A Sapphire Season

by Lynn Morris

  “Mm, methinks thou meanest drop as the honeycomb,” Josephine said.

  This set the girls giggling, and they continued their game as they joined Lord and Lady Camarden in the coach.

  “Thinkest shalt be sweet music of the sackbut tonight?” Mirabella asked.

  Deadpan, Josephine answered, “Aye, and of the psaltery, the dulcimer, the trumpet, the harp, the timbrel, stringed instruments and organs, and the high-sounding cymbals.”

  Lord Camarden, who was frowning with concentration, now turned to his wife and said, “Ah, I see. They’re speaking King James version.”

  Lady Camarden said, “Yes, the sackbut and high-sounding cymbals rather gave it away.”

  Mirabella said, “O my father, hast provided wine for our pleasure on this night? For we thirst for a firkin or two of wine.”

  Dryly Lord Camarden replied, “Of course we’ll have refreshments in the box tonight. However, since a firkin is something over eight gallons, I sincerely doubt that Audrey will allow you two girls to have one, much less two.”

  The exterior of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane was rather plain, but the interior was palatial. The decor was primarily white and gold. The grand staircase that led up to the boxes was situated under the magnificent rotunda, which was thirty feet in diameter and surrounded by a circular gallery that held statues and busts of famous actors, musicians, and poets. Everywhere, including in each box, were elaborate crystal and gilt chandeliers that held dozens of candles.

  The Camarden box was one of the best seats in the house, the second box on the right in the first tier. The box was roomy; it held twelve armless white chairs, with comfortably padded seats and backs of crimson velvet. The box was large enough to accommodate twenty chairs, but Lord and Lady Camarden rarely invited parties of that size. The boxes were tiered by three shallow steps, with the ladies usually sitting on the lowest level, lining the railing. This was convenient for others in the second and third levels, for the ladies’ high headdresses did not block their view.

  The seating in the theatres was firmly fixed. The ruling class—the aristocracy and the gentry—had boxes. The middle class had seats on the floor, which were called the “stalls,” and were simply long benches with no backs. The lower class, servants and the laboring poor, sat in the gallery, the uppermost tier, hot and dirty, crammed against the ceiling. Often the occupants in the gallery were rowdy and noisy, catcalling and sometimes throwing rotten fruit and vegetables at the actors. Mirabella had found, however, that those in the gallery were more well-behaved at the opera, and at first had wondered why. Gradually it had occurred to her that the poor had little opportunity to hear the majestic music of a full orchestra. Obviously the poor could never afford a pianoforte or a harp for their home; at most they might hear superior music if they happened to have a good organ, and an accomplished organist, at church. The realization had made her uncomfortable, as she reflected that she so often took her exalted position, her life of privilege, and her wealth for granted.

  None of these humble musings were in her mind, however, as she and Josephine, arm-in-arm and still speaking in seventeenth-century English, ascended the Grand Staircase to the Camarden box. The party was early, as they were expecting guests, but Giles had already arrived. He was standing, conversing with the Camardens’ butler Irby. Mirabella had not been indulging in a fantasy when she had asked her father if he had provided firkins of wine. Although the Drury Lane theatre had a luxurious Grand Saloon where gentlemen could go to enjoy refreshments, and could also order bottles of wine, sherry, various cordials, and other beverages to be delivered to their boxes, Lord Camarden had found that often the Grand Saloon was crowded and busy, particularly during intermission, and so he had done away with that nuisance by having a small sideboard installed in the box, and stocking it with his own crystal glasses and refreshments. When he had first devised this, Lord Camarden had intended for one of the under-footmen to attend the guests in the box, but Irby had, with an abnormal awkwardness, requested that he be allowed to attend them at the theatre. Lord Camarden had remarked to his wife and daughter that he thought it was an odd request, for the butler, the highest-ranking servant, never actually served meals or refreshments; generally he would have been horrified to be so “demoted.” Mirabella had thought it odd, too, until she had noticed the rapt, intent expression on Irby’s face during plays or operas. Still she wondered at his apparent enjoyment. Usually the theatre presented two or even more productions, so Irby was obliged to stand for sometimes five or six hours at a time, for no servant would ever, ever sit in the presence of his employers. Every time Mirabella had stolen a glance at him, however, he had seemed wholly immersed in the performance.

