lord-byron-in-venice-part-2/

https://austenvariations.com/the-darcys-and-lord-byron-in-venice/