“I was keeping it as a surprise,” she said. “I met Mr. Irving last week, and was instantly charmed, of course.” She smiled at Henry. “I knew the two of you were acquainted and lured him to my party with the promise that he would know at least one other person here.”
She excused herself to attend to her duties as hostess and it was on me to keep Mr. Irving entertained. I was scarcely up to the challenge. Not being well-suited for small talk, I did my best discussing the news of the day and books I have read. There were many lulls in the conversation, however, and I became increasingly anxious that I was not equipped to entertain someone who entertained others for a living. I finally said as much.
“Nonsense,” he said. “You are quite pleasant company. I find you a remarkable fellow, Bram. Quite frankly, I get a bit tired of always having to perform in public, even when I am not on the stage.”
Willie pushed his way through the crowd with two glasses of wine. He nearly sloshed us as he rammed into me.
“Quite the crowd,” he yelled over the din. “You both look like you could use a drink.”
I took a glass just to keep it from spilling on Mr. Irving.
“No, thank you,” Irving said. “I never drink wine. Dulls the senses.”
“Really? I suppose I’ve had too much wine to notice,” Willie said, downing the other glass in one gulp. “So, Mr. Irving, you’re an actor?” Not for the first time I wondered why I bothered to associate with him.
Irving smiled. “I dabble,” he said.
“My brother writes plays,” Willie said, depositing his glass with a passing servant and taking another. “Some are almost good. Bram here is a writer as well. Not just theatre reviews. He has had some stories published.”
“Is that so?” Irving asked. He looked at me to elaborate.
“Just some melodrama written for local magazines,” I answered.
“He’s being humble,” Willie said. “He’s working on a book. Already has a publisher for it.”
I was mortified. I had specifically asked him not to talk about the book – a book that had filled me with terror these many nights as my deadline looms.
“H-hardly a book,” I stammered. “I mean it’s not for a general audience. It is a procedures manual for clerks. That is my current occupation. Petty sessions clerk.”
“It’s going to be used across the Empire to train clerks,” Willie said. “You should see how this man runs an office and manages files. He’s brilliant!” I wasn’t sure if he was making fun of me or genuinely trying to brag me up to Irving.
“Is that so?” Irving’s eyes lit up. “I’ve been looking for someone to manage my theatre in London.”
Willie jabbed his finger at me. “This, this is your man!” His speech was slightly slurred. “He loves the theatre and is a stern taskmaster. Why, he cut the staff in half at Dublin Castle just through his efficiencies. Got a medal for that, he did.”
I was both annoyed and touched by Willie’s praise. I knew then he was trying to be a good friend, but it was unfortunate that it took drink to bring it out.
Willie seemed suddenly to remember something, took out his pocket watch and looked at it through squinting eyes. “Ah, speaking of theatre, it’s time for the leading lady’s entrance. I must find Oscar.”
And with that, he disappeared back into the crowd.
“I am quite serious, Bram. I would like you to come and work for me in London.”
I was stunned. “I am flattered by the offer, Mr. Irving, but urge you to take some time to consider. I am not certain that I am worthy of such a position.”
“Nonsense. It takes a special kind of temperament to manage a theatre troupe; one must have a head for detail and a degree of business acumen, but it helps to also have a passion for the art form. I know you well enough to see you have just such a nature. Come to London with me, Bram. I’ll pay you twenty pounds a week.”
As I am making eight pounds a week as a clerk, and have thought that a rather nice sum, twenty sounded like a king’s ransom. Could I possibly provide value for such a salary? I felt he was making an offer he might come to regret, and tried to say so, but he interrupted before I could get out more than, “I couldn’t possibly—”
“All right, twenty-two. You drive a hard bargain. Further proof that you’re just the man I need overseeing my affairs!”
Before I could even truly comprehend the idea, Lady Wilde appeared at the top of the stairs and rang a bell to get everyone’s attention. The crowd became quiet, with still a rumble of anticipation and echoing gossip.
