Jeremy’s eyes narrowed. “Katie told me about your abduction with many more details than Sam Smelling wrote in the paper. It was despicable. Beyond anything I can imagine. Being a journalist, Sam was interested in the facts, not your feelings.”
“My feelings?”
“I know about Tommy and Mick attacking you on the street. Later, Mick tried to rape you. You kicked him and he struck you across the face. What were you feeling?”
She stared at the wall, her voice a monotone. “What was I feeling? How should I have been feeling?”
Jeremy’s eyes bored into her, but he stayed silent, waiting for her to say more.
Every muscle in her body was tense. The emotional memory threatened to overpower her. Finally, she whispered, “I was afraid, terribly afraid.”
“If Mick were here, now, what would you say to him?”
“I’d say that he’s a… Forgive me, sir.” She stood and started out of the room.
He blocked her way.
“Please, Mr. O’Connell…”
“Talk to me.”
Her hands were fists at her sides. She thought she would explode, “Please let me go.”
“You’re a well brought up young lady, trained to repress you feelings. This is not the time to draw on that training. Talk to me, Damn it!”
“Please let me go, sir. I’m afraid of what I might say.”
He took her hand, pulled her from the room, upstairs, and into the rehearsal hall. He slammed the door and glared at her. “Whatever you’re afraid of saying, I order you to say it now.”
She shook her head as her face contorted, “No, no, I can’t,” she sobbed. “It hurts too much.”
“Do I have to make you?” He raised his hand as if to strike her, and she ran back against the wall. He scowled, raised his hands like claws, and menacingly moved towards her. “I’m Mick. Talk to me. Talk to Mick.”
“Stop it, you bastard!”
He kept coming.
“You filthy piece of shit!” Her hands flew over her mouth.
He lunged, and she ran across the room.
“How dare you touch me? How dare you hurt me, or any woman, ever?” She took a deep breath.
Jeremy lurched at her.
“I hate you!” She tore back and forth like a caged tiger. “You should be dead. Peg should have driven that knife into your throat.” Her eyes were wide with terror. “You’re still out there somewhere. You can find me again. Oh, dear God!” She was shaking.
Jeremy nodded. “Good, now, what do you want to say to Peg?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Why did you do it, Peg? Why? You told me you needed money. Surely there are other ways to get money.” She shook her head, remembering, “First you lit a torch in my face… then you were kind to me on the stairs…”
“What stairs?”
“When I …bled on the stairs.”
Jeremy’s eyes were huge, “Peg was there?”
“Yes, and she was kind to me.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “What do you want to say to your father?”
“I never knew my father.” She paced the floor, breathing hard, pushing back her hair, tearing her fingernails. “I wanted to know my father, and my mother. My Uncle hated me because I stood between him and his brother’s money. If I hadn’t been an heiress, he might have thrown me into the workhouse, like Oliver Twist.”
“Then, be grateful you had money. Talk to him.”
“You bastard!” She leaned on the back of a chair, her knuckles white with rage. “You wanted me married to that fiend.” She kneaded the chair back. “Now you’ll hang. You’ll hang like you deserve.”
“What about John Garingham?”
“You’re stinking dead. You fiend! You’re rotting in the ground.” She banged the chair on the floor. “Sons? You wanted sons? Another generation of bastards like you? You killed my father, and now you’re dead. You’re dead! I killed you!” She hurled the chair, crashing it against a wall. “I killed you…” She collapsed onto the floor sobbing. “…I killed you.”
Jeremy slid onto the floor, next to her. “He was killed in a fall. No one killed him.”
“I pushed him into the window. I knew the frame was weak. I wanted him to go through.”
“Wanting a thing and causing it are two different things. You did not kill him.” He clutched her arm. “Say it, ‘I did not kill him, he fell.’ Say it.”
“I didn’t…” She shook her head.
“Say it.”
She whispered, “I didn’t kill him… he fell.”
“Now say this.”
Exhausted, she shook her head.
“Say, ‘I’m safe.’ Say it. ‘I’m safe.’”
Her throat was so constricted the words were barely audible. “I’m safe.”
“Again.”
“I’m safe.”
“Again.”
