Long Acre

by Claire Rayner

But somehow the fantasy would not take hold. She could not act herself into the right mood for the performance and stood there with her hands held tightly and nervously before her, very much herself facing a very real and very alarming situation.

  She had meant to do it better. She did not mean to blurt it all out. She had planned, in that bumpy hansom ride from Long Acre, to tell him in a circuitous way of Fenton’s need and her own, to tell him almost casually of the fact that she had discovered they were Lilith Lucas’s grandchildren, and would like to lay claim to the legacy he had spurned. But it came out all wrong. Dreadfully wrong.

  ‘My name, sir, is Amy Lucas,’ she began.

  ‘You’ve told me that. Now tell me what you are here for. I’ve said before — I’ve better things to do with my time than prose with a chit of a girl barely out of the schoolroom —’

  Stung, Amy retorted, ‘You were not always so!’

  ‘Hey? What does that mean?’

  ‘She must have been a schoolroom chit, as you are pleased to call me too — when she was my age — yet you talked to her and cared enough for her, didn’t you? And she for you, or why else would she have left you all that property?’

  He was sitting very upright now and staring at her, his eyes seeming to blaze, so concentrated was his gaze.

  ‘What did you say?’ His voice now was quiet and much more frightening than it had been when he had shouted at her.

  She shrank back a little, but managed to gather her courage in both hands and lifted her chin and said loudly, ‘My grandmother. That is of whom I speak.’

  He stared at her for another long moment and then, moving very stiffly, got to his feet and walked across the room to the door. He opened it with what was to Amy agonizing slowness and then turned back to look at her, and his face seemed to be carved out of solid rock, so harsh were the creases on it, so deep the lines from nose to mouth.

  ‘Get out.’ His voice was softer than ever and now she began to shake, for her terror was mounting fast, but she could still speak and did so, letting the words tumble out of her in a deluge.

  ‘Well, you did love her, did you not? Long long ago? They told me that — and that you had started to hate her too, but that is stupid, to hate someone you have loved, for love is too important for that, and then she died and left you all her property but you don’t want it — do you? You don’t want it. There is that beautiful house, left to spiders and mice and dirt, rotting away for want of living in, and money and jewels besides and Fenton needs it so! It means nothing to you, nothing at all, if you can ignore it as you have, and leave it lying there and no use made of it. And Fenton — if you knew him you would understand, surely you would! It is not that we ask any sacrifice of you, is it? Just to give to Fenton and to me — though I want little, I do promise you — it is Fenton who has the greatest need — give it to us and be rid of it and then you can forget all about it! It will make no difference to you, after all and —’

  ‘Get out!’ This time his voice was loud again, and the roar of it went echoing across the hallway and somewhere up the dark stairs there was a rush of footsteps as a candle’s flickering light appeared and Maria’s voice came floating down, ‘Abel? What is it? What is happening?’

  ‘Get her out of here — out, out, out!’ The old man flung himself out of the room and almost ran across the hall to stand at the foot of the stairs, and reached them just as Maria appeared there, holding her candle high. ‘How absurd,’ thought Amy madly. ‘How funny to use candles still. Have they no gaslight here? How absurd, like the furniture, quite quite absurd —’

  ‘There is no need to be so angry, Abel, whatever it is,’ Maria Lackland said and her voice was cool and practical and she turned to Amy and smiled in a smooth polite hostess fashion that made Amy want to laugh suddenly even in the midst of her fear. ‘I hope you can come to visit again, my dear, when my husband is feeling a little better. At present I am afraid he is somewhat put about, but I am sure that —’

  ‘If that — that creature does not vacate this house instantly,’ Abel said, and his voice now was flat and full of barely controlled rage, ‘I will not be responsible for the consequences. You hear me? I will not be responsible —’

  ‘Of course, dear,’ Maria said, and moving smoothly tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led him up the stairs. ‘Come to the drawing-room now, and we will be comfortable again. Goodnight, Miss Lucas!’

