The Beringer Heiress

by Jan Constant

  Changing into the familiar pink costume which someone had altered into a surprisingly good fit, Emma seated herself in front of the dusty table and allowed the old woman to make up her face. Gradually, under the gnarled, experienced fingers, she saw herself transformed from a genteel, modem lady into a colorful beauty, whose striking looks would have attracted attention in any age. The pink turban was placed on her fair curls an the veil adjusted with delicate precision.

  “Well, miss,” commented the dresser, stepping back the better to examine her handiwork, ‘ ‘though I say it myself— you could name your price tonight. There’s some out there

  as would set you up in your own establishment if you was so much as to give them a wink! ”

  Emma blinked and then accepted the comment as the compliment it was intended to be.

  ‘ ‘Then I shall be very careful not to wink, ’ ’ she said lightly. “I am doing this performance as a favor to Mr. and Mrs. Rourk, who were very good to me a few months ago.” ‘‘Nice couple they are ... not a bit high-blown for all they are famous. It’ud have been a sad pity if they’d had to lose this benefit. A tidy sum ’ud set them up nicely. And, I’ve been promised a place in their school of acting.”

  With a final pat of approval, Emma was whisked from the dressing room and escorted to the stage. Above, the sound of the orchestra tuning up the buzz of the expectant audience could be clearly heard, its murmured anticipation carried to Emma, making her suddenly sick with fear. Sensing her stage fright, the dresser propelled her across the boards to her place in the wings as a jaunty sea shanty was struck up.

  With a smile and nod for her alone, Tom Rourk, in full costume, strode past her and slipped between the closed curtains. The clamor that greeted his appearance died down, and he began speaking in his actor’s carefully pitched voice.

  “My dear friends,” he began, “my dear wife, that well- known and loved lady of the theater, has sustained an injury to her lower limb, and to her regret and mine, she is unable to perform tonight.” There were loud sighs and groans from the audience. “However,” he went on, obviously holding up his hand for silence as the commotion gradually died down. ‘ ‘However, all is not lost—at the last minute someone, who must be nameless, stepped in and saved the day!”

  “At short notice a lady of quality, ladies and gentlemen, has agreed to take the part of the Princess of Morocco. Beautiful and talented, for this one night only, she will tread the boards for your edification. Watch carefully, my friends, so that you can tell your children that you saw the one and only appearance of—a lady of fashion!”

  To tumultuous applause he returned, nodding triumphantly to Emma. The actor playing the Jolly Jack Tar dashed past as the curtains parted, taking up his place not a moment too soon, and all at once the play was underway, sweeping Emma along in the wake of its excitement.

  To her delight the audience took her to its heart, and she experienced the heady excitement of knowing that she held it in thrall. The mystery of her identity was deliberately heightened, the Eastern veil serving to mask her features, and even the final kiss had been contrived so that her face remained hidden.

  When the final curtain fell on the lovers’ embrace, the applause was thunderous, the audience jumping to its feet and demanding that she should unmask. Acknowledging the applause with a curtsy, she intimated her refusal to lift the veil with a graceful gesture, so appealing that the audience was immediately won over to her side, showering the stage with money and flowers.

  After six curtain calls and five speeches of thanks from Sergeant Rourk, the actors were at last allowed to go, and Emma thankfully ran to the dressing room, her arms filled with flowers that she had gathered up from the stage floor.

  Going first to the green room, she found Molly Rourk there, a strange expression on her plump face. Knowing that she could not but be aware of the audience’s rapture, Emma laid the mass of blooms in her lap.

  “These, ma’am, are for you—from a loving, but disappointed, public,” she said. “I am merely the messenger.”

  Mrs. Rourk’s expression cleared miraculously, the drooping disappointment disappearing to be replaced by fond smiles. “My dear apprentice!” she cried. “Only a true Thespian could acknowledge a debt with so much grace. I flatter myself that I had no little part in the success of tonight. I shall always think of you as my little pygmy!”

