Jeremy looked down at Rory, exhausted and nearly in tears. “You don’t look as though it has been wonderful. I have done my best to make it hell.”
“It’s been terribly hard. I’ve never been so tired, or dirty, or hungry, but I’ve also never been challenged the way you challenge me. You never let me relax.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “You force me to do my best, every moment. I’ve hated you for it, and I…” He gasped for air. “I love you for it.” Cheeks burning, he turned away.
Jeremy took a moment, breathing hard, shaking his head. “Christ, what a shambles.” He started to put a comforting hand on Rory’s shoulder, thought better of it, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Dear boy, this is the witching hour when ghosts and goblins haunt our souls. It is very late. We are both very tired, and liable to say foolish things that will embarrass us both. Go home. We will speak tomorrow when ‘…the morn, in russet mantle clad, Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastward hill…’” He made a grand gesture and turned to go.
“Please don’t send me away.”
Jeremy threw up his arms. “Good grief! I am not sending you away. Quite the opposite. I am trying to save you from my demons.”
“I am sure your demons are no worse than mine. Perhaps they should be introduced.” Jeremy laughed sadly and walked on. Rory was quickly at his side. “Please sir, may I see your flat?”
“No.”
“Just now, when you were talking about Miss Stewart, I saw someone I had never seen before, and I liked him.”
“Ghosts, Rory. You saw a ghost.”
“Then I shall make friends with your ghost.”
Jeremy laughed sardonically. “What makes you think you can do that, when I never could?”
“Please sir, may I come?”
“No!”
“Why?”
“What makes you think you will like what you find?”
“Damn it, Jerry!” He grabbed Jeremy’s arm and pulled him back. “Don’t play this game tonight, it’s too late. I’m tired of grovelling for every crumb.”
“You called me ‘Jerry’.” He glared. “Brave boy.”
“I know we’re different in some ways.”
“At least one.” Jeremy pulled away.
“…but in most ways we’re very much alike.”
Jeremy paused a few feet from the entrance to his building, shook his head, and closed his eyes. “Yes. In most ways, we are very much alike.”
“Then take me up to your bloody flat, fix me a bloody cup of coffee, and tell me about… Katie.”
Jeremy stayed still. A lump formed in his throat. Roughly taking Rory’s arm, he led him inside past the uniformed doorman, through the high arched entranceway.
Momentarily stunned by the size and grandeur of the lobby, Rory stood by, watching the concierge hand Jeremy his mail. “Would you like Miss Stewart’s, as well, sir?”
“Um, no, thank you. She should be along presently. Good night, Vickers.”
“Good night, sir.” While keeping a professional demeanour, the concierge looked Rory up and down and smiled behind his eyes. Tired as he was, Rory blushed. He did not dare to look at Jeremy. The lift operator looked at Rory the same way. Without a word, he closed the gate, and the door, and took them to the fourth floor. There were four doors in the vestibule. Jeremy walked across to a door with the brass nameplate:
Mr. Jeremy O’Connell
Miss Katherine Stewart
(Mr. and Mrs. Jeremy O’Connell)
Jeremy unlocked the door and walked into the marble floored, mirrored foyer. To their left, a tall door opened onto a carpeted staircase. At the top of the stairs, another door stood open.
Jeremy’s valet Max tottered in, rubbing his eyes like an off duty sentry. His uniform jacket was slightly crooked. “So sorry, sir. I was reading and dozed off.” He hung their hats and coats in the closet.
Jeremy smiled. “Not to worry, Max. I told you not to wait up. This is Rory Cook.”
Max looked delighted. “It is indeed. What a pleasure to meet you. I have enjoyed your performances, especially in The Scottish Play. You see, Mr. Cook, I always watch the dress rehearsals. Then I see the plays a month later. It is wonderful to see how the productions grow.” He offered his hand.
Used to conventional servants, Rory enjoyed the informality, chuckled, and shook Max’s hand. “Yes, that must be wonderful. Have you trod the boards yourself?”
“Lord no.” Stifling a giggle, Max put a hand over his mouth. “I was a costumier. Toured with Mr. O’Connell some years ago.”
