‘It seems a few other people have decided to come,’ she shouted, leaning across so that Bridget could hear her.
‘Performances of Hamlet are rare, especially with George Frederick Cooke in the title role.’
‘From what I’ve read, we’ll be fortunate if he turns up sober.’
Bridget giggled. ‘A few years ago I saw Sarah Siddons in the role. She caused quite a stir in her breeches. But she has stopped playing at the Theatre Royal now. She claims it is so big that she cannot make herself heard.’
There was a stir in the stalls, and a smattering of applause. Bridget pointed across to a large box overhanging the stage. ‘Arrivals in the royal box.’ She grabbed a pair of binoculars for a closer look, then passed them to Elizabeth. ‘William, Duke of Clarence, accompanied by his, ah, friend Mrs Dorothy Jordan. Also I think Princess Amelia.’
‘Mrs Jordan is an impressive woman,’ Elizabeth said.
‘As an actress I suppose she knows how to make an entrance.’ She whispered in Elizabeth’s ear, ‘They have lived together for many years and have dozens of children.’
Elizabeth waved away this gossip with a snort. ‘I don’t see the king.’
‘Someone tried to shoot him in that very box three years ago,’ Bridget said with a grin. ‘Two pistol shots. Both narrowly missed.’
Elizabeth shivered, and Bridget took her hand. ‘I’m sorry dear, I didn’t mean to …’
‘I’m well,’ Elizabeth said, trying to push Darcy out of her mind. ‘I can see that the king might have been discouraged by such treatment.’
Bridget took the binoculars again, then suddenly gasped.
‘What have you seen?’ Elizabeth demanded.
‘I had better not say.’
‘Come on!’ Elizabeth tugged at the binoculars, but relented on noticing the concern on Bridget’s face.
Bridget sighed. ‘I was hoping this outing would distract you from your troubles, but I suppose I have to tell you now. Several boxes to our right, opposite the royal box. There’s a party of three, including the woman in light blue with the fan. Lord and Lady Harbury. I don’t know the other gentleman.’
‘Lord Harbury,’ Elizabeth frowned. ‘You mentioned him the other day.’ She looked across to Mr Beaumont, who was in conversation with a guest, and lowered her voice. ‘Sir Osborne Kaye was his brother-in-law?’
‘Yes, Sir Osborne married his sister.’
‘That other gentleman, could he be Sir Arthur Kaye, the new baronet?’
‘He looks too old.’ Bridget handed over the binoculars. ‘What do you think?’
Elizabeth studied the box intently, resting her arms on the railing to steady her hand. ‘Yes, he would be in his forties at least.’ She saw a movement at the back of the box and squinted to get a sharper view. ‘There’s someone else there. A young woman dressed in black.’
They looked at each other, and Bridget whispered, ‘Miss Kaye?’
The volume of conversation in the theatre suddenly dropped, and Elizabeth turned eagerly towards the stage, where the curtains were parting to reveal a guard in front of a castle, with dark sea behind. Another sentinel approached, and they began to talk. ‘Who’s there?’ ‘Nay, answer me.’ ‘Long live the king!’. Although the voices were audible, they were somewhat strained with the effort of projecting to such a large auditorium, and Elizabeth wondered whether people at the back could hear the words. Fortunately the stage was brightly lit by kerosene lamps interspersed with candles.
A second scene opened, and before long the infamous Mr Cooke was on stage alone, and starting his first soliloquy: ‘O, that this too too solid flesh would melt’. Now captivated, Elizabeth savoured every word, and thoughts of Darcy and her other troubles receded to the back of her mind.
Chapter 12
At the interval after Act II, while the Beaumonts stretched their legs in search of refreshments, Elizabeth hastened to the ladies room where she was pleased to find flushing conveniences with only a short queue. On returning to the washing area she noticed a young lady in black joining a queue, and after one or two surreptitious glances recognised her as the girl at the back of Lord Harbury’s box.
