Half Moon Street

by Anne Perry

  “I should like you to meet my visitor from America, Samuel Ellison. Mr. and Mrs. Fielding, and . . .” Leigh began.

  “Mr. Pitt,” Joshua supplied. “How do you do.”

  “How do you do, sir,” Samuel Ellison replied, bowing very slightly, glancing at the others, but his eyes resting on Caroline. “Pardon me for the intrusion, ma’am, but when Mr. Leigh told me that you were named Ellison before you married Mr. Fielding, I could not wait to meet you.”

  “Indeed?” Caroline said uncertainly. It was ridiculous, but she felt a nervousness inside herself, almost alarm. This man was so like Edward she could not doubt some relationship. They were of a height, and their features were not at all unlike. The same longish nose, blue eyes, line of cheeks and jaw. She was uncertain what to say. The play had disoriented her until her usual composure had vanished.

  He smiled widely. There was nothing overfamiliar in it. Only a most foolish person would have taken offense.

  “I fear I am being much too forward, ma’am,” he apologized. “You see, I hoped we might be related. My mother left these shores a short while before I was born, a matter of weeks, and I heard my father had married again.”

  Caroline knew what he would say. The resemblance was too remarkable to deny. But she had no idea of any such person, still less that her father-in-law had had a wife prior to his marriage to her mother-in-law. Her thoughts whirled wildly—had the old lady herself known? Was this going to shatter her world—assuming Caroline told her?

  A flicker of anxiety crossed Joshua’s brow.

  Samuel was still gazing at Caroline. “My father was Edmund Ellison of King’s Langley, in Hertfordshire. . . .”

  Caroline cleared her throat. “My husband’s father,” she answered. “You must be . . . half brothers.”

  Samuel beamed with unaffected delight. “How marvelous! Here am I come all the way from New York to the biggest city in the world, and within a month I have run into you, and at the theatre of all places.” He glanced around him. “Who is to say the hand of destiny is not in it? I am happy beyond words to have found you, ma’am. I hope I may have the privilege of making your further acquaintance, in due course, and that I shall conduct myself in such a manner that we may become friends. Relatives can become mighty tedious, but can any person in the world have too many friends?”

  Caroline smiled in spite of herself. It was impossible not to warm to his enthusiasm. And mere good manners required that she make a courteous reply.

  “I hope we shall, Mr. Ellison. Are you planning to stay in London for some time?”

  “I have no plans, ma’am,” he said airily. “I am my own master and shall do whatever I wish, as opportunities arise. So far I am having such an excellent time that I could not possibly think of leaving.” Again his eyes wandered around the crowded auditorium. “I feel as if the whole world and all its ideas are here, sooner or later, and if I wait I shall see them all.”

  Caroline smiled. “I have heard it said that if you stand in Piccadilly Circus long enough, everyone who is anyone will pass by.”

  “I can believe it,” he agreed. “But I should probably be arrested for loitering. I had far rather go out and look for people than wait for them to come to me.”

  “Do you live in New York, Mr. Ellison?” Joshua enquired, making room for Samuel and Leigh to be more comfortable, allowing Samuel to have his chair.

  “I’ve lived in all sorts of places,” Samuel answered pleasantly, sitting down and crossing his legs. “I was born in New York. My mother landed there from the ship, and it took her quite some time to get a start. What with being alone, and expecting a child, life wasn’t easy for her. She was a brave woman, and a likable one, and she found friends who were generous enough to care for her when I was born.”

  Caroline tried to imagine it, and failed. She thought of what she knew of her father-in-law.

  Why had Samuel’s mother left him? She racked her memory and could recall no mention of her at all. She was certain beyond any question that her mother-in-law had never said a word about her husband’s having had a previous wife. Had she run off with another man?

  From what Samuel was now saying, she had reached New York alone. Had he abandoned her? Had Edmund Ellison thrown her out for some unforgivable offense?

  “It must have been appalling,” she said sincerely. “How did she manage? Was there no one to . . .”

