by Mary Nichols
She was beginning to count the days and told herself that when it was all over, she would go back to Loscoe Court and find some absorbing project. There was always her painting, her menagerie and riding in the countryside, so much better than riding in London, which was so strictly encompassed by protocol. And James might visit her there…
She could not quite stop herself from hoping and knew she would continue to do so as long as she had breath in her body, or until he married someone else. She did her best, but she could not prevent her thoughts straying to the man who held her heart. It did not matter what she did, sooner or later, she would find herself gazing into space, dreaming of him, wanting him.
‘Mama, has James done anything about finding a wife?’ she asked the Duchess one day. They were in the Duchess’s studio where she was finishing her picture of Freddie, who was sitting at a table by the window, engrossed in his own efforts with paint, making a dreadful mess, daubing brilliant colour all over the sheet of paper his mama had given him. Lavinia took the brush from him to show how it should be done, but he simply laughed and continued to splash paint everywhere.
‘I do not know, dear. Why do you ask?’
‘No reason. You told him weeks ago you thought he should find a wife and settle down but I see no signs of it.’
‘Marriage is not something to be undertaken lightly, Lavinia. And beneath his light-hearted way of dealing with things, I believe he is very deep. He wants to marry for love. I collect he told you so himself.’
‘And is he in love?’
‘I believe he is.’
‘Who is she? Not Lady Rattenshaw—please tell me it is not Lady Rattenshaw.’
The Duchess smiled. ‘Would that be so very terrible?’
‘It would be a catastrophe. She is older than he is by goodness knows how many years and she has been married before. I cannot think they would be happy.’
‘I am inclined to agree with you, but he is twenty-seven and must know his own mind. I cannot interfere. Why is it so important to you?’
‘I should hate him to be unhappy,’ she said lamely.
‘Have you told him so?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Why not? You used to be able to talk to him about everything. Very outspoken, the pair of you, as I recall.’
‘That was before…’
‘Before what?’
She hesitated before answering. ‘Before Lord Wincote offered for me. James is convinced he is a fortune-hunter. He even dared to suggest his lordship knew something of the disappearance of Lady Willoughby’s diamond clips.’
‘Good gracious, how did he come by that idea?’
‘I don’t know. I was very angry with him. He does not like Lord Wincote and will do anything to discredit him in my eyes.’
‘But you have refused Lord Wincote.’ She paused. ‘Oh, child, do not say you have not told James.’
She had told her stepmother about her interview with Lord Wincote, which had evinced a sigh which might have been one of relief, but little other comment. ‘I meant to, but somehow the opportunity didn’t arise.’
‘Then tell him at once, Lavinia.’ She paused and looked closely at her stepdaughter’s troubled face. ‘Tell him. And tell him why. Tell him the truth.’
‘The truth?’ Lavinia looked up, startled. Frances was smiling. ‘You know?’
‘Of course I know. Do you think I go round with my eyes shut?’
‘How can I tell him? If he has set his heart on Lady Rattenshaw—’
‘Lavinia, you are a fighter, you have always fought for what you want. Look how you managed to persuade all those people to act in your play and turned your papa round your thumb to allow Mr Greatorex and his company to take part. Everyone I have spoken to has praised you for your dedication. And yet you seem to have given up on James…’
‘He has given up on me.’
‘Nonsense! A more stubborn, prideful and contrary couple I have yet to meet. If he were here now, I would knock your heads together.’
Lavinia smiled wanly at the image her stepmother’s words presented to her. She knew very well that knocking heads together would not serve. But was the Duchess right? Should she tell James what was in her heart? What had she to lose? Nothing except her pride.
It was pride which was sustained her through the last of the rehearsals as September drew to a close. It was pride which enabled her to say Hermia’s lines and take Lancelot’s criticisms in the spirit in which they were given. It was pride which kept her smiling as everyone’s temper became more and more frayed.
There was thunder in the air presaging a storm and it was difficult to tell which would be the more severe when it broke, the one at Westminster or the one at Stanmore House. They were as ready as they would ever be. The scenery was finished, the costumes made and tickets had been sold, though not as many as Lavinia had hoped.
‘It is this wretched trial,’ the Duchess said, as the crowds began to gather again for its resumption. ‘But perhaps more will come than you think. Those people who went home after the adjournment might return.’
It certainly looked as though they had. While the defence prepared its case and rebellion, like the thunder, hung in the air, the Queen continued to receive deputations of loyal supporters. They came in droves, choking the streets, though there was a very strong rumour that her Majesty was ill and receiving them in bed.
‘I wish she would go back where she came from,’ Lavinia said, one day when the crowds had kept them indoors. They were dining à la famille, which included James. He did not know why he continued to accept his stepmother’s invitations; it was almost unbearable to be so close to Lavinia and yet so far from the place in her heart where he wanted to be.
Percy had advocated telling her how he felt about her and he fully intended to, but the right moment had not arrived. If they were not busy rehearsing, they were talking about the play, or the trial, or some other titbit of gossip and, in any case, they were never alone. He was more than half-convinced she was doing it on purpose. And at the back of it all was the fear that she had already accepted Wincote. He put all his hopes on the promise she had made not to do anything before the performance of that play. And it was getting very near now.