  And they were gone, leaving her there in the hall below, with the old butler, who had appeared noiselessly from nowhere holding the front door wide open, and staring up after their retreating backs. There was a sour taste in her mouth and she was filled with a huge exhaustion and also a vast anxiety. How, oh, how was she to tell Fenton what a dreadful tangle she had made of his hopes for his future?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ‘It really does not matter, Amy,’ Fenton said and grinned at her. ‘I told you — I have my own ideas on how to make him part. I should have known you’d make a hash of it anyway —’

  ‘That is not fair!’ she snapped. ‘You would have made a worse hash of it, that is certain! He is a dreadful old man, quite quite dreadful! Grandmamma must have been clean out of her attic to have left him all her money, when he is so hateful!’

  ‘Now, there you have the truth of it!’ Fenton said softly and suddenly laughed and picked her up and swung her round so that her gown billowed over her ankles and she squealed.

  He set her down on the stage again as one of the other actors looked up from his card game in the wings and shouted a ribaldry and she said urgently, ‘What do you mean? You are so tiresome, Fenton — you confuse me so that I do not know whether I am on my head or my heels! You were so crazy keen I should go to the old man last night, yet when I came back and in dire need to tell you of all that had happened, you are gone out and did not come back till all hours, and now this morning when I tell you that the answer was no, you are in such a good humour that it makes no sense!’

  She was still seething about it all. To have faced the old man alone and then come back to find Fenton absent had been maddening enough. But to have him sleep so late this morning that she had perforce to go ahead of him to rehearsals and tell some lie or other to cover up for him — that was the outside of enough.

  And now this good humour! She stared at him with her lips set tight and then shrugged and turned away.

  ‘I lose all interest in you, Fenton! If you want to behave in this stupid fashion it is no concern of mine! I have done all I can for you, and all I will for you. Now you can go to the devil!’

  ‘Such intemperate language from so charming a lady!’ Wyndham’s voice, full of mock disapproval, came from behind her and she turned to face him and switched on a brilliant smile.

  Mr Wyndham! Charles — how nice to see you! I missed you at the start of rehearsals this morning!’

  ‘How delightful to be missed by so beautiful and talented a lady!’ Wyndham said and bent his head with great style to kiss her hand. ‘I had business to deal with, my dear young lady, and was not required until now — which reminds me —’ He looked up at Fenton with his brows raised. ‘Did you find those fellows of any help, Lucas? Willing o do the office?’

  ‘Eh? Oh, yes — sure. Great, Charles, great. Very obliged to you — ah, I think Rourke wants me — ’ and Fenton turned hurriedly and went away across the stage and Amy stared after him, her brows furrowed.

  ‘What fellows, Charles?’

  ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Amy?’

  ‘I asked — what fellows? When Fenton behaves so, I find I am very interested. What is happening?’

  ‘Oh, I think you must ask him, Miss Amy — it is in no way my — ’

  ‘Charles!’ She looked up at him very directly. ‘Will you please tell me what it is that has made Fenton behave so alacrity! Rourke did not want him, and he was put about that you asked your question in my hearing. So, will you tell me or shall I go over there to him now and make a great scene and a fuss? For I shall
— make no mistake about it!’

  Charles looked over his shoulder at Fenton standing with the knot of people at the side of the stage, who were talking in a desultory fashion as the last few moments of their luncheon break in rehearsals passed, and the stage manager finished setting for Act Three, the Squire’s Mansion, and Amy looked too. Fenton lifted his head and seemed to Amy to give Charles an appealing look and she said again with greater sharpness, ‘What fellows, Charles? What is my brother up to?’

  ‘Oh dear, I find this very difficult!’

  ‘I am sure you do — but you will find it less difficult if you answer my question.’

  She was enjoying this now, playing the determined lady enforcing her will on the adoring hero, and in a way he seemed to play back to her, revelling in the performance as much as she was. He made a face of mock despair and said softly, ‘Well, if he calls me out and shoots me in a dawn duel, on your head be my bleeding corpse, Miss Amy. But I can refuse you nothing, not even your brother’s guilty secrets —’

  He grinned and the performance seemed to come to an abrupt end. ‘Not that it is so secret after all! I know nothing except that he asked me for the names of some lawyers who were not too nice to take on a case that might cause some fuss, and so I told him of the Wormold brothers. Henry and Horace Wormold. They are known by many actors as reliable enough in any — shall we say complicated legal case — and although they charge damned steep fees if they win their cases, they do not dun a man who loses.’