“I’m safe.”
“Again.”
She sat up, “All right… I’m bloody safe!”
He laughed. Slowly, she smiled back, through her tears.
“Now say this…”
“No more please.” Exhausted, she leaned her hands against the floor.
Jeremy’s face was inches from hers. His eyes bore into her. “Say, ‘I’m surrounded by people who love me.’”
Stunned, she looked into his smiling eyes. Sunlight flooded through the windows, shining onto his smooth dark hair. The skirt of his magnificent silk dressing gown was covered with grit from the floor. His voice was like velvet. “‘I’m surrounded by people who love me.’ Say it.”
She tried to speak, but the words stuck in her throat. She shook her head.
He gently lifted her hands from the floor, put them around his neck, and hugged her.
She leaned her face against his shoulder, whispering, “I’m surrounded by people who love me.”
“Once more.”
“I’m surrounded by people…” her voice caught, “…who love me.”
They stayed still for a few moments, both breathing deeply. He gave her a tender squeeze and sat back. Slowly, he stood up, and helped her off the floor.
She gasped, “Your beautiful dressing gown. It’s ruined.”
He surveyed the damage. “I daresay Connie can clean it.”
There was a knock on the door and the call-boy chirped, “Sorry, Mr. O’Connell, couldn’t find you at ‘alf hour. It’s twenty-five minutes now, sir.”
“Thanks Matt. I’m coming.”
Chapter Twenty
The last days before the opening were exciting and hellish. Tempers were high and egos were frail. Everything seemed to go wrong and everyone blamed the person working under them: actors, scene-shifters, and even seamstresses. Jeremy O’Connell’s temper stayed unusually even. Everyone credited his full-time nanny, Katherine Stewart. Occasional calls of, “Katie, fix it!” still brought a laugh and relieved tension.
Now, Jeremy played all the rehearsals himself. Katherine and Eric Bates sat out front taking notes. Post rehearsal note sessions went on for hours, and Elly could not imagine the principal actors remembering all the details.
There was a lot of debate over Elly’s costumes. Her long copper hair flowed over various colours of pastel gauze. Underneath, she wore only a flesh-coloured body-stocking. Her arms and legs were bare and she appeared to be naked. She presented a picture so serenely sensual, just walking backstage brought gasps from both men and women. Jeremy loved the costumes, so Elly was content to wear them. When Eric Bates commented that the audience would be watching nothing but her, Jeremy redirected her to sit totally still during Prospero’s scenes.
The technical dress rehearsal was a total disaster. Backdrops fell. Trapdoors stuck. Rigging tangled. The miniature boat sailed half-way across the sea, then flipped and hung suspended in the sky. Jeremy howled at Elly for being out of place when the entire set was stuck off stage. Worst was Jamie Jamison’s gentle island mist, which gushed like volcanic ash. The entire stage level needed
to be evacuated.
*
That same night, Jeremy’s murderous Scottish King dazzled yet another audience. After the final curtain, he calmly wiped off his makeup, and mused about his adorable Katie. Not only had she just performed a brilliant Lady Macbeth, she had turned a horrific technical dress rehearsal into a bearable experience. He felt very calm as he meticulously cleaned every inch of his face and neck.
He gazed into his large wall-mirror and saw portions of the dimly lit backstage. A young man studied the rigging and set pieces. Only invited guests were allowed past the stage-doorkeeper, so this man had to be the friend of an actor or technician. Rather tall and pleasantly slender, Jeremy was struck by his easy assurance. His walk was graceful without being foppish or mannered. Jeremy had not shared a man’s bed for months. The Scottish Play, Christmas parties, and rehearsals for THE TEMPEST had kept him too busy to miss pleasures of the flesh. This young man seemed extraordinary. Not knowing his sexual appetites, Jeremy still imagined taking him home, closing the door at the bottom of the staircase, and… NO!
His stomach cramped. His heart pounded. Beads of perspiration popped out on his forehead. There would be no door at the bottom of the stairs, or the top, ever again. This man was still beautiful and mystifying and Jeremy’s lusty longings would carry on. Satisfying those longings could earn him a lifetime of loneliness and regret. The price was much too high. He watched the young man study a painted flat and run his fingers across the thick brush strokes.
