“If you say one word, Daniel—”
“Jo, dear, whatever is the matter with Penny?” Ginny asked.
Penelope made an urping noise and scrambled outside again.
“It’s clear enough,” Lizzie said dryly. “The girl is pregnant.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Consider the situation a test of your character,” Jo said firmly.
Daniel, who had been looking out the window of her drawing room, turned around to face her.
“My character?” he asked. “It seems to me that the situation, as you call it, is a test of Penelope’s character. Which she has failed.”
Jo sighed. “I really want to kick you, Daniel. Give me one good reason not to kick you. In five seconds. One. Two. Three. Four.”
“Five. Kick me if you like. I refuse to give in.”
She threw up her hands in utter frustration. “Don’t you see? I could be in Penelope’s predicament if I had not stopped you when we were kissing.”
“Which episode of kissing are you referring to?”
“A few days ago, in Derrydale. I have not kissed you since. You do not deserve to be kissed.”
“What have I done, Jo? I ask you, what have I done?”
“You have decided that my cousin is somehow to blame for what has happened to her.”
Daniel looked at her levelly. “Penelope was not ravished by Zeus or some such being.”
“No-o,” Jo said slowly, “but she is, or was, so innocent, Daniel. And so lonely for so long. We cannot change what has happened. I am sure she wishes she had never seen Oliver’s face.”
“Is that his name?”
“Yes.”
“Does he have a last name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does Penelope know?”
“I really will kick you.”
He backed away slightly.
“I am sure that she does know his last name, but he has disappeared. Now that she is with child—and frightened to death, I might add—I feel it is my duty to help her in every way.”
“It is simply not respectable!” he cried.
“Fie upon respectability! You were rolling me around in the grass by the river! You invited me to a clandestine meeting and called it a matinee! In honor of a frog! What was respectable about that?”
“Nothing,” he admitted. “But I am going to marry you.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
He crossed the room and took her by the shoulders. “What are you saying, Jo?”
“I insist that you show Penelope the same consideration and courtesy that you extended to her before you knew of this. She is still my cousin. She is still a good woman.”
“She is still pregnant. Am I supposed to stroll upon the streets of London with my beloved fi-ancée and her enceinte, unmarried cousin? I tell you, I cannot do it.”
Jo stamped her foot. “Penelope has no desire to go out in public even now. She is simply too miserable. And I expect she will feel even more ashamed when she begins to show. But I have offered to let her stay under this roof for as long as she needs to.”
Lord York raised an eyebrow. “Does Terence know of this?”
“Yes.”
“And what did he say?”
“He wants to help her.”
“Dear God. How?”
“Do you know, I suggested that he marry her. I was distraught when she first confided in me and not thinking straight—”
“It is not such a bad idea as all that.”
Jo kicked him.
“Ow!”
“You deserved that.”
He took a deep breath. “Perhaps I did. I am sorry, Jo. I do love you. And I hope that you still love me. You do, don’t you?”
“You are a prig.”
“I am a realist. Penelope will receive the cut direct wherever she goes, despite her wealth. Polite society will have nothing to do with her. And that, my dear Jo, will mean that they will have nothing to do with you. You are an unmarried girl and very close in age to Penelope. People will assume the worst.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps not. I am the daughter of a country vicar. No one knows who I am.”
“But they know me.”
Jo looked him up and down. “You are a second son. You have no more standing than I do.”
Lord York sighed. “I see no way out of this. I must confess, I thought that working in the theater would prove dangerous to your reputation. I never expected that this—oh, I cannot think! But you must understand that Penelope’s rash act reflects upon all the family. Especially you.”
Jo folded her arms across her bosom and tapped her foot upon the carpet. “Then marry me. Now.”
“What?”
“If we are married, then no one can say I am not respectable.”
“I do not have a special license and it will take a little time to procure one. Not to mention the extra expense.”
“Pay a call upon the archbishop. You said he was a friend of your father’s.”
“Well, yes, he is … but I simply cannot storm into the rectory and … no reasonable person goes about demanding such things of archbishops, to say nothing of the explanation I will have to make. I cannot do it.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes!” Daniel howled.
“Do you want to lose me?”
“No!”
Jo tapped her foot harder. “Go!”
They were married the very next morning. Penelope sat in the first pew, with Ginny holding her hand. Lizzie attended as well, wearing a hat so big no one could see her face. Everybody cried, even Terence. But not Lord York.
“Wake up, my dear wife. It is very late. The moon has set and sunrise is only an hour away.”
Jo stirred but did not open her eyes.
“That narrow sofa does not look comfortable. You are sleeping in your clothes. And your shoes.”
“I know,” she yawned.
“Would you like to come to bed?”
“Is it perfectly respectable?” she murmured. “Will the members of polite society approve?”
“I have not asked them.”
“Where is Penny?”
“She has gone to stay in Lizzie’s town house.”
Jo sat up. “That is not at all respectable.”
