Wobbling on his haunches, he took off his coat, spread it over the ground, and lay on top of it. Elisa’s shyly stretched out next to him. Without hesitation, he took her in his arms, pulled her close, and kissed her. She was startled and delighted. He sat up. “Sorry – That’s not why we’re here.”
Her hair had come loose, tangling with leaves and pine needles. Dappled light poured through the leafy covering. “Wait! Don’t move. I think I see how I’m going to paint you.” He arranged her hair so it framed her like a halo. Turning her face in different directions, he made patterns of light reflect across her pale skin. Finally satisfied, he smiled. “That’s it. That’s my Autumn Lady.”
She blushed. “I must look like a witch.”
“You do. You’re utterly enchanting.” They both laughed. He noticed the letter, now a crumpled mess, sticking from his inside coat pocket. He smoothed it over his knee. “I wrote a school chum, Michael Burns. He’s an actor. He toured for a long time and he’s done well. For the past two years he’s been at His Majesty’s Theatre, in London. I’ll be staying with him while I’m there.”
“How long will you be away?”
“If all goes badly, only the five days of the show. If all goes well…,” he raised his eyes to heaven, “…forever. I told Mike about you, asking how one gets started on the stage. This is his answer.” He offered her the letter and she stared as if it were poison. “Elly, if we don’t do something quickly, you’re doomed to marry into a lifetime of hell.”
“I know that. I tried to find another man to marry me. I thought one of the students…” She shook her head. “Colin was my last chance.”
Robert shuddered. “Colin Edwards hates women as much as Sir John Garingham. No man can save you. You’re seventeen, your father wants you to marry Garingham and he’ll never let you marry anyone else. You’ve got to save yourself.” He held out the letter. “Here’s a chance to get away – away from everything that you hate, and to do something that you love.”
She sat up, appalled by the idea. “But, I couldn’t go on the stage. Everyone knows what actresses are. They’re…” Unwilling to say a bad word, she pursed her lips.
“That’s ridiculous. Most people think that painters are…” Looking at the vulnerable virgin in front of him, he held his tongue, fumbled with nervous fingers, and half tore the envelope as he pulled out the letter. He flipped to the third page and read aloud.
“…I‘ve made some inquiries pertaining to your young lady. I can’t wait to meet her. She may be in luck. In the spring, a new production of THE TEMPEST is planned. Herbert Beerbohm Tree’s acting company is touring America. Our resident actor-manager is looking to cast one really beautiful girl to be some sort of fairy shadow to appear throughout. She’ll have no lines and he plans to hire a ‘super’ just for the one production. I told him about your girl. He doesn’t need another apprentice, but said he could take one on. Apprentices receive no wages and are overworked. They do get free lodgings and wretched food in a horribly dirty boarding house. They also get the best training available, acting classes taught by Jeremy O’Connell. Some top actors and actresses have worked their way up through the ranks. If your young lady is as beautiful as you say, and if this sounds appealing to her, auditions will probably be on December 18th, the day after MACBETH opens. Let me know if she’s interested, and I’ll find out more details.
Write soon, Rob, and tell me what I can do to facilitate your triumph. I hope you can stay longer than just the week. We’ll have tremendous fun!
Yours Ever,
Mike”
Elisa’s eyes were huge. “Acting classes are taught by Jeremy O’Connell?”
Puzzled, Robert folded the letter into the envelope. “Do you know him?”
She huffed. “Of course I don’t know him. He’s a famous actor. Respectable people don’t socialize with people of his sort. Aunt Lillian takes me to see the touring companies in Skipton. We saw him on stage. I would never, ‘know him.’” She thought for a moment. “And, I could never go to London. The very idea is ridiculous.”
“Why? All you need is the train fare.”
She shrugged in despair. “Who would go with me? I can’t travel without a chaperone.”
“You traveled here by yourself.”
“Only this one time. Auntie always came with me, before. I’ve never been anywhere, alone.”
“You’ll only be alone during the journey. Michael will meet you in London. He’s a delightful chap.”
“I should meet a strange man, in a train station? No thank you!” She crossed her arms and scowled.