Ah, hah! He was a painter. A painter? Christ! Jeremy closed his eyes and shook his head. He called, “Mr. Dennison, do come in.”
Smiling delightfully, Robert Dennison loped gracefully into Jeremy’s dressing room. “I was just thinking that if my exhibition failed, I might make a living as a scene painter. Your performance was extraordinary. The entire production was absolutely stunning.” He pumped Jeremy’s hand and sat down. “I hadn’t seen Michael on stage since we were at school together. He’s a marvellous actor and credits you with his skill. Elly spent an entire night talking about you. You have been very kind to her.
The day of opening night was eight exhausting hours of rehearsal followed by a two-hour dinner break. Food was brought in and people either stayed away with nervous stomachs, or gorged themselves for comfort. Everyone was running on pure adrenaline. Those who weren’t pacing or chewing their nails were making bad jokes and clowning to relieve tension. Elly was dressed and ready well before half-hour.
*
At the Hamilton Place mansion, Sir William and Lady Richfield hosted a small pre-theatre party for two-dozen friends. Servants passed trays of champagne, and a generous buffet was set out in the dining room.
Simon Camden chatted-up a homely society dame. Never forgetting his workhouse roots, he never missed a chance to befriend someone with money. Believing that Katherine Stewart would wait until the last possible moment, finally agree to marry him and join his tour, he had cast everyone but a leading lady. He heard Isabelle’s laugh, turned and watched her tease her brother. He mused to himself. “They’re two-peas-in-a-pod. Ned’s as handsome as his sister is beautiful. How will he react to Elly?” Smiling wistfully, Simon remembered that delicious, half-naked girl on the floor, backstage. He wanted her again, this time in a bed.
Isabelle had fashioned Sam Smelling a one-armed tailcoat, fitting over the cast on his arm. He came downstairs and she straightened his tie. “You look delightful Sam, just like the Swan Prince in the fairy tale.”
Sam grimaced. “That’s not funny. This thing is heavy. It’s hot and itches like crazy. I want it taken off.”
“I know you do, darling, but the doctor insists it stays on.” She pointed to the dining room. “Ned and Robert are at the buffet. Let them get you some food.”
Scowling, Sam joined the other young men. Both were taller than he, and he was annoyed he had to look up. He was even more annoyed to hear them speaking French. He waited a moment, then asked, “Do you guys provide a translator? You seem to know each other.”
Robert laughed. “I’m sorry, Sam. I thought you knew Lord Hereford.”
Sam’s right arm was in the cast, so he offered his left hand, “It’s good to meet you, finally.”
Sir Edward Hereford smiled and shook with his left hand. “It’s my pleasure Mr. Smelling, and the name’s Ned. You’re newspaper pieces about my young cousin were riveting.”
Sam smiled at the easy, left-handed gesture. “Thanks Ned, and my name’s Sam. You and Isabelle look like twins.”
Ned bowed. “Thank you. I think she’s far better looking than I am, and she is five years older.”
“Do you believe Elly is your cousin?”
“Isabelle would like me to. I’ve never met the girl. I just posted her letter from Paris.” He nodded at Robert. “I haven’t seen this scoundrel since he left Paris. What was it, a year ago?”
Robert sighed, “It seems like a lifetime ago.”
“Rob is one of many fine artists I had the privilege of assisting, financially.”
Sam looked over the food. “So, Rob, how are the commissions coming?”
Robert bowed. “I’m delighted to report I have enough work to keep me busy for two years. Fully half come from friends of Lady Richfield. Ned’s delightful sister has unlimited friends yearning to be immortalized. It will take me at least that long to repay my father’s debts, but as a school-master, I might have been indentured for life. Most important is that my mother will never lose her house.”
Sam hung his head, “Guys, I’m starving and can’t get to any of that food.” Both men rushed to serve him, and Sam laughed, “Thanks, I love the attention. So Ned, if you’re twenty-eight and single, you must be on the front page of this season’s Stud Book.”
Ned groaned, “This, and every season.”
Robert took two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and nearly dropped them. “Is there really such a thing as a human Stud Book? I thought it was a bad joke.”