  Giles turned to greet them, and said, “Irby has just been telling me of the delicious new concoctions Madame Danton has made for us. I’m having great difficulty in choosing between the raspberry-cherry shrub, or the pineapple-coconut punch.”

  “Pineapple-coconut punch?” Mirabella repeated, bright-eyed. “That sounds wonderful, Irby. Giles, where is Lewin?”

  He bowed deeply. “Captain Rosborough asked me to beg your indulgence this evening, and excuse him from the pleasure of attending you. Two soldiers from his regiment are here in Town, and they are attending the opera this evening. As they are to return to Spain soon, he hoped that you would understand his desire to sit with them, and forgive him for his absence.”

  “Good heavens, there’s no need for such pomp and ceremony from Lewin,” Mirabella scoffed. “Where are they sitting?”

  Giles walked to the front railing, followed by Josephine and Mirabella. He said, “There, in the ninth row.”

  Mirabella saw Lewin, his face upturned, gazing at the box, and two young men in a much humbler version of the uniform of the Ninety-Fifth Rifles, for they were common soldiers and not officers. Lewin spoke to his two friends, who were gazing around, wide-eyed, their mouths gaping open. They looked up at the box. Mirabella nodded in a queenly manner to them. All three stood up and bowed deeply.

  Mirabella said, “Giles, go to them and ask them to join us. We have plenty of room, I’ve only invited Lady FitzGeorge, Lord Trevor, and Mr. Aldington.”

  With an indulgent half-smile on his face, Giles replied, “That’s kind of you, but it really won’t do, you know.”

  “What do you mean? Surely you aren’t turning into a snob, are you?”

  “I hope not, for it seems to me that such persons, regardless of their station, seem to be in a perpetual state of indignation about one thing or another, and therefore can’t possibly be very happy. What I meant was, it simply won’t do for Mr. Olliff and Mr. Prichett, the two gentlemen accompanying Lewin. Mr. Olliff is the son of a butcher, and Mr. Prichett is the son of a carter. I’m fairly certain that neither of them has ever set eyes on a member of the nobility, much less ever been introduced to an aristocrat.”

  “But I’d be nice to them, you know I would,” Mirabella insisted.

  “Yes, you would, but the point is that they wouldn’t know how to be nice to you,” Giles patiently explained. “They’re fine fellows, but their manners are unpolished. Imagine, the little education they’ve had somehow did not include how to address a marquess and marchioness, and how to behave around such exalted beings. They’d be deeply embarrassed to be presented to you and your parents.”

  “But Giles, you know that my parents aren’t snobs either, we would take pains to make them at ease,” Mirabella said stubbornly.

  Josephine said, “We know that, Mirabella, for we’ve seen how you and your parents treat everyone with such courtesy at Camarden, but the congenial atmosphere you’ve created there is the exception, rather than the rule. And the social interaction is still limited, isn’t it? I mean, can’t you think of how horrified old Mrs. Varney would be if you invited her to a dinner party?”

  This threw Mirabella into a brown study. Josephine and Giles were right, of course. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t the way God had intended His people to live toget
her in communities, but it was the truth. To demand that such people as Mrs. Varney and the soldiers interact with her on her level would place an impossible burden on them, much as if an illiterate man were required to read the Scriptures in church.

  Then another realization dawned on Mirabella. For the same reasons, she would not, could not, be welcome at dinner at, say, Mr. Causby the butcher’s home. This gave Mirabella the strangest, most uneasy feeling. She was so accustomed to being liked, to being sought out, to being welcomed in company. It had never occurred to her that there was any place or circumstance in which this would not be so. She was at a loss to know what to do about it, and decided that she would talk to Giles.

