The Captain's Daughter

by Jennifer Delamere

THE FIGHT BROKE OUT right onstage!”

  “Surely you’re joking,” Rosalyn said.

  They’d been at the restaurant for about an hour, cheerfully eating and drinking. Everyone had regaled her with stories of the odd or downright funny things that had happened at the performances of Pinafore over the past year and a half. Far from feeling like an outsider, Rosalyn found most of these stories were told for her benefit, since she was the only person in the group who did not know them.

  At the moment, George Grossmith was describing the night a rival production company, who thought they had the rights to produce Pinafore, came to the theater and tried to take away the set—right in the middle of a performance. “I assure you, it actually happened,” George said. “It made all the papers next day.”

  “What did you do?” Rosalyn asked, still astonished at this tale.

  “We had to bring the curtain down right away, of course,” Richard Temple said. “And blasted inconvenient it was, too—right before I was to do my song with Barrington!”

  “That’s when Temple decided to enter the fray,” Tony said. “He can stand anything except having his performance interrupted!”

  George said, “Naturally, it fell to me to go out in front of the curtain and calm the audience with a speech, assuring them that there was no fire and that they were in no danger.”

  “Naturally,” Jessie repeated, smiling.

  “Well, who else could have done it? Not Mr. Barker—one of the interlopers had knocked him down the stairs, and he was unconscious!”

  “Oh, my heavens.” Rosalyn could scarcely imagine people coming to blows over a theatrical piece.

  “But we got rid of ’em,” Mr. Temple said, a satisfied grin on his face. “And you can believe they never tried that again.” Rosalyn saw a bit of his Dick Deadeye character as he said these words with villainous gusto.

  There was a buzz of laughter and chatter, as the cast members talked amongst themselves, sharing what they had been doing during this bizarre altercation with the would-be scene stealers.

  Rutland Barrington stood up, raising his glass of beer. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for a toast,” he boomed. “To our own lovely and immensely talented Miss Jessie Bond.”

  “Hear, hear!” several people cried as everyone raised their glasses.

  George Grossmith rose, too, and added, “We are all going to miss you, dear Jessie. I hope you go on to find great success in America, for the show here is liable to close as soon as you are gone. The rest of us will be languishing in sadness at your absence and will be completely unable to perform.”

  Jessie gave him a skeptical look. “What you really mean is that you will miss having me around to tease mercilessly.”

  “Well, of course! What else have we to live for?”

  “Hear, hear!” shouted more people among much laughter, lifting their glasses to the toast.

  Jessie opened her arms to them all and smiled. “I cannot express how much it means to me that you would throw this little party in my honor. Pinafore has truly changed my life. To think that at one time I was sure I would be a mere concert singer all my days! But somehow Mr. Sullivan saw in me the ability to be an actress, too!”

  “He also thought Grossmith could sing opera,” Barrington broke in. “Can’t be right all the time, I guess!”

  At some point during the evening, Tony had placed his arm along the back of Rosalyn’s chair. When had this happened? She hadn’t noticed. He seemed very close to her now.

  “Last call!” the tavern keeper bellowed from behind the bar.

  Everyone began to pull out money for the food and drink. Rosalyn began to do the same, but Tony’s warm hand came down on hers. “Allow me to pay for yours.”

  “Oh, but I couldn’t!”

  “I insist. I’m sure you need every penny of the miserable pittance Miss Lenoir doles out to you.”

  “I’ve already paid for Rosalyn’s meal,” Jessie said, hearing this exchange although she was at the other end of the long table. She began to push back her chair as though to stand, and Grossmith quickly rose to help her. Jessie motioned for Rosalyn to come over to her.

  Tony removed his arm from Rosalyn’s chair and helped her up.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told him and hurried over to her friend. “Jessie, I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.” She could not help the tears forming in her eyes, and she was sure she saw the same in Jessie’s.

  Jessie pulled her into a warm embrace. “‘Cast thy bread upon the waters,’” she murmured, recalling one of their earlier conversations. “I will miss you, Rosalyn.” As they separated, Jessie asked, “How are you getting home?”

  “I plan to share a cab with Helen.”

  “Good.” Then she added with a stern, motherly tone, “Don’t allow any of these men to take advantage.”

  “I won’t,” Rosalyn assured her.

  Jessie squeezed both of Rosalyn’s hands. “Good-bye. God bless you. And if you ever get a chance to sing onstage, I hope you take it. Grab onto the opportunities that open to you.”

  Rosalyn nodded, too choked up to say more.

