by Fran Baker
When everyone was settled into his proper place, Sophie found herself against the wall of the box. She began to examine the construction of the elaborate little stall and soon discovered that there was a way of parting the swags of velour that covered the plaster partitions. When she moved the curtain, she revealed a peep hole in the wall beside her.
Curiosity overcame her and she put her eyes to the opening. To her surprise a pair of eyes was looking back at her. With a squeak she retreated.
Jonathan put a hand on her arm. “What are you up to, Sophie?”
She made an unhappy face. “I have done the most shatterbrained thing! I have peeked through the wall and been discovered.”
He grunted and leaned over to part the curtains and look through the gap.
“Zounds, Ferguson, is that you?” he said. “How delightful to see you again. I’ll join you during the interval and meet your friends, if I may.”
Jonathan leaned close to Sophie, his brows drawn together. “You’re not going to be continually getting into scrapes, are you, Sophie? I’d hate to think I’ll be obliged to spend all my time pulling you out.”
She shuddered. “I certainly hope not!”
At that same moment the theater darkened.
Chapter 6
Sophie felt her breath growing shallow, and the audience began making low rustling sounds in anticipation of the treat that was about to be laid before them.
The offering was not a new piece as Jeanette had indicated, but Richard III, in which the great Edmund Kean played the title role. The curtain opened to reveal him coiled against the stone wall of a castle, musing.
“Now is the winter of our discontent . . .” he began in such urgent tones that shivers ran through the auditorium.
Sinking under Kean’s spell, Sophie leaned against Jonathan’s shoulder. He took her hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze, and held it for a time. They sat that way until the curtain descended on the first interval.
“Oh, Jonathan,” she breathed. “It is the most thrilling . . . I had no idea the theater was such a spellbinding . . . how shall I say it? It is the most marvelous thing!”
“Yes, indeed,” he said, putting a hand under her elbow and raising her to her feet. “Come along now, and I’ll introduce you to our friends in the next box.”
He tucked her hand through his arm. Before he could lead her out through the door in pursuit of Jeanette and Fairmont, however, Lady Englewood rushed to their side and put a restraining hand on Jonathan’s shoulder.
“No, no,” she protested. “You must not go out. Come sit here with Nicky and Ellen. You must become better acquainted.”
“Let them go, Mama,” Nicky said, waving a hand. “Ellen and I are discussing chess, and Sophie is such a feather-headed little thing, I’d wager she does not have the wits for the game.”
“Indeed, sir!” Sophie retorted, bristling. “I played chess for many years with Lord Reginald, and he declared many times that I have the wits of a poacher and the nerve of a buccaneer.”
“Is that so?” he said. “Sorry.”
“Yes, you see, my boy?” his mother scolded. “You must not blurt out these unflattering . . .”
Without further ado, Jonathan quickly maneuvered Sophie out the door into the corridor. Jeanette and Fairmont were moving together some distance ahead of them. They made an elegant pair, Sophie thought, both tall and stately. Jeanette glanced around once, as though looking for someone, and Sophie was gratified to see her expression change at the sight of them. She smiled.
“How nice,” she murmured. “She is glad to see that I am following her. It is the happiest thing to be reunited with Jeanette after all these years.”
They were approaching the door of the adjoining box when it opened and its occupants began to emerge. Sophie was surprised to discover that she could identify the young man whose eyes she had ogled through the wall. He was tall and slender—though not so tall as Jonathan—and glowingly blond, with shining locks, wide, innocent gray eyes and dimples. Without a doubt he was the most beautiful young man she had ever seen. Even handsomer than Albert de Lisle, she decided.
He came forward eagerly, smiling at her. On his arm was the little round girl who had been with Lady Englewood’s party that morning.
“Ah, Ferguson,” Jonathan said, extending his hand. “And Miss Kathleen Bingham, your most obedient. You must allow me to introduce my cousin, Sophie Althorpe.”
Miss Kathleen looked startled. “Althorpe? Is she not then related to Lady Englewood?”
“Her niece,” he explained. When Miss Kathleen’s eyebrows rose still farther, he continued. “Ah, well, there is no explaining Lady Englewood’s behavior at times.”
