by Maggie Ford
What if she were to make a mistake? What she had to do had been drilled into her, yet what if …? How could she face the titter that would ripple around the audience, the sighs, the fidgeting, polite coughing?
It had once happened to Theodore Barrington, not polite coughing but hoots and jeers. It had taken him more than a year to recover, using the death of his wife as an excuse for the loss of his reputation rather than blaming himself. He’d told her that she had been his salvation, and she liked to think that it was she who’d helped fish him out of that mire of dejection. But who would fish her out? He had as good as warned her that she was only as good as her act, that he’d not want her if she let him down.
All she could do was pray. No backing out now, at the very point of going on as a polite clapping followed the quiet announcement of the renowned, Great Theodore, ‘restored to us from the darkness into which he vanished so long ago.’ After such an announcement she wasn’t about to let him see the terror that was washing over her.
He looked tall and imposing and most regal in his opera hat, evening suit and cape, his fair beard groomed and pointed, his fair hair plastered neatly back from his high forehead, prepared to entertain, to awe, perhaps even to frighten. He was ready. She felt she surely would never be.
Switching her eyes from him, Emma gazed again at the audience. It was then that her heart almost stopped.
Sitting right in front beside a beautiful, elegant and dignified woman on whose head was the most splendid diamond tiara, was a portly figure, similarly bearded to Theo except that his beard was grey and his head was balding.
She knew instantly who he was, from pictures of him. King Edward himself! Her heart having missed its beat, thudded on against her ribs hard enough to stifle her. She felt herself trembling and she was sure she was about to faint.
Theo’s whispered words as they’d made their way along a corridor to this room, were ringing in her ears: ‘Let me down just once and I will have done with you. You can return to where you came from.’
It had hit her as unfair after all the trust she’d put in him, after all the times she had urged him to find himself again.
His voice though low had been fierce, had hissed as though she were his sworn enemy instead of his confederate, his confidante. For the first time ever she felt what it could really be like to be on the wrong side of him.
Making her way down that corridor with Theo beside her and the enigmatic footman walking with measured steps ahead of them, she had shuddered despite herself. But it was nothing compared to what swept over her at the sight of that eminent figure of the King.
Theo must have known. She recalled his theatrical agent whispering names of those who’d be here, names she couldn’t catch. Why hadn’t he warned her? She would have been prepared. Surely he hadn’t intended to allow her to be shocked rigid and perhaps ruin his performance by it.
He glanced at her and smiled. ‘Hold yourself upright, my dear.’ It was said kindly. She must have been slumping and she must have gone white. It was his next words that made her come to her senses. ‘Remember, no matter who is out there, they are only people, with the same functions as you and I. We all need to visit once a day!’
Despite herself, Emma burst into silent laughter and suddenly all fear left her. When she followed him on out from the wings, everything she’d been taught came flooding back. As he bowed, she curtseyed as taught, and taking her cue from him directed her obeisance at Their Majesties in a curtsey deeper and more studied than even Theo had shown her.
Her head was lowered, but when she looked up, the royal eyes, pale blue yet glinting, were smiling directly at her, the royal head nodding approval of her. Her nerves unexpectedly vanished. She smiled shyly back and with sparkling eyes surveyed the audience. It was as Theo had said. She was here and the audience was there. She could do what they couldn’t, and by that token held them in the palm of her hand, even a king.
It was almost tangible, this knowledge, and now she knew what Theo had meant when he’d spoken nostalgically of the romance of the stage, the pull of it and how he had grieved leaving it behind even while using his departure as self-punishment.
The act was over so quickly. It couldn’t have gone better. Theo’s hands were fast, the audience gasping at the wonders performed before them, applauding as a whole deck of cards appeared one by one between his fingers, the empty box erected piece by piece before their eyes and opened to reveal herself, he having drilled her into becoming quick and supple; the empty canister in which he set fire to a piece of gauze, revealing an unruffled dove as the lid extinguishing the flame was lifted once more; the laughter at the trick of Mama and Papa Rabbit made of soft sponge rubber placed in the hand of someone in the audience, to suddenly produce a whole litter of baby rabbits as the hand was opened. Trickery, yet by their gasps they appeared to believe everything they saw as pure magic.
