Emmeline

by Jennifer Moore

  He spread the newspaper over his lap, setting the blackberries on it and picking some of his own to add to the pile. “I do not disagree with you, Miss Newton.”

  “Then it should be provided. By the state,” she said. “Britain would only be strengthened by improving the education of its population. It should be mandatory for all children.” She popped a blackberry into her mouth.

  Arthur was distracted as he watched her lick a drop of juice off her lip. It took a moment before his mind caught up to the conversation. “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “But how would it be enforced? Children work because families need the income. Most would not agree to sending their child to school instead of to the factory. They simply can’t survive.”

  “Then the problem comes back to how we care for the poor,” Miss Newton said. “Surely there is something that can be done to help these people.”

  “Again, it is more complicated, miss. There are factors that you don’t understand.”

  Miss Newton went still. “Lord Mather, I have a much more personal understanding of poverty than I could have possibly imagined three years ago. That is why I feel so passionately about this issue.”

  He heard a change in her voice. She wasn’t arguing with him now but sharing something personal. He ate a few blackberries, letting the words hang in the silence instead of sweeping them away with too quick an answer. “I’m sorry, Miss Newton. I confess I know nothing of your life.”

  She shrugged and took another berry. “I would not expect you to.”

  “I knew your father,” Arthur said. “I was very sorry to hear of his passing.”

  “Thank you.”

  “He was a good man. And a good politician,” Arthur continued, wishing he could say the right words to bring the fire back to her eyes. Even hearing her go on with ridiculous ideas of women’s voting rights was preferable to this. “I did not always agree with him, but I did respect the understanding behind his opinions.” Much like his daughter’s, he nearly said. But he did not want Miss Newton to think he was using the moment as an opportunity to flatter her. He handed her a particularly juicy berry. “My own father died when I was fourteen. And my mother soon after.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He smiled thoughtfully, looking at the hillside leading down to the pond. “She’d have loved this view. Mother adored wildflowers. Preferred them to a tended garden.”

  “You miss her.” Emmeline looked at the wildflowers as well.

  “Every day.”

  “Does the pain become easier to bear?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “But it never leaves altogether.”

  “I don’t believe I’d want it to,” she said, reaching for a berry. “It would . . .” Her words stopped.

  “Miss?” She was staring at the berry heap on the newspaper. “Miss Newton?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” She gave her head a small shake, sending her curls bouncing. “My thoughts wandered for a moment.” She blinked, looking distracted. She ate a few more berries and then stood. “Thank you for joining me this morning. Your company was very pleasant.”

  Arthur rose as well. He folded the newspaper beneath the berries, making a bowl he could hold with one hand. “As was yours.” He offered his elbow. “Shall we return and see what activities Mrs. Griffin has planned for us today?”

  Miss Newton slid her hand beneath his elbow. “Yes. But let us walk slowly. I don’t want to have to share the berries.”

  Arthur chuckled and put a blackberry into his mouth. He hadn’t known what to expect when he’d come to find Miss Newton, but in the end, he hadn’t missed his solitude at all.

  Chapter 6

  Mrs. Griffin did indeed have grand plans for the day. When the entire group was gathered in the drawing room after luncheon, she announced that evening they would be performing dramatic charades.

  “I have split the party into two groups,” she said. “With two ladies and two gentlemen in each.” She distributed papers. “Here are your partners and a choice of dramatic works from which to choose your performance.”

  The others took the papers, studying them.

  Joanna grinned, showing her dimples and looking as thrilled as a child with a yard full of puppies.

  “The only rules are,” Mrs. Griffin continued, “you may interpret and present the story—or a part of the story—however you wish.” She ticked each item off on her fingers as she spoke. “Each member of your group must have a speaking part, and lastly . . .” She gave an excited smile, holding up a finger. “None may tell any member of the other group which work your group is presenting.” She ticked them off on her fingers as she listed them. “Won’t it be diverting to see what everyone has chosen?”

