“I see you’ve already learned the first rule of theater,” Tony said. “Always build the audience’s anticipation. Very well. Friday it shall be.” He gave her shoulder a pat before releasing her and giving her a little bow. “Until we meet again—in about an hour, when Her Majesty’s Ship Pinafore sets sail once more.”
With a smile, he sauntered off.
Rosalyn was halfway up the stairs when Millie raced down to meet her. “Hurry!” she exclaimed, grabbing Rosalyn’s hand.
Millie dragged her to the dressing room, where the ladies’ chorus was in an uproar. Several were exclaiming in horror or anger. Elsie shook her finger at Helen. “Thoughtless fool! How could you not have known what would happen?”
“What’s the matter?” Rosalyn asked.
Elsie jerked a thumb at Helen. “This one left food stashed behind the gowns. Now a mouse has eaten holes in the hems to get at the food.”
“A dozen mice, I think,” Sarah said. “Or rats.”
Several of the ladies shivered in horror.
“Our beautiful gowns!” cried one of the other ladies. “They’re ruined!”
Everyone was staring daggers at Helen.
“I’m sorry!” Helen said, in exasperation. “I put a bag there for safekeeping and forgot to take it home with me.” She glared right back at them. “Draw and quarter me if you like. I didn’t do it on purpose. My gown is ruined, too.”
Rosalyn fell to her knees in front of the rack of gowns and began to inspect them. At first blush the damage did look pretty bad. But as she checked more closely, she saw that only half a dozen or so had actually been soiled or torn. “These can be mended,” she said.
“How can they be mended?” Elsie asked. “They have one-inch holes in them!”
“We’ll put on extra ribbon and flounces to cover the repairs. I saw some scraps in the costume shop that I think will work.”
“You’ll have to work fast,” Millie pointed out. “There’s just over an hour before they have to go down.”
“We’ll make it. Let’s go up to the costume shop and collect those scraps.”
Ten minutes later, Rosalyn and Millie returned, armed with plenty of pink thread, some bits of lace, and about a mile of ribbon.
Rosalyn marshaled the women like soldiers, showing them her trick for basting together torn garments. The gowns were already quite colorful, with the ribbon accents that were the current style. The additions only highlighted the effect.
“There!” Rosalyn said as they surveyed their efforts on the first gown, which was Elsie’s. “The audience isn’t going to notice the abundance of ribbons. If they do, they’ll just ascribe it to the overall silliness of Sir Joseph’s relatives.”
“Well, I’d never wear it this way in real life,” Elsie agreed, “but it should work.”
Topsy-turvy. Rosalyn had read that was Mr. Gilbert’s own description of the odd situations he created in his shows. It seemed an accurate assessment of backstage life, too.
By the time Millie was sent up to announce the ten-minute warning, all the women were dressed and ready to go.
“You saved my life, I think,” Helen told her. “I don’t know if Lilly would have thought of that.”
Rosalyn beamed. She was pretty sure she’d just passed the first real test of her new job.
Mary walked between Nate and Rosalyn and kept the conversation lively as they made their way to the Morans’ home. She never seemed to run out of things to say. She asked Rosalyn about her favorite books, pastimes, and other incidentals. Once or twice Nate admonished his sister for being a busybody, but Rosalyn didn’t mind. Mary was, in some ways, a blend of Rosalyn’s two sisters—clever and well-read like Julia, and friendly and talkative like Cara.
They turned onto a curved street lined with terraced homes. Halfway down the street, they paused in front of a four-story house made of brick. The general feel of the neighborhood was of modest respectability. The Moran house, located halfway along the arched street like a keystone, solidified this impression.
“Here we are!” Mary exclaimed. “Home, sweet home.”
After the gloomy chill outside, the large entryway radiated welcoming warmth. They entered the parlor, where a man sat on a large stuffed chair, playing with a baby on his lap. The child looked about six months old. He gave short bursts of laughter as his father lifted him up and down to make the child appear as if he were jumping.
