Act II - The Bookcase Opens
Scene: The flat, later that evening
Amber sprawled on the sofa with wine, Wai scrolling his phone, Mark dutifully stacking plates. Will is in his room arranging books.
WILL (casual, almost too casual):
Mark, can you come here for a second? I need you to lift the bookcase for me.
MARK (suspicious):
What am I, your intern?
AMBER (snorting):
Don’t argue, Mark. You’re built for errands.
(Mark mutters but heads into the bedroom. He pauses at the looming bookcase.)
MARK (eyeing the rows of spines):
You've got every English novel they tortured us with at school. Dickens, Austen, Brontë… Did you mug a library?
WILL (smiling faintly):
Hardly. They found me.
MARK (snorts):
What are you, a book whisperer?
WILL (steps closer, pulling out a battered copy of Pride and Prejudice):
Something like that. Want to see what makes these more than paper?
(Will opens the book. The pages flutter as though caught in a sudden breeze. The lights flicker. Mark blinks—when he opens his eyes, he’s standing in a sunlit country lane, birdsong in the air. He looks down at himself, horrified to see a stiff Regency suit and absurd cravat.)
(Mr Collins suddenly barrels over, pompous and breathless.)
MR COLLINS:
Sir! Sir! You must join us at the assembly this evening! Such a rare honour, a new gentleman in our midst!
MARK (alarmed):
Assembly? As in… public gathering? Dancing? No... absolutely not...
MR COLLINS (ignoring him, grabbing his arm):
It is settled. Lady Catherine shall be most gratified.
(Mark is half-dragged towards the lights of a nearby hall. Will strolls behind, hands clasped behind his back, watching with an infuriating smile.)
WILL (calling after him):
Relax, Mark. Think of it as… social research.
MARK (groaning):
This is going to be a disaster.
(They disappear into the candlelit building, music already spilling out.)
Scene: A grand assembly room in Meryton
Candles glitter. Musicians tune fiddles. The Bennet sisters are radiant; the local gentry mill about. Mark, still in his ridiculous cravat, is shoved through the door beside Will, who looks utterly at home in Regency finery.
MARK (muttering under his breath):
This is absurd. I can't dance. I haven't danced since… well, since an office Christmas party best forgotten.
WILL (smiling wickedly, voice low):
You'll manage. Just follow my lead. Or better yet—don't step on anyone's toes.
(Elizabeth Bennet approaches, graceful and amused.)
ELIZABETH (curtseying):
Mr Mark, is it? You look positively petrified. Do not worry; no one here bites. Well, except perhaps Lady Catherine.
MARK (flustered, fumbling a bow):
I—I'm fine. Entirely composed.
(Behind him, Will smirks. Elizabeth suppresses a laugh and drifts away.)
(The musicians strike up. Mr Collins lumbers forward, puffing with self-importance.)
MR COLLINS:
Sir! A gentleman must not linger at the edges. You must join the dance! Come, I shall escort you.
MARK (horrified):
Oh no, really, I—
MR COLLINS (dragging him by the arm):
Nonsense! You are precisely the height Lady Catherine admires in a partner.
(Mark is shoved into a line of dancers. The music begins. He stumbles immediately, nearly toppling into Lydia Bennet, who shrieks with laughter.)
LYDIA:
Careful, sir! One might think you'd never seen a dance floor before.
MARK (muttering):
Not one like this…
(He tries to follow the steps, fails miserably, and collides with Jane, who smiles kindly despite the pain in her toes.)
JANE (gentle):
It is quite alright. The floor is crowded.
MARK (mortified):
I've just assaulted half the Bennet family. Wonderful.
MARK (to Will, muttering furiously):
You did this on purpose.
WILL (leaning close, eyes glinting):
Of course I did. Watching you unravel is the highlight of my evening.
(Mark glares, but he's trembling—not entirely from embarrassment. The candles flicker; for an instant, it feels as though the whole ballroom is watching them a little too closely, as if the story itself has noticed the intrusion.)
MARK (whispering):
Get me out of here.
WILL (smile wicked, tilting his head):
Not until I've had my fill.