“All she said was, ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.’ I think she meant it as a joke. She is coming back. But this is our wedding night. I thought we might try to enjoy it. I have done as you requested. We are man and wife. I love you and I want you in my bed. Now.”
“Isn’t it my bed? Which house am I in?”
Lord York picked Jo up in his arms. “The one on Guilford Street. You won, remember? Wake up, Jo.”
“I am awake. Partially. Go that way.” She pointed.
“Are you strong enough to carry me up all those stairs?”
“Yes.”
She curled her arms around his neck. “What shall we do? Did you have anything particular in mind?”
“Nothing respectable.”
Jo giggled.
The rehearsals resumed.
Terence and Lord York sat together in the box nearest the stage, watching Molly fly over the castaway, shrieking with glee.
“My sister is a strong-willed girl, Daniel. But I think you will be very happy together. Jo is the warmest-hearted, most loyal person I know.”
“One problem remains.”
“Penelope?”
“Yes.”
“I am working on a solution.” Terence leaned back in his chair. “Molly, do not swing so close to Andy’s head! You might decapitate him and then we would have to get another castaway!”
“Ow, Mr. Shy! It is Arlecchi-chi-chi-noooooooo who controls the wire! Tell him that!”
She sailed out over the pit, waving to Terence and Daniel as she went by the box. Terence yawned.
“Oh, by the way, we have added another sketch. Would you like to see McNeel’s drawings for the set?”
Daniel looked at his br
other-in-law with astonishment. “Is that necessary? The show is already almost five hours long.”
“But the crowd will love this one.” Terence sat upright again. “Come along. We shall pay a call on McNeel.” Molly swooped by once more. “She seems to have the hang of it. So to speak.”
Chapter Sixteen
Daniel and Terence studied the drawings that McNeel was spreading out upon a table in his workshop. He unrolled them one by one, placing and replacing smooth stones at the corners to keep the drawings from rolling back up.
McNeel had saved the best for last, and unrolled it with a flourish.
“Now that is exactly what I had in mind!” Terence said. “What do you think, Daniel? Is that not a Chamber of Wonders?”
“I suppose so,” Daniel said. “But where will we get the money to build this? That is an elaborate set.”
“Ah, here is Hugh!” Terence said, not answering Daniel’s question. “Let us hear what he thinks.”
Hugh came over and looked down at the drawing, noting the Egyptian pillars with palm-frond capitals and the row of sarcophagi that stood beneath them.
“Very good,” Hugh said excitedly. “The mummies can pop out of the giant coffin things, dance a bit—we will have to be careful about the bandages not dragging—and sing in harmony. Oh, I can see it. Very colorful. But why are we adding a new scene?”
Terence shrugged. “Why not? The Castaway is a bit depressing. Egypt is in the headlines now. A fearless explorer just dug up another pharaoh and a lot of his jewelry.”
“Ought to let the auld bugger rest in peace, if ye ask me,” McNeel said.
“There’s a song in that,” murmured Hugh. He sang under his breath. “Let the auld bugger … let the auld bugger … Damnation, nothing rhymes with bugger.”
“Hugger,” McNeel said.
“Won’t work. Mummy might be easier.”
“Rummy,” McNeel said. “Tummy. Chummy. Dummy. Gummy.”
“Please stop,” said Terence distractedly.
“Sorry.”
“Quite all right. Hugh, remember, we want a cheerful tune. Send them out singing. The crowd will love it. We can decorate the pillars with hieroglyphics. I know just the man to advise us. A scholar of antiquities, Mr. Bunbury. A young fellow, a bit dotty, but brilliant.”
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Hugh said, “where did you, ah, dig him up?”
“I placed an ad in the Times.”
“I see.”
“Hugh, we have got to top Drury Lane on opening night and I know they haven’t got an Egyptian sketch.”
“How do you know that?” Daniel asked.
“I just do. They stole our nymph idea, by the way.”
Daniel pondered that for a moment. “I might also ask how you came by that information.”
Hugh shrugged. “Everybody does nymphs. Cheap costume. Bit of gauze here and there, and you’re done.”
“Good Lord, Daniel, this is only theater. Not as if we are talking about secret naval intelligence or the movement of troops. We know what our competition is doing.” Terence waved a hand. “It’s in the air. More or less.”
“Whatever you say, Terence.” Daniel looked at the drawings. “How much will this cost, McNeel?”
The property master named a sum that made Lord York’s eyes open wide.
“You must be joking.”
“No, sir.”
“We’ll have to cut it, Terence. There is no money coming in.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Do not take that pompous tone with me.”
Hugh and McNeel exchanged a glance and walked a little distance away.
“My dear brother-in-law,” Terence began jovially. “Do you prefer this tone of voice? Shall I continue?”
Daniel scowled. “Pray, do.”
“We have a new benefactor. Or perhaps I should say benefactress.”
“And who would that be? Have you promised a starring role to some little tart with a noble lover? Does the tart sing and dance?”
“No, not exactly.”
Lizzie Loudermilk entered the workshop and slammed the door behind her. “I heard there’s to be a new sketch added. Am I in it?”