  Emmeline studied her paper. Knowing how Joanna felt about Lord Chatsworth as well as Mrs. Griffin’s aspirations for Lord Mather and Miss Stewart, Emmeline could see the matchmaker had chosen the groups carefully.

  Lord Arthur Mather, Mr. Lewis Rothschild,

  Miss Blanche Stewart, Miss Emmeline Newton

  The Castle of Otranto

  The Beggar’s Opera

  Robinson Crusoe

  Romeo and Juliet

  Castle Rackrent

  Don Quixote

  Mrs. Griffin instructed the groups to gather in different rooms and ex­plained that they had the entire afternoon to prepare. Servants would be on hand to help gather props and costumes and anything else that was needed.

  Emmeline followed her group into the first-floor parlor, feeling enthusiastic at the proposition of performing. It did sound diverting. Much more so than another evening engaged in small talk or cards. She sat on the sofa beside Miss Stewart, and the two men took seats facing them.

  Mr. Rothschild sat back in his chair, looking over the list. He appeared quite pleased at the planned activity. “What shall we choose, then? Does anyone have a preference?”

  Lord Mather glanced over his list as well. He looked . . . resigned to the game but not unhappy. “Perhaps Castle Rackrent? We could each play the part of one of the heirs?”

  Miss Stewart’s brows pulled together as she studied her paper. “I do not know that story,” she said. “And I do not want to play the part of a man.”

  “The Beggar’s Opera?” Emmeline suggested.

  “Too much singing,” Lord Mather said.

  “And The Castle of Otranto is much too distressing,” Miss Stewart said.

  “But it would have parts for each of us,” Mr. Rothschild said. “The two ladies, of course, could play Isabella and Hippolita.” He motioned toward the two on the sofa. “Mather, you could play Theodore, and I, naturally”—he showed his teeth—“would play the villain himself, Manfred.”

  “You would be a very convincing Manfred,” Emmeline said, imagining which scenes they would reenact and how the characters would be portrayed. “And I would happily play either of the women—even Matilda.” She grinned at the idea. “Although, she does meet with an untimely death.”

  “I think you would make a very convincing Conrad,” Lord Mather said to his friend, tapping his chin and finally looking interested. “I have actually considered dropping a helmet on you a time or two.”

  “I wonder if the cook could come up with some simulated blood—maybe a cherry pie mixture.” Mr. Rothschild laughed.

  “And we will need a a giant helmet,” Emmeline said.

  “No, no, we mustn’t.” Miss Stewart jumped to her feet, her voice echoing through the room.

  The gentlemen stood reflexively.

  Emmeline stared, shocked at the shout that had come from the typically docile person.

  Miss Stewart’s face had gone pale, with patches of red standing out on her cheeks. Her hands were clenched into tight fists. “Such a horrible tale. I’m bound to have frightening dreams just thinking of it.”

  “Mr. Rothschild wo
uld not actually stab anyone or attempt to marry his son's fiancée,” Emmeline said flatly, her surprise turning to irritation at the young lady’s dramatics. “It is all make believe.”

  “It is evil and sacrilegious. And I will have no part of it.” Miss Stewart folded her arms and shook her head. “None whatsoever.”

  Apparently, the woman did have an opinion now and then, Emmeline thought.

  Lord Mather called for a servant to bring a glass of water. “Set yourself at ease, miss. We will not speak of it again if it upsets you.” He spoke in a calming voice.

  Emmeline met the servant at the doorway, and when she returned to the sofa, Lord Mather had taken her seat, sitting beside Miss Stewart and patting her shoulder.

  Emmeline gave her the water, annoyed that the anticipation in the room had been squelched by the young lady’s tantrum.

  Miss Stewart lifted it to her lips with trembling hands.

  Using every bit of her self-control, Emmeline kept her expression pleasant. She sat in the chair vacated by Lord Mather. “Miss Stewart, perhaps you should choose our play.” She spoke carefully, not wanting her irritation to be heard.

  Miss Stewart fanned herself with her hand. “Romeo and Juliet.” She spoke without a pause. “There are plenty of parts to choose from, and it is so romantic.”