Ned started to give Sam a plate of food, saw that he couldn’t eat standing up, and carried the plate to a small table. “Oh, it’s real all right, and a damn nuisance. I have no desire to marry anytime soon, so I spend part of the year in Paris, and another part in Scotland. I own woollen mills and raise horses there. The remainder, I live here, or at my mother’s home in Kent.”
Robert handed Sam a glass. He took a sip, set it down, picked up his fork, and dove into steaming chunks of lobster. “Your mother’s estate is legally yours?”
“Legally, of course. When father died, I inherited. Since the estate came from mother’s family, I’ll always consider it hers.”
Robert applauded. “You’re a man who believes women should own property, unlike Elly’s miserable uncle.”
Ned rolled his eyes. “Of course they should own property. Women should also be able to vote, copyright their work, earn as good a wage as a man…” He held up his hands. “Please don’t get me started on women’s suffrage. I was a huge supporter, even before my sister took up the cause.”
A quarter hour later, the butler sounded a small gong. It was time to leave for the theatre. Sir William donned an evening cape and escorted his guests outside.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Fifteen minutes!”
The riggers cursed as they made last minute adjustments to the miniature boat.
“Beginners! Full company on-stage!”
Two-dozen actors rushed downstairs. Jeremy O’Connell gathered them into a tight circle.
Elly stood with all the actors, stretching their right arms until their fingers touched, like spokes of a human wheel. The energy was centered by Jeremy, darkly-bearded, with a mane of thick grey wig-hair hanging down his back. His eyes were painted to look huge and fierce. His cheeks were sunken. His smile was sincere.
He placed his right hand atop all the others. “This is a play about love and wonder, ladies and gentleman. So, now, everyone together: Love and Wonder.” Two-dozen actors cheered, “LOVE AND WONDER!”
then broke apart, laughing with excitement.
The orchestra finished its pre-show music and received polite applause. As the houselights dimmed, excited chatter rose from the audience in boxes and stalls. When the lights went out, the theatre was silent. A sudden symbol crash, blaring horns, screeching violins and cellos accompanied the curtain rising on a howling tempest. Far in the distance, a fierce storm pitched a great ship as if it were a toy. The miniature boat behaved perfectly, tossing and turning in the cardboard sea. Backstage, the riggers sighed with relief. The small boat disappeared as the bow of a life-sized boat appeared on-stage, thrashing in the merciless waves. The sailors cried out in fear.
The next scene began as beautiful Miranda pleaded with her father to stop the tempest. Prospero told her the frightful story of their abduction, their drifting at sea and eventual landing on this magical island. A perfectly controlled blanket of white mist covered the floor, as a fantastic nymph appeared to grow, wild and naked, out of a magical marsh.
From their box seats, Isabelle gasped and clutched her husband’s hand. Sir William’s eyes were like saucers. Sam Smelling grinned, and Simon Camden raised an eyebrow. Robert Dennison’s heart pounded.
Isabelle’s brother gazed at the vision. He whispered, “Is that Elly Fielding?”
Isabelle nodded.
“She’s beautiful. I hope she’s not my cousin.”
Isabelle chuckled silently.
*
On-stage, Elly concentrated on Prospero. She wanted nothing more in life than to react to his every move, his every inflection, every blink of his eye. She trusted her emotions to be honest reflections of his every need.
*
Three hours later, Prospero faced the audience for his final monologue. Alone in his beautiful island paradise, with only a slender nymph for company, he crooned his last words:
“…As your crimes would pardon’d be,
Let your indulgence set me free.”
He joyously strode downstage-right. At the last moment, he turned back, waving a final farewell to all the beauty he was leaving behind. His lovely nymph, swathed in mossy-green, seemed to grow out of the hillside. She reached her arm in a bittersweet goodbye. They held each other’s gaze for a moment. Smiling triumphantly, Jeremy winked at her. This was totally unexpected. He had never winked in rehearsal. A happy laugh bubbled from her lips. Taking a deep breath, Jeremy raised his head and walked off-stage.
Truth and Beauty (His Majesty's Theatre Book 3) Page 16