  After more hugs and good-byes from all the cast members, Jessie was escorted by George to a cab outside.

  Rosalyn returned to her chair in order to collect her shawl. Helen was dabbing a handkerchief to her eye. “I’m going to miss her. Such a firebrand she is! How friendly and kind she was, even to us chorus ladies.”

  “Cheer up,” Elsie said. “You still have me.”

  She rose unsteadily from her chair, and Helen took her arm.

  Tony offered his arm to Rosalyn. “May I escort you home?”

  Elsie looked as though Tony had just offered to murder everyone in the pub. It wasn’t the first time tonight that she’d sent malevolent glances toward him, and now the look spilled over to Rosalyn as well.

  “I have a better idea,” Helen said. “Let’s all go together. I’m pretty sure we can find one of those old growlers at the cabstand. Could be cheaper if we all share a cab.”

  “What’s a growler?” Rosalyn asked Tony as they walked outside.

  “It’s a large old carriage. Most have been replaced by hansom cabs, which are nimbler but of course only fit two people.”

  At the cabstand on the next block they found a few carriages, all waiting for their final fares as the pubs began to empty. But there were none large enough for the four of them.

  “This makes more sense, anyway,” Tony insisted. “Helen and Elsie, you two should share a cab since you live in the same neighborhood. I’ll make sure Rosalyn gets home safely.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Elsie said, but her tone was laced with acid.

  Helen pulled Rosalyn aside and said quietly, “Rosalyn, are you comfortable with this arrangement?”

  “Should I not be?”

  “I think we may have no other choice. Elsie positively detests Tony—did you know she was sweet on him once? But he jilted her for someone else.”

  “I have noticed their animosity.”

  Helen gave a dry laugh. “That’s putting it mildly. Anyway, I know she won’t ride with him alone. And if I go with Tony, that leaves you and Elsie to fend for yourselves, and I don’t think that’s a good option, either.”

  Elsie was clearly feeling the effects of all the wine she’d had that evening. Without Helen to lean on, she hugged herself and wobbled dangerously. Rosalyn could see she needed to get home as soon as possible.

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine with Tony,” she said, although Jessie’s earlier warning placed a whisper of doubt in her mind.

  Elsie began to moan. She leaned over, looking as though she was about to be sick. Helen propelled her toward the nearest cab. After helping Elsie in, she turned back and wagged a finger at Tony. “Just remember, a big burly soldier will come after you with no mercy if you don’t remain a perfect gentleman.”

  “Trust me, I have not forgotten.”

  He spoke in a jesting tone, but there was n
o mirth in it. Rosalyn put it down to the fact that he was likely as tired as the rest of them.

  Tony helped Rosalyn into one of the other cabs. The driver gave them a blanket to put on their laps.

  “It is a chilly night, isn’t it?” Tony said, taking hold of her hands as though to warm them.

  He was seated so close to her that she could feel the heat emanating from his body. The very design of the hansom cab, which had only the one narrow bench, made any other seating arrangement impossible. Still, Rosalyn found herself embarrassingly tongue-tied.

  Seeing her distress, Tony gave her one of his most disarming smiles. “You mustn’t listen to people who would impugn my reputation. I would never press myself on an unwilling lady. You do believe me, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I believe you would not act in any way that was less than honorable.”

  His eye twitched. “Very good.” He gave her hands a caressing pat. “Now, let me tell you what I have in mind for your next singing lesson. I believe you’re ready for a new challenge.”

  Rosalyn found her tension slipping away as they began to discuss music again. By the time they had pulled up to the Morans’ home, she was even feeling comfortable at Tony’s nearness. He’d continued to hold her hands throughout the ride, so when he helped her down from the carriage, his touch felt quite natural. His arm slipped easily around her waist when she stumbled on the uneven pavement, and remained there as they walked up the wide steps to the house. Rosalyn tested the door and found it was unlocked. She was glad for this, as she did not have a key and would have hated to knock and rouse the others at such a late hour.

  She turned back to Tony. “Thank you again,” she whispered. “Good night.”

  He placed a hand on hers to keep her from opening the door further. Drawing her close, he murmured, “Good night, sweet Rosalyn.” His mouth brushed her cheek. “Sweet dreams. And I will see you at the rehearsal room tomorrow for another lesson?”

  She smiled as his breath tickled her ear. “Of course.”

  “Splendid.” He kissed her cheek again, lingering a little longer this time.

  Although the sensation was pleasant, Rosalyn felt a prickle of uneasiness at the same time. “I—I’d better go in.”