In great curiosity, Elizabeth placed herself in front of a mirror, and contrived a need to repin her hair, while keeping the young woman under observation. She was perhaps eighteen years old, and of Elizabeth’s height or a little taller, but with a slump to her thin shoulders that diminished her figure. Her features were graceful, and her face would have been pretty were it not so pale and lacking in animation.
As the ladies room filled up Elizabeth felt obliged to give up her position at the mirror, and passed through to the corridor, now relatively deserted. With no definite plan, she decided to linger for a while, as if waiting for a friend, and watched elegantly dressed women come and go, often in groups of two or three, without recognising anyone she knew. The atmosphere in the corridor was warm and humid, and she was dabbing a moist patch on her forehead with a handkerchief when the door of the ladies room opened a fraction and the young lady in the black dress slipped out. She was alone, and seemed unsure what to do next. Impulsively, Elizabeth walked past her, while allowing her handkerchief to drop to the floor. Continuing as if nothing had happened, she took a few slow steps without looking back and was rewarded by a patter of feet and a soft cry:
‘Excuse me, madam.’
Elizabeth turned to face her. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘You, ah, dropped …’
‘Oh how kind!’ Elizabeth took the handkerchief and turned it over to reveal her initials in the corner. ‘EB, Elizabeth Bennet. Having taken such pains over the embroidery I should have been upset to lose this. I am very grateful to you, Miss …’
The young woman froze for a moment, before bobbing a curtsey and whispering, ‘Miss Kaye. Helena.’
She appeared ill at ease giving her name, a feeling Elizabeth could easily understand given her family’s recent exposure in the press. She wondered whether to offer condolences for Sir Osborne’s death, but decided this might frighten her off, and said instead:
‘Have you been enjoying the performance?’
‘Oh yes.’ For a moment Miss Kaye’s eyes came to life. ‘I like the theatre and come whenever I can.’ She seemed to catch herself, and her expression dulled again. ‘Of course I am not clever enough to understand the deeper meaning of the work.’
‘I’m sure you’re extremely clever!’ Elizabeth held up her handkerchief. ‘You showed quick thinking in retrieving this, at any rate.’
Elizabeth feared she might have overdone the flattery, but although Miss Kaye seemed unsure how to reply, she showed every sign of welcoming the praise.
‘This is a wondrous auditorium,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I never saw one so large before in all my life.’
‘I’m glad to be so near the stage,’ Miss Kaye said, ‘otherwise they say it is difficult to hear.’
‘Where is your box?’
Miss Kaye pointed. ‘On this level, almost at the end.’
‘You must have an excellent view from there.’
‘Oh yes.’ She hesitated. ‘Would you like to see?’
‘That’s most kind of you. Yes, I would be fascinated.’
Their route took them past the Beaumonts’ box, where Elizabeth caught a glimpse of Bridget pouring wine from a flask. Mouthing the word ‘Later’, Elizabeth started walking again, and a few yards further along they rounded a corner and came to the prestigious large boxes overlooking the stage.
‘Just a moment, Miss Bennet.’ Miss Kaye entered a box, and after a whispered exchange returned, accompanied by a distinguished elderly gentleman with a stiff, military bearing, whom Elizabeth recognised as Lord Harbury.
‘I see Helena has found a friend.’ He offered his hand with easy grace. ‘Harbury. I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Bennet.’
Elizabeth coloured, now sharply aware how shamelessly she was intruding. ‘Thank you, Lord Harbury. Miss Kaye kindly offered to s
how me the view from your box. I must apologise for the disturbance.’
‘Our pleasure.’ He escorted her through, and she saw on her left Lady Harbury in conversation with the gentleman she had noticed before; at close quarters he looked if anything older, and certainly not of an age to be Miss Kaye’s brother. Lady Harbury acknowledged her entrance with a brief nod, but did not rise; the gentleman did not even look round. Following Miss Kaye, Elizabeth moved to the right-hand corner, which did indeed command a fine view of the stage just a few yards below.
‘I hadn’t realised you were in such distinguished company,’ Elizabeth whispered.