Setting the child gently on his lap, the man extended a hand toward Rosalyn. “Please forgive my not standing.” He pointed toward his splinted leg. “As you see, I am indisposed at the moment.”
Mary said, “Rosalyn, this is my brother, Patrick, and his son, Tommy.”
Tommy gave Rosalyn a toothless grin.
“Nate, is that you?” an older woman’s voice called.
“Yes, Ma, we’re here.”
A plump, grey-haired woman bustled into the room, wiping her hands on her apron. She beamed at Rosalyn. “You must be Miss Bernay.”
“You may call her by her Christian name,” Mary announced.
Mrs. Moran gave her daughter an inquiring look. “Shouldn’t that be for Miss Bernay to decide?”
But her deprecating tone had no effect on Mary. She said blithely, “Oh, it’s all arranged. We decided on that earlier, didn’t we, Rosalyn?”
Mrs. Moran gave Rosalyn an apologetic look. “I hope you don’t mind my daughter’s unorthodox ways. She’s the youngest but seems to think she’s the one who should direct things around here.”
“Well, there’s no point in being stuffy. The Bible says we are all children of God, so why shouldn’t we address our fellow Christians as siblings?”
“Her logic is, of course, irrefutable,” Nate remarked dryly.
Three other women had filtered into the room as they’d been talking, and Mary set herself to making the introductions.
The first was Patrick’s wife, Hannah—a beautiful woman with blond hair and honey-brown eyes that matched her son’s. Then came the two lodgers: the first was a surprisingly spry older woman who must have been in her seventies. She was introduced as Mrs. Fletcher, and Rosalyn surmised that Mary’s avowal that everyone should use Christian names did not extend to the elderly, to whom she quite rightly wished to show respect. The second boarder was a pale slip of a girl named Liza Branson. She could not have been more than fourteen. Rosalyn was surprised to see a boarder so young.
“She lost her parents to a fever six months ago,” Mary explained. “She had nowhere to go, so naturally we brought her here.”
Liza cast her eyes down, and Rosalyn sensed the girl was uncomfortable having her life’s story explained so matter-of-factly to a stranger. Despite Mary’s good intentions, she was perhaps not as tactful as she might have been.
“I am an orphan, too,” Rosalyn said. “I lost my parents when I was nine.”
This information, along with the clear sympathy in Rosalyn’s voice, seemed to set the girl at ease. Her thin shoulders relaxed, and her eyes, shining from a hint of tears, met Rosalyn’s. “Then you understand.”
“Indeed I do.”
Mrs. Moran said, “Nate, not only is Miss Bernay as lovely as you said, but I can see she is kindhearted, as well.”
“Wait a minute,” Nate protested, “I never said she was lovely—” He stopped and turned a highly embarrassed look to Rosalyn. “That is, not that you aren’t, because you are—” He turned to his mother and glared. “Now look what you’ve made me do. I’ve insulted her.”
“No, dear brother, you did that yourself,” Mary interposed with a grin. “Go ahead, don’t let us keep you from digging the hole deeper.”
“Please, stop,” Rosalyn said, but despite her words, she was laughing. She was enjoying this interplay between the siblings and seeing a more vulnerable side of Nate Moran. He gave her a sheepish look, and she found her breath catching. Did he really think she was beautiful? He might have been tricked into voicing the compliment, but from the expression on his face as their
eyes met, Rosalyn was sure he’d meant it. She felt warmth wash over her and realized she was blushing.
Mrs. Moran ushered them into the dining room. What the Morans called tea was in fact a substantial meal. Liza brought out platters loaded with bread, meat, cheese, and sliced apples. Mrs. Moran explained that they had taken to eating this early meal in order to ensure that Patrick—and now Nate—was well-fed before leaving for work at the theater.
The only member of the household not present was Nate’s sister Martha, who worked long hours at a dressmaker’s shop.
Once everyone had been served, Mary said eagerly, “And now, Rosalyn, you must tell us all about yourself!”