Ferguson was still smiling at Sophie.
“Allow me to present you, old man,” Jonathan said. “Sophie, this is Trevor Ferguson, an excellent chap.”
At that moment the equine young woman from Lady Englewood’s shopping expedition strolled leisurely out of the box. She was wearing an austere gray gown and a single strand of enormous, cool, clear diamonds at her throat. Sophie wondered how it was possible for anyone to look so imperious without a crown on her head.
She was on the arm of a cross little man whose pinched nose and rumpled brow gave him the look of a petulant gnome.
“Ah, Miss Elizabeth Bingham,” Jonathan said. “And Wellstone. My cousin, Sophie Althorpe.”
Miss Elizabeth nodded grandly while Miss Kathleen moved closer to Sophie, giving her a warm smile that was marred by a great many crooked teeth.
“For a moment I mistook you for Ellen Joysey, Miss Althorpe.” She turned to the equine lady. “Does she not resemble her, Elizabeth?”
“Somewhat, yes,” Elizabeth agreed, without appearing to open her mouth.
Mr. Ferguson was smiling so steadily at Sophie that she was beginning to feel uncomfortable.
“They are quite different, however,” he said, his cheeks and the tip of his nose growing pink. “Miss Althorpe’s eyes are much brighter . . .”
“The same color,” Elizabeth observed.
“No,” he said. “Miss Althorpe’s are darker, and they sparkle a great deal more. And her hair is more luxuriant, and her mouth is a different shape, with a dimple alongside the . . .” He looked down at his left toe, flushing all over. “Please forgive me, Miss Althorpe. I should not have made these personal remarks.”
Jonathan chuckled. “We only object to personal remarks when they are derogatory.”
“Well, I cannot agree with you, Trevor.” Miss Kathleen giggled. “Miss Althorpe resembles Ellen Joysey despite these traits you have pointed out.”
Ferguson was still staring at his toe, his face a fiery red. “That is as though to say that Gray and I look exactly alike except for the color of our hair and the difference in our height.”
Miss Kathleen giggled again. “I shan’t argue with you, as I am confident you know best.”
At that moment a bony middle-aged woman with a beaked nose and vividly black hair emerged from the box on the arm of a shriveled old man.
“Mrs. Bingham,” Jonathan said. “Mr. Earnshaw, may I present my cousin, Sophie Althorpe?”
Sophie saw that Elizabeth was looking at Jonathan with an expression of marked warmth. Is it possible, she wondered, that this stony creature has a heart?
Mrs. Bingham laid a hand on Jonathan’s arm. “I cannot tell you, sir, how much your visit comforted me this morning. I will confess that, before our conversation, I could not reconcile myself to the loss of my son. But now I see his death in a different light and am able to accept it. At least, as a member of your regiment, I know that his life was not considered lightly.”
“Certainly not!” Jonathan exclaimed, sincerely shocked.
Her eyes were beginning to glisten, and unable to control her welling emotions any longer, she nodded mutely to him and turned away, leaning heavily on her ancient companion, who led her off down the hall, staring grimly into space.
To Sophie’s surpri
se, Elizabeth’s eyes were also threatening to brim over. She inclined her head toward Jonathan, gave Sophie the faintest hint of a smile, and said, “A pleasure, Miss Althorpe.”
With that, Wellstone led her off in pursuit of her mother.
Sophie turned to Ferguson and Kathleen, her eyes wide and curious. Ferguson was still watching her. Kathleen slid a hand through his arm as if staking her claim.
“I should very much like to have some lemonade, Trevor,” she said. “The theater is excessively warm tonight.”
“Oh, certainly,” he said, stiffening to attention. “You’ll excuse us, Gray? Miss Althorpe?”
Jonathan nodded to them, and after one last wistful glance in Sophie’s direction, Ferguson led Kathleen off toward the lounge.
Sophie examined Jonathan’s face. “You’re unhappy now,” she said, pressing his arm. “They’ve brought the war back to you.”
