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The dreadful reading
Dec. 27th, 2007 04:41 pmThe coach getting to his uncle Lefroy's residence takes a lot longer than he expects, and as he slowly drives out of London and deep into the wood, the level of civilization dwindles dramatically.
Feeling rather dismal and more or less filled with sulky gloom, Tom stares blankly ahead at the dark wooden wall of the interior of the coach, the seat across from him empty.
He knows his relations are currently attending some special ceremony with a family he knows well enough - the Austens. He and Henry Austen are friends; oftentimes they spend time together in bars and brothels. But Henry does not speak much of the rest of his family, and likewise with Tom. Discovering who these people are and what they are like is certainly something he will have to discover on his own.
As the coach enters the Austen estate, and he is, shortly thereafter, guided towards the living room where the rest of the families have gathered, he realizes he is late. To be quite truthful, Tom, who did not wish to be here in the first place, hardly cares for his tardiness. So, what? He is certain country-folk are sluggish and prone to things like relaxing - taking it easy, as they say, anyway. Why should he care for time in such a precise manner (as he is used to, more or less) when these people do not?
He hears a woman's voice behind the closed door, reciting something that he is certain will hardly interest him. Nothing here, it seems, interests him. As he pushes the door open with a whirl and sheds his coat - expecting that someone will take care of it, as that is what they do in the city (or at least he can act like this is something they do in the city) - the crowd turn to face him. He has their attention.
Well, all right.
A man - his uncle, he recognizes (and not without a touch of disdain towards the man for having ended up so far removed from polite society) - stands to his feet and clears his throat. "May I introduce uh - my young nephew...Mr Thomas Lefroy."
Tom nods.
An older man - Reverend Austen, if he is correct - gives him a welcoming gesture, patting his back and guiding him towards an empty spot to be seated. It becomes easily apparent to Tom that he has interrupted something important. And as he looks at the woman standing by the fireplace with a piece of paper in her hand, he realizes it is her ... speech that he has disturbed. "Well, you are more than welcome," the Reverend says, "Join us, sir. Join us."
He takes a seat by the window, joined by familiar faces. Those of John Warren and Henry Austen.
"A green velvet coat..." a young girl dressed in yellow, giggling (and admittedly a little obnoxious) - Lucy Lefroy, he believes - whispers, though not as quietly as she probably should "- vastly fashionable..."
"You'll find this vastly fascinating," Warren murmurs to him, before turning his attentions back to the young lady.
"His addresses were..." She stops herself and seems to begin again. "The boundaries of propriety were vigorously assaulted...as was only right, but not quite breached...which was also right. Nevertheless, she was not pleased."
It goes on.
"...her sentiments, noble. Her person lovely. Her figure elegant."
She flips the page over. Continues to read.
"Good God, there's writing on both sides of the pages," he mutters, his brain already beginning to numb itself.
Henry silences him with a frown and a hiss.
Another page.
"I repelled ... and his six million ..."
She looks up as she continues to read.
"... which would have lasted me only the twelve months ..."
He yawns. He cannot help it. How can all of these people possibly find this sort of thing stimulating? There are periods of polite laughter. Smiles. All he wants to do is have a drink - or perhaps sleep.
"The Fowl replied..."
Time passes. What is realistically an hour or two feels more like a week. Tom's eyes are closed and he feels his entire body begin to sink into his seat, starting with his head.
"And a treasure, greater than all the jewels in India: an adoring heart. 'And pray madam, what am I to expect in return?'
"'Expect? Well, you'll expect to have me pleased from time to time.'" She looks up at the man standing by a petite woman in pink.
"Is this who I am?" she asks, amusedly.
"And," the other woman continues, "... sweet, gentle, pleading, innocent, dedicate, sympathetic, loyal, untutored, adoring female heart." Beat. "The end."
All of a sudden there is applause, and he jerks himself awake. Ah, right. Applause. He joins in - albeit a little late.
Reception is soon afterward, and Tom is ready to leave all of this behind - immediately. Looking out the window, he stares sullenly at the expanse of trees.
"Well, excessively charming, I thought," Warren says coming to join him. He passes a small silver cup to him, and Tom accepts it, taking a sip.
"Accomplished enough, perhaps," Tom replies with a shrug. His manner is nonchalant. "A tutored mind may be less susceptible to extended juvenile self-regard."
Warren grimaces just a little as though confused, while Tom turns back to his drink.
