Stages of Desire

by Julia Tagan

  She missed him terribly. Why had he been at the theater? Had he sought her out in love, or in anger? He’d saved her life, according to Mrs. Kembler, by taking her to his home and giving her something to rid her of the poison. She wanted to thank him for endangering his own life for hers. There was so much she wished to say.

  Mrs. Kembler bustled into the room, carrying several books and papers. “I see you’ve awakened, how are you feeling, my love?”

  Harriet offered up a weak smile. Hot tears pricked her eyes. If it weren’t for Mrs. Kembler, she didn’t know where she’d be right now. The dear woman had been nursing her back to health with the patience and kindness of a true friend.

  “Now don’t start crying on me again,” said Mrs. Kembler, taking out a handkerchief and dabbing her own eyes. “You know, with all this tragedy, I’m liable to go off at the slightest inclination. I’ll be sobbing all day if you start in. It’s what made my Desdemona so memorable.”

  Harriet laughed and acquiesced. If she remembered correctly, the actor playing Othello had tried to strangle Mrs. Kembler in the first act to stop her from sobbing through his monologues.

  “Now Lord Abingdon insisted you only eat bland foods for the next two weeks. How are the biscuits going down?”

  “The biscuits are delicious.” She took another small bite to show compliance. “Did he say anything else?”

  Mrs. Kembler folded up a blanket and laid it carefully on the arm of the sofa. “No rushing about, either. You are to take it slowly until you feel well enough.”

  “Right. Did his lordship mention if he’d be stopping by?”

  “I don’t remember.” She sat and gave Harriet a pat on her knee. “But he seemed to think you’d make a full recovery, thank goodness.”

  “Yes.” From the way Mrs. Kembler avoided her gaze, it was obvious William would not be paying her a call. “I’m doing fine. There’s no need to stay with me all afternoon. You ought to attend the service.”

  The older woman glanced at the clock on the mantel. “It’s almost over by now. I’m sure the turnout was quite good, as your father had a lot of friends.”

  “Freddie didn’t though.”

  Mrs. Kembler spoke gently. “He was a good boy. Got into some trouble, but a good boy. I’m glad they’re being buried near one another. St. Mary’s is a charming resting place.”

  “I’m not sure how father would feel about the proximity.”

  “All’s forgiven in the end. And you’ll be happy to know there’s nothing in today’s paper about Freddie or Lord Abingdon. Just more about the fire.”

  It had been a relief to confide in Mrs. Kembler and Adam about her brother’s misdeeds. She knew she could count on their discretion, as they also understood more than anyone the true nature of Freddie’s and her father’s failings. Harriet picked up the paper and scanned the headlines. One article spoke of the many firemen who had been killed when a portion of the building had suddenly collapsed. Another included accounts from the patrons who had escaped, guided by the actors to the quickest ways out.

  Inside was a drawing of the smoldering ruins. She stared hard at it, imagining what it was like for her father in his final moments. Had he tried to reach her, not knowing she’d escaped the flames? Did he come upon Freddie and attempt to get him to safety? Or had he succumbed to the smoke before he had a chance?

  She shut the page and let the paper drop to the floor. “How horrible.”

  “I know, love. Try not to think about it. On the bright side, there’ve been many cards left for you.”

  How strange. Harriet didn’t have many friends, and doubted very much the duchess or Marianne would pay a social call to inquire about her health. Or would they? “Marianne?”

  “No. Not Lady Marianne. The theater owners want to talk to you.”

  “Why? I didn’t go on, the production never happened.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re the darling of the town now. At this point you could charge a pretty penny to appear at Drury Lane. Everyone is clamoring to have you star in their shows.”

  “I should think they’d reconsider, considering disaster follows in my wake.”

  “Oh, they don’t think the fire had anything to do with you. They say the ghost of Mrs. Ivey set it.”

  She dropped her head heavily back into the pillow. “Dear me.”

  “But you’re right, probably best to stay put until you’re stronger and properly healed.”

  “I’m never setting foot on stage again.”

  Her caretaker, who could never imagine anyone saying such silly thing, laughed out loud. She perched on the side of the armchair and gave Harriet a squeeze. “I know it’s been hard, losing your brother and father, but you have the rest of the company and we’ll take good care of you.”

  Harriet nodded but her heart sank. None of the Farley Players had been paid for coming to London. Mrs. Kembler had barely a penny to her name. They couldn’t stay here indefinitely, and Harriet was back to square one. She had neither income nor home.

  A solid knock on the door sent Mrs. Kembler scampering across the room.

  Perhaps William had come after all? Harriet sat upright and tucked her wayward curls behind her ears. She was pale and her cheeks were thin, but there was little she could do about that now.

  She plastered a bright smile on her face to hide her disappointment as Adam entered the room.

  “Harriet, you’re looking much better than when I last saw you.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek before sinking down on the sofa. The afternoon’s events had taken a toll on him. His movements had a heaviness that belied his true age, much to her dismay.

  “You look exhausted. Mrs. Kembler, would you be kind enough to bring Adam some tea?”

  Mrs. Kembler blew them both a kiss and scurried off.