Terence turned to her. “No.”
“Is the tart in it?”
“There is no tart.”
“You were talking about a singing, dancing tart. I assume you didn’t mean me.”
“Of course not, Lizzie dear.”
Lizzie put her hands on her hips and took a belligerent stance. “Is Terence telling the truth, my lord?”
“As far as I know,” Daniel said. “But I am not at all sure about the tart part.”
“I knew it,” Lizzie growled. “Turn my back for one minute and someone else gets a plum role.”
“But you will strain your voice if you sing any more songs,” Terence said in a vain attempt to placate her. “There are seventeen enchanting new musical numbers in The Shepherdess. Who could ask for anything more?”
“Who could ask for anything more? There’s a song in that,” Hugh said to McNeel, who nodded.
Daniel held up a hand for silence. No one saw. “Quiet!” he roared.
“Oo! His lordship is roaring. Quiet, everyone,” Lizzie said. “You roar quite nicely, Daniel.”
“Thank you, Lizzie. There seems to be some confusion. Terence, you mentioned a benefactress. Who is this person?”
“A relation.”
“One of yours, I suppose,” Daniel said.
“Actually, Daniel, she is also your relation now. A cousin by marriage.”
Lord York looked at him, aghast. “Oh, no. Not Penelope.”
“Yes, Penelope. She is an amateur expert on hieroglyphics and has agreed to lend us her research materials on the subject. And ten thousand pounds.”
“Ten thousand! We will be paid!” Hugh cried. He took McNeel’s arm and they did a circular jig. “Money! Money! Money!”
Daniel held up a hand again. McNeel caught his eye and stopped.
“You said lend, Terence. Penelope is lending us her research materials and ten thousand pounds. That means we have to pay it back. That is twice as much as what we already owe.”
“But haven’t the bills been paid, Daniel?” Terence gave him an innocent look worthy of a dewy-eyed ingenue.
“Yes, you fool! I paid them out of my own pocket. Of course, I had to use your rob-Peter-to-pay-Paul accounting methods to do it, but I did it! And we are not going to take on such a sizeable debt!”
“Let me explain,” Terence began. “Oh, where to begin?”
“At the beginning,” McNeel said sensibly.
“No, the end is easier,” Terence replied. “You see, Daniel, I did not make myself clear. Penelope is going to lend us her research but she will give us the ten thousand pounds.”
“Are you joking?”
“No. She said to tell you that she is grateful for all you have done for her.”
“No need to explain everything, Terence,” Daniel said hastily.
Penelope put on her spectacles and opened the first book. “Now, Mr. Bunbury. It indicates here that the hieroglyphic design you have in mind represents the amount of wheat in the pharaoh’s granaries. Yet you say it represents the number of the pharaoh’s concubines.”
Mr. Bunbury looked over her shoulder. “You may be right. I think it is wheat. Perhaps I was looking at it upside down. That changes the meaning.”
“So we agree,” Penelope continued, “right side up is correct.”
“Yes, unless we try it sideways.”
“Mr. Bunbury!” Penelope looked fondly over her spectacles at her fellow scholar of antiquities. “You know perfectly well what that means.”
“Yes, my dear.” He kissed her neck.
“We can’t have that sort of thing onstage,” she giggled.
“No, Penelope. It wouldn’t be at all proper.”
“Not at all.”
Chapter Seventeen
Opening night …
The members of the ton entered in a more sedate fashion, allowing their liveried servants to do the pushing and shoving for them.
“It is a gratifying sight, is it not?” he said to Daniel.
“Yes, but it is an hour before the curtain rises. What will they do until then?”
“Throw orange peels at each other. Flirt. Gossip.”
“I am very glad that your parents begged off. The Shys would think a riot like this most unseemly.”
Terence laughed in an amiable way. “Yes, I believe they are still recovering from the news of your hasty marriage to my sister.”
“They sent us a silver toasting fork.”
“Useful.”
“And five jars of gooseberry jam.”
“Tasty.”
Daniel sighed. “Mrs. Shy made it quite clear that it was difficult to procure good jam on such short notice.”
“Mama rises to every challenge. Jo is like her in that way.”
“Yes,” Daniel said. “Where is Jo, by the way?”
“Backstage, helping Lizzie.”
A bell rang and the shoving crowd surged through the doors.
“We must take our seats, Daniel. This is a great occasion. Think of it! Our first opening night. There will be many more.”
“Perhaps.”
They walked past the huge sign that advertised the bill and listed the principal performers.
“Now, let’s see. Did Bert get it right? He has repainted that damned sign so many times … yes, yes, it is correct,” Terence said. “We are beginning with the Chamber of Wonders and the musical mummies.”
“That set is dazzling. McNeel outdid himself.”
“And we have Penelope and Mr. Bunbury to thank for its archeological accuracy. They worked far into the night together, puzzling over dusty tomes and hieroglyphic designs.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow. “They seem to be quite fond of each other already.”
Lisa Noeli Page 16