(Before Mark can protest, Will releases his hand and gives him the slightest shove forward. The dancers part and turn—Mark stumbles straight into Elizabeth’s path. She steadies him with effortless grace, her smile gentle at first, but her eyes already watchful.)
ELIZABETH (gracious, almost teasing):
Careful, sir. You look less like a partner seeking a dance… and more like a man caught trespassing.
(Mark forces a nervous laugh, fumbling a bow. Elizabeth does not release his hand. Her gaze lingers too long, sharp as a scalpel masked beneath civility.)
ELIZABETH (lowering her voice):
Tell me truly—who are you?
(The warmth in her tone fades, replaced by a searching clarity. Mark’s chest tightens; he hasn’t prepared, hasn’t rehearsed an answer. His silence betrays him. Elizabeth leans closer, her grip firm, her eyes cutting past his mask.)
ELIZABETH:
You are not here to dance, nor to woo. You are here with another purpose. And the story will not let you hide forever.
(Mark trembles, breath shallow. The candlelight flares as though the whole ballroom leans in to hear. His lips part, but no words come. At last, panic seizes him—he tears his hand free and bolts through the crowd, the music faltering as skirts rustle and gasps follow him. Elizabeth remains behind, pale but composed, her eyes clouded with both suspicion and pity.)
MARK (panicked, stumbling through the crowd):
Excuse me—sorry—pardon—
(He breaks from the dancers, pushing into the garden. Lanterns cast a dim glow. He stumbles backwards, words of the novel's world buzzing in his head—cotillions, propriety, Darcy, duty—until his heel catches the edge of a stone pool. With a splash, he tumbles in.)
MARK (spluttering, furious and mortified):
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
(Will appears at the pool's edge, maddeningly dry and composed, crouching with a wry smile.)
WILL (smooth, mocking):
You really are determined to drown tonight, aren’t you?
(He reaches in, grips Mark's wrist firmly, and hauls him out. Mark coughs, drenched and humiliated, collapsing against Will's chest. Will's smile fades, his tone dropping into command.)
WILL:
Enough. Time to go home.
(He snaps the book shut. The ballroom vanishes—the candles, the music, the cold water—all gone. Mark blinks, gasping, as reality floods back.)
Scene: The flat, seconds later
Mark stumbles out of the bedroom, pale, gripping the doorframe. His collar is skewed, hair mussed, breath uneven.
AMBER (frowning):
What happened to you? You look like you've seen a ghost—or worse, a tax return.
WAI (laughing, pointing a fork at him):
Mate, did you pass out in there? Your hair's a crime scene.
MARK (hesitant, voice unsteady):
I—I was just—
(He cuts himself short, eyes flicking towards Will. Will is calmly pouring more wine into Amber’s glass, utterly composed.)
WILL (light, easy tone):
We were just talking about nursery chaos. One of the kids tried to smuggle a frog in their lunchbox today. Thought it was hilarious.
AMBER (snorting):
Hilarious? That's nightmare fuel.
WAI (grinning, leaning back smugly):
Nightmare fuel? That’s your room. You’ve got so many weird trinkets in there it looks like a cursed museum.
AMBER (swatting at him with a cushion):
At least I’ve got personality. Your room’s so empty it looks like it’s been robbed.
(Amber and Wai continue to bicker, their voices overlapping in comic rhythm. The sofa fills with laughter. Mark stands apart, still dripping, his hands trembling slightly. Will finally crosses the room, moving close enough that his words are for Mark alone.)
MARK (voice low, unsteady):
What… what was that? I didn’t want to be part of your...
WILL (interrupting, tone soft but piercing):
You didn’t want to be seen, do you? Always hiding, following a script someone else wrote for you. At work, at home, even here.
(He leans in closer, eyes glinting, though his hand lingers on Mark’s arm with unexpected care.)
WILL :
I’ll drag you out of that script, Mark - even if you hate me for it.
MARK (flinching, but not pulling away):
Or I’ll drown first.
WILL (chuckling softly, tilting his head):
Then I’ll be there to pull you out. Always.
(The sounds of Amber and Wai’s laughter swell in the background, oblivious. Mark lowers his gaze, caught between fear and something he dares not name. Will straightens, his expression bright again as he turns back to the others.)