‘If she did, London would empty overnight,’ he said. ‘And we would have no audience.’
‘Yes, we should, for we would have performed the play during the proper Season.’
‘I am afraid the Queen will not depart these shores until the trial is over,’ the Duke said. ‘And not then if she is found innocent.’
‘She will never reign as Queen, surely?’ the Duchess put in. ‘The King won’t stand for it.’
‘Even a king can find nothing to say against a determined woman,’ James said, watching Lavinia. She was concentrating on the food, pushing it around her plate, but eating very little. She had been looking very pale of late and her eyes had lost their sparkle. If she really was looking forward to being married to Wincote, would she be so listless? ‘They are capable of wreaking havoc.’
‘I heard Wincote had evidence against the King,’ Duncan put in. ‘Is it true, sir?’
Marcus sighed. ‘I really do not know how these rumours start.’
‘It is just a rumour, then?’ Lavinia asked him and James, watching and listening, thought he detected a note of anxiety in her voice.
‘He approached Brougham with a letter written on behalf of the King to his grandfather many years ago, but Brougham would not entertain it. He has no intention of blackening the King’s character.’
‘So, what did this letter say?’ Duncan asked.
‘Nothing we were not aware of already. Wincote’s grandfather had an alliance with Lady Jersey, before she caught the King’s eye. The Prince of Wales, as he was then, offered him a baronetcy and the estate in Cumberland if he made himself scarce and left the field clear. And that is what he did.’
‘Is that all?’ Duncan was obviously disappointed.
‘Yes, s
o you see how rumours muddy the waters. And Wincote himself has agreed that it is of little value…’
‘I’ll wager he has,’ James murmured. He would not wish to oppose his prospective father-in-law.
The last dress rehearsal was a disaster which did not seem to bother Mr Greatorex at all. ‘It is a good sign,’ he said, when it was all over and everyone gathered for last-minute instructions. ‘It means it will go well on the night. Have faith, my lady.’
‘Faith can move mountains, so I am told,’ James whispered to her. ‘But if you need help moving mountains, then I am at your service. Shall I come early?’
‘Yes, please.’
She could not sleep that night; everything was whirring round in her head: the play; things she had to remember; things she had forgotten to do; Lord Wincote’s refusal to accept her rejection of him before her like the mountain James spoke of; and James himself, apparently restored to good humour. How could he laugh and joke when her churning insides made her feel so sick.
And when she did fall asleep at last, she had nightmares. Someone, a dark shadow she could not identify, was chasing her through the streets and she was continually falling over the long robe she wore and becoming entangled in the branches of trees, which should never have been there at all. The shape, whatever it was, had her by the throat and was trying to throttle her. She struggled and screamed, waking herself up, and then sat up in bed, panting and terrified. It was several minutes before she could bring herself to lie down again.
She had been mad to contemplate putting on a play, mad to encourage Lord Wincote and even more foolish to fall in love with James Corringham. If only she could go back to the beginning of the summer, back to the carefree days of June when she had no idea what trials were in store for her. But, for better or worse, her trial would be over tomorrow. She lifted her head to glance at the ormolu clock ticking on the mantelpiece. No, it was today. And then, in spite of her conviction she would not shut her eyes again, she fell asleep.
Daisy shook her awake when the morning was well advanced and she sprang out of bed and dressed hurriedly. There was so much to do: scenery, costumes, properties and lights to check and double-check, chairs to arrange, and musicians to accommodate. She allowed herself a cup of hot chocolate and a piece of bread and butter, before dashing to the ballroom to begin. She had no time to be nervous.
It was late afternoon and she was supervising the servants who were putting out the rows of chairs they had hired when James, true to his promise, arrived to help. Her day gown was covered with an enormous white apron which she must have borrowed from the cook and her lovely hair was pushed under a mob cap, such as her chambermaid wore. She looked so adorable, he could not help smiling.
‘I am here,’ he said, quietly. ‘The mover of mountains.’
Chapter Eleven
She looked up and her whole face lit from within at the sight of him and made his heart quicken. ‘Oh, James, I knew I could rely on you.’
‘Of course.’ He put his hat and cane on a table and walked towards her, both hands extended. ‘Mr Dependable, that’s me.’
She didn’t know why she did it but she grasped both his hands in hers and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘Thank you.’
‘Vinny.’ He held on to her hands and raised them, one by one to his lips. There was no sign of the bantering, carefree young man who loved to tease. ‘You shouldn’t thank me. I have brought you nothing but grief.’
‘How can you say that? You are my dear…’ She stopped and looked up at him. He was waiting for her to continue, but she could not. The word ‘brother’ stuck in her throat.
He said it for her. ‘Brother?’
‘No. Not brother. Not even stepbrother. That was a game we played to amuse everyone.’
‘And the time for games is past,’ he said quietly, holding her hands to his chest, where she could feel his heart beating, almost as quickly as her own. He smiled. ‘You know, I have been waiting for you to grow up.’
‘Have you?’