“My dear friends, I am so pleased that you have joined us here tonight to celebrate this happy occasion. My dear son Oscar is a lucky man indeed, as you will all soon see. With that, may I present my future daughter-in-law, Miss Florence Balcombe.”
The crowd fell even more silent as she appeared at the top of the stairs. It was the first time my eyes beheld her, and they were rewarded with a sight of exquisite beauty, and a warm, tender smile that surely signified a soul equally as lovely. The crowd gasped at her beauty, or perhaps that was only me. She seemed a woman who could inspire daring acts of bravery or passionate lines of verse. The candlelight and gaslight radiated more brilliantly in her presence. She was resplendent in a green and white gown, and as she descended the staircase her soft auburn hair framed her angelic face, and her green eyes lit up the whole room. It was as though she had stepped out from a master’s oil painting or had broken free from a sculptor’s block of translucent marble. Surely Oscar Wilde could not have captured this beautiful creature’s heart. Knowing the family, I would suspect Lady Wilde had hired a witch to cast a love spell.
And then, suddenly, there he was, Oscar, pushing his way through the crowd to meet her. He joined her several steps from the bottom and took her hand. A jealousy I had no right to feel rose within me as I saw her smile warmly at her fiancé.
Willie grabbed a glass of champagne and flicked it twice with his finger to make it ring.
“A toast to my brother and his fiancée.” The crowd raised their glasses. “Here’s to their health, peace and prosperity. May the flower of their love never be nipped by the frost of disappointment, nor the shadow of grief fall among their family and friends.”
Many gave a ‘hear, hear’, and drank their toasts down with great enthusiasm.
Giving his brother a thankful nod, Oscar raised his glass and declaimed, “A woman begins by resisting a man’s advances and ends by blocking his retreat.” The crowd chortled at his witticism (which I’m sure I have heard somewhere before, but Oscar offered no source for the quotation, so perhaps he wrote it himself).
He continued, “I know many of you thought this day would never come and are still thinking it a dream.” He gazed at Miss Balcombe tenderly. “And I say yes, it is a dream, a wonderful dream that I hope never to wake from.” He raised his glass. “To my lovely Florence, whose smile shines upon me as the sun shines upon the barren moon.” He kissed her hand and the ladies in the room cooed from the romance of it.
“The wedding will be in September, and I hope you all can attend,” Oscar added. “For tonight, please follow my example: eat, drink and be merry!”
“He does know how to work an audience,” Irving remarked, startling me. I had forgotten he was there, had forgotten anyone was there save for the auburn-haired goddess on the stairs and the fortunate man who stood where I felt I might give anything to stand.
“Yes,” I replied, my voice emerging in a choked whisper. I cleared my throat. “He has ever been so.” Irving deftly nabbed a glass of wine from the tray of a passing waiter and handed it to me with a curiously sympathetic smile. I accepted gratefully and forced myself to sip rather than gulp.
Willie made his way back to Irving and me. “Well, that went off splendidly, and my official duties are done, save for ensuring no one drinks so much he’ll embarrass himself. Rather l
ike putting the fox in charge of the henhouse, that. In any case, can you believe it? Oscar settling down right at the peak of his debauchery? Whatever is he thinking?”
“She is quite striking,” Irving said.
“Her father’s in the military, a colonel, I think,” Willie said, watching Miss Balcombe and Oscar mingling. “Not a penny to her name, of course, so I don’t think she’ll keep Oscar in the life to which he would like to grow accustomed.”
“Perhaps it is love then,” I said.
“Must be,” Willie said. “Or perhaps he loves the idea of her as if she is a poem or piece of art he can collect.”
“It sounds as if you two bachelors are jaded at the very notion of love,” Irving said. “Or perhaps it is jealousy?” I glanced at him sharply. His smile was knowing, but not unkind, and he gave me a quick pat on the shoulder.
