“On the contrary,” I said, “it would be more believable to put it about that Roderick is unable to bring his mind to bear on anything but me when I am absent. My attendance at rehearsals will be necessary if he is to play a single note. Otherwise he will do nothing but pine and despair, and will be of no use to anyone.”
“I have it!” Mr. Ivey exclaimed, striking his hands together. “Since Julia’s past relationship with Mr. Brooke is so widely known, it would be perfectly natural for Brooke’s new inamorata”—here he bowed to me—“to be perturbed that they are once again spending so much time together. In such a case, even the loveliest and most charming lady would be excused for feeling some jealousy and for wishing to keep an eye on the two of them.” Beaming, he spread his hands as if presenting us with a gift. “Voilà!”
I cast a dubious look at Roderick. He looked thoughtful, but not mutinous. “Anyone who knows Julia will agree that she warrants watching,” he allowed. “It’s hardly a flattering light for you, though, Sybil. Do you want to risk becoming known as suspicious and possessive?”
“I don’t suggest for a moment that Miss Ingram harbors any such possessive impulses,” our host put in before I could respond. “It will demand that you give a performance, my dear, but I am certain that someone of your talent will have no difficulty maintaining such a pose.”
I was deeply reluctant to adopt the persona of the jealous lover. For one thing, it carried the risk of encouraging Julia in her pursuit of Roderick, as it would suggest that our engagement was on less than stable footing. And my pride rebelled at the thought of those around me laughing at me behind my back for being so jealous. The problem was that if we did not hit upon a convincing story to explain my constant presence, it would soon become obvious that I was shadowing Julia in order to learn her role. And the more people who knew about that, the more difficult it would be to maintain the pretense that it was Julia and not I on stage.
Seeing my hesitation, Roderick spoke. “Perhaps we don’t need to go that far to ascribe a motive to Sybil’s presence.” To me he said, “An actress of your stature who has not worked in months will naturally be homesick for the stage, and attending rehearsal will be a way for you to assuage that sadness and be close to the world you love.”
Mr. Ivey pulled a doubtful face. “That would not explain why Miss Ingram will be following Julia’s movements with such close attention.”
“That’s true,” I said. “We must use the jealousy story, I fear. It will be the more effective cover. Fortunately I won’t need to keep up the act for long, will I? Doesn’t the play open next week?”
“That is my goal, yes. I am hoping that the spectacles won’t delay us as they are built and tested. There is one advantage to that, in that there will be more rehearsals on stage as we work out how to get the equipment and scenery into place quickly and ensure that everything operates as it should.”
In the past several years theaters had become ever more ambitious in their desire to woo audiences with astonishingly realistic spectacles, presenting astounding features such as horse races, locomotive accidents, and shipwrecks on stage. It was not unusual for reviewers to discourse at length on the scenery and spectacles, dispensing with the quality of the script and acting in a few short sentences. As an actress, I regarded the trend with some apprehension, since it pushed the actors out of the figurative spotlight, and I feared that should the trend continue it might result in actors’ being reduced to little more than props. But at the same time it was thrilling to see the ingenuity being brought to bear, and if it brought more audiences to the theater, it surely could not be entirely an ill wind.
“Doesn’t Julia’s plan seem a bit elaborate to you?” Roderick asked now, making our host smile.
“I suppose it is, but it appeals to my theatrical nature. Besides, Julia’s mission dovetails with a certain project of my own.” Without specifying what this was, he continued, “We may safely confide in one cast member, at least. Madame Helaine Thiers is to play the dowager. She is a most sympathetic lady, and I know she will be glad to aid you in your beneficent deception.”
“Helaine Thiers?” I repeated. It had been years since I had heard the name, but I knew she had once been a revered French leading lady, working her way up from burlesques and breeches roles to ingénues and then tragic heroines. But that was many years ago. “Is she still performing?”
“Not still but again, to be precise. She and her husband retired some years ago, but she is widowed now and finds that she wishes to occupy herself.”
