by Carla Kelly
Everyone seemed to relax visibly. Malcolm regarded her fondly and patted the seat beside him. “My dear, we have been discussing that very subject. Now that we have augmented our numbers, we feel ready for anything. What would you say to Othello and She Stoops to Conquer, on alternating nights?”
“I think it would be a wonderful bill,” she said. “Will, can you and Maria concoct another playbill tomorrow? Your other one was so fine.”
Will grinned. “I’m sure we can. Maria already has some drawings.”
“Excellent. Ivy, perhaps you and I can talk about costumes in the morning. Malcolm, I leave it to you to conduct rehearsals. I trust they will not include me this time.” She paused then and looked down at her hands. “I would like to help in any way possible, but give me another week.”
“As you wish, my dear.” Malcolm stood and clapped his hands together. “You heard Kate, everyone. I suggest that we retire and prepare for hard work tomorrow.”
The plays were received with the same enthusiasm as Well Married, to the Bladesworths’ complete delight. Each night the audience wanted more and more. After the final curtain call Phoebe, dressed in her nightgown as Desdemona, would come in front of the curtains, and a hush would fall as the patrons settled back for her private performances, delivered with such artistry and truth that Malcolm never failed to cry.
“Kate, ’tis a funny thing. I have heard these scenes over and over, but each night I want to leap out and say, ‘That is my daughter,’ ” he told her as they stood in the wings and watched.
Gerald, his face filled with love, watched from the other side, mouthing the words along with Phoebe. Kate could not fail to notice how, at the end of each soliloquy, she looked in his direction for his nod of approval, and not toward her father.
A letter came every day from Lord Grayson at D’Urst Hall, but every day she returned it unopened. Finally a letter arrived from Bow Street, and she carried it to Will, on his hands and knees with Maria in the empty front lobby, sketching another playbill for the following week’s presentation of As You Like It and The Saracen. He opened the letter with a hairpin snatched from Maria’s head and sat cross-legged to read it. He frowned.
“Well, it seems I am to return to Bow Street to collect my pay,” he said, folding the document. “Precious little good I did, anyway.” He glanced at Maria, who waited in silence beside him, her eyes on his face. “And they will give me a new assignment.”
“Will, do you really not have any idea who hired you in the first place?”
“No, Kate. They do not tell us that. I was merely to locate Lord Grayson and keep an eye on him.” He shrugged. “That was all, and I didn’t even do that very well. Now I must return to Bow Street.” He glanced at Maria and touched her cheek. “Excuse me, you two.”
Maria watched him go. “Kate, I will die if he leaves,” she whispered.
Kate gathered her close in her arms. “No, you will not! I can tell you that you will get through it.” I did, she thought, as she patted Maria’s back. Maybe in ten years or so, I won’t even think about Hal Hampton above three or four times a day.
Maria had returned to her sketch of the playbill when Malcolm, his face wreathed in smiles, came into the lobby, his arm clapped about Will’s shoulders.
“Kate, may I present the newest member of our company? Will has decided to abandon Bow Street and tread the boards with the Bladesworths.”
With a shriek Maria jumped up and threw herself into Will’s arms. He glanced at her father, who nodded and smiled, and then kissed her. She clung to him in a fierce embrace that made Kate close her eyes in misery and turn away to brush the dust from Ivy’s potted plant.
“And he has also asked for permission to marry you, Maria,” Malcolm continued. “I asked him if he thought he would relish a life of teasing and disgusting good humor, and he allowed as he would manage. Congratulations, you two. I couldn’t be more pleased to gain a son-in-law and another actor.” He laughed. “And a policeman! I call that economy in numbers.”
The afternoon mail brought the usual letter from D’Urst Hall, and a special delivery from London, addressed to Katherine Billings, owner and proprietor of Banner Street Theatre. Kate handed the first letter back to the postman and walked slowly inside the theatre with the other. She found Malcolm on the stage, rehearsing his actors. He called a break when she waved the letter at him.
“I am almost afraid to open it,” she said as she broke the seal.