Then the room was dimmed for the mind-reading act, the thing she had dreaded. Yet it all fell so precisely into place, her interpreting the codes so perfectly that the dim room filled with awed gasps and even polite cries of alarm from the ladies every now and again.
Theo was awe-inspiring, as if possessing powers beyond comprehension. He held his audience in his grip. Even Their Majesties, who’d been smiling throughout more light-hearted illusions, became stern-faced and watchful.
When the lights were brought up again the applause was tremendous, yet more tremendous still as the Great Theodore ended with a flourish that astonished them all.
Producing several sheets of coloured tissue to tear the shapes of small butterflies from them, he dropped the pieces into a shallow bowl of water. He stirred them into a sodden mass with a chopstick and held up the remains of the tissue paper for them all to see the holes that were left.
Producing a square Chinese fan, red, with a large black circle at the centre, with his other hand he scooped the pulped mass from the water, squeezed it in his palm until every drop of water was gone, then bounced the wet pellet on the fan, catching and bouncing. Then before an audience wondering what this was all about, he waved the fan at the fist he’d made, causing a few paper butterflies to fly up from the still closed fingers.
Again and again they flew, thicker and thicker, faster and faster as the applause grew, he slowly backing towards the curtained window, and as he disappeared from view, a veritable cloud of coloured paper butterflies fluttered outwards all over the small stage.
It was a graceful, wondrous sight, and the elegant audience was loud with its approval as he reappeared to take his bow, bringing Emma forward to take her encore. The King rose to his feet, still applauding. Dutifully, the audience did the same as the amazing performer with his beautiful assistant departed through the side curtains, leaving his equipment to be removed by footmen.
The last she saw on leaving the stage was the King beaming. In all her life she felt that never again would she experience such pride and joy. It was over. She’d done well. The King of England had hardly taken his eyes off her. For the first time ever she became vividly aware that she actually possessed real beauty.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Mr Barrington?’
‘Yes?’ Theo and Emma looked up in surprise from packing away the equipment to see a royal equerry standing at the door of the deserted dressing room.
‘His Majesty the King.’
The man stepped smartly aside for the portly, royal figure to move into the room, alone but for his equerry.
Theodore instantly came to attention and bowed low, Emma dropping into a deep curtsey at His Majesty’s approach.
‘Wonderful entertainment!’ came an exuberant exclamation as both straightened up in readiness to be met. ‘I’ve been eager to see how you’d perform after so long an absence, having heard so much about your abilities, and many times found myself wondering where you went. But no matter, you are with us again, performing splendidly, fulfilling our every expectation, thoroughly mystifying us all. I simply had to leave the dancing to the ot
hers for a while and sneak off down here and offer my personal congratulations to you.’
Emma could hear faint music emanating from the rooms above as the King continued: ‘I can see why you were so popular, that is before you vanished, like one of your tricks, eh?’
He gave a wicked chuckle, adding, ‘And now back again and with a charming young lady to assist you. My dear man, where did you find her?’
Not waiting for a reply he turned to Emma. ‘How pretty you are, my dear. What is your name?’
Curtseying once more, the deepest she could muster, her heart pounding, hardly able to find her voice, she managed to squeak her reply, using the name of Amelia Beech as Theo would have wanted, as this from now on was to be the name she was to be known by.
Her mouth had gone dry, but at least in this low posture she felt safer, and who knows, the ground might even open up and swallow her to take her from this unnerving royal presence.
It had been bad enough finding him sitting out there in front, though with all that concentrating on what Theo was asking of her she’d almost forgotten His Majesty was there. But to have him come in person to where they were changing terrified the life out of her all over again.