He looked down at her for a long moment, his brow taut and his mouth twisted at one corner. “War never leaves the warrior. But,” he said, his expression softening into a smile, “I’m with you now, and I’m happy.”
When he led her back to the Englewood box, they found themselves arriving ahead of Jeanette and Fairmont, who appeared shortly thereafter, both slightly red-faced and tight-lipped. They sat staring pointedly away from each other until the curtain rose again.
Immediately Sophie was swept back into the fifteenth century and sat mesmerized until the curtain fell for the second time. She was sitting motionless, still in a trance, when Mr. Ferguson popped through the door. He gave the others the briefest possible greeting then turned his attention to Sophie, somehow managing to secure a chair and place it in such a way that she was held captive. He leaned his face close to hers.
“Miss Althorpe,” he began, “I have been in torment since we were parted. I have been dreaming of the moment I could bask again in the radiance of your eyes.”
“Please,” Sophie said, waving an impatient hand, “I do not wish to speak of eyes and ardor and languishing and so forth. I wish to speak of this remarkable play. It is all most affecting and I have never been so engrossed in anything before.”
Ferguson stared at her without speaking.
“But is it not true that Horace Walpole wrote a refutation of this slander?” she went on. “Historic Doubts on Richard III, I believe it was entitled, something of the sort. It proved that he was not evil at all, but an excellent fellow who was much loved by his people and maligned by those of his enemies who usurped his power.”
Ferguson blinked at her now. “Well . . . I’m sure I can’t say.”
“But certainly you’ve read the Earl of Orford’s arguments?”
“No,” he admitted. “I have not.”
“Oh,” she said, momentarily thoughtful. “Lord Reginald and I read and discussed it at some length. Richard’s own people—the city of York—wrote in their records something about ‘today our good King Richard was foully slain . . . or murdered . . . to the great heaviness’—I well remember the word heaviness—‘of the city.’ Which certainly proves that he was a good man.”
“I should think so,” he agreed. “It’s what I suspected all along, which is why I’ve not been paying too much heed to all this ranting.”
Sophie’s eyes widened. “But certainly, sir, the play itself is quite affecting, aside from its historical inaccuracy. You were moved, no doubt, when Lord Buckingham asked, ‘What shall we do if Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?’ and Richard answered, ‘Chop off his head.’” She shuddered.
“Eh?” Ferguson said, knitting his brow. “When was that?”
“Is it possible, sir, that you were napping?” she demanded.
“Well, yes, I must confess it,” he said. “The theater is so devilish hot, and these actors go droning on forever . . .”
“Good heavens!” she exclaimed. “How can you say so? I have never found anything so diverting. Jonathan, were you not totally engrossed?”
She turned to look at him, but discovered that he had left the box to stroll in the corridor with Jeanette. Lady Englewood was busily lecturing a tight-lipped Fairmont on the perils of allowing a loved one to venture out of one’s sight on the arm of a calculating, money-hungry mushroom.
“Miss Althorpe, your eyes . . .” Ferguson began again.
“Please, sir,” she urged. “I cannot think of eyes, unless you wish to speak of Kean’s. Are they not the most intense—I shall say frightening—you have ever beheld?”
“Certainly you’re hoaxing me, Miss Althorpe,” he protested. “All young ladies delight in having their beauties extolled.”
“Ah,” she said in relief, “here is Jeanette . . . and Jonathan. Jeanette, were you not thrilled when Richard said”—she hunched her shoulders and spoke through a tightened throat—“‘Cut off his head!’”
Jeanette shuddered. “Please, Sophie, I shall have the most dreadful nightmares. First to hear those chilling words from Kean and now from you. And I swear that you are nearly as frightening as he.”
“No, no,” Sophie said on a laugh. “But, Jonathan, were you not fascinated? You didn’t fall asleep?”
“Good God, no!” he said. “I’m deriving entirely too much pleasure from the mere fact of being in a London theater again to waste even so much as a minute of it.”
Ferguson opened his mouth to protest, but the warning chimes began to ring and he was obliged to duck out the door and return to his party.
When the final curtain descended, Sophie sighed with regret.