  “You mean kin, relatives?” Samuel seemed amused. He leaned back a little, relaxing. “Not at first, but so many people were making new lives, beginning again with nothing, it didn’t seem so odd. And there were opportunities. She was handsome, and willing to work hard.”

  “Doing what?” Caroline asked, then blushed at her clumsiness. Perhaps it was not something he was comfortable to discuss. “I mean . . . she had a baby to care for . . .”

  “Oh, I was passed around from hand to hand,” Samuel replied cheerfully. “By the time I was two I could have said ‘Mama’ or ‘I’m hungry’ in a dozen different languages.”

  “What amazing courage,” Joshua said quietly. “You must have witnessed some remarkable events, Mr. Ellison?”

  “Indeed,” Samuel agreed with feeling. “And history made. But I’ll wager, so have you. And heard great ideas discussed, and seen a heap of beautiful things I haven’t yet.” He looked around. “There’s got to be all kinds of life in this city, everything a man has ever thought of. Crossroads to the nations of the earth. Makes me feel like a boy from the backwoods. And here I thought New York was getting sophisticated, after all our adventures.”

  “Adventures?” Caroline asked with as much real curiosity as good manners.

  He grinned. “Oh, New York after the war was something else, ma’am. You never saw a town like it in your life! Not a place for ladies then, but proper civilized now, compared with the past, that is. Mind, if you want the real gentry, maybe Boston is the town to be in.”

  “Have you traveled farther west, Mr. Ellison?” Pitt spoke to him for the first time.

  Samuel regarded him with interest. “I’ve been some—you mean like Indian country? I could tell a few tales, but a lot of them’d be sad, to my way of thinking. But maybe not every man’d agree with me.”

  “Who would disagree with you?” Joshua asked with interest.

  A shadow passed over Samuel’s face. “The march of progress is not always a pretty sight, sir, and it leaves an awful lot of dead bodies in its wake, sometimes the best part of a nation and its dreams get trodden under. I guess maybe the strongest wins, but the weaker can be very beautiful, and their passing can leave you with an emptiness inside there’s nothing left that can fill.”

  Caroline glanced at Pitt. His face was turned away from the light, and the shadows threw his features into relief. In listening to Samuel he had caught a vision of some kind of bereavement, and the mark of it was plain to see.

  “You speak with great feeling, Mr. Ellison,” Joshua said quietly. “You make us wish to hear more and learn what it is that moves you so deeply. I hope that we shall make your closer acquaintance.”

  Samuel rose to his feet. “You are very generous, Mr. Fielding. I’ll surely take you up on it. But I guess that’s my cue to go back to my own box before the lights go down, so I don’t inconvenience you all by not being in my seat in time. Quite apart from manners, this is a play no one should miss the end of. I don’t think in all my days I’ve ever seen a woman like that leading lady of yours. She could light a fire just by looking at dry wood!” He turned to Caroline. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, ma’am. A man can choose his friends, but not his family. It’s a rare blessing to find nature’s pick for you coincides with your own.” And after bidding them all good evening, he and Leigh turned and went out of the door, closing it softly behind them.

  Joshua stared at Caroline. “Can he be?”

  “Oh yes!” she exclaimed without hesitation. She turned to Pitt, but it was not really a question.

  Pitt nodded. “He bears a re
markable resemblance to Edward Ellison. It is too great to be coincidence.” He frowned slightly. “Did you know your father-in-law had an earlier wife?”

  “No! I’m astounded,” she admitted. “I have never heard a single word about her. I am not even sure if Mrs. Ellison knows.” Years of hidden battles with the old lady were sharp in her mind, the criticism, the comparisons of the present with the past, always to the detriment of Caroline and her daughters. She could not help allowing a little bubble of satisfaction to rise inside her as she turned to the stage, ready to watch the drama there reach its climax.

  She was immediately drawn into the tragedy again. Cecily Antrim’s character was the vehicle for such passion it was impossible to remain apart from it. Even the coming of Samuel Ellison into her life with his revelations was forgotten as the unfolding emotions captured her and she felt the pain and the urgency as if it were her own life.