Managing to recover her normal voice, she added, ‘Your Majesty,’ her curtsey still keeping her below the royal gaze. Without looking up she saw him bend towards her and next moment he was lifting her upright.
‘One curtsey is quite enough, my dear.’
Taking her hand he lifted it to his lips and she was conscious of the soft pressure of his beard even with the long cream gloves she still wore with the lovely pale green chiffon dress.
Still bending over her hand, he glanced up at her. ‘May I say how beautiful your eyes are, my dear, as is the rest of you? Indeed, I cannot help thinking how truly pleasant it would be to have the company of such a pretty young lady at supper one evening. Not this evening, I regret. My time is being taken up by others …’
He offered her a wry smile and tilted his pale eyes ceiling-wards above which music could still be heard. ‘Such a bore, when I am far more content with things here. But there it is.’
He gave a resigned shrug, then as though on a whim reached into the inner breast pocket of his dinner jacket and produced a plain white card and handed it to her. ‘Telephone number to my private apartments. Given only to a few chosen friends, if you know what I mean, my dear?’
She knew what he meant, if only by his look of caution. Not to be passed on. And of course it would not be. She felt utterly flattered. Lost for words, not in her wildest dreams did she imagine this could happen to her.
‘All you will need, my dear,’ he continued, ‘is to give your name to my secretary, who will have instructions to put you through to me personally should you wish to avail yourself of my offer. I eagerly await your call some time.’
Turning slowly from her to Theo, he said, ‘The most exquisite creature I have ever seen. You are a lucky man, Mr Barrington, if indeed she is more than just your assistant.’ He squinted sagely at him. ‘Though I now perceive that she is not. Am I correct?’ He smiled as Theodore half tilted his head in grudging confirmation.
‘Yes, my dear man, I see that I am.’ He gave a small sigh. ‘Dear, dear, such beauty shouldn’t be wasted. But now, duty calls. I must devote myself to my gracious hostess, Lady Gingham. Goodbye, and thank you for a very pleasant and intriguing finish to our evening’s entertainment.’
Giving Theo a small, courteous but brief nod of the head and receiving Theo’s deep response, he turned back to Emma, once more taking her hand to bend over it before departing with the equerry, who was now anxious to have him return to the dancing.
As he left, Emma heard him say to the equerry, ‘Pretty little thing, Harry, don’t you think? Quite exquisite. I really must meet her again.’ To which the man inclined his head, throwing Emma a sly look as he did so.
Her cheeks flushed and, virtually beside herself with delight, she turned to Theo with excited incredulity. ‘I can’t believe …’
She was surprised to see his expression dark and brooding. All she was about to say died on her lips, her joy replaced by concern.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘What’s wrong?’
His expression hadn’t altered. ‘Should something be wrong?’
‘I don’t know,’ she replied, worried. ‘But something is. Didn’t I do as well as you’d hoped?’
‘You did well enough,’ he said slowly. ‘In fact I suppose I really should congratulate you.’
‘Then what is it?’
He began concentrating on unbuttoning the jacket and waistcoat of his stage clothes. ‘We shall celebrate your debut, Amelia. We will have supper and drink champagne.’
‘Champagne?’
‘I am being given a good fee for this one performance, and so I should, with His Majesty being present.’ The stress he put on the royal title made Emma frown as he moved behind the screen to change. ‘If you intend to change, you had best hurry,’ came his voice. ‘Going out as you are, you could be mistaken for a woman of easy virtue I’ve picked up.’
It was a cruel remark, cruel and unnecessary. It hurt and confused. He’d said she’d done well this evening. So why talk as if he’d taken an intense dislike to her? She’d never seen him behave like this before.
Bewildered, she slid behind a vacant screen to change. ‘Please, Theo, is it me? Have I done something to upset you?’
His only response was, ‘Hurry up. The sooner we leave the better.’
It was best not to pursue it. Perhaps later, when he felt better, he’d tell her what had so annoyed him.