All eyes fixed on her with kindly interest. When Rosalyn began her story by mentioning that she’d been raised in an orphanage in Bristol, Mary broke in, “Do you mean Mr. Müller’s orphanage at Ashley Down? We know of it!”
“You do?”
“Our church sends a donation at least once a year,” Patrick said. “Has for many years.”
“How very kind.” Rosalyn recalled how often such a donation might arrive unexpectedly at the orphanage, and nearly always it was just at a precise moment when it was desperately needed. God was never late—although Rosalyn remembered thinking many a time that He seemed to enjoy cutting it rather close. “And here I am, benefiting from your giving once again.”
“God is the supplier of need,” Mrs. Moran said. “We are simply blessed to be His agents sometimes.”
“What did you do after leaving the orphanage?” Mary asked.
“And how did you come to be at that railway station on Friday?” Nate spoke calmly, but he was looking at her with the same intensity as when they’d first met.
Rosalyn gave a doubtful glance toward Liza, wondering if she was too young to hear about Mr. Huffman and the brothel. “Parts of my story do get . . . ugly.” She couldn’t think of any other way to say it.
“I’ve seen lots of things,” Liza said. The words were simple but held far too much weight. Once more, Rosalyn’s heart went out to the girl.
This was it, then. She took a deep breath and continued on.
Nate didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Or perhaps, in some way, it had been. He’d heard similar tales of women in service who had been treated in such a criminal fashion by their employers. Rage flowed through him at the thought of what men could do so callously and without any reprisals. But he knew these crimes had not been committed only by rich gentlemen. He’d seen fellow soldiers behaving just as badly, and he’d been sickened by it.
“And now you know my story,” Rosalyn said. “I felt I should tell you everything before presuming to ask for your help and advice.”
“Our advice is simple, of course,” Mary said. “You must come and live with us.”
Nate nearly overturned his teacup as he moved in startled irritation. Mary had no right to make such an offer. Certainly not without consulting the family. But his dismay grew as he noticed that no one else at the table seemed the least surprised at her words.
Except for Rosalyn.
“But . . . I thought you were going to take me to the charity house.”
“What’s this about?” Nate demanded.
His question was directed at Patrick, who answered, “You know we’ve discussed taking on another boarder.”
“After meeting Rosalyn, I knew she was the right person,” Mary broke in eagerly. “We talked it over this morning, and we’re all in agreement. You were already at the stable, but we were sure you wouldn’t have any objections.”
Nate had plenty of objections. Mostly he was indignant that his family had deliberately backed him into this corner. Everyone in the room was voicing their agreement that Rosalyn should come and live here. How could he be the one to say no? Especially after learning what she’d been through.
“We decided that, since Rosalyn will be working at the theater, this is the perfect place for her to lodge,” Mary said. “Even though she must be out so late, she’ll have you to see her home safely.”
“And me, too,” Patrick added. “Once I get the use of my leg back, I’ll be returning to my job there. I promise to get you home safe, even if I’m not one of Her Majesty’s soldiers.”
Safe. Nate thought of the man from the train station—according to Rosalyn, his name was Mick. If it had been him at the charity house, it could have been a coincidence. Or perhaps he’d overheard Nate at the station calling out the address. Was the gang at the brothel looking for her? After hearing her story, he had to assume it was possible. Grudgingly, he had to admit that perhaps this was the best answer.
“Isn’t it perfect?” Mary gushed. “It’s as if God has brought you here.”
Throughout this exchange, Rosalyn had been silent. But Nate had seen the play of emotions crossing her face. “I am grateful to you,” she said at last. “I don’t know how much money you would require, but—”
“We’ll work it out,” Ma assured her. “We live simply, and everyone pitches in with the work as they can.”
“So you’re moving in tomorrow, right?” Mary said eagerly.
Nate’s heart twisted as Rosalyn leaned back in her chair and regarded them all with a misty smile.
“Yes,” she said.