“How sad. I look forward to meeting her, all the same.”
“She is not the only one launching a comeback with this production,” Mr. Ivey disclosed. “My aim is that this show will revive my career. That is why I’ve chosen a play that is tried and true, and why I have borrowed money to invest in some of the finest spectacles to be seen on stage.” His smile was a trifle strained. “You will understand, I am sure, why I am so anxious for this show to succeed, and why I am so grateful to you, Mr. Brooke, for participating. Your name will be a tremendous draw.” He permitted himself a small sigh. “If only we did not have to hide your light under a bushel of secrecy, my dear Miss Ingram, your own fame would help to fill seats as well.”
“That’s very flattering, Mr. Ivey.”
His pale eyes brightened. “Perhaps after your favor to Julia is carried out you could stay on and alternate with her in the role—?”
My laugh drowned out anything else he might have said. “Mr. Ivey, anyone who tried to take Julia’s spotlight would find herself facing a formidable opponent, and my love of life is too great for me to risk making an enemy of her.”
“In any case,” Roderick said firmly, “we’ll be leaving Paris as soon as we’re able.”
“I am sorry to hear it. Can I do nothing to persuade you to stay?”
We were spared the need to answer when the manservant entered to let his master know that the other cast members were assembling in the parlor. Mr. Ivey declared that we must continue the conversation at another time.
The parlor was elegantly appointed in blue damask, with hangings of that fabric framing the floor-to-ceiling windows. A semicircle of damask-upholstered gilt chairs had been arranged to face a fine piano. The pianist, a serious-looking young man with side whiskers and spectacles, was already seated at the instrument. Standing near him was a fair-haired young woman in a blue print dress who was talking to a short man with bushy fair hair and a fascinatingly ugly face, and both turned upon our entrance to look at us in frank curiosity. A middle-aged woman was seated in one of the chairs, calmly reading through the script, and when she glanced up I saw that her face was perfectly ordinary—a character actress’s greatest gift, for she could take on a thousand faces with that blank canvas to build upon.
Before Mr. Ivey could introduce Roderick and me, the door flew open again and a sweet soprano voice rang out. “Je suis arrivée, mes chers! I am arrived at last. A thousand apologies for my tardiness.”
Julia, for of course this was she, was outfitted in a dashing dress of royal blue and lilac stripes, with a matching blue straw bonnet with curled white plumes riding atop her upswept hair. Her dress was shaped so perfectly to her hourglass figure that it might have been sewn on, and its overskirt was draped and pleated in a daringly asymmetric fashion. A magnificent necklace of amethysts and pearls completed her sumptuous appearance, and I wondered if this was another past gift from Roderick.
Hovering at her elbow was the handsome young man who had accompanied her at the Jardin Mabille; he was carrying her mantle, parasol, purse, a box of candy, and her playscript, all the while regarding her with worship in his gentle brown eyes. His chestnut moustache was so silky that it looked as if it had not grown in fully yet. He could not have been much more than twenty.
“It is entirely my fault that we are late,” he said in French to the room at large. “Julia wanted my help deciding what she should wear, and I could not decide among all of the delightfu
l possibilities.”
This scenario could be read in some interesting ways, and I saw a wry smile touch Roderick’s lips. He was thinking that she had ensnared this young man. This conclusion must have been shared by the homely fair-haired man, who shut his eyes briefly as if in exasperation and shook his head. Mr. Ivey, the more experienced actor, let nothing show in his face. But the young woman’s response was the most interesting: her eyes went quickly to the besotted suitor’s face as if to read the truth of his feelings, then dropped at once as if that truth had been painful for her to witness.
After Julia had made the rounds, greeting everyone in the room, she allowed herself to be settled into a chair. To my surprise, the ardent young man also took a seat. When Mr. Ivey set about introducing everyone, I found that he was none other than Julia’s—and my—leading man. His name was Philippe Charbonneau, and this was his first leading role.