  There was a stir in the box, and Lady FitzGeorge, Lord Trevor, and Denys Aldington all arrived together. After all the greetings, the party sorted itself out to get seated, for it was nearing performance time. Josephine, Mirabella, and Rosalind sat in the front row. Although there were two empty seats at the ends of the first row, Giles, Denys, and Lord Trevor sat behind them in the second row. Lord and Lady Camarden sat in the third row, in the corner, effectively withdrawing themselves from the young people while still providing the required chaperonage.

  As usual, the ladies spoke on the most important topic first: their gowns. Rosalind was wearing a dramatic gown of glossy satin that was a deep copper color, neither red nor brown, but glimmering with those colors as she moved. Her headdress was the newest fashion, a turban made of the same satin, wound about her head but allowing tendrils of curls to escape around her face and neck. The turban was anchored on the side by a large square-cut emerald set in gold filigree, and holding three pheasant feathers that were not upright, but were rakishly set to brush against her shoulders and back.

  Mirabella sighed, “I’m so envious, Rosalind, for I know very well that I ought not wear that daring color, even though we’re much the same age.”

  “You must get married and then widowed, darling,” Rosalind said. “Then you’ll be allowed all sorts of freedoms.”

  The gentlemen were eavesdropping, and behind them Lord Trevor intoned, “Rather hard on the husband, wouldn’t you say, Lady Mirabella? To sacrifice himself so that his wife might dress up as a Turkish sultana?”

  “Do be quiet, Trevor, you can’t possibly understand the suffocating rules we ladies must endure,” Rosalind scolded. “Besides, you might have meant it as a compliment, but now you’ve conjured up a mental image in which I look like a raisin.”

  This caused general merriment in the group, and Lord Trevor, instead of apologizing, merely grinned. The orchestra began playing the overture, and they all turned their attention to the stage.

  Mirabella loved the opera in many different ways, and for many reasons. She wholly admired the operatic voice, both male and female. She marveled at the strength required to project such a strong, emphatic, ringing voice. The grandeur of opera generally meant that the costumes and sets were more elaborate and enchanting than those of plays. Only in opera was there a blend of the spoken word and music that was mysterious and visceral, for it affected her on a deeper level than a symphony, which gave her an enjoyment mostly based on her intellect and her affinity for music in general, as she was a musician. Often she experienced a deeper involvement with the music of some majestic hymns: one of her favorites was Martin Luther’s “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God,” and she never failed to feel a thrill when she sang it. The sensations, or more likely moments of revelation, awoke in her reverence and awe.

  The opera was different. It seemed that Mirabella felt true passion, the human, natural emotion of passion in all its intensity, and only when she was in such thrall could she catch at least glimmers of the true fires of passionate love that could exist between a man and a woman. As she immersed herself in the music, one part of her mind, a secondary and very quiet, unobtrusive voice, was wondering if this was the only way she would ever feel such passion—only vicariously. If so, was that a good thing or—

  Both her absorption in the music and her deep inner musings were interrupted. Mirabella realized with dismay that directly behind her, Denys Aldington was speaking to Giles. He was not whispering; he was speaking in a low voice that was discreet, so much so that Mirabella couldn’t actually hear the words over the music. Still, it was an almost intolerable distraction to Mirabella. She glanced at Rosalind and Josephine, and neither of them appeared to be affected at all.

  Reluctantly she had to admit to herself that Denys had committed no social breach, for the protocols at the theatre were rather vague. It was not considered ill-bred or rude to talk during a performance. Indeed, in many of the boxes, comings and goings to other boxes and to the Grand Saloon took place constantly. Still, Mirabella had always had the distinct impression that some people preferred to enjoy the music or play in silence, and by all rules of social gatherings, the host and hostess set the tone and timbre of interaction. Casting about in her mind, Mirabella thought that usually parties in the Camarden box didn’t converse, or get up and mill about. She thought that Denys, being a well-bred gentleman, should be more sensitive and perceptive. The realization that this was an unreasonable and illogical demand—not to mention uncharitable—didn’t lessen Mirabella’s irritation. She just wished Denys would be quiet.

  She noticed that Giles was either responding with voiceless expressions such as nods and smiles, or else was speaking in such a low whisper as to be inaudible. Eventually Denys’s low rumbles came to an end, and again Mirabella was able to lose herself in the music.