  “How was it?” Harriet asked.

  “Not easy. But the church was quite full and everyone came out to pay their respects to your dad. He would have loved having such a large audience.”

  She smiled. “I’m sure he would. Did anyone say anything about Freddie?”

  “They did, but only in the fondest of terms. No one knows the truth.”

  No one knew her brother had tried to poison her, then inadvertently burned down one of the grandest theaters in London, killing dozens. Part of her wished she’d died as well, so she wouldn’t have had to live with such dark, terrible secrets.

  All week she’d half expected her father or Freddie to walk into the room and tease her. Or complain about each other. But no. They were both in the ground. She missed them and despised them, and the paradox made her burst into tears. “How awful. I should have been there.”

  “No, you’re far too ill. I would have never allowed it.”

  “I should never have left London in the first place.”

  “Then you can blame me, as I was the one who sought you out. You have to remember, Freddie would have gotten into serious trouble even without us. He was bent on self-destruction.”

  Adam was right. Freddie courted disaster at every turn, that much was true.

  “Adam, I never was able to thank you for inscribing the book of sonnets to me.”

  He lowered his chin, looking slightly abashed. “I thought you should have something to remember us by. Perhaps I shouldn’t have signed it from your father, but I could see how confused you were. He refused to tell you the truth, that you wouldn’t be coming back. I hoped it would ease the transition.”

  She reached over and lifted his hand to her lips. “You are a kind man. I’ll never forget that.”

  Mrs. Kembler brought in a cup of tea for Adam then trotted back out in search of more biscuits, humming to herself as she left.

  “She’s enjoyed taking care of you,” said Adam. “I’ve never seen her so content.”

  “I don’t know what I’d have done without her. But we
can’t afford to stay here much longer.”

  “Don’t worry about that right now. We’ll all take care of each other, it’s what we’ve always done in the past.”

  She couldn’t help herself. “And how is Miss Entwhistle?”

  He blushed, like a schoolboy. “She’s worried about you. Have you heard from Lord Abingdon? He was in a terrible state the night of the fire.”

  “No. Tell me what happened. I only remember bits and pieces of that night.”

  Adam rubbed his chin. “I was backstage, waiting to go on when I heard the shouts. By the time I got to the dressing rooms Freddie and Lord Abingdon were at each other’s throats, and a fallen sconce had set the place ablaze. The fire spread quickly. There was little we could do.”

  “Did you see my father?”

  “The last I saw he was dragging Freddie out. Lord Abingdon shouted to me he’d attend to you, so I ran back onstage to clear the house.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it. The actors swept into the audience, still in character, cajoling folks out of the theater, which I think helped prevent a panic. From what I gather, your father and brother were overcome by smoke before they could make it to safety.”

  “And all those firemen were killed.”

  “That came hours later. The fire was smoldering by then, but the roof had been weakened and part of it caved in. Such a shame. Once I’d made it out, I ran around to the back of the theater and came upon Lord Abingdon lifting you into a carriage.”

  “Did you go with us back to his residence?”

  “Yes. We attended to you through the night and the next morning we brought you here.”

  She had to ask. “Did William, I mean Lord Abingdon, seem angry?”

  Adam shook his head. “He was sick with worry. As was his sister. She seemed like a kind-hearted woman. Unfortunately Lady Marianne showed up the next morning and made a fuss, saying you couldn’t stay there. If I remember, Lady Marianne and Lady Claire exchanged words, but Lady Marianne prevailed.”

  “I’m not surprised. And I couldn’t have remained there. Marianne was right.” Harriet wished she could remember anything about that evening. Other than a fleeting kiss, which might or might not have occurred, her mind was a jumble. She recalled being in terrible pain, but little else.

  “What’s next for you?” asked Adam.

  “I don’t know. I’m not good for much, other than being a companion.”

  “That’s not true. I saw the way you ran the Farley Players. Why not do more of that?”

  “First off, I was speaking about positions in polite society. Not theater. And secondly, you know as well as I do there are no women theater managers. Unless I wore breeches and worked as Harry, I doubt I’d have much success.”

  “Times are changing. Look at the likes of Sarah Siddons and Dorothy Jordan. They decide what shows they’ll do and when they’ll do them. They get top billing.”

  “I don’t want to act. I don’t have the stamina for the histrionics required, both onstage and off. Besides, the minute I set foot onstage, I’d be known as the queen of disaster.”

  “Why not embrace the notoriety? Make the papers and the gossip work for you.”

  “No, Adam. I couldn’t.”

  He took a sip of tea and carefully replaced the cup on the saucer. “You have to ask yourself several questions before dismissing it out of hand.”

  “Is that so?” When he didn’t answer right away, her curiosity took over. “What questions?”

  “What has made you happiest in your life? When have you most been alive? My guess is the answer to both is when you’re in a theater. Or performing or planning a performance. I know because I feel the same way. Dozens of times over the years I’ve considered chucking it in, doing something else. But nothing else is like it.” He spoke deliberately, carefully. “I couldn’t walk away, and my guess is you can’t either. Not once you move beyond the tragedy of what befell your father and brother. This is about you, your life, your desires. I can’t help but think when you’re old and gray like me, and you look back on your life, you’ll realize this was a turning point.” He paused. “Choose wisely.”

