The Masked Heart

by Karla Darcy

The carriage rolled from side to side on the bumpy road, nearly knocking Blaine off the seat. She was always amazed that Tate managed to sleep no matter the traveling conditions. By the simple expedient of wedging herself into the corner and pillowing her head on the bundle of her cloak, she had been snoring steadily since their stop for food at the Silver Stallion.

  Blaine had dozed on and off during the journey but the excitement of returning home always kept her awake. She wished she were able to stay at Weathers instead of having to return to the smog and confinement of her life in London. Soon that would be possible but for now she would have to be content with her two week holiday. It was only in the last few years, owing to the fact she had become a reigning star, that she had been able to take time off from the theatre. She remembered all too clearly how much she had missed home but at least she could actually see an end in sight and that made it all worthwhile.

  Luck and hard work had been the keys to her success. Aunt Haydie had given her a letter to her friend Sarah Siddons who was the sister of Kemble, the famous actor/manager of the Covent Garden Theatre. At the time, Blaine was not aware of what a stroke of fortune this introduction was. Mrs. Siddons was at the height of her popularity which at age fifty-two did not depend on her beauty but the talent that made her an outstanding tragic actress.

  Sarah had taken immediately to the incredibly naive Blaine and had become her mentor in the theatre as well as her protector from the cruder elements of an actress' life. Mrs. Siddons was a lady in the grand manner and, despite the fact she inhabited a world renowned for its moral depravity, lived a respectable life. She was a wife and the mother of three children and firmly believed in the sanctity of marriage. Blaine could have had no finer sponsor.

  Although Mrs. Siddons had been helpful on her arrival, perhaps she would not have been so thorough in her guidance if it hadn't been for a bizarre coincidence. The troupe was doing Merchant of Venice when the actress playing Portia was taken ill. Blaine was her understudy and was forced to go on in her place. Although she was well schooled in the part, the precipitateness of her debut in a major roll threw her badly off stride. When she arrived on stage her voice shook, her lines died off in a whisper and she totally forgot her stage directions. By the end of the play, she was convinced that her acting career was over and fled the stage in tears. Sarah had been waiting in the wings and gathering her up, led to her own sumptuous dressing room.

  "I'm so terribly sorry, Sarah," Blaine cried forlornly. "I did so want to prove myself but my vanity is obviously greater than my talent. I am sunk beyond redemption. Better I should return home and never put my slippers on the boards again."

  "Oh, la. Such tragedy!" The older woman applauded, smiling at the startled expression on the young girl's face. "I realize that you are feeling great humiliation but I shall tell you, my dear, that it was thus that I myself made my first appearance on the London stage."

  "Surely you are only saying that to help me put a good face on my failure."

  Sarah patted Blaine's hands, a bemused look in her eyes. "This may be difficult for you to credit but it seems there are similarities in our careers. Not many," she laughed, her face alight with humor. "Before I came to London, I had been playing in the provinces and was considered a remarkable actress. I was twenty, just like you, when I was invited to appear as Portia at the Drury Lane. I was filled with excitement and determined to become a great success. How well I remember that dreadful first night."

  Sarah shuddered delicately, more for Blaine's benefit than remembered embarrassment. "I opened the door in the Proscenium arch, stepped out on the stage and froze when confronted by this enormous sea of faces. In those days, the house lights were left on during the performance so every eye was visible. I reacted exactly as you did tonight, stumbling through my lines and making a perfect cake of myself."

  "How horrible for you," Blaine said. Her concern for her friend completely overshadowed her own feeling of humiliation. For the first time she had the thought that perhaps all was not lost. "What did you do?"

  "I stumbled my way through the season and then fled to the provinces again. I did not return to London for many years." Sarah reached out a long-fingered hand to wipe the tears from her protégée's face. "You, my dear, shall not be so lily-livered. You shall stand and fight. And I will help you."

  In the confines of the carriage, Blaine smiled as she recalled the words of her friend. For Sarah had been a friend indeed and, true to her promise, had been inestimable in the help she provided. Blaine, for her part, had watched every movement the actress made and tried to incorporate her gestures and her stagecraft into her own style. It had paid off and little by little Blaine became recognized for her talent as well as her beauty. Over the ensuing years, her popularity with theatregoers had increased. She owed a great deal to Sarah and had mourned the woman's retirement from the stage, feeling the loss of an outstanding actress as well as a good friend.

  Suddenly the carriage lurched into a deep rut and Blaine was thrown against the side where her head connected painfully with the window. For once, Tate came awake with a snort.

  "Are we there?" she asked.

  Blaine rubbed her aching head and massaged the stiff muscles in her neck. "Only another bump."

  "That fool Sarge will overturn us for sure," the dresser mumbled. "I've told him a hundred times that it is near insanity to push the horses at such a speed."

  "We should be home soon," Blaine said. "It's full dark now."

  "Arriving home in the dark of night, just like a thief," Tate sniffed. "I can't imagine what Lady Yates would have said if she knew of the straits you had gone to in order to protect the children."

  In the light from the outside torches, Blaine could see the expression of disapproval on Tate's face and knew that her own reflected a similar feeling. She hated the life of subterfuge she was forced to live. Sneaking into her own home had never been a part of her original plan.

  When she had left Weathers for London, Aunt Haydie remained to care for the children. Although Blaine had been fearful of the future, she could concentrate on succeeding in the theatre knowing that Val and Fleur were safe in the care of her beloved aunt. All had gone well for two years when, without warning, Lady Yates had gotten an inflammation of the lungs.

  Blaine could still not think back on that time without a deep feeling of sadness. She had loved her aunt dearly and still missed her letters of support and her common sense advice. A messenger had been sent to London when Aunt Haydie had taken ill and Blaine had raced to Wiltshire, arriving only in time to kiss the old woman goodbye.