“It is over,” she mourned. “I wish it would go on forever. May we attend another play tomorrow night?”
“No, my love,” Lady Biskup said. “We have been invited to a dinner party at the Princess Hollande’s. But we’ll find an escort for you and you may attend the matinee the following day, if you wish.”
The Englewood party gathered its possessions and issued forth from its box. The Bingham party, it was discovered, had already departed. Lady Englewood made a final attempt to pair Sophie with her son, fluttering her hands and pointing out to him that it was not right for cousins to continue on as strangers. But the two men in the party ignored her maneuvers—Nicky moved off with Ellen on his arm and Jonathan with Sophie.
When Sophie glanced back, she was happy to discover that Lady Biskup was still conversing earnestly with Baron Englewood. His wife was babbling into the countess’s ostrich plumes, while the baron and Lady Biskup strolled arm in arm, smiling warmly into each other’s eyes. Sophie smiled in turn on seeing her Aunt Ruth reunited with her handsome and charming brother.
After giving his sister a kiss on the cheek, the baron turned to Sophie.
“Well, puss,” he said, cupping a hand under chin, “you’ve turned out to be as pretty as can be.” He nodded to Lady Biskup. “Done an excellent job with her, Ruth. You’re to be commended.”
It occurred to Sophie that she should ask if he remembered her mother and father when, without further ado, he left them and began to usher the remainder of his party into his barouche.
Jonathan steered his two ladies to the landau.
“Such a delightful evening!” Lady Biskup sighed, settling herself against the squabs. “And most gratifying of all was to be reunited with dearest Edgar.”
Lost in her own thoughts, Sophie sat quietly beside Jonathan as the carriage moved along the ice-encrusted street. Each time they passed a streetlight, Lady Biskup’s face became dimly visible and her happiness was apparent. She wore a blissful expression; her lips were drawn gently back in a contented smile.
When they reached their own front door, Jonathan leaped out to help his ladies alight. He offered them each an arm and guided them up the icy steps.
Lady Biskup paused in the vestibule and patted Jonathan affectionately on the arm. “Well, my dear, this has been entirely delightful. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your patience, spending your evening at the theater for the pleasure of Sophie and myself.”
“But I enj
oyed it,” he said. “I am not one of those men who pretends to find the theater a bore. I am always entertained there. And Kean’s performance tonight was engrossing from beginning to end.”
“Yes,” she agreed. She was gazing happily off into space. “And next week we shall have the pleasure of attending Countess Dangerfield’s ball.” She turned to Sophie. “Your first, my love. Just think of the delightful time you will have. Your white ball gown with silver butterflies will be delivered in a few days. You’ll be a vision in it.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing you decked out in butterflies, Sophie,” Jonathan told her, smiling.
They marched up the staircase together and soon reached the fork in the hallway that took Lady Biskup in one direction, Jonathan in another, and left Sophie at her own doorway.
All three hesitated.
“I shall bid you both goodnight,” Lady Biskup said. “Sleep sweetly, my loves.”
“Aunt Ruth?” Sophie said, pattering after her. “May I come into your room for a moment? I’ve something to ask you.”
“Why certainly,” Lady Biskup said. She blew a kiss to Jonathan and then ushered Sophie into her room and closed her door. Seating herself on a small slipper chair, she looked at her niece expectantly. “Now, what is it, my dear?”
Sophie stood for a moment, trembling slightly. She twisted the edge of her cloak between her fingers. “I was wondering,” she finally said, her voice unsteady, “if perhaps I should ask Lord Englewood what, if anything, he remembers about my mother and father.”
Lady Biskup looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. Then she rose and put her arm around Sophie’s shoulders. “Why are you torturing yourself so unnecessarily?”
“I—I just thought he might tell me—”
“Lord Englewood is a busy man.”
Tears of disappointment oozed from Sophie’s eyes. “I understand.”
“Please, my love,” Lady Biskup pleaded. “Content yourself with the knowledge that you are the daughter of a respectable, aristocratic gentleman, Timothy Althorpe. You are my niece and I love you. Don’t look for mystery and intrigue. It will only lead us all to disaster.”