Jeremy patted Max’s shoulder. “I stole him away from the Scottish circuit.”
“And very grateful I was too, sir.” He started closing the door at the bottom of the staircase.
“Max,” Jeremy whispered, lightly shaking his head.
“Very good sir?” Looking slightly puzzled, Max reopened the door. Rory watched their silent communication. “May I offer you gentlemen any refreshment?” He stood to attention.
Jeremy smiled. “I’ll get whatever my young friend needs. You go on to bed.”
“Thank you, sir. Good night, gentlemen.” He made a small bow and left them alone.
Rory stared at the open door. “Max closed the door, because he thought I was…”
“Naturally,” Jeremy chuckled. “Upstairs is Katie’s flat. Evan has a room upstairs and another down here. When this bottom door is closed, he knows my flat is out-of-bounds.” He paused, deciding how to proceed. “Katie’s personal life should be no one’s concern but her own, but, since you have her pegged so very wrongly, I will tell you the truth, this one time, and expect you never to broach the subject again. Agreed?”
Rory swallowed. “Agreed.”
He gazed up the stairs. “You know that Katie came out of Variety, dancing in her family’s act, The Stewart Swans. Their picture still hangs in the Red Lion. Simon Camden joined the act when he was eighteen and Katie was thirteen. They became lovers when she was sixteen, and Simon left a year later.
“When Katie was twenty, she came to London to become an actress. That was when we met. She intended to live with Simon, but he took himself off on tour and has been on tour, off-and-on, for the past fifteen years. That first season, living alone, Katie was sending all her earnings to her family. Keeping nothing for herself, she was forced to sleep on her dressing-room floor.
“I had a small flat, so I took her in to live with me and, with the exception of my interim tour, we lived together, in that small flat, for five years. We had a fake marriage certificate and it all looked terribly respectable.” Rory held up his hand and Jeremy chuckled wearily. “And to answer your next question: Yes! We slept in the same bed for five years and I never made love to the woman. Shall I go on?”
Rory swallowed hard. “Yes, sir. Please, go on.”
“While I was away on tour, Eric Bates engaged Katie. Knowing Hilda Bates as well as you do, you can well imagine why he fell in love with Katie. Later, he hired me. Eventually Katie became pregnant. I offered to marry her. She thought it a bad idea, but agreed to let me play father. We moved into these flats just before Evan was born.
“Hilda was outraged of course, so Eric swore the child was mine and not his. I never denied it, but she never believed it. After that, Eric stuck close to Hilda’s money, played the model husband, and left Katie alone. Simon Camden sails into town for a couple of weeks, most years. Occasionally, he stages a play in London. He stays with Katie, but spends some nights away. We never ask where.”
Rory sprung to attention. “But… Well… if Mr. Camden sees other women… doesn’t Miss Stewart mind?”
“Katie has tolerated Simon’s affairs since she was a child. She has tolerated my affairs for fifteen years. She is the most tolerant woman in England and loves us both -- warts and all. So, except for Simon’s visits, Katie has been living like a nun.
“Years ago, I encouraged her to go out. As you say, she has endless invitations. She found the men to be pompous or brutish an
d now refuses everyone. Last year, I cast Owen Freeman to play opposite her in Duchess of Malfi. It was a stroke of genius. On-stage, they are magic together. The chemistry was enough to continue off-stage and I encouraged their affair. Even though she really does not like him, he is fabulously handsome, apparently well endowed, and she is allowing him to pleasure her in a way she has not enjoyed, possibly ever.”
By now, Rory’s eyes were like cartwheels. “You mean, Owen is only Miss Stewart’s third lover?”
“Wasn’t I clear?”
“Do you two still..?”
“Constantly. I adore cuddling that luscious female. She is soft and sweet, and…”
“But you never..?”
Rolling his eyes again, Jeremy walked into the drawing room. “These windows have a clear view of the sunrise.”
He pulled velvet drapes back from the wide windows, and the faint glow of several-hundred streetlights glimmered through the glass. He sat on a plush sofa, and Rory sat next to him. A flaming-pink streak blazed across the black horizon. On the street below, lamplights started going dark. Jeremy imagined hundreds of lamplighters lowering the gas on thousands of lamps, and knocking on all the windows they passed. Common people owned no clocks. If they missed that early knock and overslept, they could lose their jobs. The last streetlights went out as a pink blaze filled the sky.