The man at the piano was the accompanist, Monsieur Lambert, who would work closely with us in rehearsals until such time as the orchestra and its leader joined us. Mademoiselle Marianne Deschamps, the young woman, would be playing the role of the heroine’s clever maid; and Gustave Valion, the short man with the curiously grotesque features, would be playing the villain’s servant and confederate. It emerged that he was married to Estelle, the actress whose face was remarkable for being so nondescript. She would be playing a traveling fortune-teller and a shepherdess, among other incidental roles. Mr. Ivey, with the aid of a few quick costume changes, would not only play the villain but also double as the heroine’s long-lost father.
“I believe some of you are already acquainted with the distinguished violinist Roderick Brooke, who has graciously consented to create new arrangements for several of the songs,” he announced now, and there was scattered applause. “And we are fortunate to have with us the prominent English actress Miss Sybil Ingram, although not in her professional capacity. In fact, I believe you have retired from the stage, is that not correct?”
“Yes, that is true,” I said, although now that my former manager, Atherton, had retracted the false story about my embezzling from my old troupe, I looked forward to treading the boards again before much longer. But my retirement was convenient cover for the secret of my understudying Julia, so I let it stand. “I miss the stage tremendously, I confess, so it is a great kindness in you to permit me to accompany my fiancé here.”
“So you aren’t understudying Julia?” This sharp question was from Marianne, and I realized that she must be the understudy and feared that I was poaching on her territory. This was unfortunate, because it meant she would be suspicious of the frequency with which I would be attending rehearsals unless I could convince her of my jealousy toward Roderick and Julia.
“I am only here as a bystander,” I explained.
“Madame Thiers is still to play the widow?” inquired Gustave.
“Most definitely,” Mr. Ivey assured him. “She is merely unable to be with us today due to a slight cold. But as long as you’re here, Miss Ingram, I wonder if we might prevail upon you to read her part?”
Naturally I assented, and we began.
“Act one, scene one,” Mr. Ivey announced in French. “Setting: a crumbling castle on a cliff overlooking a rocky sea coast. The year is 1740...”
Thus it began, and so we read and sang for the next three hours. Reading the French dialogue was sometimes a challenge, and occasionally I saw one of the others hide a smile as I must have mispronounced something, but even with the difficulty of the language I was able to glean a great deal about both the play and the cast.
The play was a gothic melodrama that had been a hit in England and had now been translated by a French writer. Whether out of expediency or in an attempt to recapture their success in England, Mr. Ivey had not had the English song lyrics translated into French, which was a relief to me. The less French I had to memorize, the happier I would be.
The plot was standard for these sorts of diversions: the young heroine, Elfrida, who lives with her mother in a decaying castle, is secretly married to the young hero, a sailor. When he ships out to serve his country and is reported dead after a storm at sea, a mysterious older suitor appears on the scene to woo the young lady. Despite the strong objections of the heroine and the ominous appearance of the family ghost, her mother has almost persuaded her to marry the old schemer when the hero reappears in disguise as a wandering fiddler to stop the marriage. The villain is revealed as having been desirous of a legacy that the heroine will inherit when she turns twenty-one, and the ghost is revealed to be the heroine’s father, long thought dead, who is now reunited with his wife and daughter. The story would be enhanced by spectacles, which would make use of the very best stage effects: a storm at sea at the close of act one and a climactic swordfight on the castle ramparts in a rainstorm.
As we read through the script, Monsieur Lambert played excerpts of the musical accompaniment as well as all of the songs. Roderick jotted notes in pencil on his score, nodding to himself and conferring with the accompanist, and sometimes his fingers moved as if playing an invisible violin. His eyes were bright with interest, and I was happy that during our enforced stay in Paris he had an occupation that he enjoyed.
Julia’s reading displayed a degree of temperament that I could tell irritated Mr. Ivey. She struck me as being one of those actors who insist on imprinting their personality upon a role, even if it contradicts the playwright’s intent. After making a few remonstrations with her that were not well received, Mr. Ivey said nothing further to correct her. He must have felt that she was a substantial enough draw to permit her taking liberties with the interpretation of her character.