A moment later, Warren goes off to mingle with someone else. All the better, really; Tom has had quite enough of all this.
Feeling rather dismal and more or less filled with sulky gloom, Tom stares blankly ahead at the dark wooden wall of the interior of the coach, the seat across from him empty.
He knows his relations are currently attending some special ceremony with a family he knows well enough - the Austens. He and Henry Austen are friends; oftentimes they spend time together in bars and brothels. But Henry does not speak much of the rest of his family, and likewise with Tom. Discovering who these people are and what they are like is certainly something he will have to discover on his own.
As the coach enters the Austen estate, and he is, shortly thereafter, guided towards the living room where the rest of the families have gathered, he realizes he is late. To be quite truthful, Tom, who did not wish to be here in the first place, hardly cares for his tardiness. So, what? He is certain country-folk are sluggish and prone to things like relaxing - taking it easy, as they say, anyway. Why should he care for time in such a precise manner (as he is used to, more or less) when these people do not?
He hears a woman's voice behind the closed door, reciting something that he is certain will hardly interest him. Nothing here, it seems, interests him. As he pushes the door open with a whirl and sheds his coat - expecting that someone will take care of it, as that is what they do in the city (or at least he can act like this is something they do in the city) - the crowd turn to face him. He has their attention.
Well, all right.
A man - his uncle, he recognizes (and not without a touch of disdain towards the man for having ended up so far removed from polite society) - stands to his feet and clears his throat. "May I introduce uh - my young nephew...Mr Thomas Lefroy."
Tom nods.
An older man - Reverend Austen, if he is correct - gives him a welcoming gesture, patting his back and guiding him towards an empty spot to be seated. It becomes easily apparent to Tom that he has interrupted something important. And as he looks at the woman standing by the fireplace with a piece of paper in her hand, he realizes it is her ... speech that he has disturbed. "Well, you are more than welcome," the Reverend says, "Join us, sir. Join us."
He takes a seat by the window, joined by familiar faces. Those of John Warren and Henry Austen.
"A green velvet coat..." a young girl dressed in yellow, giggling (and admittedly a little obnoxious) - Lucy Lefroy, he believes - whispers, though not as quietly as she probably should "- vastly fashionable..."
"You'll find this vastly fascinating," Warren murmurs to him, before turning his attentions back to the young lady.
"His addresses were..." She stops herself and seems to begin again. "The boundaries of propriety were vigorously assaulted...as was only right, but not quite breached...which was also right. Nevertheless, she was not pleased."
It goes on.
"...her sentiments, noble. Her person lovely. Her figure elegant."
She flips the page over. Continues to read.
"Good God, there's writing on both sides of the pages," he mutters, his brain already beginning to numb itself.
Henry silences him with a frown and a hiss.
Another page.
"I repelled ... and his six million ..."
She looks up as she continues to read.
"... which would have lasted me only the twelve months ..."
He yawns. He cannot help it. How can all of these people possibly find this sort of thing stimulating? There are periods of polite laughter. Smiles. All he wants to do is have a drink - or perhaps sleep.
"The Fowl replied..."
Time passes. What is realistically an hour or two feels more like a week. Tom's eyes are closed and he feels his entire body begin to sink into his seat, starting with his head.
"And a treasure, greater than all the jewels in India: an adoring heart. 'And pray madam, what am I to expect in return?'
"'Expect? Well, you'll expect to have me pleased from time to time.'" She looks up at the man standing by a petite woman in pink.
"Is this who I am?" she asks, amusedly.
"And," the other woman continues, "... sweet, gentle, pleading, innocent, dedicate, sympathetic, loyal, untutored, adoring female heart." Beat. "The end."
All of a sudden there is applause, and he jerks himself awake. Ah, right. Applause. He joins in - albeit a little late.
Reception is soon afterward, and Tom is ready to leave all of this behind - immediately. Looking out the window, he stares sullenly at the expanse of trees.
"Well, excessively charming, I thought," Warren says coming to join him. He passes a small silver cup to him, and Tom accepts it, taking a sip.
"Accomplished enough, perhaps," Tom replies with a shrug. His manner is nonchalant. "A tutored mind may be less susceptible to extended juvenile self-regard."
Warren grimaces just a little as though confused, while Tom turns back to his drink.
A moment later, Warren goes off to mingle with someone else. All the better, really; Tom has had quite enough of all this.