The supper wasn’t terribly expensive but the restaurant was quite exclusive, with a table in an alcove which made her wonder if he had booked it especially for them when he’d been in a more receptive mood before going to do his act.
They ate in silence and she gave up trying to draw him out. But after a glass or two of the champagne she felt more emboldened to ask again what had upset him so. Mellowed by champagne and brandy, he became suddenly more forthcoming.
‘Drooling over you, and you not yet seventeen. It disgusted me. He might be our sovereign but he’s a woman-chasing old goat and that’s no secret. Didn’t it occur to you that he was flirting with you, and you blushing and simpering and casting down your eyes for him? It sickened me.’
So that was it. Theo’s attitude had changed moments after the royal visit. Too much attention had been paid to her and Theo had felt slighted.
She watched him moodily replenishing his brandy glass. He’d already had too much, on top of the champagne as well. She too was feeling the effects of the lovely, pale, fizzy stuff. After supper he tried to tempt her to sip the brandy but she didn’t like its taste. It also caught in her throat so that she could hardly swallow any more, leaving him to consume the rest.
Longing only to be safely back in her bed, to fall asleep and forget this evening, which had started so well if nerve-rackingly, and ended so miserably, she watched him slowly drift into a world of his own, ignoring her. By the time a handsome cab was ordered, he was certainly far from sober.
On the short ride back he held her hand between his. The palms felt hot against her skin as he told her over and over how well she had followed his every instruction during their act, his jealousy apparently forgotten. It didn’t seem proper for a person such as Theodore to grow maudlin.
‘You’ve accomplished a miracle,’ he slurred, breathing in her face. ‘I’ve made a wise choice. You’re better than he ever was, Martin Page. He was good, yes, very good, and young. It’s what the audience likes – beauty and youth.’
How could a man refer to another as being beautiful? He was peering at her in the dimness of the hansom cab. ‘You are bewildered by my reference to beauty. But youth is beautiful. He was young. You are young. I derive pleasure from youth – unblemished, untainted, vital – innocent as yet of … of how life can bear down on one – age one. Oh, the boundless … the boundl
ess energy of the young.’ He was having trouble pronouncing his words.
‘Shameful, the waste of my youth,’ he slurred on as though speaking to himself. ‘Lonely. Could’ve been so easily remedied. We take our youth for granted. The young expect it to go on for ever. But it doesn’t. It can’t be recaptured. All I do now is admire it, try to catch and hold it in my hands awhile. He took that from me when he and she … Then deserted me …’
Emma was aware that he was still talking about Martin Page. ‘You told him to leave,’ she ventured. ‘I was there when he came begging you to return to the stage, but you sent him away.’
‘Had he persisted, I might have …’
‘But he came back the other night and you were angry over that too.’
‘For spying on me. I have you now, my dear. All that went before – all over and done with. Now I have you. You have given me a reason to feel young once more.’
Turning, he lifted his hands towards her, one moving up to touch her cheek, but one came to rest on the curve of her breast. With a gasp of alarm, Emma shrank back. Instantly he withdrew both hands.
‘My dear, forgive me. I humbly apologise.’ He seemed shocked at his own conduct.
‘It’s all right,’ she said, recovering. But the pressure on her bosom had awakened a strange sensation she hadn’t known before. Five minutes later, with gentlemanly courtesy and surprisingly steady on his feet, he was helping her down from the hansom. With stiff formality he saw her to the door of her room. It was as though the episode in the cab hadn’t occurred. Maybe the touch had been purely accidental after all. Even if it hadn’t been, he’d been putting away a little too much brandy and champagne and had probably been a little carried away for a moment. She sought to excuse him.
‘I’m sorry about being so silly. I was taken by surprise.’
She was gratified to see him relax a little. Beneath that stiff, awesome composure of his, he was probably lonely, pining for the wife he’d lost, his life loveless. He had spoken of loneliness and her heart went out to him.