The other members of the cast were excellent. Philippe was the only relatively inexperienced actor, but he had a fine voice, he looked the part of the earnest young hero, and as long as he carried himself well and had good costumes he would be more than adequate. Marianne brought pert humor to her role, and Gustave took such relish in his dialogue as the henchman that the rest of us found ourselves laughing in pleasure. Mr. Ivey offered a more sly and nuanced brand of wickedness, and his ability to sham sincerity while revealing his true intentions to the audience made his character a formidable adversary for the virtuous hero and heroine.
We ended in a merry mood. Roderick conferred with Monsieur Lambert again as the rest of us broke into conversation, and I found Marianne at my elbow.
“Are you certain you aren’t to understudy the lead?” she asked. “Otherwise I find it difficult to understand why someone with your experience would loiter about a production in which she has no part.”
“Hmm?” I said absently. Julia had taken her copy of the score over to the piano, which put her close to Roderick—as had probably been her intention. Yet if I were to accuse her of breaking my condition and flirting with him, she could claim that she had simply needed to ask the accompanist a question. Now she drew even closer to Roderick and looked appealingly up into his face, tilting her head to one side to make her earrings sway. How convenient for my purposes.
I furrowed my brow and stared at them, letting the silence lie there for a second more before turning to Marianne with a start. “I am so sorry, my dear, but I didn’t catch what you asked me.”
She glanced at Julia and Roderick, then said slowly, “It wasn’t important, Miss Ingram.”
“Do call me Sybil. Can I ask you, does it seem to you that Julia is—well—a bit forward with Roderick?”
She laughed, a not entirely relaxed sound. “It does, but then she behaves that way with every man who takes her fancy.”
“Including Philippe?” I asked, and a flicker in her gaze confirmed that she cared for that young man. Interesting—and possibly useful.
I let my eyes return to Roderick, who was allowing Julia to flirt with him unimpeded. She was not touching him, but she toyed with her necklace to draw his attention to her bosom, and I saw him laugh at something she said. He was playing his part well.
A tiny sigh e
scaped me. “I would trust my fiancé with my life,” I said, letting uncertainty tinge the words, “but I confess it makes me nervous that he and Julia will be spending so much time together, especially considering their past history. I would feel much easier in my mind if I could accompany Roderick to rehearsals.”
“That may be a wise idea.” Mr. Ivey’s voice startled me, and I found him at my side, regarding Julia and Roderick with a convincingly worried expression. “You and I both know how easy it is for these little romances to bloom during a production, and I fear both will be distracted from their work if that should happen. For all our sakes, their focus should be the play.” He rested a paternal hand on my shoulder, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at the well-feigned concern in his mild eyes. “Do please join us for rehearsals as often as you can, Miss Ingram,” he said gravely. “You are always welcome.”
“Thank you,” I said, keeping a straight face, for Marianne was observing everything that passed between us. “That would relieve my mind considerably.”
Then a new voice broke in, with a booming delivery that effectively drowned out everyone else.
“Well, Ivey, what a fine cast you’ve assembled. I’m glad to see that my money is being put to good use.”
As close as I was to Mr. Ivey, I saw his slight flinch before he mastered himself and donned his mask of composure. “Monsieur Fournier,” he said in a neutral voice. “I did not think we’d have the pleasure of seeing you today.”
A loud laugh greeted his politesse. “Naturally I have to keep an eye on my investment and make certain my money is being well spent!” Before Mr. Ivey could reply, he continued, “And there’s Mademoiselle de Lioncourt, my favorite actress! Come bid your old friend Fournier welcome.”
Julia tossed her head and deliberately turned her back on him, approaching a mirror on the wall and pretending to tidy her hair. For a moment there was silence, and I had leisure to observe the notorious Fournier.
The Last Serenade (Sybil Ingram Victorian Mysteries Book 2) Page 8