“ ‘My dear Miss Billings,’ ” she read out loud. “ ‘Mr. Edmund Kean has been pestering me these two weeks about a play which he declares I must see. Now, as I value the continued services of Mr. Kean, I have agreed to journey to Leeds in his company for a command performance of Well Married, or Love in Many Guises. We will arrive September 5.’ ”
She looked at Malcolm, who was motioning Ivy to join him. “Well, here is your chance for Phoebe,” she said, her voice breathless. “Oh, Malcolm, that is tomorrow!”
“Please go on,” Malcolm said, his eyes on the letter. “I want to savor every word.”
She turned back to the letter. “ ‘I must insist upon one stipulation. Rumor has reached me—I do not know how reliable it is, but theatre folk have a network that is vast, indeed—that one of the principal roles was performed by Lord Grayson, Henry Tewksbury-Hampton, of Grayson, Kent.’ ”
Kate stopped. “Will he plague us forever?” she murmured.
“Go on, go on,” Ivy insisted.
“Let’s see, ‘Tewksbury-Hampton, of Grayson, Kent. I insist that he perform the role. I may try to have him condescend to reprise it in London, and I would defy Drury Lane to come up with a scheme half so guaranteed of audience in any of their paltry plays. What a hook this will be! Yours, John Philip Kemble.’ ”
Her fingers numb, Kate handed the letter to Malcolm, who read it again, and then once more, as if willing the message to change. He looked at Kate. “It appears that one of us must approach Lord Grayson.”
Kate turned away. “He will not consent, not after the way he left.”
“I believe that he will,” Ivy declared. She touched Kate on the shoulder. “And I think perhaps you ought to hear him out.”
“I have heard enough,” she replied quickly. “But I will go to D’Urst Hall.”
“Surely I could do it,” Malcolm said.
She nodded. “I am sure that you could, Malcolm, but Hal did teach me to stand on my own, no matter how difficult the situation. I would hate him to think that I have not learned something from this whole wretched business. Perhaps I can convince Will to accompany me.”
By the time Kate had changed from her day dress into a traveling outfit, Will returned with a hired gig. “It’s no more than five miles,” he said, “and the day is fair.”
Kate nodded. “I might even enjoy the drive in the country.” She looked back at the theatre, where Davy was replacing the As You Like It marquee with BY SPECIAL COMMAND, WELL MARRIED TOMORROW NIGHT ONLY. “It seems as though I have been in this theatre for months and months! I can hardly believe it is September.”
The sun was warm, but there was a cool breeze blowing. Soon the leaves would fall, and the year would make is stately progress into another season. I hope I am wiser, she thought, as Will whistled tunelessly under his breath and kept his eyes open for signposts.
“Have you and Maria decided on a day yet?” she asked as he slowed to make a turn down a long lane.
“We are thinking the middle of October. Malcolm says he will take a two-week break so we can mount a new curtain and make other repairs. I would like to take Maria to meet my parents in Norfolk.”
She nodded. “Good for you. I think I will journey to Kent and contact a land agent.”
He glanced at her and then back at the road, as if troubled by the expression on her face. “I wish you would stay with us, Kate.”
“No, it’s not for me, Will,” she replied and drew her shawl closer about her as the wind increased. “I have trod the boards, but I h
ave no illusions about my talents.”
“That’s a humbug, Kate,” he said, not mincing words. “You just don’t care for the memories, no matter how much you say you’re over Lord Grayson. You still love him.”
He was so right that she could not scold him for impertinence. She nodded, unable to speak, and they continued in silence to D’Urst Hall.
It was a huge, sprawling manor, intimidating and tall, with crockets, spires, ogives, and battlements, all mingled into one vast monument to bad taste. “Goodness,” Kate said as they slowed to a stop at the graveled entrance. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or horrified.”
Will laughed. “Perhaps Lord Grayson should learn to pick his friends more wisely.” He regretted his words the moment they were uttered. “You know what I mean, Kate.” He leaped down and hesitated. “You don’t have to go in. I am sure I can deliver the message.”