‘Yes.’ He stooped and kissed her forehead and then each cheek in turn. The touch of his lips was like fire on her skin. It seared it with a strange sensation that spread through her whole body, making her heart beat so fast she thought it would burst, filling her belly and ending in the moist spot between her thighs. A huge sigh escaped her.
‘Vinny?’
‘Yes?’ It was whisper; she hardly dare speak.
‘Not now. Later. When the curtain comes down on the last act, I have something I want to say to you, something important. Will you promise not to do anything foolish like accepting Wincote until you have heard me out?’
‘James, I—’
‘Don’t say anything now,’ he interrupted her before she could tell him she had already turned the gentleman down. ‘Leave it until later.’ He suddenly became businesslike. ‘Now tell me where these mountains are that you want shifting.’
She laughed and told him what needed doing. Together they worked side by side until the others began to arrive and she went to the ladies’ dressing room to change. Her exhaustion had disappeared, there was a new sparkle in her eyes and a lightness in her step. James was only going to have one last try at dissuading her from accepting Lord Wincote, she told herself as a defence against disappointment. But would he have kissed her, would he have said he had been waiting for her to grow up if that was all he meant?
When she returned, everyone was assembled in the ante-room behind the stage. ‘The ballroom is filling up,’ Miss Hastings said, peering through a gap in the curtains. ‘We shall have a full house, although there are some very strange characters taking their seats, not the sort you would expect to be interested in Shakespeare. Quite common looking, in fact.’
‘I do not care what they look like, as long as they have paid,’ Lavinia said, peering out over Emily’s shoulder. ‘I expect they are connected with the orphanage.’
‘Who is that strange man with Major Greenaway? He looks decidedly smoky to me.’
The man was tall and thin, dressed in a suit of black clothes which was shiny with age. ‘Oh, Papa asked Major Greenaway to take care of security. With so many strangers in the house, he wanted to ensure there was no trouble and no repetition of what happened to Lady Graham and Lady Willoughby. He is probably a Runner or something of that sort.’ She turned away. ‘We must leave the stage, it is nearly time for the overture.’
‘Oh, dear, I am so nervous,’ Emily said, echoing Lavinia’s own thoughts.
They were all nervous, except Lancelot Greatorex’s players, for whom it was just another night like every other. Even Lady Rattenshaw, who had arrived later than everyone else, was jumpy.
‘My lord,’ she whispered to James when she found him standing alone, watching Lord Wincote and Lavinia preparing for their first entrance. ‘You wanted to know about a certain gentleman…’
‘So I did.’
‘He is as close as wax about his family. He said his grief over the death of his grandfather was too recent to talk about. I tried again to persuade him to throw in his lot with me but he refused, which has deprived me of a great deal of fun, not that I have not enjoyed my time as Lady Rattenshaw.’
James smiled wryly. ‘It might not have been fun at all.’
‘No, I realise that. In the face of my entreaties, he said that, though he would not leave Lady Lavinia for me, it was not because he did not love me but that it was expedient. Apparently he had been expecting the prosecution to pay him handsomely to hush up the evidence he had against the King. And when they refused he went to Lord Brougham, who also sent him away. He is desperate for money and he simply has to have Lady Lavinia’s dowry.’
‘The devil!’ James said angrily. He had known it all along, but to have it confirmed was enough to make his blood boil.
‘If you confront him, my lord, he will deny he ever said any such thing. He will put it down to the rantings of a spurned female. Hell hath no fury and all that…’
‘It is of
no consequence,’ he said, smiling down at her. ‘I think I might yet win the day without having to say a word against the gentleman.’
Lavinia saw the smiles they exchanged and her heart almost stopped beating. He was not going to ask her to marry him, he was going to ask for her felicitations on his engagement to Lady Rattenshaw. She had been right when she saw them with their heads together after that visit to the theatre, she had not imagined it; Lady Rattenshaw was James’s secret love. He looked so pleased with himself, she had no doubt she was right. But why must she hear him out before giving Lord Wincote his answer? His lordship already had his answer, though he did not believe it. She looked across at him, dressed in his Lysander costume, but turned away quickly when he gave her a secret smile.
‘Places, everyone,’ Lancelot called as the hired orchestra began the overture.
The curtain went up on the opening scene, and the orchestra stopped playing as Sir Percy and Miss Hastings entered. The moment Sir Percy spoke the very first words no one had any more time for speculation or even nervousness. Lavinia took a huge gulp of air to steady herself and with an effort of will she did not know she possessed, became Hermia, beloved of Lysander.
When the curtain went down for the last time, the ripple of applause grew to a crescendo and cries of ‘Bravo!’ The whole cast reappeared and took a bow. The audience clapped and called ‘Speech! Speech!’ But though they tried to push Lavinia forward to make it, she was spent. She did not have an ounce of energy left, either physical or mental, and simply shook her head.
It was left to Lancelot to thank everyone for coming and raising the grand sum of five hundred pounds for the orphanage. He told his listeners that it had been his privilege and his pleasure to join such talented actors and actresses, who would surely make their marks if any of them decided to tread the boards as professionals. And then it was all over.
