by Ann Barker
Mr Hinder had ensured that a hackney would be ready for them at the door, and after their repast was finished and their outdoor garments donned, they climbed into the waiting carriage. Miss Simms came to her own front door and wished them a very pleasant evening.
‘I’ll come and tell you all about it tomorrow,’ Jessie promised, before they drove off. For a short time as they travelled, Jessie could almost imagine herself to be back in Illingham, so quiet were the streets. It was not long, however, before they entered a more populous area, and as the evenings were now drawing out, she could see that the streets were busy. Mrs Machin was eagerly looking out of one window then the other, obviously storing up information for use in her book. Would any of the people whom they saw on the streets of London figure as characters in the pages of her novel, Jessie wondered?
The Theatre Royal itself positively defied the imagination. ‘Oh, my goodness,’ breathed Mrs Machin, as she took in the huge building, so tall that it even threatened to dwarf all but the tallest churches.
‘Have you not even seen this building before then, ma’am?’ asked Jessie curiously.
‘No, for it was only built recently.’
‘Last year,’ Mr Hinder added, clarifying matters. ‘It is the third theatre to be built on this site.’
The inside was every bit as overwhelming as the façade. The entrance lobby was very spacious, with an elegant green carpet, and plenty of chairs designed to accommodate those who might be waiting for their carriages. It might not be fashionable to be in good time for an evening at the theatre, but Mrs Machin and her party were glad to see that quite a number of people had already arrived, and were chatting in an animated fashion.
Fortunately, since no attendant seemed to be available, Mr Hinder had been in his cousin’s theatre box before, and was able to show them where to go. The ladies were very thankful for it as some lively young men, who clearly intended to sit in the pit, were becoming rather excitable, and seemed inclined to comment upon the appearance of any female present.
If the well-lit lobby with its elegant appointments had excited their admiration, the appearance of the auditorium itself almost took their breath away. There were five tiers of boxes which were arranged in a semi-circle. The colour scheme of these boxes was chiefly one of blue and white, with cameo paintings on the fronts. As if that were not enough, the pit was enormous, looking as if it must almost seat as many as a thousand people. The stage seemed to them to be positively cavernous.
‘I do believe the whole parish church at Illingham would fit on to that stage,’ Jessie told Henrietta. Meanwhile, Mr Hinder sat back with a pleased smile. Being the only one of the party who had visited the theatre before, he was conscious of an agreeable feeling of superiority.
The orchestra was already playing when they arrived, and Jessie, who seldom had the opportunity to hear an orchestra, was surprised and not a little annoyed that people chattered as loudly as if nothing was happening. Because the whole experience was new to her, however, she was almost as intrigued by the spectacle taking place around her as by what was happening on the stage. Observing the fashions of those arriving, she was glad that she had taken the time to alter her gown. Waistlines were clearly being worn much higher. She resolved to take the rest of her gowns to Miss Simms for alteration as soon as possible.
The play began soon after their arrival, but to Jessie’s surprise, although the chatter lessened, it certainly did not cease. Obviously, many people attended the theatre not so much to watch the play as to meet their friends and show off their fashions.
Before she could become really irritated, however, Mrs Siddons made her appearance, and with that, the crowd fell silent, giving that great actress the respect that her performance fully deserved. This was just as well, for the size of the theatre meant that even when the audience was completely quiet, it was not always easy to hear what the actors were saying. Many people in the theatre found the play very affecting, and as Jessie wiped away a tear at the end, she turned to see that Mrs Machin was doing the same.
The evening’s entertainment comprised the play which they had just seen followed by a farce. In between the plays, and during the intervals, the orchestra played, and, at times, singers or dancers performed. Jessie felt particularly sorry for the singer who came on after the play had ended, for her entrance appeared to be the signal for half the audience to get up and go out, some to appear moments later in other people’s boxes, and others to go for refreshments, or to take a turn about the spacious corridors.
Part of Jessie would have liked to stay and give the poor singer some support, but she was very thirsty, so when Mr Hinder suggested that they should go in search of a drink, she readily concurred. They found their way to a very handsome semi-circular saloon, where refreshments were available.
‘I’ll just find you somewhere to sit, then I’ll bring you something to drink,’ said Mr Hinder. This former intention was easier to say than to do, however, for those experienced habitués of the theatre had already claimed all the available seats and there were no more to be had.
‘Don’t worry about looking for chairs for us,’ said Mrs Machin. ‘For my part, I have had quite enough of sitting down for the time being and would be glad to stand for a little.’
Jessie readily agreed, so Mr Hinder went off in search of refreshment whilst the ladies promised to remain in the same place so that he could find them easily. The room was warm, because of the large number of people present, and there was a constant buzz of chatter. Most people seemed to be gathered in larger groups than their small party, and nowhere else did Jessie see two ladies standing alone.
‘I hope that Mr Hinder will soon return,’ she said to Mrs Machin in a low tone. ‘I feel that we are a little conspicuous.’
‘Do you?’ replied Mrs Machin, looking about her. ‘I had not noticed. To be truthful, I was taking careful note of our surroundings. I think that Lady Meredith ought to come to the theatre, do not you? I must get my description right. It would never do for people to read my book and find fault with my inaccuracies.’
