by Steven Neil
‘I will be back,’ he says. ‘It may not be next week or even next month. But I will be back, be in no doubt of it. Never imagine that your life will be as it was. I will make sure of that. You will live to regret your pride.’
He regains his composure. He rings a bell, turns on his heels and walks out of the room. The oak door slams shut behind him.
***
She is on the street, gulping air into her lungs. The encounter has shaken her, but she senses her heart pumping and she feels oddly elated. She tastes blood in her mouth as she makes her way to Trafalgar Square. She decides that she needs to walk. She travels along Cockspur Street and crosses into Haymarket. Theatre crowds are on the move, and there is a mood of expectation and excitement in the air. All the street lamps are glowing brightly and noisy groups of drinkers spill out of the taverns. She crosses Shaftesbury Avenue and over into Wardour Street.
At the north end, she turns into the wide-open spaces of Oxford Street and breathes more calmly. She notices the cooling night air, which always seems to feel cleaner here after the grime and stench of Soho. She walks west towards Oxford Circus. She paces along in her haste to return to her rooms, but she feels her stride shorten as she reaches her doorway and fumbles in her wrist bag for her keys. The energy seeps from her.
She stumbles into the hallway, pulls herself up the stairs into the bedchamber and falls onto the bed, burying her face into the pillows. Her right fist smashes into the fretwork of the headboard, splintering the wood. She lies like this for over an hour. Her mind races. She knows Sly has turned the tables, but she must not let him win. She will need all her reserves of strength, but she will work this through. She will overcome this. Blood from her hand seeps into the damask bedcover. Eventually, she rises, goes to the sink in the kitchen and bathes her knuckles. She heats some water on the range and then dabs at the inside of her lower lip with a warm, soaked cloth. She winces.
She hears the sound of a cab drawing up in the street and then a sharp rap on the front door. She looks through the window, but can see no one. She is not expecting Jem. He is racing at Huntingdon and is staying with his parents at Stilton tonight. She wants to obey the rule never to answer to visitors when she is alone after dark. She knows it is a sensible precaution, but something panics her. What if Jem has had an accident? She runs downstairs and slips the latch, putting the chain across. She opens the gap a couple of inches. She can see nothing and there is no sound, no footsteps. Then she hears something heavy crash into the lock from outside. The chain rips away from the frame, taking part of the jamb with it. She loses her balance and drops to her knees. The door gapes open to reveal a man, resting a sledgehammer on his shoulder. He smiles at her. He steps aside and Nicholas Sly moves forward into the hallway, his bulk blocking out the light from the streetlamps.
‘I was just passing,’ he says. ‘I thought I would drop in. I don’t think we are finished yet.’
***
In the weeks that follow, Harriet tells Lavinia something terrible has happened, but she does not elaborate. It is not discussed again. The summer goes well for Jem and the winners flow. Harriet continues to establish herself in her acting career. She almost persuades herself that the episode with Nicholas Sly was a passing incident and she does her best to banish it from her thoughts, but, of course, that is easier said than done. Lavinia is attuned to Harriet’s moods and realises she needs help. She tries to coax Harriet into sharing what is on her mind.
‘I know you are unsettled. I see it. I am here if you want to talk.’
‘Thank you. I have to cope with it myself,’ says Harriet.
‘Whatever you do, don’t punish Jem. And don’t punish yourself.’
Lavinia is not the only one who senses all is not well with Harriet and her relationship with Jem.
‘I’m confused by them,’ says Tom. ‘It is obvious they are well matched, but they seem to drift in and out of love.’
‘I spent time with Harriet, Eliza as she was then, when we were younger,’ says Lavinia. ‘She was as wild as a goshawk. I never knew a girl like her. She was always fighting everything around her: her parents, authority, the world. Yet she was the kindest, dearest friend to those she trusted. From what you say, Jem shares many of those traits. I think, in some ways, they are too alike. They are both wilful and there is a recklessness simmering just below the surface, ready to explode. But never question that they are in love. That will remain constant, whatever happens.’
‘Will they succeed, do you think?’
‘I don’t know. I hope so. They deserve to.’
***
By the autumn, Tom and Lavinia, together with Jem and Harriet, begin to make their marks on the fringes of London society. The four friends may not have the background, although Lavinia’s parents are said to be “well connected”, but in dress, manners, style and expenditure they are indistinguishable from the aristocracy with whom they mix. Everything seems more relaxed and on an even keel. As the year moves on, Jem and Harriet draw ever closer and Jem purchases a diamond ring. They still have their disagreements. After all, as Lavinia says, they are two strong wills, but when they are alone together, cocooned under a fur pelt, with the doors and windows shuttered against the outside world, a log fire crackling in the grate and candlelight throwing shadows around the room, there is nowhere else either of them would rather be.