  “Pygmalian,” corrected the sergeant, entering at that moment. “What a success—due mainly to your talent as a teacher, my love—if Miss B will forgive me for saying so.” “Without Mrs. Rourk’s help, I could not have done it,” admitted Emma honestly. “But now I must take off my makeup and leave quickly, if I am to get home without discovery.”

  As she spoke the green room door opened and the other actors streamed in, a noisy and exalted throng, all speaking and laughing at once. Realizing that she had been forgotten, Emma slipped away unnoticed and, having removed all sign of the Princess of Morocco, made her way down the stairs to the stage door, certain that the rifleman would be growing impatient.

  To her dismay there was no sign of Johnnie Gray, and when she had waited several minutes, she began to doubt that he was coming. Covent Garden was deserted, playbills and other discarded rubbish blowing across the cobblestones being the only sign of the recent crowd, and she rapidly became uneasy, shivering in the night air.

  Suddenly the sound of approaching hooves made her lift her head hopefully, and as a chaise came into view, she sighed with relief, stepping in without question as the door was opened and the steps let down.

  “Oh, Johnnie,” she cried, settling herself in a comer, “I thought you had let me down.”

  “I fear the redheaded rifleman has,” drawled an unexpected voice from the darkness. ‘ ‘Captain Gray is out of town, so cannot be blamed. How lucky that I should happen along. Will I do in his stead, Miss Beringer?”

  Stiff with shock, she could think of nothing to say, and Lord Devern tapped on the roof with his cane. As the driver obeyed the order and started off again, he leaned forward and spoke into the uncomfortable silence.

  “Do I detect a hint of greasepaint, Miss Beringer?” he asked delicately. “I had no idea that you had a liking for the

  theater. The performance was very good, was it not? Especially the lady of fashion who played the lead.”

  Emma moved involuntarily, and her companion leaned back against the leather upholstery, a satisfied smile playing around his mouth. With his chin sunk into the folds of his snowy cravat, he watched her from beneath half-closed eyelids.

  “It is very odd,” he went on, “but then, coincidences so often are, don’t you find? Some months ago when I was last in Portsmouth, the very same play was being performed— and that very night I had the pleasure of meeting a mysterious lady, who had obviously spent the evening treading upon ‘the boards.’ You must admit that it is strange—”

  “Where are you taking me?” Emma demanded, recovering her voice.

  “To Cumberland Square, of course,” she was told, as if any other destination were unthought of.

  “How does the cab driver know?”

  Vivian Devern laughed softly. “I told him before we started across the Garden,” he said, to her surprise. “My dear Miss Beringer, I must confess ... I saw you leave the theater the other afternoon. It was easy to put two and two together, once I found out that Molly Rourk was indisposed, and I took it upon myself to make sure that you would reach home safely. Ju really would not care for you roaming the streets alone at night, you know.”

  “lam aware of that—and had asked Johnnie Gray to escort me. . . . I cannot understand what has happened. ...”

  “I saw him driving out of town early this morning. Which makes it fortunate that I saw you and guessed what you were about. Indeed, you are doubly lucky, for I am setting off early myself tomorrow morning, intending to sail my yacht in the Solent. ... So, a day later and you would have found yourself friendless! ’ ’ He studied her downcast face for a mome
nt before, leaning forward again, he possessed himself of one of her hands. “Miss Beringer—”

  Emma was not to discover what he was about to say, for he broke off as there was a thump against the back of the carriage and an irate driver could be heard, shouting and cracking his whip.

  “Whatever is the matter?” cried Emma, startled.

  “Some wretched child, jumping up behind to steal a ride. ” “I do not consider that so very dreadful—pray tell the driver to stop that at once,” Emma commanded as the whip continued to crack and whistle past the window as the cabby redoubled his endeavors to dislodge the unwelcome passenger. “The child will be hurt—and he’s doing no harm.”

  In her agitation she looked ready to jump out of the vehicle, and Lord Devern reached up to knock on the roof again. “Desist, Jones,” he said languidly.