‘No indeed,’ agreed Jessie, stepping to one side in order to catch Mr Hinder’s eye, because a group of people was now standing in between themselves and the direction in which he had gone.
After they had drunk the glass of wine and eaten the sweet biscuits that he brought them on a tray, they made their way back to the box so as not to miss any of the farce.
‘Now what should happen to her when she is here?’ mused Mrs Machin, once they were sitting down again.
‘To whom?’ Jessie asked. Looking down at the stage, she could see that six dancers in rather short costumes were executing some complicated steps to lively music, cheered on by a noisy group of young men who were sitting in the pit.
‘To Lady Meredith, of course,’ answered Mrs Machin, in tones that seemed to imply that Jessie was being particularly dense. ‘I suppose in a place like this she could encounter almost anyone. She could meet a rake here. Someone really wicked, like … Lord Ashbourne!’
‘There is no denying that Lord Ashbourne is a shocking rake,’ Jessie agreed.
‘No, my dear!’ replied her companion insistently. ‘Over there!’
A box which was on the same level as their own and which had previously been empty was now occupied. At the centre of the laughing group was a dazzlingly beautiful woman in a shimmering low-cut gown, with a mass of guinea-gold hair piled on top of her head. She was accompanied by another lady who looked to be a little older than herself, and who was wearing a gown of a darker shade, with a rather more modest neckline. If she was there to act as a chaperon, then she was not doing a very good job. Both ladies were in animated conversation with the other occupants of the box, all four of whom were men. Lord Ashbourne was leaning over the back of the blonde beauty’s chair, addressing some remark to her. As Jessie watched, the earl moved his hand from the back of the chair to the lady’s shoulder. At this, the lady struck his hand with her fan and laughed in what
Jessie thought was a quite unnecessarily flirtatious way.
Ashbourne also laughed, spoke to the other lady, stepped back, and then engaged one of the other men in a conversation which seemed to demand that they both take out their quizzing glasses and examine the dancers on the stage. Jessie now realized that the man to whom the earl was speaking was Sir Wallace Weary.
‘So that is how rakes go on,’ said Mrs Machin in an interested tone.
‘How? What? Where?’ exclaimed Mr Hinder, craning his neck in just the kind of way that would make their box conspicuous.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake look away,’ said Jessie crossly. ‘They are only behaving badly so that people will look at them.’
‘Who?’ Mr Hinder asked again, this time leaning forward with his hand on the back of Jessie’s chair.
‘Sit down,’ she insisted, striking him on the hand with her fan, and thus providing a rather amusing caricature of the piece of flirtation that had been going on in the nearby box. Unfortunately, however, her handling of the fan was not as delicate as that of the lady with Ashbourne, for on receiving a rather sharp blow on the knuckles, Mr Hinder responded with a cry of pain that drew the attention of those near to their box in just the kind of way that Jessie wanted to avoid.
She knew the very moment when Ashbourne became aware of them. His figure stilled briefly before he turned his handsome head and saw her. She could not read his expression. Then, as if the whole situation could not possibly get worse, Mrs Machin lifted her hand and waggled her fingers at him! Jessie looked at her two companions in despair. For two pins, she could have ducked down beneath the front of the box and out of view. That would have made them look more ridiculous than ever, so she could only sit and wait to see what he would do.
After a moment, his features relaxed into a polite smile, and he bowed slightly, his hand on his heart. Sir Wallace Weary, who had noticed Mrs Machin’s gesture, also bowed.
‘They have acknowledged us!’ exclaimed Mrs Machin. ‘Oh do you suppose that they may come round to our box?’
‘I don’t know and I don’t care,’ replied Jessie, determined to avoid attracting further notice. ‘Look the farce is beginning. Can we please conduct ourselves so that we do not look as if we are on intimate terms with every rake and scoundrel in London?’
Thankfully, this piece of firmness appeared to bring the others to their senses. They settled down to watch the farce, a rather thin tale which involved a lot of running in and out for which Jessie never did discover the reason. By the time they were ready to leave, the box in which Lord Ashbourne had been sitting was empty once again. Jessie told herself firmly that it was a very good thing, too.
*
‘Who were those people, Raff?’ asked Lady Winterson, laying her hand on Lord Ashbourne’s arm as their party left the theatre. They had made their exit shortly before the end of the farce in order to avoid the crush on the stairs.
‘Which people, my dear?’ asked Ashbourne at his most suave. ‘You must know that in your presence, I only have eyes for you.’
‘Fiddle,’ replied the blonde beauty tranquilly. ‘Your glass became virtually glued to your eye from the moment that the dancers came on stage.’
‘Only for purposes of comparison,’ the earl assured her. ‘Entirely in your favour, of course.’
Lady Winterson allowed her gaze to survey him from beneath long sweeping lashes. He really looked extraordinarily handsome this evening. Eschewing the extravagances of some of the other men present, he was in a coat of darkest purple, with matching breeches, and a silver waistcoat with self-coloured embroidery.