“You’d rather go to Tebay and marry Sir John Garingham?”
“You know I’d rather die, but December 18th is in the middle of the Christmas holiday. I’ve no means to get away from home.”
“Then don’t go home. Stay here. Some students always stay over the hol’s, or so I’m told. I’ll be staying, along with your Mrs. Carrots.”
“You’re not going home?”
“I can’t afford it. I’m saving every penny for London. Working the holiday will cover my days away in January and I won’t be docked any pay. I don’t even have to teach, just stay in residence and look after the boys.”
Thinking hard, she bit her lip. “If I did audition, and they did take me, I’d be in London when you arrive.”
He smiled at her bright eyes, shining green against the foliage. “I thought of that. It would be wonderful, but my circumstances mustn’t influence your decision.”
“What if they don’t take me?”
“Then you can come back. Provided you’ve got the train fare. Do you have any money?”
“I never use my spending money. I’ve saved a few pounds.”
“A few pounds? Goodness, you’re better off than I am. But do you want to come back at all? Perhaps you can audition for other theatres, or find some other employment… as a telephone operator, or shop girl, or a music teacher, anything to keep you hidden until we can clear the mystery of your inheritance. There are very respectable boarding houses for young ladies.”
Her eyes grew huge. “Could I get a position and support myself? I’ve read stories about girls…,”
“Of course. With your beauty and manners, there are a dozen things you can do. You’re clever enough to learn one of those new typewriting machines.” She looked frightened and he took her in his arms. “I know. It’s a lot to think about.”
Shivering, she pulled in her legs and curled up, nestling against his chest.
He kissed the top of her head. “You don’t need to decide now. Sleep on it. Play make-believe. Imagine the possibilities.” He rocked her like a baby. “Before I start a painting, I have to have a detailed picture in my mind. If I don’t see the image in my mind beforehand, it won’t come out on the canvas. Go home, rest, and try to imagine what your life can be like. In a day or two, tell me what you’ve seen.
Elisa seemed so comfortable, cradled in his arms, he never wanted to move. The musty aroma of the damp forest was intoxicating. He closed his eyes and kissed her sweet mouth. She shivered as he opened the buttons of her coat and slid his fingers inside. Very lightly, he caressed her breasts, stroking and squeezing. Even through layers of fabric, he felt her body tense. Very slowly, he slid his hand under her skirt. She jerked back, but he held her tight.
“It’s all right. Just relax. You’ll like this.”
She stared with frightened eyes. “What are you doing?”
He whispered. “You’ve liked what I’ve done so far. You know I’d never hurt you.” She trembled and he held her tighter. “Just relax. Trust me.”
She closed her eyes. He kissed her again, and slid his fingers up between her legs. She gasped as he began rubbing, first gently, then harder, until she groaned with pleasure, clamping her legs together like a vice. Her entire body pulsed. She clung to him as if she were drowning. After a minute, her heart calmed. She collapsed like a rag doll. He held her tight. She felt safe.
His ere
ction stabbed painfully and he was tempted to take her right then. Suddenly, Mrs. Carrot’s warning echoed in his head. What am I doing? I’ll be jailed for a rapist. He pushed as far back as the small enclosure allowed.
Elisa gazed up with trusting eyes. “When will you start painting my portrait?”
He pulled his jacket over the painful bulge in his trousers. “Now that I see it in my mind, we can start tomorrow. It’s late. You’d better go.” When she stayed, he gently nudged her. “Go on.”
She obeyed, staggering from the grotto, into the chilly wind.
The second she was gone, Robert ripped open his trousers, relieving himself on a fern.
*
Mrs. Carrots was surprised to receive a letter from Anthony Roundtree. She called up the stairs. “Elisa!”
“Yes, Mrs. Carrots?” Elisa came downstairs.
“Your father seems to be writing about a different daughter than the one I know. He’s suddenly concerned about your studies. Any idea why?”
Elisa shrugged and took the letter. Reading the lines, her resolve to run away became stronger than ever.