  Part of her resented the laying bare of feelings within herself she would rather not have recognized. Another part found a kind of release in no longer hiding them—and in the amazing knowledge that she was not alone. Other women felt the same hunger, disillusion, sense of having betrayed their dreams and that some part of life was a disappointment they had not known how to deal with, only to deny.

  Should such things be said? Was there something indecent in the exposure of feelings so intimate? To know it herself was one thing, to realize that others also knew was quite different. It was being naked publicly rather than privately.

  Usually when she visited the theatre with Joshua she looked at him often, wishing to share the laughter or the tragedy with him. It was a great part of her pleasure. Tonight she wished to remain alone. She was afraid of what she would see in his face, and even more what he would see in hers. She was not yet ready to be quite so close, perhaps she never would be. There must be some privacy in even the deepest love, some secrets left, some things one did not wish to know. It was part of respect, the room to be oneself, a wholeness.

  When the tragedy was complete and the final curtain descended, Caroline found there were tears on her cheeks and her voice was choked in her throat. She sat motionless, staring at the folds of the curtains. The last bows had been taken again and again, flowers presented, the applause had died away.

  “Are you all right?” Pitt asked softly, close to her elbow.

  She turned and smiled at him, and blinked, feeling the tears roll down her face. She was glad it was he who had asked, not Joshua. Just at the moment she felt remote from theatre people, actors who could look at this professionally, as an art. It was too real for that, too much the stuff of life.

  “Yes . . . yes, thank you, Thomas. Of course I am. It was just . . . very moving.”

  He smiled. He did not say anything else, but she could see in his eyes that he understood the thoughts it raised as well, the questions and the confusions that would live on long after tonight.

  “Superb,” Joshua breathed out, his face glowing. “I swear she’s never been better! Even Bernhardt could not have exceeded this. Caroline—Thomas—we must go backstage to tell her. I couldn’t miss this opportunity. Come!” Without waiting for a reply he moved towards the door of the box, so consumed in his enthusiasm it never occurred to him either of the others could think differently.

  Caroline glanced at Pitt.

  Pitt shrugged very slightly, smiling.

  Together they followed after Joshua’s already retreating figure. He led them unhesitatingly through a door marked PRIVATE and along a bare passage, down a flight of steps lit only by a single gas bracket, and through another door onto a landing off of which were several dressing rooms, each marked with someone’s name. The one with CECILY ANTRIM on it was half open, and the sound of voices came from inside quite clearly.

  Joshua knocked, then went in, Caroline and Pitt on his heels.

  Cecily was standing by the mirrors and a table spread with grease-paints and powders. She was still wearing the gown from the last act, and her hair was quite obviously her own and not a wig. She was very tall for a woman—Joshua’s height—and as slender as a wand, even though at this distance it was possible to see that she was in her early forties, not thirties as she had appeared on stage. Caroline needed only a glance to know she was one of those women to whom age is irrelevant. Her beauty was in her bones, her magnificent eyes, and above all the fire inside her.

  “Joshua! Darling!” she said with delight, spreading her arms wide to embrace him.

  He walked forward and hugged her, kissing her on both cheeks.

  “You have excelled even yourself !” he said ardently. “You made us feel everything and care passionately. And now we have no choice but to think . . .”

  She pulled back, her arms still around his neck. Her smile was radiant. “Really? You mean that? You think we may succeed?”

  “Of course,” he responded. “When have I ever lied to you? If it had been merely good I should have said it was good. . . .” He pulled a slight face. “I should have been exquisitely vague. As to whether it will succeed or not . . . that is in the lap of the gods.”

  She laughed. “I’m sorry, darling. I shouldn’t have doubted you. But I do care so much. If we can only make people see the woman’s side.” She waved a hand in a wide gesture. “Freddie may be able to get his bill passed in the House. Change the climate, then the law. Ibsen has already achieved miracles. We are going to build on it. People will see there must be rights in divorce for women also. Isn’t it marvelous to live in an age when there is such work to be done—new battles— chances?”

