by Jaima Fixsen
Anna, it seemed, wasn’t entirely unconventional. She might spend her time dreaming up articulating hinges and fall in willingly with shocking deceptions, but when she gave it her attention she had a passionate interest in clothes. For an hour Anna worked, discarding fabrics, reserving patterns, quarreling with Laura over why she needed three day dresses instead of two.
“Fine. Does everyone know?” Laura asked, giving up on the dress and turning to the other thing bothering her. “About Jasper and me?”
Anna’s hand stopped in midair, hovering over a well-thumbed copy of the Lady’s Magazine. “Alistair and I do, of course. And my parents. We didn’t mention the plot to Henry. It won’t go any farther.”
It was shaming and ridiculous to stand like a doll with a virtual stranger reassuring her. “It’s good of you,” Laura said stiffly, “to keep my secrets.”
Anna looked up. “Yours? I’m afraid I was thinking of Jasper.” She smiled. “When he told us my husband couldn’t stop howling with laughter. He said it was past time Jasper got himself into a fix and—” Anna broke off, perhaps wondering if she’d said too much. “It was rather precious to see Jasper of all people going red about the ears. At any rate your uncle sounds a perfect horror. I understand, you know, how it feels to hate someone so much you can barely breathe.”
“Oh?” Laura smoothed her palms over her skirts, not sure she believed her.
Anna put down one pattern card and examined another, her face falling into a frown. “My first husband. He was…” She looked up and something in her eyes made Laura shy away.
Anna shrugged. “I understand. I’m in no position to give advice and certainly unqualified to judge, but…we’ll be friends, I think. At least I hope so. You’ve got Jasper tangled so beautifully and you think for yourself and speak your own mind. Just do be careful. In my experience it’s hard to know in the heat of anger if you’re making your worst decisions or your best ones.” She huffed a scarcely audible laugh. “And who can say? Life changes so fast, a single choice can even be both.”
Laura didn’t know how to respond. Anna rescued her. “You’d look well in this.” She held out a card. “But I think scarlet braid and not the bugle trim?”
“Perfection,” sighed the modiste.
“Parfait,” Laura corrected. There was only so much artifice one could stand.
*****
Jasper collected Miss Edwards early the next morning, pleased to discover she was suitably attired in blush muslin with a darker velvet pelisse. She was grimmer than Betty while accepting his compliments, but her aspect improved once they reached the theatre.
“How long shall we be?” Jasper asked. He must tell his groom when to return with the curricle.
“I’ll be at least six hours—for rehearsal and I must catch up on the news.”
Jasper scratched behind his right ear. Six hours was a frightfully long time.
“You needn’t stay,” Laura said, laughing at him. “It will be dull for you I’m afraid.”
“Come back in an hour,” Jasper told his groom. He bent over Laura and dropped a whisper into the chestnut curls decorating her ear. “I’ll stay long enough for you to trot me around.”
“Gemma?” A thick-bodied fellow with hands like bricks peered round the back of the curricle.
“Peter!” Laura exclaimed. “Did you get my letter?”
Peter sent Jasper an appraising glance. “Hmm, yes.”
“Mr. Rushford, this is Peter Samuels,” Laura explained. “He’s been charged the last several years with looking after me.”
“Yes, I recognize him,” Jasper said, placing him as the lump of muscle who made threatening faces outside Gemma Holyrood’s dressing room door. He wore a grubby leather vest today and was speckled with sawdust.
“How are things at home?” Laura asked.
“Well enough,” Peter said. “You coming back to your own quarters anytime soon?”
“Not in the foreseeable future,” Jasper answered for her.
“So I’m counting on you to keep an eye on things.” Laura rested her hand on Peter’s arm.
He grunted. “Fine feathers today,” he said as he limped back to open the door.
“Me? Or Mr. Rushford?” Laura smiled at Jasper with a wicked gleam in her eye. It was true he’d dressed with care, but still…
“I meant you, Gemma,” said Peter.
“It is a pretty gown, isn’t it?” Laura didn’t preen, but there was certain brazenness as she went on. “I adore the color.”