  She stayed still, letting the resonance of his words wash over her.

  She’d run from the arms of one family into another and back again, and had lost them all. Now she was accountable to no one—no father, guardian, or lover to whom she must please or obey.

  Which meant she could do anything she wanted.

  “Adam, can you bring me the cards that were left on the hallway table?”

  He fetched them and watched as Harriet thumbed through each one. “Drury Lane. Sadler’s Wells. Haymarket. I appear to be in demand. As you put it so well, the question is exactly what do I want to do?”

  “What would give you the most pleasure?”

  William’s face, his chestnut eyes staring down in wonder as they made love, immediately came to mind.

  No. Move beyond him. Let him go.

  “If I had my druthers, I’d work my way through Shakespeare’s tragedies. And I’d insist on being the manager of the Farley Players, not only an actress, and we would work wherever and whenever we pleased.”

  “There’s my girl. You have a grand opportunity here.”

  She bit her lip. “Of course, some people would come to see my shows to see if I am truly cursed.”

  “You’d get those sort. As long as they buy a ticket, I won’t care why they’ve come.” A grin slowly spread across his face.

  “What is it? What evil thoughts are you thinking?”

  “I have an idea, if you’re serious about this, for your first production.”

  “What’s that?” Before he could reply, Harriet gleaned the answer. “The Scottish Play.”

  “With you as Lady M.”

  For the first time in a week, a surge of energy coursed through her body, her head raced with ideas for sets and costumes.

  It was true, theater was in her blood and it was what she was good at. The answer all along.

  “Adam. You’re brilliant. Now let’s get started.”

  Chapter 18

  William breathed in the fresh morning air as he drove the curricle from Poundridge back to London. The English autumn had been unexpectedly bright and free of rain, and the smell of newly plowed soil filled the air. He’d enjoyed spending time in the country the past four weeks, traversing the many acres of the family’s holdings with Jasper. The wound to his leg from Freddie’s knife was healing quickly and would amount to a small scar at most.

  Thank God for Jasper, as he ran the estate better than his father or grandfather had, and certainly with more authority than Oliver. Still, William had to admit he’d felt a little at loose ends, with no malaria treatment to keep him occupied. Instead, he’d still puttered about in his small laboratory and read his medical texts, driving Claire mad when he got distracted and didn’t show up to dinner on time. All in all, it had been a nice way to end his bachelorhood.

  He checked his timepiece and urged the team of horses to pick up the pace. Marianne would be arriving at his London residence within the hour. They were to be married this weekend at St. George’s, and she’d written him insisting they meet to discuss the wedding breakfast. He was more than happy to oblige, as absence had indeed made his heart grow fonder.

  After the tragic fire at Covent Garden, he’d had to get away. From London, from everything. And in Poundridge he’d finally broken free from the magnetic pull Harriet Farley had held on him. He hardly thought of her anymore.

  His butler greeted him warmly when he arrived and William went straight to his study to catch up on his correspondence. He made a cursory review of various invitations, then picked up the latest issue of Ackermann’s.

  Harriet’s visage stared back at him from the front page.

  In the drawing, she stood tall, one arm lifted
high in the air, her head in profile gazing up at her gloved hand. The haunted look in her eyes, combined with the classic features of her aquiline profile, made the theatrical pose seem surprisingly organic. She wore an intricate crimson gown cut low in the bodice that pooled in folds around her feet. Curls tumbled down her neck, each one drawn in exacting detail. “Actress-Manager Takes on Macbeth” said the headline. His heart pounded.

  “There you are, my darling.”

  Marianne glided into the room, wearing a bright yellow pelisse and matching bonnet. She paused before reaching him and cocked her head while slowly removing her gloves, in a pose that somehow felt more theatrical than the illustration of Harriet.

  William messily folded up the paper and tossed it onto an armchair, hoping he didn’t look as guilty as he felt.

  “Marianne. You weren’t announced.” He wondered if she’d seen the article as well. From her raised eyebrows and pursed red mouth, he was fairly certain she had.

  “Since we’re getting married Saturday morning, I figured I didn’t need to be announced. After all, I’ll be living here soon enough.”

  “Of course, forgive me. This is your house as well.”

  She accepted his invitation to sit down on the sofa. “I missed you, William.”

  “And I you. How wonderful to see you.”

  “How was the country?”

  “Quite good. Jasper has the place well in hand. You’ll have to see what you’d like done to the manor. I fear you’ll find the furnishings rather outdated.”

  She put her hand on his. “I’ll be happy to add a woman’s touch, if you like.”

  “I expect you to.”

  William leaned forward and lightly kissed her. She responded with a small giggle in the back of her throat.

  “Is that all right?” he asked.

  “It’s wonderful.” She leaned in to him and pressed her hands against his shoulders, encouraging him on.

  He playfully touched a finger to her lips. “Perhaps we should go over the guest list. There’s so much to be done before the wedding.”