Pretending to yawn, Jeremy stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, behind Rory’s head. “I’ve been thinking about Evan.” Rory looked startled and Jeremy smiled thoughtfully. “When he becomes a young man, in say nine or ten years, do you suppose that he and I will still be as close as we are now?”
“Of course you will.”
Jeremy nodded. Keeping his gaze on the sunrise, he spoke gently. “Do you suppose there might be an occasion when he might need reassurance, and I might put a fatherly arm around his shoulder?”
“Certainly.” Rory’s face contorted, as if he were in pain.
Jeremy smiled kindly. “Then, would you mind very much if I put a fatherly arm around your shoulder right now?”
Rory swallowed. “I think I would like that very much.”
*
Lester, Todd, and Elly walked the short blocks to Mrs. Potter’s boardinghouse. Both young men were silly with drink and all three were giddy with fatigue. Arm-in-arm they sang,
“ ‘Oranges and lemons’, say the bells of St. Clement’s.
‘You owe me five farthings’, say the bells of St. Martins.
‘When will you pay me?’ say the bells of Old Bailey.
‘When I grow rich’, say the bells of Shoreditch….”
A few feet from the entrance, Elly stopped. The men kept going and crashed into each other. Todd straightened up and tried to focus. “I say Miss Fielding, a bit of bad driving there.” He tottered from side to side.
Lester started up the steps and she held him back. He blinked, trying to make both eyes look in the same direction. “This is the place, old girl, don’t you recognize it? Bloody awful, but it is home.”
She nervously bit her lip. “Will Meg and Peg be there?”
Todd shook his head. “Not bloody likely. The regular blokes in town get paid Friday night. They like to show a girl a good time and our two are always available. Come on, it's bloody cold.” He started up the steps again.
Elly held him back. “I can’t sleep in that room, that bed, the linen, it’s putrid.”
Lester laughed, “So’s ours, right Toddy?” He lost his balance and sat down the step. “Potter’s got some bed linen stashed in the cellar, doesn’t she, Todd?”
“There’s rats in that cellar, big buggers.”
Lester saw the horror on Elly’s face. “Don’t worry Miss Fielding, the rats don’t bother. Come on Toddy, let’s see what we can find.”
The front door was unlocked and they went inside. Elly held the door, letting in enough street light so Lester and Todd could strike a match and light candle stubs. They walked through the kitchen to the cellar door and the men disappeared into the dark. Elly heard a crash, a dull thud, and a lot of cursing. Finally, they resurfaced holding piles of bed linens.
Lester smiled like a Cheshire Cat. “We can talk, you know. Mrs. Lynn’s deaf, Peter’s a sport, Potter takes a sleeping powder, and I don’t give a hoot about the old women.” Elly took all three candles, Todd took the linen, Lester filled two coal buckets, and they all went upstairs.
When they reached the girls’ room, Todd put the linens on the table and looked around. “Christ almighty, I thought our room was a pigsty.”
Lester and Elly stripped the bed. Elly knew what to expect, but Lester was horrified. “This is disgusting!” They rolled the soiled linen into a ball, remade the bed, and took the clean leftovers downstairs.
Peter’s door was open and Todd grinned. “Jolly good! Pete’s with Mrs. Lynn, so I get his bed.” He grabbed some clean linen and hurried inside.
The men's room was like the girls’, only tidier. They also had one bed, and Elly tried to picture all three men inside it. “Where’s Mr. Cook?”
Lester smirked, “Pretty shop girls also get paid on Friday. Lots of them fancy our Rory.” Elly thought about this while she and Lester changed the bed, then went back up to the girls’ room. Lester filled her stove and lit the coals. “There’s not enough coal to last the night. Lucky the night’s almost over.” She smiled at his weak joke and he watched her in the bright glow. He touched her cheek and she jumped back.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Reid. You’re very kind. Thanks so much for helping me.” His moon-shaped face was bright in the firelight. His smile was inviting. His plump, comfortable body might have been nice to hug, but she would never let another man touch her, not ever.