Peter didn’t ask why she was leaving off white, but he sent Jasper a speaking look. If Jasper wasn’t minded to already, it was plain Peter intended to keep him in line.
As they passed through the door Jasper leaned over to whisper in the man’s ear. “I’m concerned about Saltash.”
“You know about him?” Peter asked, eyes widening.
Jasper nodded.
“I keep an eye out,” Peter said.
With practiced ease Jasper slid a coin into his hand. “Keep two.”
Better disposed to each other now it was clear they fought under the same flag, they followed Laura into a maze of backstage clutter. Overall Jasper was pleased at having brushed through so far—a suitable place for Laura to stay and forcing submission in the matter of dressmaking were no mean feats—but there were still pitfalls everywhere. Should he step wrong Jasper felt sure Peter would happily punish him.
No good worrying. Tackle each problem as it comes. Whistling a flourish to keep his mood light, Jasper followed Laura around another crate into the wide cavern of the theatre. In the vast space his whistle grew another set of legs and dashed to the ceiling. The sound silenced the murmurs of half-costumed players, toiling painters, fatigued seamstresses, and writers scribbling away with stubby pencils on cheap paper.
“Hello, George,” Laura called, waving to a pair of feet dangling from the scaffolding. A long whistle from a grinning face decorated with a smear of yellow ochre answered her. The place smelled of lamp oil, sawdust, and turpentine.
“You’ve returned!” A man in a self-effacing suit that was nonetheless of excellent quality greeted Laura with outstretched hands.
“Mr. Rollins.” She curtsied once, then lifted on toes to kiss his cheek.
“I didn’t think you’d come back.”
“But you’re glad I have, I trust?”
“Supremely.”
Jasper let his eyes wander. He’d never seen the theatre stripped like this, the mechanics exposed for all to see. The handsome Welshman Daniel Bowen, who often played opposite Laura, was deep in argument with a writer, reinforcing his opinions with profanity and emphatic gestures. A scrawny boy who moved like a monkey slid down the cables from the roof that held up rolls of painted canvases. The boy darted across the floor and pinched a seamstress’s bottom along the way. “Gemma! Who’s the swell?”
“Stephen. Your manners,” she demurred, cuffing his badly trimmed head. The boy skipped out of reach, so Laura forgot him and turned back to Jasper. “Mr. Rushford, if you would allow me to present our manager, Mr. Rollins?”
Jasper nodded and smiled, unsure if he’d ever been the subject of such scrutiny. Every eye in the place was on him—the Welsh actor had the audacity to wink! A trio of musicians tittered and two actresses leaned together to confer behind their hands. They wore only the rudiments of historic costume, tall wigs and wooden panniers that looked especially ridiculous without the covering of an elaborate gown, but Jasper felt the urge to squirm and had to buttress himself with his own pride.
“Good day to you all,” he said grandly. Rollins bustled to his side, bowed, offered refreshments, and sent the impudent boy to fetch him a chair. When Jasper had leisure to look about (before he could protest Rollins had summoned wine) Laura was talking to the Welsh actor.
It was a strain but Jasper caught their lowered voices.
“Nicely done, Gemma. He’ll be good for your art.”
“I’m glad you approve,” she said.
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“Perhaps not as good as me, but I’m taken,” the actor said, glancing fondly at a copper-skinned girl busy dressing wigs set out on a table. Jasper tried not to frown.
“The rest of us must take what consolation we can find,” Laura returned with a sigh. They were bantering. He didn’t like it. Pointed repartee was what she did with him.
“No, really, I’m glad you’re back,” the actor said. “Alice does fine, but she’s not as good at the back and forth patter as you. Holds herself back all the time to wait for laughs.”
“She’ll grow out of it.”
“Let us hope.” He glanced again at Jasper, nodding when their eyes met.
“I must change,” Laura said, detecting the tension and moving between them. “Excuse me. I won’t be long.” Summoning a little girl with a hare lip, she vanished behind the scenery and made for her dressing room.