Dear Mrs. Carrots,
My daughter has requested that she be allowed to remain at school over the Christmas holiday and continue her studies. I find this to be a reasonable request, and readily agree that she should stay. You may be aware that she is to be married in June. Despite the efforts of fine governesses and your admirable school, she refuses to learn the most elementary courtesies a young lady must acquire in order to become a proper wife. Perhaps intensive tutelage can finally make a difference. Since her fiancé does not plan to visit this winter, I see no need for Elisa to come home.
Yours Respectfully,
Anthony Roundtree
Elisa handed back the letter and tried not to smile. Robert was right. Her Aunt Lillian had invented the Paris honeymoon.
Mrs. Carrots raised an eyebrow. “Well, my dear, you don’t seem a bit unhappy. You usually enjoy holidays at home when your betrothed is not present, yet you seem very pleased to stay at school. Do you want to tell me why?”
The girl’s eyes widened as she searched for a plausible story.
“Come, child. You’ve no talent for lying. Tell me the truth.”
“Well… Um… You know that I love it here.”
“Even so…,”
“I’ve only got until the spring. After that…” Not knowing what else to say, she started to cry.
“All right, child. Don’t upset yourself. Whatever it is, I’m pleased you’ll be joining us.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure Mr. Dennison will be pleased, as well.”
Elisa paled. “He won’t care. He’ll have finished painting my portrait.”
“And that’s his only interest in you?”
“Of course.” Her cheeks flushed. “What else could it be?”
“What else, indeed?” The school mistress rolled her eyes and continued in a businesslike fashion. “Well, the play is two weeks from Friday. Some students will be leaving directly after. On Saturday, when the rest go home, the few of us that are staying will move to boys’ side, into Rogers House. It’s the biggest. We women will take the second floor and the boys will take the third and fourth floors. Mr. Dennison will take the house-master’s suite on the ground floor. He suggested that I take the suite, but it’s filled with the house-master’s personal belongings, so I prefer to stay in a student room. Pack only a few items. You can leave the rest here.”
Chapter Twenty-six
“Elly darling, please! You must sit still. I’m almost done.”
“I’m sorry, Robert.” Elisa sat shivering in a low backed chair on the model’s platform. Cold morning sunlight struggled through thick clouds. She clutched her hands in her lap. “I love posing as your Autumn Lady, but had no idea it was going to be this hard. We rehearsed until late. I barely slept.” She yawned and he scowled.
“You volunteered for this, remember. You weren’t conscripted. Just think lovely thoughts.”
She giggled sleepily. “Looking at you is everything lovely in the world.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Silly twit.”
She giggled some more, her mind racing with the coming events. The play was in three days. In ten days, she was to audition at His Majesty’s Theatre. In between, she and Robert would be sleeping under the same roof. The memory of their tryst in the grotto was like a never ending hunger. Will he ever touch her like that again? The aching desire between her legs was like a gnawing pain with no hope of relief.
Since that tryst, they had spent every available moment as artist and model, in the very public studio. He worked every night, putting finishing touches on his pictures: varnishing, backing, finally packing them for shipment. Now, behind his easel, the brush in Robert’s hands seemed to have a life of its own. He had never worked so fast or so well. He had painted dozens of portraits, but this one seemed to paint itself.
He was amused by the vision on the canvas. While definitely Elisa, it was an Elisa of the future, the way she might look in five years, when the lithe nymphet grew into sensual maturity. I wonder if I’ll be around to see her. In five years she’ll probably be married with a brood of kids. Like the crash of a cymbal, his vision was gone. The magic left the brush. He pulled it away before it could spoil the perfect canvas. Stepping back, he took a deep breath, put down the brush and palette, and rubbed his sore eyes. You stupid ass. It was going so well. You’ve got the concentration of a flea.
Elisa gasped. “I’m so sorry. I’ll stay still. I promise.”
He leaned back, exhausted. “It’s not you, my angel. You were perfect.” He wiped his stained fingers on a cloth. “You’ve been wonderful, really. You’re as tired as I am. I can finish without you. You don’t need to pose again.”
She was very relieved.