“Well, good night then. Sweet dreams.” He left her alone.
Chapter 6
Saturday, December 19, 1903
Thin shafts of bright winter sunlight streamed through crevices in Jeremy O’Connell’s velvet drapes. He opened his eyes and blessed Max for silently preparing the cheery coal fire sizzling in the hearth. The clock next to the bed read 1:03. He allowed himself a long, sensual yawn, then walked to the window and pulled the curtain-rope. As the drapes separated, white sunlight flooded the room, making his magnificent bedroom look like a stage set from Molière. Gazing down onto the busy street, he remembered last night. The intensity of feelings flooded back. Rory and he were on that street, together. Rory was groveling, absolutely begging to be taken home. Whatever possessed me? It was the first time we battled and he won. He had called me, “Jerry.” We watched the sunrise.
Remembering the next part, his heart raced. He leaned against the curtains. He let me put my arm around him. Thank God I didn’t ask for more, lord knows I wanted to. He is absolute perfection. Shaking off lust and longing, Jeremy tossed on a dressing-gown, and went to check on Rory. The guest room door was ajar and a fire sizzled in that hearth. Rory was asleep, his wavy yellow hair spread like a halo over the pillow. Jerry smiled at the endearing picture. He tiptoed to the wardrobe, found a silk dressing-gown, laid it across the foot of the bed, and returned to his room.
An hour later, Rory finally surfaced. He looked dishevelled, but adorable, wrapped in a dressing-gown. Jeremy was bathed and shaved, wearing a tartan smoking jacket, sitting at the table, reading the paper. He looked up and smiled. “Good afternoon. I trust you slept well.”
“Yes, thanks.” He fingered the fine silk of the dressing-gown. “This is magnificent.”
“It’s Stephen’s. He used to play violin in the pit orchestra. Now, he’s joined a chamber orchestra, touring the continent. So what would you like first, breakfast or a bath?”
Rory touched his rough chin. “A bath, please, and a shave.”
“As you wish. You will find everything you need. Max has gone to the shops, so we are quite alone. If you want a rubber duck, there’s a variety in the cupboard.”
Rory laughed, grateful to break the tension. “Thanks ever so much. I’ll be fine without one.”
“And please, help yourself to Stephen’s clothes. I paid for most of them, and hate seeing them unused.”
“That is more than kind. Thanks very much, indeed.” Smiling gratefully, he turned to go, then paused. “Mr. O’Connell?” He stared at the floor.
“Hmm?” Jeremy waited with a half-smile on his lips.
“Tonight, when we’re back at the theatre…”
Jeremy raised an eyebrow, chuckling, “I won’t tell, if you won’t tell.”
Rory’s cheeks flamed red. “There is nothing to tell, but the chaps…”
“They would never let you hear the end of it. I quite understand.” He crossed his legs. “Oh, by the way, you needn’t be concerned about Elly Fielding. She fancies you.”
“She does?” He grinned, then frowned again. “But at supper last night, every time…”
“I saw her shy away from you. It was curious. She was comfortable with Lester because he was clowning, but I wonder what happened after they returned home. If he made any sort of romantic gesture, she probably reacted the same way to him.” He put a finger over his lips. “I do not know the girl at all, but I fear she has been treated badly -- by men.”
Rory sat down, concentrating. “What do you mean, ‘treated badly’? You don’t think that she has been, well… raped or something.”
Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t know. It is just a feeling. I hope that I am entirely wrong.”
“Well, if she has been… whatever. What can I do?”
“Well now, that depends on what you want from her.”
He leaned forward. “I want her to trust me.”
“Why, so you can violate her?” Rory opened his mouth and Jeremy cut him off. “You must decide what you want, before you plunge into her life…” He raised an eyebrow, “…so to speak.” Rory blushed again, and Jeremy smiled at his double-entendre. “She is beautiful, intelligent, and I want to make her into an actress. If her feelings are as bottled up as they seem to be, that may be a daunting assignment.”
But From Thine Eyes: Scintillating historical drama set in an Edwardian English theatre (His Majesty's Theatre Book 2) Page 6