She held out her arms and he helped her down. “I refuse to be a coward about this. I only hope we do not run into Lord D’Urst or that odious Algernon.” Goodness knows it will be difficult enough with Lord Grayson, she thought, but did not say.
Will lifted the knocker, and it boomed deep within the bowels of D’Urst Hall. Kate shivered and drew her shawl tighter about her. This side of the building was plunged into deep shadow, and the wind teased sharply at her ankles. “We could loan them some bats for atmosphere,” she suggested as he knocked again.
The butler who finally made his way to the entrance looked over them to the modest gig and single horse. “Tradespeople to the back,” he intoned, and started to close the door.
Will put his foot firmly in the way. “We are not in trade,” he said with that edge of command from his runner days that had so irritated her earlier, but which only brought a feeling of security now. “Please tell Lord Grayson that Katherine Billings and Will Muggeridge would like a moment of his time.”
“I do not believe that he is receiving visitors.”
“He will see us.”
Will removed his foot and the door opened scarcely wide enough for them to squeeze through.
“Wait here, and do not touch anything.”
Kate looked about the front hallway, done in the Egyptian style popular during the earlier days of Napoleon’s tenure in France, and twinkled her eyes at Will. “I do not think there is a thing here I would care to examine at closer quarters, much less touch!”
Will put his hand on her arm as they heard someone descending the staircase. The skinny legs appeared first in their vision and then a waistcoat of vulgar proportions.
Kate sighed in disappointment. “Oh, it is Algernon! Why can we not have a pinch of good luck?” she whispered.
He pranced toward them as they waited by the front door, twirling his monocle on its riband as he came.
“Who do you suppose died and made him God?” Will whispered.
“Hush, Will!” she whispered back.
Algernon’s expression told her everything she needed to know. It was even colder than the front hallway, but the most disturbing part was the utter contempt on his face, as though they smelled bad and should only be shooed from the manor like puppies leaving puddles.
“I have a message for Lord Grayson and wish to speak to him,” Kate said when Algernon made no effort to show them into another room.
“He is not receiving callers,” Algernon replied, his tone bored, his eyes raking her over in that disgusting fashion that rendered her naked.
“Then would you give him a message for us?” Will asked, his voice dangerously polite. “Would that be too much trouble?”
Algernon considered the question, as the air hummed with his blatant disapproval. “I can do that,” he allowed reluctantly.
Kate took the letter from John Philip Kemble out of her reticule. “Please see that he gets this,” she said. “He will understand how important the matter is for Phoebe and Gerald. I am asking nothing for myself. Make sure that he understands that.”
Algernon took the letter between thumb and forefinger. He looked over his shoulder at the butler, who hovered about like a large insect. “Show them out.”
Will took her by the hand and pulled her out of the hall, the muscles working in his face, his eyes alive with anger. The door slammed shut behind them as he silently helped her into the gig, climbed in, and called to the horse.
They traveled the lane in awful silence and then Will reined in. “How much would you care to wager that Hal does not receive that letter?”
Kate sighed. “Never wager on a sure thing, Will. You know that. What are we to do?”
Will considered the question. “I could go back tonight with a grappling hook and rope and climb in a window. Or pick the lock. With any luck at all Algernon would offer resistance, and I could pitch him over one of those impossible battlements.”
Kate laughed because he expected it. “Oh, Will, this is a muddle! Perhaps if I had just answered one of his letters. Oh, but it is too late. He wouldn’t receive it in time.”
They sat close together, partners in distress, as the horse wandered from the lane to graze beside the road. Will took her hand. “I suppose we had better leave. Perhaps one of the new actors can study Squire Pinchbeck’s role tonight.”
He released her hand and gathered up the reins again, urging the horse back onto the road. Kate gazed at the field beyond, idly watching two men on horseback as they took a fence and headed at a lazy canter toward D’Urst Hall. She tugged at Will’s sleeve.
“I am sure that is Hal!” she exclaimed. “Will, call to him!”