*
Cheers and applause filled the great hall as the cast of young actors held hands, bowing again and again. Bittersweet tears ran down Elisa’s cheeks as the final curtain fell, shuddered, and stayed still. All at once, she was hugged by a half-dozen fellow thespians. Most had families in the audience and were traveling home that night. When the stage cleared, Elisa was the last to leave. Unwilling to take off her costume, she hung back, talking to anyone who would listen.
Finally, the teacher acting as costume mistress, called her. She went to the dressing room, slipped off the heavy blue gown and headdress, then watched tearfully as they were packed away into a trunk. Will she ever get to wear another costume? Yes! She clenched her jaw. Next week she will be at a real theatre. They must take her. They must! Real actresses must love acting as much as she did. Surely they were not all harlots. If they were, their lives must still be better than her own. Leaving on her makeup, she dressed and hurried out, into the frigid night air.
Lucy Ann waited, shivering, holding a small box. “Finally!” She hugged her friend. “You were fabulous.”
Elisa smiled gratefully. “Thanks Lucy. Is that for me?”
Lucy Ann scowled. “Mr. Dennison asked me to give it to you.”
She looked around frantically. “Where is he?”
“He left.”
Elisa quickly opened the box. Carefully wrapped in tissue paper, was a figurine.
Lucy Ann stared. “It’s you!”
Elisa stared as well, turning the piece over and over. “It is me. It’s Kate. It’s perfect. How did he know what my costume looked like?” Four inches tall, the figure was a perfect likeness of Elisa. Robert had captured the tones of her skin and hair, the tilt of her face and the lean of her slender frame.
“Here’s a note.” Lucy Ann pulled a card from the bottom of the box and read,
“Dear Miss Roundtree,
I hope you don’t mind my finishing your figurine.
You were too busy to complete her, and she was too good
a piece to throw out.
R. Dennison”
Elisa took the card. “Whenever did he find the time?”
Lucy A
nn huffed, “Right. He’s spent all his time painting you.” She re-wrapped the tiny statue. “I’m glad that’s over. I was afraid you’d get yourself into trouble.” She took Elisa’s arm, and the girls walked to Nicholas House.
Elisa held the box against her heart. I don’t want any trouble… But I love you Robert. I’ll do anything to be with you.
*
The houses on the boy’s side were larger than the houses on girls’ side. Saturday evening, Elisa wandered around Rogers House, finding wonderful nooks and corners filled with surprising things. Where she was used to finding piles of embroidery, she found cricket bats and balls. Crochet hooks were replaced by woodworking tools and half-finished model sailboats stood by a window. Being a boy seemed like fun.
Determined to give the children a real holiday, Mrs. Carrots had a Christmas tree brought in. She took Elisa and a lively nine-year-old named Sarah to stay with her on the second floor. Robert took the ground-floor master’s suite and the boys went to the third and fourth floors. With all the running up and down stairs, it was very noisy.
The master and students usually living in the house had left it very untidy. Sunday, when the maid-of-all-work arrived, she found piles of dirty bed linen, floors caked with grit, and towers of dirty dishes in the kitchen. Monday morning, Mrs. Carrots realized that one maid could not keep up with the volume of housekeeping, and assigned everyone chores. The house was scrubbed from top to bottom. When the children were finally settled into their clean, temporary rooms, Mrs. Carrots assigned school hours. Elisa was so nervous about her trip to London, she was actually happy to divert herself with columns of mindless figures.
Tuesday afternoon, Elisa watched Mrs. Carrots help some of the children bake Christmas cookies. Outside, on the now very empty riverside, Robert roughhoused with some of the boys. They were all staying here through the New Year and had no idea that she would be gone in two days. That was her secret – hers and Robert’s. London was only a few hours journey, but Elisa felt like it was the other side of the world. Desperate to keep the secret, she and Robert promised not to speak privately. Feeling frightfully nervous, she was drawn to a spinet piano in the common room. She found a book of carols, and played through every song without stopping. Some of the children sang along. Their piping voices helped her forget her worries.
Not From the Stars (His Majesty's Theatre Book 1) Page 18