  As she sat at Lady Yates' bedside, the blue-veined hand pressed between both of her own, she had been filled with a sense of personal loss more severe than she had felt at the death of her parents. Not only had Aunt Haydie been the children's guardian but Blaine's moral support while she struggled to survive in London. Despite the vast difference in their ages, she and her aunt had had a similarity of spirit and heart. She felt shame that she would not be able to mourn the woman as she deserved. She would have to return almost immediately to London. Knowing her aunt so well, she knew Lady Yates would remind her that her first duty was to safeguard Val and Fleur's future.

  After two years in the theatre, Blaine was on the threshold of stardom. If she returned to London, her original plan to supplement their limited finances would come to fruition. She felt guilty at abandoning the children in such a time of grief. Thankfully the household was united in their affection for the family and they would do all they could to help them through such a difficult time.

  She arranged her thoughts and called Tate and Frau Puffentraub into the library to discuss her plans for the funeral and her immediate return to London. There was silence when she finished and then Frau Puffentraub spoke up, her accented voice seeming sharp in Blaine's overwrought state.

  "Vell, liebchen, of course I vill remain as governess and all the others vill do their part." Puff's voice was crisply efficient. "However I do no
t try to make the problems but I spoke many times to Lady Yates and I do not think this plan will be of sufficiency."

  Puff explained that the household itself had been largely maintained with the annual allowance willed to Lady Yates by Blaine's father. According to the will, on the announcement of her death, the allowance would be forfeit. Their finances were in worse shape than Blaine had suspected and with the small amount she was able to send home, the household could not continue to function. She slumped in her chair and fought back tears as she faced the ruination of all her plans.

  The plump governess' voice broke the silence of the room. "Are you a good actress, liebchen ?" The little woman was unfazed by Blaine's startled expression and cocked her head to the side, waiting for an answer.

  "Y-yes," Blaine stammered, confused by the woman's seemingly inconsequential question.

  "Could you play the part of Lady Yates?" she asked.

  "Of course she could," the ever-loyal Tate chimed in.

  "What?" Blaine stared into the twinkling eyes of her governess and suddenly realized what the little woman had in mind. "But, Puff, it's not possible. The solicitor knows Aunt Haydie. Porter Upton comes once a year to give her the allowance."

  "It is with terrible great sadness that I report the death of your father's solicitor." Although her voice were mournful there was a wide grin on her plain face. "Your aunt received a letter many months ago detailing Herr Upton's demise. This year his son, Wesley Upton will be coming to make the acquaintance with your aunt."

  A pulsing silence filled the room as Blaine and Tate took in the significance of the governess' words. A low chuckle issued from Tate which was echoed by the unruffled Puff. Blaine was not as easily convinced.

  "We'd never get away with it," she whispered.

  Tate stood up and stared at Blaine, her eyes narrowed speculatively. When she spoke, she addressed Puff. "It wouldn't take much. We can use some of Lady Yates' lacy caps and pad her out a bit. She'll look a treat. With the proper makeup, even Fleur wouldn't be able to recognize her."

  "I shan't listen to a word of this," Blaine cried. "Tate. Puff. Just think of what you're saying."

  Ignoring her totally, Puff spoke over her head. "It vill be her skin that vill give her away. Could she be wearing a veil or something?"

  "I assure you, my friend, makeup will do the trick." Tate preened as she pursed her lips in decision. "I do all Miss Blaine's makeup. It will be a simple matter to create a sort of mask that would hide the youthfulness of her skin. Even up close it would pass the test. It's her hands what worry me."

  "Mittens!" the governess announced in triumph. "Lady Yates had many pairs of greatest beauty."

  "Just the ticket," Tate agreed.

  Afraid to listen to the seductive voices of her companions, Blaine jumped to her feet and faced the two women. "We cannot do it. It would not be honest."

  "Piffle!" Tate snorted.

  "Gott in Himmel !" came Puff's more exasperated retort. "The kinder must come first."

  "Look, Miss Blaine. We've little choice in the matter. Without the money from your father's will, we will have to sell up Weathers and then Val will lose his estate. If your father had known the straits you'd be in, would he have left things as they were?"

  "Of course not, Tate," Blaine answered without hesitation. "I cannot like it though."

  "Iffen it will soothe your conscience any, you can pay back the estate when times are better. For now, you've got to think of the children."

  The dresser's words were aimed deliberately at Blaine's most vulnerable spot. Deceit did not come easily to her but fear for the future of Val and Fleur would drive her to take drastic measures. Tate and Puff smiled complacently as Blaine nodded her head in defeat.

  And so had begun the Great Deception as Blaine called it. For her, the saddest part was the feeling that they were not honoring Lady Yates' death as they should. Tate and Puff reasoned with her that her aunt had requested she be buried in the north of England beside her husband. It was easy enough to ignore the neighborhood. Technically the family had been in mourning when Lady Yates arrived and afterwards she had been too involved with the children to feel a need to socialize. Feeling great bitterness that such secrecy was necessary, Blaine sent the faithful Sarge to accompany the body north while the rest of the household hid their grief and tried to carry on as usual. And for three years, she had played the part of Lady Yates for an audience of one, Wesley Upton, the solicitor.

  The sudden change in the speed of the horses brought Blaine out of her reverie. The sadness and bitterness eased from her body as she sensed that they had arrived at Weathers. But the tiredness that had plagued her of late did not abate as they approached the house. She sighed and thought of how for the last six years she had been playing a series of roles. In London, she was the celebrated Maggie Mason, "La Solitaire" and when she returned home she became Lady Haydie Yates, guardian of Fleur and Val. She would give much to become plain Blaine Margaret Meriweather again.

  Chapter Four