He handed her the reins and stood up in the gig, hallooing and waving his arms and shouting Hal’s name. The riders stopped, looked at each other, and watched Will a moment. To Kate’s vast relief, one of them started at a trot toward the fence by the lane. Will sat down, took Kate’s hand, and kissed it as Hal’s horse leaped the fence and stopped before them.
He was dressed in riding clothes that were obviously too large for him. He smiled rather shyly at Kate as he patted his horse’s neck. “Nothing fits anymore, Kate,” he said, his head down. “All those clothes I sent ahead to D’Urst Hall in June make me look as though I have suffered a major illness and am only now recovering. My tailor will be ecstatic when he presents me with a bill for another wardrobe.”
“Lord Grayson, we need your help!” Will burst in. He released Kate’s hand. “Kate left a message with Algernon, but pardon us if we doubt that you will receive it.”
He nodded. “What can I do?” he asked simply, looking at her now. The eye she had blacked two weeks ago was an interesting shade of pale yellow and green, a decided contrast to his deep blue riding coat. Kate blushed and looked away, mortified.
“Kemble of Covent Garden will be in Leeds tomorrow night for a command performance of Well Married,” she said, when she could organize her thoughts into well-chosen words. “He has specifically requested your presence in the role of Squire Pinchbeck.”
“I hardly think that will please anyone at the Banner Street Theatre,” he commented dryly.
“Well, no, it does not,” Will broke in. “But this could be a big opportunity for Phoebe and Gerald, if Mr. Kemble likes what he sees.”
Hal threw his leg across the saddle, his fingers light on the reins, considering them. Tears rose to Kate’s eyes. The humiliation of Algernon’s rude reception, coupled with this measuring regard from Lord Grayson was more than she could bear. She swallowed her tears and her dignity.
“Please, Hal,” she pleaded, “Oh, please! If you want me to get down on my knees, I will do it. Only ask.”
And then it was Hal’s turn to look down, his own face red. It was a long moment before he could speak. “You remind me that I just did something I said I would never do, Kate,” he murmured.
“Wh … what?” she asked, wiping her face with her hand and wishing for a handkerchief.
He reached inside his coat, leaned down, and handed her his handkerchief. “I once promised you I would never trade on you
r dignity, and here I have done just that. I will be there tomorrow night. Six as usual for the performance?”
She nodded and blew her nose. “I’ll have it washed for you tomorrow night.”
He smiled then. “I know you will. Probably with starch.” He looked back over his shoulder at the other rider, who was heading toward the fence now. “You must excuse me. I would hate for Pinky to be as rude to you as I fear Algernon has been. And I.” He put his leg back in the stirrups. “Besides that, I have to go write my daily letter to a proud little chit who keeps sending them back. I wonder when she will read one.”
He watched her a moment for some reaction and finding none, turned to go.
“Wait!” Will called. “Kate, you forgot his watch.”
He turned back, coming close to the gig again. Her head down to hide her confusion, Kate rummaged in her reticule and pulled out his watch. “Here, my lord,” she said, holding it up to him as his horse nuzzled her shoulder.
He took it from her and snapped it open.
“I … I kept it wound,” she whispered. “Thank you for the loan of it. We could not find the ring …” Her voice failed her and she winked back tears.
“I thank you for the watch, my dear. I’ll hand it down to a son, someday. Maybe it will give him good luck in battle. It certainly helped us in ours, eh, Kate?”
Before she could make any comment, the marquess wheeled his horse about and trotted along the lane toward the gate. Will smiled as he watched him go. “He sits a horse pretty well, Kate.”
“I don’t want to discuss it!” she said and buried her face in Hal’s handkerchief again. It smelled of bay rum, and her cup ran over. She had time only to wipe her eyes and steal a peek at Hal, elegant of posture, his hands sure on the reins, as he trotted down the lane. She blew her nose again and managed a watery smile at Will. “Let’s not sit here any longer and give Lord D’Urst a reason to turn his hunting dogs on us scurvy actors.”