The two of them had been everything to one another some years before and, after their parting, they had remained upon good terms. Since then, she had consoled herself very satisfactorily, and she had no doubt that he had done the same. Nevertheless, she would have no objection to renewing intimate ties with an exceedingly accomplished lover.
‘So kind,’ she murmured, as he handed her into her carriage. ‘But you still have not answered my question.’
‘Have I not?’ he replied, climbing in after her. ‘I must confess that your beauty has entirely driven it out of my mind. Was it very important?’
‘Not at all,’ she answered, swaying closer to him in the darkness.
An hour later, he let himself out of Lady Winterson’s house and wandered in the direction of St James’s Street. He had shared a glass of brandy with her, and indulged her with a desperate flirtation, but had then made his farewells. His liaison with her had been very agreeable, but he had always made it a rule never to retrace his steps. Furthermore, he had a suspicion that the glamorous widow was now in search of a new husband, and he had long since determined not to marry again. His first marriage had not been such a roaring success that he was anxious to repeat the experience.
His mind went back to his son’s wedding, Were they still happy? He had no way of knowing. Thanks to his early youthful anxiety to distance himself from the pain of the past, he had allowed his son to grow to maturity without knowing him. He would have to rely upon other sources to inform him if Ilam looked likely to produce an heir. Judging by the way in which the viscount and his bride had difficulties keeping their hands off each other, the time would not be long.
What would it be like, he wondered, to have a wife who adored him? He thought immediately of Jez Warburton. Had he wanted that, he could have married her years ago. He was well aware that she had been besotted with him for half her life, although he had tried never to encourage her.
He had been acting the rake for the past twenty years and more. By many, he was simply known as Rake Ashbourne. Others, remembering the fact that the males of his family were always given the names of angels, called him the Fallen Angel.
Jez Warburton deserved better than that. She had looked an elegant lady that evening in her golden gown, cut fashionably low, although not as low as some, notably that of Lady Winterson. She deserved a happy marriage to a man who would appreciate her. He only hoped that Henry Lusty knew how lucky he was. He, Raphael, had no intention of making her unhappy himself; but he would not stand by and let some other man make her unhappy either, if he could help it.
He had not expected to see Mrs Machin and her party at the theatre that evening; but then he had not expected to see them in any fashionable place. Mr Lusty’s sister’s house was in an unfashionable part of town and, from what he had seen on his brief visit, she lived in a very quiet, modest way. He was glad that Jez had had the opportunity to enjoy such a treat, but he had been horrified at the way in which Mrs Machin and her buffoon of an escort had managed to draw attention to their acquaintance with himself. What was more, they had also drawn the attention of Sir Wallace Weary. The baronet had noticed Jez at almost the same time as he himself had seen her.
‘There’s that dashed pretty wench from the bookshop,’ he had murmured. ‘Damned if I wouldn’t like to make her better acquaintance.’ Fortunately at that point one of the other men had invited him to go on to another function and the moment had passed. But the danger was still there. They were two women, living alone without the protection of a man. Mrs Machin was more naïve than a widow of her age had any right to be. Jez had no idea of how to go on in London; and there was Weary, a man whom he barely tolerated at best, starting to think that they were both prime articles because of Mrs Machin’s silliness. What on earth could he do to protect them?
‘Raff! Raff, I say! Windmills in your head?’
Roused from his abstraction by Toby Wayland’s hearty voice, the earl realized that he had arrived at the corner of St James’s Street. He responded to the greeting and putting aside his anxieties he accompanied his friend up the steps and into Brooks’s, ready to enjoy a night’s gaming.
Chapter Ten
Now that Mrs Machin had abandoned the fiction of copying and ordering her husband’s writings, and composing moral tracts, the two ladies generally breakfasted together. On the morning after their visit to the theatre, when the
y sat at table, Mrs Machin said, ‘My mind is positively buzzing with ideas for my novel. Will you excuse me, my dear, if I disappear into the book-room to work? There is so much that I must write down whilst it is fresh in my mind.’
‘Of course,’ Jessie replied readily. ‘Shall we perhaps have a walk later?’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ agreed Henrietta. Jessie could see from her expression that she was already back amidst the sights and sounds of the theatre. It seemed as though her sense of obligation as hostess had not entirely deserted her, however, for she was three parts out of the door when she turned and said, ‘How will you occupy your time? Do you have something to do, or would you’ – she swallowed - ‘prefer me to entertain you in some way?’
‘By no means,’ laughed Jessie. ‘Pray do not tear yourself away if the muse is upon you. Only tell me if there are any charitable institutions nearby where I may make myself useful for an hour or two.’
Mrs Machin looked thoughtful. ‘The parish of St George has a poor house,’ she said after a brief consideration. ‘I don’t know what they do there by way of education. I know they do some teaching at the Foundling hospital but that is rather a long way to walk.’
‘I will go to St George’s, then,’ Jessie answered, ‘and see if I can help with anything.’ After a short pause, she added, ‘Is St George’s church really the nearest?’
‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ said Henrietta frankly, ‘but it’s by far the most fashionable. See if Mr Hinder wants to go with you. His presence might be valuable to you.’
Seeing the sense of this, Jessie went to Mr Hinder’s house and found him in the very act of preparing to go out.