Tom confides in Lavinia one evening.
‘I think Jem is going to ask Harriet to marry him. I probably shouldn’t have said that.’
‘I think she will probably say yes,’ says Lavinia. ‘I probably shouldn’t have said that either.’
***
In December, however, things start to unravel. Jem misses out on some winning rides when the owners replace him with other jockeys. Harriet doesn’t secure parts Donald Treves promises are hers for the asking. She wonders if Sly is behind it. She does not forget his threats. Just before Christmas, Jem and Harriet have a blazing row. Neither of them is quite sure how it starts, but it escalates quickly and accusations are made on both sides. Jem spends the Christmas period with his parents. He has rides at Northampton on Boxing Day and Bedford the day after. He explains it as a sensible practical arrangement, but really he needs time apart from Harriet to think. Something is happening to them that he doesn’t begin to understand.
While Jem is away, Nicholas Sly calls on Harriet again at Oxford Street – his second visit to the house. Lavinia knows something is wrong when she and Harriet meet the next day. She knows her friend well, but Harriet, typically, won’t talk about it.
A day later, they are both invited to a masked ball in Mayfair. Lavinia is unenthusiastic. Tom is also away and she is not in the mood for socialising. By contrast, Harriet feels the need for distraction and persuades Lavinia to accompany her. When they meet that evening, it is apparent that Harriet has already been drinking.
‘Are you alright?’ asks Lavinia.
‘I am going to drink wine until I drown and the devil take the consequences,’ says Harriet.
‘I don’t think that is wise.’
‘I don’t want to be wise. I want to be drunk.’
***
When Harriet wakes the following morning, the door to her bedchamber has moved to the other side of the room. The window drapes are not the familiar blue silk damask. It takes her a while to realise she is not at home in Oxford Street. A drumming headache pulses at her temples. A tall, slim, shirtless man in white breeches comes into the room, smiles across at her, tosses a blue and red tunic across the back of a chair and begins to pull on his jackboots. She groans and turns over.
Eight
On the Verge
London, England
1842
On New Year’s Day, Tom and Lavinia talk again about Jem and Harriet. Tom says Jem has told him he thinks they are on the verge of breaking up, but he doesn’t know
why. Tom says he has never seen Jem in tears before. Lavinia is more guarded, but Harriet’s apparent descent into self-destruction worries her.
‘I fear for them,’ she says. ‘I don’t think they realise what they have.’
***
Haymarket Theatre is the jewel in the crown of London’s theatre district. Everyone wants to play here. Elizabeth “Harriet” Howard is no exception. She enjoyed a brief run here in her young career, but there is a bigger prize in view. She is making her way in Shakespearean theatre, but this is the one she wants. Walking left out of Coventry Street, the famous portico of six Corinthian columns comes into view and imposes its status on the street. The grandeur continues inside. There is not one chandelier where two will do. Red, plush velvet is everywhere. She taps her foot on the back of the seat in front of her, as she waits her turn at the audition. In other circumstances, she would be confident, but her recent setbacks unnerve her slightly.
‘Can we have Act 5 Scene II, please?’ says the producer. ‘Katharina’s final speech: The Taming of the Shrew. Quiet, please. When you are ready.’
Harriet steps forward on the stage. She looks up.
***
‘Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow,
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes,
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor:
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,
Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds,
And in no sense is meet or amiable.
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;
And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty
Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it.
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance commits his body
To painful labour both by sea and land,
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love, fair looks and true obedience;
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince
Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will,
What is she but a foul contending rebel
And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
I am ashamed that women are so simple
To offer war where they should kneel for peace;
Or seek for rule, supremacy and sway,
When they are bound to serve, love and obey.
Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,
But that our soft conditions and our hearts
Should well agree with our external parts?
Come, come, you froward and unable worms!
My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
My heart as great, my reason haply more,
To bandy word for word and frown for frown;
But now I see our lances are but straws,
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,
That seeming to be most which we indeed least are.
Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,
And place your hands below your husband’s foot:
In token of which duty, if he please,
My hand is ready; may it do him ease.’
‘Oh bravo, bravo. Wonderful,’ says the producer. ‘That’s a bonny Kate.’
Applause ripples from the few people dotted around the theatre. Even the stage hands join in.
‘There will be no arguments this time,’ says Donald Treves.
***
Jem and Harriet are at home in Oxford Street, together. Their relationship has been strained for some time. There have been tears and tantrums. Tonight, she sits with a book on her lap, but she seems to spend more time staring into the embers of the fire. He watches her. No pages turn.
‘There is something wrong,’ says Jem. ‘I know it. Something you are not telling me. What is it?’
‘It’s nothing.’
