The Greatest Showman #947 - Treat as a War Post

In the quiet and still restaurant, a crisp sound echoed. Although faint, it was distinct enough for both Elizabeth and Elf to raise their heads and glance toward the source. The sliding letters on the table had made the noise, unmistakably indicating that someone had dropped one.

George's brows furrowed, and a serious expression spread across his face, tinged with a hint of anger. Though he tried to suppress it, his movements betrayed his inner frustration. He flipped through The Financial Times with a harshness that seemed to crackle in the air, the sound of the pages turning more like a slap than a flip.

After briefly scanning a few pages, he slammed the newspaper shut, tossing it heavily onto the table—completely disregarding any semblance of table manners or decorum.

"George, watch your behavior," Elizabeth admonished in a calm yet firm tone.

Her words seemed to sting, prompting George's voice to rise with frustration. "My behavior? If you hadn't discouraged me, none of this would've happened. Now, the shame is spilling over into the West End. What do we do now?"

Years of discipline had given George a strong sense of self-control, but certain topics always threatened to unravel that restraint. His words came sharp as his jaw tightened, his voice escalating with barely contained anger. "If you're so perfect in your actions, tell me—what do we do now? Should we have Arthur send his goons to kidnap him to the Lake District and lock him up in a mental hospital for a few months? Jesus, Elizabeth, it's 2012, not 1912!"

With a dramatic motion, George grabbed the envelope from earlier and tossed it across the table, the letter skidding to a stop in front of Elizabeth. "It's too late for that now. I don't know what to do. He's standing out there, disgraceful, while we hide in Bayswater, pretending nothing happened? It's a true shame."

"Calm down," Elizabeth replied, her voice steady, though her words held an icy edge. "With behavior like that, do you really think the Duke will trust you with managing their assets? George, you're not thirty-two anymore."

George fell silent, his eyes cold as he watched Elizabeth open the envelope. When her expression shifted slightly, a trace of sarcasm flickered across her face, George's gaze sharpened, waiting for her response.

Elizabeth quickly scanned the invitation, her left hand clenched into a fist, her manicured nails digging into her palm as the tension heightened. The sting brought her focus back. "I told you, this should've been nipped in the bud before it even started," she muttered under her breath.

George, now more composed, glanced at her with cold precision. "How do we handle this now? John Codd is a tough nut to crack, and the Almeida Theatre is no small matter. Even the Prince of Wales is willing to visit. What can we do? Do you think we can convince Andre Hamilton?"

It wasn't for lack of trying.

When they had first encountered Renly at Eaton Dormer's brand launch, the severity of the situation had hit them hard. They knew they needed to act quickly, but the deeper they dug, the more entrenched Renly's position became. The Silver Bear at the Berlin Film Festival had drawn attention; Renly's talent was undeniable. Now, with his return to London and the West End stage, things had only escalated.

John Codd and Almeida Theatre were staunch in their dedication to artistic integrity, uninterested in the complicated world of aristocratic connections. And with figures like the Prince of Wales showing support for Renly's work, their options were quickly running out.

"The real problem," George continued, "is Andre. He's an investor in the play, not the Hamiltons. And I know how indulgent they are with their son. What could we possibly do?"

Elizabeth shot him a cold look, unwilling to shoulder all the blame. "I told you from the beginning that Renly should not have been allowed to pursue piano or acting. But you insisted on pushing him to adapt to the new century. Look at the mess we're in now."

"Enough!" Elf's voice rang out sharply, cutting through the tension. She had been quietly observing the scene, maintaining her calm composure. "We are not like those middle-class families who tear each other apart in public. Please, show some restraint."

Her calm words had the desired effect. Both George and Elizabeth looked away, their tempers subdued. "Now that things are as they are," Elf continued, "we need to focus on solutions."

In the Hall family, Elf, the eldest daughter, had the right to speak with authority. Even George and Elizabeth, despite their years of experience, acknowledged her level-headedness and tact.

George grumbled, tossing his napkin onto the table. "I'm not going to the premiere. I don't want to talk about it, and I certainly don't want to hear anyone at the office gossiping about it. You'll deal with it, but I won't be a part of it." With that, he stood abruptly and stormed out of the restaurant.

"Philip," he called out, as he passed through the doorway. "Prepare the car. I'm going to the bank."

Philip nodded and silently walked to the concierge desk, instructing the driver to prepare the car.

In the restaurant, only Elf and Elizabeth remained.

Elizabeth rubbed her temples in an attempt to calm the remaining storm of emotions inside her. Elf, however, rose from her seat, walked over to Elizabeth, and picked up the invitation. She read it carefully, her expression thoughtful. "We must attend the premiere."

Elizabeth's face reddened with frustration. "Attend the premiere? Let him humiliate us in person? Or allow others to see us as a joke? He returns to the West End, sends out invitations, and this is how he treats us? It's too cruel!"

"If you had announced to the world that he was disowned, no one would have thought it cruel," Elf responded calmly. "Similarly, if he invites you to the premiere, no one will think it cruel. The public will see it as a matter of course."

Elizabeth paused, then slowly began to realize the implications. "So, if we're absent, it's a bigger shame. Every notable person in London will receive an invitation—except for us. What does that say?"

It became clear. In the circles they moved in, to be excluded from the premiere was to be cast aside, a disgrace that could not be easily undone.

"This is a battle post!" Elizabeth finally exclaimed, gritting her teeth. "He's betting we won't dare to attend. It's a challenge we were destined to lose."

"Not necessarily," Elf countered. "You and Father don't need to go. Let Arthur and I attend. We'll handle the social aspects for the family."

With that, Elf already had a plan. She and Arthur, of Renly's generation, would go to the premiere, allowing George and Elizabeth to maintain their dignity, whether the outcome was victory or defeat.

As Elf spoke, she looked up and saw Philip entering the room. "Philip, come with us too," she said with a smile. "I'm sure Renly would like to see you there."

Elf Hall, poised, strategic, and always several steps ahead, had already set the stage for the next move.