Oscar was dragging Miss Balcombe through the crowd, making introductions, and they were coming our way.
“I’ve been jealous of my brother his whole life,” Willie admitted. “He’s one of those people that have all the best things fall into his lap. Not his fault, I suppose, but it does grow tiresome to watch him succeed with such little effort.”
“Perhaps he only makes it seem effortless,” Irving mused.
It was finally our turn to meet the bride-to-be. I found myself all a-flutter, like a schoolboy approaching a girl at his first dance.
“My darling Florence, may I present the actor Henry Irving, and Willie’s school chum, Bram Stoker.”
Mr. Irving took her hand and kissed it lightly, with a graceful panache that caused her to blush. I myself thought I might swoon at the sight of that blush, which would have been a ridiculous consequence of a kiss in which I did not even take part.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Irving,” she said. “I have seen you perform several times and always eagerly await your visits to Dublin.”
“It is my pleasure to entertain you,” he said, releasing her hand.
“Florence has ambitions to the stage herself,” Oscar said. “I am tutoring her in acting, and I must say she is coming along nicely.”
“You would look lovely under the limelight, my dear,” Irving said, and was rewarded with an excited smile.
She seemed about to pursue this line of conversation with Mr. Irving but thought better of it and turned to me. “And Mr. Stoker, Oscar speaks highly of you.”
“Really?” I was surprised to hear this, of course, and wondered if perhaps his remarks had been sarcastic and she too innocent to notice.
“Oh, yes. He has even written you as a character in one of his fanciful tales. A fearless hunter of werewolves. It is a very invigorating story, despite the lurid subject matter.”
“Is that so?” I shot Oscar a look I hoped would burn through his forehead. He smiled back at me blandly. “I had no idea Oscar held me in such regard.”
“And yet,” Willie said, “I bet Oscar himself was the hero of the tale.”
“Naturally,” said Oscar. “Aren’t we all the heroes of our own stories? Who would cast himself as Polonius if the role of Hamlet were open?” he added, with a nod towards Irving.
“They both end up dead by play’s end,” retorted Willie. “I’d far rather be Oberon.”
With that, Oscar bade us farewell and yanked Miss Balcombe back into the crowd for more introductions. The poor creature was beginning to show signs of exhaustion from all the attention.
Lady Wilde made her way over to us, accompanied by an odd-looking young man. He was very thin and tall with a pale, feminine face. At first, I thought him to be a woman in man’s clothes, such as one may see in a burlesque show. She introduced him as Count Ruthven.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said in a thick, unidentifiable accent. He was drenched in some dreadful cologne that was so sickly sweet it turned my stomach.
“Count Ruthven and I have corresponded for several years. He knows a great deal about the supernatural in Eastern European culture and has been generous in sharing this knowledge. He is currently on an around-the-world tour,” Lady Wilde explained.
“Is that so?” Irving asked. “How exciting. I love to travel. Where have you been so far?”
“Italy, Greece, Spain and Portugal,” he said. “It was getting dreadfully hot there and I thought I would head north for some more refreshing air.”
“You’ve come to the right place,” Willie said. “You can get chilled to the bone even in August here.”
“I am quite used to the cold as my home is in the mountains,” he said. “I took a ship here from Portugal and we hit a terrible storm…”
I suddenly went totally deaf from a ringing in my ears.
I began to feel dizzy. At first, I thought it was from the smell of the count’s perfume, perhaps combined with too much drink. But then I knew it was another of my spells. It had been nearly two years since I’d had one, and I had all but forgotten the sensation.
As Ruthven spoke about his sea voyage, he gestured with his hands, and an ever so faint green light came off his fingertips like smoke off a cigarette. His breath smelled of rotting meat, overpowering the cologne. My heart pounded and blood rushed to my ears at the thought I might be in the presence of yet another werewolf. Why hadn’t this sensation come upon me sooner in the Count’s presence? Perhaps the wine inhibited my ability.