  Amy frowned. ‘Lawyers? That is very odd! Why should Fenton need lawyers?’

  ‘That you must indeed ask him, for I know no more than I have told you. He went to see them last night, that I do know, for he called at my lodgings to ask me their direction and said he would go to their private house and not wait till they were in their chambers this morning — and he is a determined man, so I daresay he did just that! But no more do I know — ’

  ‘Then I shall ask him — and no, I will not make a scene!’ she said, as he put his hand out to stop her. ‘None that will involve you, that is —’

  ‘Oh, then by all means.’ He grinned again. ‘A little display of temperament will add some spice to these rehearsals anyway, for they are becoming damned dull. Musical melodrama has its charm, no doubt, but it rapidly palls upon me —’

  But even though she was determined to get from Fenton an explanation of his odd behaviour and his interest in not-too-nice lawyers, she was also every inch a professional actress, and Rourke was calling the start. So start they did, and she spent the rest of the afternoon moving through her paces, speaking her lines and building little tricks of stage business into her rather insipidly written part with all the enthusiasm she had. But at the back of her mind all the time was her worry about Fenton and what his plan might be, and she watched him whenever she could.

  But not closely enough. As she went through her last scene with Charles at the end of the afternoon she saw Fenton slip away through the auditorium door and tried to go after him. He should not go home without her! But Rourke, with considerable sharpness, called her to order and after one moment of hesitation she bit her lip and returned to her scene. But she was seething with fury at Fenton, and could do little more good work that evening, and Rourke, with a snort of irritation, called the end and told them all to be on stage at nine sharp next morning.

  ‘For we open in a week, remember, and have no time to waste! ’Tis luxury enough to have ten days of rehearsals for such a play, and well you know it, or should if you’re the professionals ye all tell me ye are! We’ve no time to waste with nonsenses! Tell that brother o’ yours, Miss Lucas, that we expect him on the stage at nine, on the dot, d’you hear? Good as he is in his lines and in his part, I’ll replace him if we’ve any troubles — ’

  ‘I’ll tell him,’ Amy said grimly, and pulled her shawl about her shoulders and went hurrying out to Dean Street, quite ignoring Charles Wyndham’s attempt to stop her so that he could accompany her home, and he, prudently, let her go.

  Outside in the late April sunshine the street was humming with activity. Many of the Italian and Greek restaurant owners who frequented the neighbourhood were out in front of their establishments in noisily chattering and gesticulating groups, and the traffic was thick, with horses, carts and hansom cabs in a melée of hooves and clatter and swearing drivers, and Amy stood there for a moment blinking to accustom herself to the brightness after the dimness of the theatre she had left.

  Fenton had quite disappeared and she stared up one side of the street and then the other, trying to pick out of the passing crowds a glimpse of his rakishly angled hat; but with no success at all and she bit her lip.

  ‘Miss Lucas!’ She turned at the sound of her name, and at the sight of him standing there, his hat in his hand and staring at her owlishly through his round glasses she bit her lip even harder. ‘Mr Lackland!’

  ‘I came to seek you, since you did not come to see me and tell me of your plans. I am sorry you did not, though I am not surprised you were unwilling to say you were leaving my show for this.’

  He looked up at the front of the Royalty with a faint lift of his lip. And she, looking up too, had to admit it looked rather seedy, and much in need of a coat of paint, quite unlike the spanking pin-neat faôade of the Celia Supper Rooms.

  ‘It will be refurbished before the show opens, I daresay,’ she said defensively. ‘And one does not choose one’s working-places merely for — for the look of them, you know.’

  He nodded and the sun glinted on his glasses so that she could not see the expression in his eyes. ‘Indeed no. One chooses one’s work — or it chooses you — from necessity. At the time you came to me, you needed the work, as I understood.’