‘Remember. You and me. Eliza and Jem. Jem and Eliza. We tell the truth. No secrets. Following the dream together. What happened to that?’
‘Maybe you were right. It’s just dreams.’
‘Do we give up that easily?’
‘I didn’t get the part.’
‘What? You said it was yours. They said you were the obvious choice.’
‘The producer said I was exciting, enchanting. He said I perfectly captured the essence of Kate. It was a formality. Today, they sent a message saying they were offering the part to Sarah Langdon.’
‘Why?’
‘Something is going on. I have gone for five parts. I didn’t get any of them, even though they said I was ideal. Treves says that the producer at the Haymarket had a visit from someone, a woman, after the auditions. Later on, he said he made a mistake in casting me; he was reconsidering.’
‘It goes that way sometimes.’
‘You are not so cool when you lose a ride, Jem.’
‘That’s not the same.’
‘Isn’t it? It’s easy for you to say.’
‘No, it’s not. Strathmore says he’s not putting me up anymore. He says it’s nothing personal. He just wants a change.’
‘So much for loyalty. You turned down better mounts to ride his horses. And now he does this.’
‘I’m starting to think there is more to this than coincidence. You are losing parts you should walk into. I’m losing rides for owners I’ve always ridden winners for. Who could have it in for both of us?’
‘I don’t know, Jem. I really don’t.’
Deep down, of course, she does know. But she doesn’t want to take it in; doesn’t want to believe it. She hopes against hope that everything will blow over.
Jem seems the more philosophical, perhaps because he doesn’t know what Harriet knows. He carries on riding because that is what he does. It is not that he is getting no rides, it’s just that they are fewer and less competitive. When he talks with his main trainer, George Dockeray, though, the doubts he has been suppressing come out.
‘We’ll keep you going, Jem,’ says George. ‘There are plenty of other owners.’
‘Tell me the truth, George. Have I lost it? I would rather know. If others can see it but I can’t, you have to tell me.’
‘You’re riding better than ever, believe me. But something’s afoot, that’s certain. Seems you’ve made a few enemies in high places. They have the hack writers in their pockets. There’s barely a week goes by without some story in the newspapers about you.’
‘But hasn’t that always been the case with jockeys? They build us up, then knock us down.’
‘This is different, Jem. Yes, there has always been a bit of that. This looks like it’s been planned. There’s a slow drip. Most of it is suggestion. The drafting is careful: “it is alleged that…”, “sources believe that…”, “one steward was heard to say…” – that sort of thing. If they would come out with it, you could get the lawyers on the case. This is much harder to deal with.’
‘But mud sticks.’
‘Exactly. Keep at it, Jem. Your friends will stay by you.’
***
Harriet perseveres and auditions for another part, as one of the weird sisters in Shakespeare’s Scottish play. Count D’Orsay plans to cast and produce his own play for the first time at the Drury Lane theatre. Lady Macbeth is already cast. He takes his time over the remain
ing female characters. No one who knows him is at all surprised. The doe-eyed dandy has charm to spare and money to burn, it seems.
‘You have a very good résumé,’ he says. ‘In a way, I worry you might be overqualified for this part.’
‘I am keen to extend my range. It is not all about the leading roles.’
‘I understand, but this would be a step down and, of course, the remuneration would not be what you are used to.’
‘That is not my priority. I have researched this role and I think it would suit me.’
‘I’m hopeful of a long run. How can I be sure you will not leave us if a better offer comes along?’
‘I’ll sign a binding contract.’
‘You would not be the first to walk away from a contract. I am really not convinced.’
‘I know I can play the part, sir. I just need an opportunity. I would be very grateful.’
He senses the desperation. He walks to the bookcase and takes a text down. He leafs through it. He is not really reading anything, just expending time. He folds his arms and sits on the edge of his desk. He leans forward and puts his face close to hers. She can smell the eau de jasmine.
‘I will need to think about this. Perhaps we could discuss it again this evening over dinner?
‘If you wish.’
‘No, my dear. It is if you wish. I have many actresses who would like this part.’
***
A few days later and a change in fortune finds Jem more his old self. He rides two winners at Hendon and Tom has news for him. He can hardly wait to tell Harriet.
‘Tom Olliver’s put me in for the ride on Lord Chesterfield’s Vanguard. He says he is a particular type of horse, more suited to my way of riding.’
‘We still have people who will help us. That is good to know.’
‘And you, Eliza. What news?’
‘The part is mine. It is something, at least.’
‘Maybe it’s a turning point. Come on, Eliza. We won’t let them beat us. We are better than them. New year, new start. You’ll see.’
The two of them embrace and Harriet realises that it has been a long time since Jem has shown her any affection outside the bedchamber. She struggles to hold back tears. She senses their slow slide away from intimacy.