  “Hardly,” Emmeline muttered but not loud enough for Miss Stewart to hear.

  Lord Mather’s lips twitched, but he didn’t glance at her.

  “Shall you play Romeo, then, Mather?” Mr. Rothschild asked. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble assuming the role of our impulsive, idealistic hero.”

  “It is very like him.” Emmeline nodded.

  “And I will be Juliet,” Miss Stewart said quickly. She looked shyly through her lashes at Lord Mather.

  Emmeline controlled her expression again, acknowledging to herself that the role of a naïve aristocratic young lady would not be too difficult for Miss Stewart to assume.

  “Then, you will be Benvolio?” Lord Mather said to his friend.

  Mr. Rothschild scoffed. “Of course not. I am perfect suited to play Mercutio. Imaginative, witty, sarcastic . . .”

  “Don’t forget hotheaded,” Lord Mather said.

  “Naturally, I will need a sword.” Mr. Rothschild ignored his friend’s barb. “I wonder if Griff would mind if I use one of those in his library cabinet.”

  “And Miss Newton, you shall be Nurse,” Miss Stewart said. Her eyes tightened the smallest bit in an expression only Emmeline saw. Triumph. The young woman actually believed she had won some sort of victory. That by portraying the romantic lead, she had proved herself more . . . desirable? Was that what she thought? That this was all a competition? Did she believe Emmeline would feel jealous?

  “Are you agreeable with that, Miss Newton?” Mr. Rothschild asked.

  “Perfectly agreeable,” Emmeline replied, sounding as if the part were the very thing she had wished for. For all her eye-batting and conversations about cats, Miss Stewart was not as angelic as she seemed. Beneath her sweet-tempered gentility, there was a shrewdness. And in Emmeline’s experience, that sort of woman was dangerous.

  Lord Mather took a pile of paper and a pencil from the low table in front of him and settled back into the sofa. “Now, then. How shall we tell our story?”

  Mr. Rothschild fetched a copy of Shakespeare’s works from the library, and he and Emmeline turned through the pages, making certain their favorite lines were included in the script. They laughed at forgotten jokes they came across.

  Miss Stewart gave instructions, scooting closer to ensure that Lord Mather wrote them down accurately. She would, of course, have the majority of time on the stage—which was completely fine with Emmeline. Long-winded solilo­quies about instant love were not as satisfying as biting satire or vulgar wordplay, of which both Mercutio and Nurse had plentiful examples.

  Lord Mather dutifully wrote Miss Stewart’s directions—even her suggestion that both Romeo and Juliet own a cat—and when the seamstress, valets, and ladies’ maids came to discuss hair and wardrobe, both he and Mr. Rothschild agreed to the young lady’s costume choices. Which surprised Emmeline more than anything else. The gentlemen were to wear hose and doublets.

  Miss Stewart had chosen for herself a lovely medieval-style gown with her hair flowing loose over her shoulders.

  And for Emmeline, she ordered an oversized woolen frock, with an apron and mobcap.

  Not the most flattering of costumes, but in line with Nurse’s supposed ugliness. Emmeline had made a decision the moment she’d seen the gloating on Miss Stewart’s face and glimpsed the young lady’s true colors. She would prove—even if it was only to herself—that beauty was no indication of a person’s value. And Nurse was the perfect role to prove it with.

  After a few hours of rehearsals, a maid informed them that tea would be served downstairs with the others in the drawing room.

  Emmeline was glad for the break. She thought if she never heard the words “wherefore art thou Romeo” again she could die happily.

  The four of them made their way along the passageway to the staircase and started down.

  But Lord Mather paused. He caught Emmeline’s arm as they descended the stairs, slowing her as the others moved ahead. “Miss Newton, I hope this playacting has not upset you.” He spoke in a lowered voice.

  “Not at all, my lord. I am enjoying myself very much.” They continued down the stairs behind the others. “If I gave an impression otherwise, it was unintentional, I assure you.” She wondered if he’d caught a glimpse of the exasperation she’d tried to keep under control.