  The time seemed much shorter to Mirabella, but intermission came in a little over an hour and a half. Everyone stood up and walked around a bit, both to stretch their legs and to order a refreshment from Irby. Mirabella got a second glass of Madame Danton’s delectable pineapple-and-coconut-cream punch and went to stand at the railing, looking around and acknowledging nods and bows from her acquaintances in the other boxes, for the premier reason for most of the Beau Monde to attend the theatre (except for people like Mirabella) was to see and be seen. Mirabella scanned the floor and saw that, as always, hundreds of faces were upturned to ogle the Quality. She caught Lewin’s eye again and smiled. Again he rose and bowed, smiling back up at her. Then she saw, with dismay, that the Smythes were seated in the humble stalls, about the tenth row back, and on the other side of the theatre.

  She went to join her friends, who were standing in a loose circle behind the chairs in the third row. Her parents were still sitting in the corner, talking together in low voices. “Giles, I’ve seen the Smythes sitting down in the stalls, on those dismal benches. Please go down and invite them to join us.”

  He gave a small bow. “As always, I’m at your service, my lady.”

  As he left, Rosalind rolled her eyes and said to Lady Camarden, “Madam, please do me a great service and take the empty seat by me. I declare I cannot endure Mrs. Smythe’s flutterings and grovelings for four hours.”

  “I regret I cannot rescue you, Rosalind,” Lady Camarden replied tartly. “My husband will fall asleep at the opera, and I’m in constant fear that he’ll fall out of this spindly armless chair, it requires constant vigilance on my part.”

  “I only wish you’d let me bring my old wing chair and footstool here, it’s the only sensible solution,” Lord Camarden said grumpily.

  “It most certainly is not, for when you nap in such comfort you snore,” Lady Camarden snapped. “At least here all that happens is that your mouth gapes open, and when you start dribbling I know it’s a signal to awaken you.”

  Lord Trevor said, “Lady FitzGeorge, if you will allow me the honor and pleasure, I’d be happy to save you from Mrs. Smythe’s clammy clutches, and take the seat next to you.”

  “Thank you, sir, you are Sir Galahad personified,” Rosalind said fervently.

  “Please, madam, just because I called you a raisin, you’ll demote me to a knight?”

  More verbal sparring ensued between Rosalind and Lord Trevor, and Josephine and Denys began talking about th
e opera. Mirabella stood silent for a few moments, watching Denys. She had noted that he had displayed very little amusement at the witticisms in their conversations; only a slight gleam in his eyes had shown that he even understood the humor. He did affect the Byronic tragic hero well.

  Mirabella was irritated with Denys’s silly phase, for she had begun considering Denys Aldington as a possible suitor, and future husband. After the confusing and vexing speed that had overwhelmed her with Lord Southam, Mirabella had been much more cautious and analytical when considering marriage to Denys. She still thought much as she had when she and Josephine had made their “charts”—that he would make a fine, honorable, dutiful husband and in particular would be a wonderful father. But as for a lifetime companionship, Mirabella felt very hesitant, considering this somewhat heavy-spirited man who bore so little resemblance to the good-natured, animated gentleman she had known before.

  Mirabella recalled that she had meant to ask Giles about Denys, and she thought that just a few moments ago she had so blithely decided to talk to him about the wide gulf in social status between them and Lewin’s friends. She realized, regretfully, that she’d had no opportunity in the last two months to speak to Giles alone. She saw him almost every day at Camarden; but then life was so different in Town. She resolved to buttonhole him and demand some private time together.

  Gradually everyone drifted back to their seats. Denys and Lord Trevor slightly rearranged the front row of chairs so the ladies could converse with those behind them without craning their necks. Lord Trevor then, as promised, took the empty seat by Rosalind. Mirabella said to Josephine, “I know you won’t mind, dearest, if Barbara sits between us? I’ve barely had a chance to speak to her this Season.”

  “Of course I don’t mind,” Josephine said. “I like her, too, and would like the opportunity to get to know her better.” Then she added in a whisper, “But I do promise not to talk to her during the performance. Methinks you grew exceeding wroth at the vain babblings behind us.”