‘Lord Harbury is my uncle,’ Miss Kaye whispered back. ‘On my mother’s side.’ She hesitated. ‘My mother passed away …’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It was some years ago.’ Miss Kaye blinked in embarrassment. ‘We are in mourning now for my father. You may have heard …’
Elizabeth touched her arm gently. ‘Yes, I saw a report in the newspaper. I’m sorry for your loss.’
‘You are kind.’ Miss Kaye looked away, her eyes moist. ‘I feel ashamed that I was not a better daughter.’
Elizabeth studied the young woman’s strained face, astonished by this sudden intimate revelation. She was forming an impression of Miss Kaye as a shy, awkward girl who had experienced little friendship or appreciation; perhaps this was why she was attaching herself so quickly to someone that took an interest in her.
‘I should return to my party,’ she said.
‘Of course.’ Miss Kaye’s face fell, and she continued mechanically, ‘It was good of you to talk with me.’
Elizabeth rose. ‘I’ll look out for you during the next interval if you like.’
Miss Kaye’s eyes came to life again, and she smiled as Elizabeth took her leave.
As Elizabeth re-entered the Beaumonts’ box, Bridget thrust a glass of wine into her hand and pointed to the door.
‘The performance is about to restart,’ Elizabeth protested.
‘You and I are going to talk.’ Bridget grabbed her arm and pulled her a few yards into the corridor. ‘Why are you consorting with Helena Kaye?’
‘Calm down, for heaven’s sake. I saw Miss Kaye standing on her own, and on impulse decided to find out whether she was approachable.’
‘In other words you hope to infiltrate the enemy camp and discover intelligence that might help your Mr D.’
‘For now I’m just feeling my way. Probably it will come to nothing, but there can be little risk, since they have no reason to connect me to the gentleman just mentioned—who by the way is not my Mr D.’
‘On the contrary, you are undertaking a deception that might get you into serious trouble.’
Elizabeth looked down sadly. ‘I do feel bad about deceiving Miss Kaye, who is almost certainly blameless. Perhaps you are right and there is some risk to me too.’ She looked up to meet Bridget’s eye. ‘But why should a woman not take risks to aid someone she cares about? We allow men to endanger their lives in fighting for their country, or protecting their families. Why not women too, if we aspire to be their equals?’
Bridget touched her arm. ‘I’m afraid for you, Elizabeth. I would feel the same if you were my brother, for instance.’
Elizabeth nodded slowly, then became aware of the glass in her hand and took a gulp of wine. ‘We’re missing the scene.’
‘I insist you stay away from her. Promise?’
‘No!’
‘Apart from anything else, it is not pleasant to invite a friend to the theatre and have her desert you for someone else.’
‘Then you had better not invite me again.’
‘I probably won’t.’ With a pout Bridget turned away and returned to the box.
During Act III, Elizabeth was no longer able to concentrate on the language or plot of the play; even when George Frederick Cooke—suspiciously red-faced after the interval—delivered the famous soliloquy ‘To be or not to be, that is the question’, she scarcely noticed the words, so shaken was she by her sudden brush with the Kaye family. Struggling to ignore the proximity of Lord Harbury’s box, she fixed her stare on the centre of the stage, following the comings and goings of the actors as if they were flames dancing in a fireplace, with her mind elsewhere.
By the end of the act Elizabeth had resolved to seek out Helena Kaye again, Bridget’s warnings notwithstanding; she had also refilled her glass from the wine bottle and was feeling decidedly light-headed. As the curtain went down Bridget met her eye in silent interrogation, Elizabeth signalled her intention to return to the corridor, and with a shrug Bridget turned away and talked to her husband.
Since no meeting-point had been arranged, Elizabeth decided to take up a position midway between the boxes, and await developments. For a few minutes the corridor was crowded, and she observed the comings and goings nervously in fear of encountering someone she knew. Was Miss Kaye perhaps waiting for her in Lord Harbury’s box? She rounded the bend in the corridor, and came face to face with Miss Kaye, inching tentatively towards her like a frightened animal.
‘Miss Bennet, I’m so sorry. I’ve been waiting outside our box. You must think me very foolish.’
Elizabeth laughed. ‘In that case we are both fools, since I made exactly the same mistake.’