Nate still had some reservations about the arrangement, especially when it came to his family’s expectations. They were eager to misconstrue his desire to help Rosalyn into something more than it was. He could tell even by their effusive comments as Nate and Rosalyn were leaving together for the theater. If this kept up, it could make things awkward for both of them, but he decided that Rosalyn’s well-being was the most important thing.
And in any case, he was leaving in two months. He’d have to focus on that.
When they reached the theater, Nate left her to attend to his tasks. Rosalyn decided she would take a few minutes to explore and familiarize herself with the theater. At one point she came across Millie, who offered to walk with her. The theater was constructed rather oddly, with some hallways actually leading to rooms in the adjacent buildings. The place was as confusing as a maze.
They saw several chorus members on their way to a room at the end of one such hallway.
“What’s happening now?” Rosalyn asked Millie.
“Vocal warm-ups.”
“May we watch?”
Millie shrugged. “I suppose so.”
Rosalyn followed them into the room, eager to learn how professional singers prepared for a performance. She stood against the wall, not wanting to interfere with the proceedings. A few people sent her curious glances, but no one seemed to mind her presence.
Everyone was there, from the chorus to the principals. Jessie was on the other side of the room, chatting gaily with George Grossmith and also with Rutland Barrington, the tall, hefty man who played Captain Corcoran.
“The three of them is together all the time, and usually laughing over something,” Millie said. “Thick as thieves—that’s what my father says.”
Tony came their way as soon as he saw Rosalyn. “In the cast already, then?”
“No, no, I’m just watching,” she told him. “I confess I’m curious to see what you do.”
“It’s pretty dry stuff, but it’s the foundation of our craft. Here comes the conductor, Mr. Cellier. Enjoy!”
The chatter ceased as Mr. Cellier strode into the room. Everyone parted as he made his way to the center and pulled out a pitch pipe. “All right everyone, let’s get started.”
He led them in a series of vocal exercises. A few were familiar to Rosalyn from the singing lessons she’d been afforded by Mrs. Huffman. Rosalyn could only watch, although she was itching to join in. Then they did a challenging tongue twister. Rosalyn stumbled just trying to say the words in her head. She couldn’t wait until she had a chance to try it out later.
“Enunciate!” Mr. Cellier directed. “You know how Mr. Gilbert feels when you muddle his lyrics!”
After about
fifteen minutes, he pronounced them ready to go. Most people began to drift out the door, intent on getting to the dressing rooms.
“Well, what do you think?” Tony asked Rosalyn.
“It’s very interesting! I think the tongue twister is going to stay with me awhile.”
“We’ll practice it when we get together on Friday, eh?” He grinned. “I know a few more that might even bring out that Aunt Hilda face.”
Still grinning in amusement, Rosalyn practiced the tongue twister under her breath as she made her way down another hallway to collect towels and other items she’d need for her work. As she walked backstage, several of the stagehands greeted her by name. Seeing Nate on an upper platform preparing the limelights, she gave him a wave. He returned the gesture, smiling. Her heart did a little dance as she continued on. At this moment, Rosalyn couldn’t imagine a better place to be.
CHAPTER
12
JESSIE, IT’S TOO MUCH,” Rosalyn protested as Jessie added another gown to the growing pile of clothes on the bed.
“Nonsense. You’ll be doing me a favor by taking it. It would only end up in storage while I’m in America, and goodness knows what the fashions will be like when I return.” She struck a coquettish pose. “Since I make my living on the stage, I must always be in the latest style.”
Rosalyn fingered the material, a lovely blue tea gown that was finer than anything she’d ever owned.
“They will need alterations, of course,” Jessie went on. “Particularly in length. You may need to get creative with those hems. Thank heaven ruffled flounces are all the rage right now.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage.” It seemed a small price to pay for such extravagance. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me.”
Jessie paused in the act of examining a petticoat she’d pulled from a drawer. “One is always better for having helped a fellow creature in need, don’t you think? ‘Cast thy bread upon the waters,’ as the Bible says.”
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