  She reddened. ‘Yes, we did. We were grateful to be able to earn our living. I do not deny that.’

  ‘Then you will agree you have behaved less than — well, shall we say you and your brother have shown little appreciation of that gratitude in leaving me so abruptly? It is not easy for a show to recover from the loss of two of its leading performers with so little notice. I did not think I had treated you so unkindly that I deserved such recompense.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said and looked at him miserably, quite filled with compunction. ‘I did not think, I suppose — I was so angry, you see, with your family, and then — then this business of my grandmother, and Felix and all — I suppose I did not think.’

  He smiled at her suddenly and his face lifted giving him that much more youthful look she had seen once before and his eyes behind his glasses were friendly and warm; and she felt worse than ever.

  ‘Well, as long as there was no malice towards me and my establishment in your defection, I daresay I shall recover — ’

  ‘Oh, no malice, none at all,’ she said hastily. ‘How could there be? We are related, after all!’

  He looked at her for a long moment and she stared back at him, standing there in the busy street with heedless passers-by pushing and eddying past them and now his eyes seemed to look bleak and lonely.

  ‘Yes, I know. We are related. I am sorry about that.’

  ‘Oh?’ She was nonplussed.

  ‘Sorry if it means I cannot speak to you as — in any other way than as a relation. I had entertained hopes that I might speak to you in different terms. One day!’

  She felt it all suddenly. Felt the weight of his emotion and his distress and his yearning need for her. She had been loved by many men over the years, had had hearts and hands and fortunes piled at her feet, and had been able to laugh and walk away. But now, feeling as she did about Felix, she knew what pain love could be, and shook her head violently and said, ‘No! — no, you must not speak so. You must not feel so! I did not ask for such emotion from you, and you shall not blame me for it!’

  ‘I do not blame you,’ he said mildly. ‘How could I blame you for being as you are? How can anyone speak of blame in such a matter? You are beautiful and — and exciting in a way I have never known any woman to
be. Can that be a fault in you? Or can it be a fault in me if I see you and feel attachment as a result?’

  ‘But I did not ask it!’ She almost wailed. ‘I ask no more than that I do my work and have Felix and see Fenton happy — oh, dear, it is all so — such a muddle! I came out to seek Fenton and see what it is he is up to, and instead I see you standing here in the street about to make a declaration and —’

  ‘You go faster than I, Miss Lucas. I was not aware I was about to make any declaration of any kind. I said only that I regretted that —’

  ‘Oh, I know!’ Her compunction was displaced now by irritation. He had a certain likableness about him, this solid sombre man, but he was so prosy and so precise and so dull that being kind to him was very difficult. ‘I know what you said. And what you were about to say. I am no schoolroom baby, you know! But that is not my fault! No, do not start again — let me just say that I am sorry you feel — whatever it is you feel, if it causes you pain. I am sorry we left your show so hugger-mugger, but there were reasons, you know and — well, I am sorry. It was wrong of us. But now I am much more anxious about Fenton and what he is doing and I cannot concentrate as I should on what it is I should say to you, so you must forgive me. I must find him, you see, before he does something that — well, I don’t know what, but I feel anxious.’

  ‘“But thou wouldst not think how ill all’s here about my heart —”’ Oliver said and smiled again. ‘You see? I can quote from the legitimate theatre with the best, despite my singing and dancing shows! But remember how it goes on — “we defy augury —”’

  ‘Hamlet,’ Amy said and then shook her head with some exasperation. ‘I must look for Fenton! I cannot stand here prosing, Mr Lackland, I really cannot! I must find Fenton and see what it is he is about —’

  ‘Before you go — I must ask you how matters stand with you and my family.’

  She had turned away from him but stopped now and turned her head to look at him again.

  ‘I need to know,’ he said, almost apologetically. ‘I must not make any declarations, Miss Amy, and I know that now. I saw you with Felix — well, let be. But I should like to know that we — that I will see you again. See you a great deal, in fact. To call you cousin will be small recompense for the loss of my hopes, but it will be better than nothing —’