  ‘ ‘Its all right, my lord, he’s fallen off, ’ ’ the driver returned, a note of satisfaction in his voice.

  Vivian Devern put out a restraining hand as Emma leaned to peer out of the window.

  “Take no heed,” he said. “It would take more than a tumble to damage a street urchin.”

  And, to her relief, Emma saw a small figure climb to its feet and begin to run after the coach. “I’m surprised, Lord Devern, that you are so unfeeling,” she said severely.

  “I’ve done it myself,” she was told, “and sustained little hurt when whipped off.” The silence lengthened again, and Emma was wracking her brains for some safe conversational gambit, when her companion spoke again. “Miss Emma, let us cease to beat about the bush. I am well aware of your activities this evening. Indeed, I am full of admiration for your acting ability and readily admit that you could make a career upon the stage—though, to be honest, I cannot see why you should wish to when you are more than provided for. I take it that, while Julian was aware of your first taste of greasepaint, he is ignorant of your latest peccadillo and that you wish to keep it that way. ”

  “Yes,” Emma admitted, shuddering at the thought of Sir 218

  Julian ever learning of her exploit. “It would be a very un- gentlemanly thing to tell him,” she pointed out.

  “My dear Miss Beringer, your secret is safe with me,” his lordship assured her. “I can understand perfectly well your desire to help old friends and applaud you for it. Also I can sympathize with your wish to retain secrecy—Ju, I assure you, would not understand.”

  “No, indeed!” was Emma’s heartfelt agreement, and feeling more in sympathy with her companion, she relaxed a little, leaning back against the leather upholstery as the carriage trundled through the quiet streets.

  “It was very opportune that you happened by just when you did,” she remarked, surveying the man opposite, who bowed silently. “Quite a coincidence, in fact,” she went on. “Indeed, I find it quite remarkable.”

  ‘ ‘There was nothing remarkable about it—as I am sure you are already aware. It came to me in a flash—seeing you with the sergeant, I recognized the actress who had accompanied Julian up the stairs of the George in Portsmouth all those months ago. ” He eyed her with a slight smile. “You are not easily forgotten, my dear,” he pointed out quietly.

  “N-no one will believe you,” Emma stammered.

  “After tonight they would,” was the calm response, “but have no fear, I do not intend to make known the identity of the mysterious lady of quality who trod the boards so admirably. To be truthful I find I like the idea of knowing more than the estimable Julian.”

  To her relief, for she was finding the conversation uncomfortable, the carriage stopped, and Emma saw that they were alongside the steps and portico of Sir Julian’s house.

  Lord Devern opened the door and, climbing out, lowered the steps himself. With a gallant gesture he held out a hand and, trustingly, Emma bent her head in the low interior and prepared to descent. To her surprise, Vivian Devern placed both hands round her waist and lifted her down, drawing her

  close and closing her protesting mouth with an unexpected kiss.

  Too astonished to release herself, Emma was surprised when her assailant suddenly gave an exclamation of pain and stepped back abruptly.

  “You leave her alone, d’you hear!” yelled an indignant voice, and a small figure threw himself at his lordship, furiously kicking his shins and pummeling him with bony, clenched fists.

  “Joe!” cried Emma faintly, suddenly realizing who had been the unwanted passenger. Lord Devern seized the small figure by the scruff of the neck and raised a hand. “Don’t dare hit him,” she exploded, and hung grimly on the upraised arm.

  “Street brawling!” drawled a voice behind them. “Not your kind of affair, I’d have thought, Devern. ”

  All three antagonists turned to see Sir Julian surveying them coolly, obviously just returning from some nocturnal activity of his own.

  “Ju!” cried Emma gladly, and thankfully ran to his side only to be disconcerted by the cold gaze turned briefly on her.

  “Release the boy,” he commanded in dangerously quiet tones.

  Lord Devern initially hesitated but finally dropped Joe with a gesture of disdain.

  The urchin scampered across the pavement to stand beside Sir Julian. “Give him what for,” he encouraged loudly, taking swipes at an imaginary enemy with his closed fists.

