The Greatest Showman #1062 - 1 Breakthrough

Cecilia stood frozen in place. Although London wasn't hot in July, the warmth of the day seemed to have evaporated the moment Elizabeth stepped into the room. It felt as though she'd been thrust into a Siberian ice cave. Her body trembled, though she couldn't understand why. What had just happened?

Elizabeth didn't speak at first. Instead, she stared at Cecilia for an unsettlingly long time, as if scrutinizing her soul. Then, with an almost imperceptible sigh, she opened The Times on the desk. Her fingers, painted with a rose-red nail polish, skimmed across the front page—careful, deliberate—as if she could feel the very essence of each printed word beneath her fingertips.

"Renly Hall: A hereditary aristocrat with an actor's dream.

—The transformation after layers of polishing, he is a natural actor."

She folded the paper with a sharp, controlled movement. Her wrist muscles tensed for a fraction of a second, betraying the briefest flicker of emotion—turbulence, perhaps, but only for a moment. Then, like a seasoned performer, Elizabeth straightened up, the tension gone, replaced by the poise and grace that were second nature to her. Her neck arched like a swan's, perfect in its elegance, as though nothing had disturbed her calm.

A soft smile curled her lips. "Thank you. Now, you may get back to your work."

There was no expectation of a response, no hint of anything more than polite dismissal. And with that, Elizabeth glided forward, her footsteps echoing softly as she disappeared through the white office door, leaving behind an air of refined, flawless beauty.

For a moment, Cecilia stood still, the weight of the conversation barely sinking in. It felt as though it had been a fleeting illusion, a dream she might have conjured. Yet the cold sweat on her back was a reminder that it was all too real.

"Renly Hall? Renly Hall?" she whispered to herself, trying to make sense of the exchange. She replayed the conversation in her mind, but the pieces didn't fit. Then, like a lightning bolt, the connection struck her.

"Renly Hall. Elizabeth Hall. Elizabeth Hall. Renly Hall."

Cecilia's eyes widened in horror, and her hand flew to her mouth in disbelief. "Jesus Christ." She wanted to say it aloud, but the fear gripped her chest, suffocating her voice. Her mind raced—could it be? Was it possible?

No. It couldn't be. Could it?

Elizabeth Ann sat in her office, her outward composure perfect as ever. She appeared unaffected by anything, but those who knew her could see it in the way her eyes briefly dropped, the slight pursing of her lips—a quiet sign of the turbulence brewing beneath the surface.

She was still, too still. The kind of stillness that only came from someone who could command their emotions with such precision, suppressing every flicker of disquiet beneath layers of control.

But inside her, something was shifting. The world outside had moved on, and yet Renly Hall's name—once just a whisper—was now a reality that couldn't be ignored.

From box office numbers to critical acclaim, Renly had emerged as a force. It wasn't just the tabloids or the fans, but the professionals too. Everywhere, he was the talk of the town—an actor who had proven himself with undeniable talent.

Elizabeth knew this reality all too well. After Renly's performance in Les Miserables in the West End, she had known he was more than just a fleeting star. But she'd refused to acknowledge it. She hadn't attended the play, hadn't even mentioned his name, as if keeping him at arm's length would somehow keep his rise from affecting her.

But now, here he was, unavoidable. His identity revealed. The world had learned that Renly Hall was more than just a talented actor; he was also a member of the aristocracy, the very family whose name Elizabeth had carried with such pride.

And with that revelation came the unthinkable: her family's name was no longer a symbol of prestige—it was the subject of ridicule. Renly had dragged them into the limelight, not for their aristocratic legacy, but for his "humble" decision to pursue acting.

The Hall family, once proud and distinguished, had become the laughingstock of the upper class. For Elizabeth, it was a humiliation. Her posture stiffened as she thought of it, her fingers clenched into tight fists. Her mind swirled with anger and disbelief, but she didn't let any of it show on her face.

She quickly picked up the landline, dialing George's office number. After a few rings, a secretary answered, and soon she was speaking with her brother.

"Did you read the paper today?" she asked, her voice even, but with a hint of steel beneath it.

"Which one?" George replied coolly, as if this was just another trivial matter.

"Renly," Elizabeth spat the name, the words thick on her tongue. It felt wrong, but it was undeniable. She couldn't avoid it any longer.

George, unfazed, nodded. "Yes. What's the problem? Is there something new?"

Elizabeth's brow furrowed at his nonchalance. "Now that it's out in the open, the public will start talking. You don't need me to tell you how this will reflect on us. What do you think we should do about it?"

"Nothing," George responded curtly. "There's no need for us to make a scene."

Elizabeth was taken aback, the calmness in his tone igniting her fury. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me." George didn't seem to notice her growing tension. "Elizabeth, Count Richard de Ville has agreed to hand over his trust fund to me. You know what that means."

Elizabeth's mind went blank for a moment. The mention of Count Richard de Ville brought back memories of the once-glorious West End life they had all been part of. But that was in the past, and the times had changed. The trust fund was no longer the golden ticket it once had been.

George continued, unaware of his sister's growing unease. "Richard's only request is to meet Renly. He wants a full set of Les Miserables signed by him, and a chance to speak with him. That's it. Do you understand?"

"George Hall!" Elizabeth could barely contain herself. Her voice trembled with disbelief and anger. "Do you understand that you're insulting our family name? You're willing to sell us out for a chance to speak with an actor?"

George laughed, bitter and mocking. "We've both known it for years, Elizabeth. We're no longer the true aristocrats we once were. The world has moved on, and we either adapt or get left behind."

Elizabeth's spine straightened, her hands clenched into fists, but she said nothing.

There was a long silence on the phone. Neither sibling knew quite how to respond. The distance between them had grown, and it seemed like no words could bridge the gap.

Finally, George spoke again, his voice softer but still firm. "Prince Harry and Princess Beatrice get it, Elizabeth. They understand that things have changed. The Queen even commented on it—'Times have changed,' she said."

The silence that followed felt like a chasm, unbridgeable and final.

Neither of them knew what to say next. But one thing was clear: things had changed, and neither Elizabeth nor George could stop it.