The theatre was different without the crowd, without his kind watching from the boxes. It was low, ribald, and vulgar, but…she looked so easy here and her liveliness shone. She didn’t draw these friends with the same magnetism she used on the stage. The people here, from her lovely blonde rival to the boy Rollins waved away, gave Laura smiles because they liked her. And she liked them, greeting everyone from the surly violinist to the scruffiest painter. Returning in half-costume, she thanked her understudy and the seamstresses, Mr. Rollins and the hare-lipped girl who’d helped her dress, and then sat beside him to read over her lines while the stagehands set up the next scene.
Intent on her script, testing variations of inflection and pitch, she was alive as he’d seldom seen her in Suffolk. It should have made him smile instead of feel unaccountably sad. She was part of this world and he would never be, other than playing a sleek, indulgent aristocrat who’d bought her attentions instead of winning them honestly. He was simply Gemma’s patron, the first of many who would pass among them and be fleeced for every penny that could be got.
“You needn’t stay,” Laura told him, looking up from her script. “Peter will find a hackney for me and see me safely back to Ba—home.” She stopped herself at the last moment from saying Basil Street. “Watching rehearsal will spoil tomorrow’s show.”
“I’m not sure that I’ve made a sufficient impression,” Jasper said. They had an image to maintain—and he had a point to make with the Welshman. “I don’t think I look devoted enough.”
“I don’t need you to fawn,” she said.
“Is that what I’ve been doing?”
“No. If anything you’re terrifying with your casual interest—so elegant. Sarah over there is starting to feel sorry for me. She likes her lovers in the doting style. You seem just a little too exacting. She’s afraid you’re too much for me.”
“I hadn’t realized you’ve had time to discuss it,” Jasper said. The two of them had only exchanged a few words, but then it always amazed him how much meaning females could cram into the smallest things. “I didn’t mean to come off like that. I’ve just never seen you in all this before.” And it gave one much to think about.
“The off-hand style suits you. But I’ve work to do and it will be easier on everyone if—”
“I understand.” He rose from his chair. Before she could protest, he pulled her to her feet and put his hands around her waist, ignoring the barrier of her wide skirts. “I’ll go. But we can’t have your friends feeling sorry for you.”
It wouldn’t do to overthink it. Besides, he’d seen her kiss men before: the Welsh actor, his predecessor Mr. Kean, and a handsome blade who’d only acted two seasons and then disappeared. She knew what she was about, even if this wasn’t choreographed.
She drew a half-breath of surprise when she saw he meant to kiss her, but yielded without a twitch and let him close the last inches between their lips. She felt every bit as good as he’d imagined—better, he decided, as her arms slid up to wrap round his shoulders. “We ought to try this with you standing on a stair,” he murmured. “Or in taller shoes.” Perhaps then he wouldn’t feel so tempted to lift her up and—
It was no good to torture himself. Even this was probably too much. Jasper moved back an inch, drew a shaking breath, and caressed her cheek with his own.
“Convincing?” he asked.
“Very.” She sounded good and wobbly.
“Excellent.” He raised his head. Behind her, the shrouded eyes of the company flickered away. Jasper reminded himself that patrons and purchasers didn’t blush. He drew his hands along the curve of her waist—slowly, because he could and because he wanted to.
She smiled. “Not that you would ever need to, but I think you could have a wonderful career on the stage.”
From her he knew it was a compliment.
*****
The advantage of hurling yourself into serious rehearsal, Laura realized, was that you had no time to worry or answer questions, especially your own. She was preparing to perform and had no time to think about Jasper Rushford. Or his kiss.
Eventually there came a lull while Mr. Rollins fell to lecturing the stagehand who’d mishandled the mechanical thunder. It was the fifth time they’d interrupted this scene. Laura waved a fan over her face and leaned against the ballroom backdrop next to Sarah—Mrs. Rawlings, her blonde rival. They played it up for notoriety, but were good friends.
“Giving up the wings, Saint Gemma?” Sarah asked. “I was worried for a while there, but your Rushford looks nice.”
“Nice enough,” Laura said. “How are you going to play this one?” Her deception would affect Sarah, even if just in the quarrel they kept up for the gossip sheets.