  “No, you seem perfectly amiable about the thing. I simply worried when Miss Stewart claimed the role of Juliet and cast you as Nurse. I don’t want you to feel slighted.”

  His concern brought on a strange feeling, like a constriction inside her chest.

  They stepped down the last step into the great hall. “Nurse is beyond question my favorite character in the play,” Emmeline said. “Her loyalty and wit—not to mention her inappropriate comments.” She shrugged one shoulder and smiled. “I far prefer her to an easily swayed heroine whose only attribute is her beauty.”

  “I concur.” Lord Mather gave a nod. “Nurse is my favorite as well.”

  The constriction inside Emmeline’s chest tightened again, nearing an ache. “I hope you still like her after she refers to Romeo as a dishclout.” She spoke in a teasing tone, hoping to dissipate the sensation.

  “I will accept the insult with honor.” He gave a formal, old-fashioned bow, pointing his toe and making an elaborate gesture with one hand while the other was tucked behind his back.

  Emmeline chuckled. She would never have imagined the straight-laced, conservative earl would turn out to be so diverting.

  “And it was very generous of you to allow Miss Stewart to choose the play. Even when you would have preferred something different.”

  Emmeline shrugged as she paused outside the door to the drawing room. “It was much more important to her than it was to me."

  “A pity Rothschild won't be crushed by a giant helmet,” Lord Mather said, giving an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose we can always wish.”

  Emmeline grinned and walked past him into the drawing room.

  ***

  Emmeline was amazed by how quickly the hours passed. The remainder of the afternoon was spent in rehearsals, costume fittings, and set decorating. The performances would take place in the separate rooms where the two groups had practiced so they could move from one to the other without having to rearrange the furniture. When dinner was finally finished, Emmeline, Miss Stewart, Lord Mather, and Mr. Rothschild, as well as some of the household servants sat in chairs in the drawing room and watched the other group perform.

  The Griffins, Joanna, and Lord Chatsworth acted out scenes from a Shakespeare play as well, bu
t instead of a tragedy, they had chosen the comedy Twelfth Night.

  Emmeline laughed with the others at the confusion of mistaken identities and cheered when Duke Orsino, played by Mr. Griffin, declared passionately his love for Viola, played by his wife.

  After the final applause and bows, coffee and cakes were served as an intermission. Emmeline’s group ate quickly and hurried off to get into costume.

  The Nurse’s dress was scratchy. And much too large. But Emmeline hardly noticed. She and the ladies’ maid, Mary, were enjoying themselves far too much. At Emmeline’s suggestion, Mary had fastened cushions beneath the dress for padding, especially around Emmeline’s back side. She tucked her hair into the mobcap, and then they got down to the business of making up her face.

  Shoe-shining gum blackened some of Emmeline’s teeth, making them appear to be missing, and for an extra touch, the pair made a large wart out of candle wax and stuck it on Emmeline’s chin with pinesap. She even poked horsehairs from a hairbrush into it.

  Mary giggled, studying her completed disguise. “I’d never recognize you, miss.”

  Emmeline thanked the girl for her help, than sneaked into the parlor and waited behind the screen as the first scenes were played out.

  At last, from the low platform used as a stage, Miss Stewart said, “‘Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman?’”

  That was Emmeline’s cue. “‘The son and heir of Old Tiberio,’” she said, walking onto the stage and speaking in a creaky voice.

  There was an audible gasp from the audience.

  Lord Mather and Mr. Rothschild stared, mouths open from their places offstage.

  Seeing their shocked expressions, Emmeline had to fight down a laugh and concentrate on maintaining her character.

  Miss Stewart blinked, staring. “I . . .” She looked closer at the wart.

  “‘Go ask his name . . .’” Emmeline muttered in a low voice, reminding her of her lines.

  Snickers came from the audience.

  Miss Stewart’s cheeks went red. She pointed with a theatrical sweep of her arm toward where Romeo had left the stage. “‘Go ask his name: If he be married. My grave is like to be my wedding bed.’”