  “Be quiet,” murmured Sir Julian, and to Emma’s surprise, he fell silent. “Good night, Devern,” Julian Leyton said inexorably.

  With a harsh, smothered laugh, Lord Devern bowed elaborately and, climbing back into his carriage, ordered the coach to be driven on.

  “What are you doing out at this hour, Joe?” demanded the baronet.

  “Just making sure that the lady got home safe—I wasn’t doing nothing wrong, honest.”

  “There, I have my doubts. If Jem finds any watches or other valuables in your pockets, he has my permission to do more than bath you—”

  “Honest, guvnor. I ain’t done nothing—save watch out for the lady. You ought to take better care of her, yourself,” he added darkly.

  “Enough,” said Sir Julian sharply, but his hand briefly brushed the tousled mop of newly washed hair that covered Joe’s unusually clean face. “Be off with you.”

  With a salute which was almost, but not quite, cheeky, Joe took to his heels, running round the comer toward the mews, and Sir Julian turned to Emma.

  His dark gaze traveled slowly over her, from her head to the toes of her shoes. His nostrils flared as he caught the familiar but unexpected odor of greasepaint and cheap perfume.

  “Now,” he said softly, taking her elbow in a painful grip and turning her toward the house, “let us go in, if you please.”

  Passing the goggle-eyed butler, who had come out to see the cause of the noise, Sir Julian calmly handed him his hat, gloves, and cane. “Go to bed, Frobisher,” he ordered gently, in a voice which brooked no argument, and led Emma into the study, closing the door firmly on the retainer’s interested gaze.

  “Well, miss?” he asked in a tone that made Emma quake. “What have you to say?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Taking a deep breath, she prepared to confess the whole and hope for understanding, but before she could speak, he went on, speaking bitterly, as if unable to wait for the explanation he had demanded.

  ‘ ‘I had expected better than to come upon you behaving like a ballet dancer.”

  Recognizing the euphemism, Emma gasped and, rarely for her, was bereft of speech.

  “Thank Heavens that Lady Beauvale is long abed. If she had happened to see such behavior in one whom she has allowed to associate freely with her niece, she would have been shocked beyond comprehension. To have sneaked out like some common thief is bad enough, God knows, but to be found clinging fondly to a man whom you know has done us wrong, goes beyond all reason. And to do so in the middle of the street, in full view of all and that at a time when decent folk are abed—is totally unacceptable!”

  Leaning against the door, Sir Julian surveyed her grimly, and Emm
a was surprised to read the depth of rage in his black eyes.

  “Contemptible, miss,” he observed. “To deceive us with tales of your goodness in caring for your maid when, in fact, you were creeping out on an assignation with Devern . . . and that, by the perfume you carry, in the lowest den of iniquity you could find.”

  His scornful tone stung Emma, and where a moment before her conscience had been troubling her, suddenly her guilt was transformed into anger, and lifting her chin, she glared stormily at her accuser.

  “You take too much upon yourself, sir,” she cried. “I am not answerable to you! ’ ’

  She was the recipient of a stony gaze. “I had hoped that you might refute the matter.”

  Emma considered the matter. ‘ ‘Which one? ’ ’ she inquired sweetly. “The den of iniquity or my wicked assignation?”

  The baronet ground his teeth. “You do not deny that the jackanapes was kissing you?”

  “No, indeed. How should I? It appears that you saw it all perfectly.”

  “I saw enough to know that you were enjoying his attentions—”

  “La, sir,” she cried, lost to all reason, “what is in a kiss?”

  “Obviously in your estimation, not a great deal—which is why I shall claim my due.” Levering his shoulders away from the door, he came purposefully toward her.

  For a second Emma watched him, uncertain of his intent, then reading his purpose, she made an ineffectual attempt to evade him. Catching her as she tried to slip past, Sir Julian pulled her roughly into his embrace, twisting his fingers in her hair to subdue her struggles, and closed his hard, angry mouth over hers.