“Scathing I think. The ‘she’s fallen at last’ scorn should get me through the first bit. Maybe I’ll say I pity Rushford for having to tutor you in bed. You don’t mind?”
“No, that sounds good,” Laura said. “It will set me up for some nice cutting responses.” They shared a smile. Over the years Laura had watched Sarah string along half a dozen different lovers. She was beautiful, sharp, and completely mercenary, but had a good heart. None of Sarah’s patrons ever knew that the little girl with the twisted lip who tidied her dressing room and combed her hair was her daughter. It ought to have been impossible; Sarah had birthed Kate when only a child herself. She was a careful mother though, keeping Kate close, but at a safe enough distance and depositing her patrons’ largesse in three percents at a London bank.
“Now you’ve got yourself a man I’ll have to find someplace else for Kate,” Sarah said with a sigh. She rubbed a finger beneath the edge of her wig.
“Oh, I’ll—” Laura stopped. She couldn’t tell Sarah she wouldn’t have Mr. Rushford’s company overnight, and she couldn’t bring Kate to Basil Street. “You could ask Peter. He’s staying in my lodgings,” Laura suggested. Sarah didn’t have the same friendship she had with Peter, but he might still be willing. If not, Sarah would have to find another place to hide Kate the nights she welcomed lovers. “Sorry.”
“It’s not your worry,” Sarah said briskly, moving forward as the prompter signed for them to restart the scene. “So he’s put you in a love nest already? That’s good. You know you can come to me,” she added, casting a tired smile over her shoulder, “if you ever need advice.”
“Thank you.” Sarah would know what to do when your heart skipped about too much after a bit of kissing. She would know how to control it and let the head take charge. Stretching her neck and aching shoulders (after a few hours, wearing the tall wigs hurt), Laura took her place on stage. Sarah would know what to do but Laura couldn’t ask.
Pleasantly exhausted by the end of rehearsal, Laura tugged off the wig and set it aside to peel back the coarse layers of her heavy rehearsal skirts. Peter knocked on her door. “Mr. Rushford’s here. Should I send him in?”
“I’m nearly finished.” Laura turned so Betty, who’d arrived mid-afternoon, could button her into her gown. She was a competent maid but none too gentle.
“Are you ready?” Jasper asked, escorting her out the theatre’s fro
nt door where a crested carriage was waiting.
Laura nodded. It would begin in earnest tomorrow night, though the carriage drew plenty of eyes. They climbed inside, Betty taking the seat beside her.
“I was going to take you to Mrs. Reeves’,” Jasper said, settling in the seat across from her.
“The gaming house?” It was almost as select as it was scandalous.
“Yes, but you’re too tired for it,” he said. “It will keep for another night. And we’ll stun them tomorrow just as much as we might today.”
Laura refrained from commenting on his own state of exhaustion—he couldn’t have slept at all riding back and forth between London and Suffolk—and asked a question instead. “You’ll come for me then, after the performance?” She expected it, but was tired enough she wanted to be sure.
“Yes,” he said. “Protheroe won’t know what hit him.”
Unable to suppress her yawn Laura hid it behind her gloved fingers. Smiling an apology she asked, “What will you do with his two hundred pounds?”
He thought a moment. “Haven’t decided,” he said finally. “I suppose in the end I’ll have to give it back. But for now what a joke it will be! I can hardly wait to see his face.”
“Tell me about it tomorrow.” Laura relaxed into the cushions.
They drove to a quiet alley where Peter waited with a second, unmarked carriage. Switching vehicles and bidding good night to Jasper, Laura then made her way back to Basil Street. She was used to these kind of precautions, but now she had to hide her whereabouts from everyone, not just Saltash. It wouldn’t do for anyone to discover she stayed with Jasper’s relatives.
The moment they pulled up Betty hustled her into the house. Caught between Betty, Anna, and Anna’s mother (a true mother hen if there ever was one) Laura was clucked over and bundled into bed with injunctions to sleep well and soundly. Even if she were of a mind to, she was too tired to argue.
She woke in the morning to the sound of Henry bounding down the stairs. Venturing out in her dressing gown she learned there was no immediate crisis, only he and his papa were going out to sail his toy boat.