  “Indeed it is,” he agreed, still staring at her. Then suddenly he seemed to remember the others present. “Cecily, you haven’t met my wife, Caroline, and her son-in-law, Thomas Pitt.”

  Cecily smiled charmingly and acknowledged the introductions. There was no question she looked just a moment longer at Pitt than at Caroline. Then she turned back to Joshua.

  Caroline looked at the other people in the tiny room. Just behind Cecily there was the man she had indicated as Freddie. He had a powerful face, broad-bridged nose and sensuous mouth. He seemed very relaxed, even slightly amused.

  Lounging in the other chair was the young man whom Caroline had noticed in the play. Closer to, he bore more of a resemblance to Cecily, and Caroline was not surprised when a few moments later he was introduced as Orlando Antrim; she gathered from the reference that he was Cecily’s son.

  There was a couple named Harris and Lydia, and the man so close to Cecily was Lord Frederick Warriner. His presence was partially explained by the reference to a private member’s bill before Parliament, apparently to liberalize the divorce proceedings for women.

  Joshua and Cecily were still talking, with only the occasional glance at anyone else. Perhaps they did not mean to exclude others, but their exuberance carried them along, and their professional appreciation was on a different level of understanding from that of those who were merely watchers.

  “I tried the scene in rehearsal at least three different ways,” Cecily was saying earnestly. “You see, we might have played it as near hysteria, emotions crowding to break through, high tones in the voice, knife-edge, sharp, jerking movements.” She demonstrated with gestures which somehow excluded Caroline and Pitt, simply because they extended too close to them, as if to a screen on a wall. “Or with tragedy,” she went on. “As if in her heart she already knew what was inevitable. Do you think she did, Joshua? What would you have done?”

  “Unaware of it,” he said immediately. “She was beyond such consideration of thought. I am sure if you asked the playwright he’d have said she was far too driven, too honest in emotion to have been aware of what would happen eventually.”

  “You’re right,” she agreed, swinging around to Orlando.

  He grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of arguing, Mother. More than my role is worth!”

  She glared at him in mock anger, then threw her hands up and laughed. She turned to Caroline. “Did you enjoy the play . . . Caroli
ne? Yes—Caroline. What did you think of it?” Her wide eyes were unwavering, gray-blue, dark-lashed, impossible to lie to.

  Caroline felt cornered. She would far rather not have answered, but now everyone was looking at her, including Joshua. What should she say? Something polite and flattering? Should she try to be perceptive, explain some of the impressions the play had created? She was not even sure if she knew what they wanted to hear.

  Or should she tell the truth, that it was disturbing, intrusive, that it raised questions she thought were perhaps better not asked? That it would hurt, maybe waken unhappiness best left sleeping because there was no cure for it? The play had ended in tragedy. Was it good for life to follow the same path? No one could bring the curtain down on it and go home to something else.

  What would Joshua expect her to say? What would he want? She must not look at him as if she were expecting a cue. She did not want to hurt or embarrass him. She was suddenly overwhelmed by how much she cared and how inadequate she was to match up to these people. Cecily Antrim was radiant, so absolutely certain of what she thought and felt. The power of her feeling lent an incandescence to her beauty. It was at least half the reason the entire audience had watched her.

  Cecily laughed. “My dear, are you afraid to speak, in case you hurt my feelings? I assure you, I can bear it!”

  Caroline found her tongue at last, and smiled back. “I’m sure you can, Miss Antrim. But it is not an easy play to sum up in a few words and be even remotely honest, and I don’t believe you are looking for an easy reply. Even if you are, the work does not deserve one—”

  “Bravo!” Orlando said from the background, holding his hands up in silent applause. “Please tell us what you really think, Mrs. Fielding. Perhaps we need to hear an honest opinion from outside the profession.”

  There was complete silence.