Miss Kaye stared at her, as if shocked by such an admission. ‘No, the fault is mine. I always do the wrong thing in these situations.’
‘Did you enjoy the third act?’
‘Oh yes.’ Miss Kaye clasped her hands together. ‘Mr Cooke delivers the lines so wonderfully.’
‘His voice has remarkable resonance,’ Elizabeth agreed. ‘Unfortunately the actress playing Ophelia does not project so well.’
‘If you cannot hear, why not watch the next act from our box? There is plenty of room, and Lord Harbury specifically gave me leave to invite you.’
Elizabeth hesitated. ‘Thank you, I would love to, but first I should confer with my party.’
‘I hope I’ve not put you in a difficult position.’
‘Not at all.’ Elizabeth put a hand soothingly on the girl’s arm. ‘Miss Kaye, in case we get separated, may I leave you my card?’
‘Oh yes, and here is mine.’ With a shaking hand, Miss Kaye searched in her reticule. ‘Pardon me for not thinking of it before. Mornings I am usually at home.’
Ending the conversation as soon as she could, Elizabeth returned to Bridget, and drew her into a corner where they could discuss the latest developments in privacy. She watched impatiently as Bridget thought the matter over, her expression unusually serious.
‘Come on, tell me I am mad,’ Elizabeth prompted eventually. ‘My vital humours are out of balance. I need a rest cure, or a water cure, or should be restrained in a padded cell.’
Bridget sighed. ‘All the above, but you are also a brave woman, and as a loyal friend I should respect your decisions.’ She took a step closer and dropped her voice. ‘But one thing I do ask, Elizabeth. If you proceed with your plan, your presence in Lord Harbury’s box will be visible to the whole auditorium. I grant that since you are not well known in the ton, few people if any will recognise you. But do try to stay in shadow.’
As Act IV progressed, Elizabeth felt more at ease. She was seated on Helena Kaye’s right at the edge of the box, just a few yards from the stage, where the drama of Ophelia’s breakdown was playing out. Lady Harbury, as before, had ignored her, and Lord Harbury, like Miss Kaye, was engrossed in the performance. Having never enjoyed such a good seat before, she tried to take advantage of the opportunity, and to forget her troubles and intrigues at least for the moment.
The door opened and a young man entered and took a seat beside Lord Harbury. Looking round, Elizabeth met Miss Kaye’s eye questioningly, and received a whispered answer:
‘My brother. Arthur.’
The young man seemed to realise for the first time that there was a stranger in the box, and his eyes fastened on to Elizabeth, and held. Like Miss Kaye he was pale and th
in, but his expression was very different—not so much self-deprecating as vain and petulant. He did not smile, but merely stared at her appraisingly. Trembling with fright, Elizabeth forced her attention back to the play, as he leaned forward and began to whisper to his uncle.
Elizabeth, immediately alert, pretended to watch the stage while straining to hear what the gentlemen were saying.
‘Has a date been set?’ This from Lord Harbury.
The reply was mostly inaudible, but she picked up the word ‘weeks’.
‘Your decision.’ Lord Harbury again. ‘But take care.’
Another mumbled response, which sounded at first like ‘no elephants’. Elizabeth longed to move closer, but dared not expose her interest. The whispering stopped, and she quietly sighed with frustration. Of course the conversation could have been on any topic. Perhaps they were planning an outing to the zoo. Elizabeth stifled a giggle, provoking a puzzled glance from Miss Kaye—unsurprisingly, since the death of Ophelia had just been announced. She pretended to clear her throat before returning her attention to the stage. As she did so, it dawned on her that the phrase might have been ‘no evidence’. Could it be that Darcy’s trial was to take place in a few weeks time, and that one side—either Darcy’s or Arthur Kaye’s—had no evidence?
When the scene ended another short interval was announced and Elizabeth decided it was time to retreat; but first she had to gather herself for the momentous introduction to Arthur Kaye, who had risen to block their path.
‘So Helena, you have a guest,’ he said. His voice had a nasal drawl, which gave every utterance a tinge of irony.
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