I shook off the spell and the blood left my ears.
“…and I am not looking forward to my crossing to England tomorrow. I just do not like boats,” the Count concluded.
I stumbled a bit and Mr. Irving steadied me. “Are you all right, Bram? You look pale.”
His touch completely brought me back, and I regained my composure quickly. “I’m fine. Not used to so much drink, I’m afraid.”
Lady Wilde waved over one of the servants and asked him to bring me a cup of strong Earl Grey tea.
“I have followed your career closely, Mr. Irving,” the Count said. “I have seen you several times in London and on the Continent. Normally I am an enthusiast of the opera and have not enjoyed so much the theatre I have seen. But I find your performance very intriguing. It is like the opera without the music, yah? Much passion and fury.”
“That is gratifying to hear,” Irving said. “Theatre, like life, should always be undertaken with passion. Where are you going when you get to England?”
“I am meeting old friends in London,” he said.
“I am heading back to London soon myself,” Irving said, taking a calling card from his jacket pocket. “You should come by the Lyceum Theatre and I will give you a tour.”
Ruthven accepted the card. “Thank you. I might just do that.”
With that, Lady Wilde led him off to meet more of her guests. Mr. Irving watched them cross the room. “Does that man strike you as a little strange?”
Willie offered, “Quite.”
“He didn’t look well,” Irving said. “I hope he hasn’t brought some foreign flu with him from his travels.”
Willie wiped his hand on his jacket. “Dear God, you’re right. He did look sickly. His handshake was cold and clammy. I’d best get some gin to fortify myself.”
He left us to find more drink, and Mr. Irving asked a servant for his hat, coat and walking stick.
“I must be off. I have two performances tomorrow. Please think about my offer, Bram. This could be an exciting adventure for you: a home in London, a life in the theatre. You were meant for greater things and this could be your ticket to them.”
“Thank you. I will consider it carefully, Mr. Irving.”
“Please, call me Henry. We will discuss this further when we meet on Tuesday. I hope by then you will have made your decision. The right decision.”
He smiled, shook my hand and left.
I found the nearest empty chair, grateful that it was in a quiet
corner, and sat down to get off my shaky legs. The servant brought me my tea and I sipped it slowly, hoping it would clear my head. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.
A soft voice said, “Mr. Stoker,” startling me. I stood quickly, sloshing tea onto my lap, and looked up to see Florence Balcombe.
“Please, do not get up on my account,” she said, taking the seat across from me. “I desperately need to get off my feet as well.”
Her very presence cleared my mind and strengthened me. Funny, I had been so nervous around her earlier.
“I have seen you before, you know, at Trinity,” she said, smiling.
I was surprised. “S-surely, I would have remembered meeting you,” I stammered.
“We did not meet. I saw you win in a foot race. I was impressed a man so big and strong could also be so swift-footed.”
Now it was I who was blushing and she seemed to find it amusing.
“You are not like Oscar’s other acquaintances,” she said. “You don’t offer the pretence of being an artist, yet I know you are a writer. I’ve read some of your stories. ‘The Crystal Cup’ I found most inspiring.”
“You are too kind, Miss Balcombe, but I am gratified if it offered you some enjoyment.”
“Are you working on another story currently, Mr. Stoker?”
I was chagrined to admit that I was not. Eager to offer her something of interest about myself, I quickly changed the subject. “It has been an eventful evening, first with your engagement and lately for me as well. Mr. Irving has offered me employment at his theatre in London. He would like me to manage his entire company there.”
To my great satisfaction, she seemed genuinely impressed. “Why, Mr. Stoker, that is very exciting news indeed. Congratulations. I am sure you will be a great success.”
“In truth, I am reluctant to take the job as I have a good position here as a clerk. I have already advanced quickly in the civil service and feel confident that, with continued diligence, I could progress swiftly up the ranks. But the theatre is a passion of mine. And when would another opportunity like this ever present itself?”
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