  She reached again for the doorknob, opening the door wider this time. A faint light was visible down the hall, indicating that someone was in the parlor. Tony saw it, too. Once more he bid her good-night, although his manner was cooler than it had been a moment before.

  Stepping inside, Rosalyn quietly closed the door behind her. She crossed the hallway, treading carefully so as to make no noise, and paused at the entrance to the parlor.

  By the dim light of the low lamp, she saw Patrick. He smiled and nodded a greeting, though he did not remove his hands from the sleeping boy on his chest.

  “So you are the one keeping watch for me,” Rosalyn whispered as she approached his chair.

  “Not the only one,” Patrick replied with a grin, “but the other two are asleep on the job.”

  “Two?”

  Patrick nodded toward the far corner of the room. There, asleep on the sofa, was Nate. He was only half-reclined, one foot still on the floor. Clearly he had dozed off without meaning to.

  “Poor man,” Rosalyn said. “He gets so little sleep as it is, and I’m sorry he felt obliged to try to wait up for me.”

  “He was concerned about you. I believe he cares for you a great deal.”

  Rosalyn sat down on the footstool next to Patrick’s chair. “You have all been so good to me.”

  “These are my usual hours,” he said, minimizing the compliment she’d aimed toward him. “First because I worked at the theater, and now because of this little fellow.” He touched the head of his sleeping son in a loving, tender gesture. Addressing the child, he added, “Your mum is going to be sad to see me return to work. She’s been rather enjoying a bit of extra sleep at night.”

  How fortunate that boy is, Rosalyn thought. He will have his father nearby as he grows up. Not like Rosalyn and her sisters, whose hearts always ached for their absent father.

  “And I’ve been enjoying having a wife who is not so tired and out of sorts,” Patrick continued. “So everyone benefits. But I do look forward to getting back on the job.”

  “How long have you been working in the theater?” Rosalyn asked.

  “Started when I was around twelve. At first I was an errand boy. I’ve worked just about every other backstage job since then, but lighting is my specialty now.”

  “I’m sure that’s made for an interesting career.”

  “It has. I’ve been at perhaps half a dozen different theaters over the years, but now that I work for Mr. D’Oyly Carte, I plan to stick with him. He’s the best impresario in the business. He has big plans. He’s going to build a new theater not too far from the Opera Comique. Everything will be the best—with all the most advanced equipment and modern furnishings.”

  “It sounds wonderful!” said Rosalyn.

  “Everyone thinks the life of a stagehand isn’t as much fun as actually being on the stage, but I like it. It enables me to take care of my family, and that’s what’s most important.”

  He tilted his head toward Nate. “He’s a good man, you know, although you may have seen his gruffer side now and then. He’s been going through a hard time. However, I think your presence here has helped him a great deal.”

  “Me? I don’t see how.”

  “When Nate first came back to England, he told me he’d sworn off women and marriage forever. But it’s pretty clear you’ve been in his thoughts from the first day he met you. I believe it’s quite possible he could change his mind about marrying.”

  He made this observation with discernable pleasure, but Rosalyn’s feelings were more conflicted. “Why, Patrick Moran, are you playing matchmaker?”

  “I admit it, and I am not ashamed.”

  First Julia, and now Patrick. Perhaps everyone saw a special connection between her and Nate. The trouble was, they were right. She was growing too fond of him. But she could not allow her attraction to develop into anything deeper. “Patrick, he’ll be rejoining his regiment and going to India. I could never leave England. And I couldn’t bear to have a husband who left me to go overseas.” She bit her lip, twisting her hands in her lap. “That’s what my father did, you see. And he never came back. I wouldn’t have the strength to go through that kind of heartbreak again.”

  Why had she said all those things? There was something so open and generous about Patrick’s personality that simply invited a person to share their heart. But what if Nate should wake and overhear them talking about him? She sent an uneasy glance in his direction. He did not appear to have moved. His breathing was quiet, but it seemed regular. He was still asleep.

  “Is the theater perhaps taking hold of your affections, as well?”

  “I love it there,” Rosalyn admitted. “It’s a fascinating place, as you know.”

  “It is,” Patrick agreed. “Once the excitement of working there gets into one’s system, it never really leaves.”

  “It’s late.” She rose from the footstool. “Thank you for waiting up for me.”

  “I shall pass your thanks along to the other two watchmen, as well,” Patrick said.

  She couldn’t help looking at Nate once more. It seemed almost too intimate, seeing him lying there asleep, a lock of hair falling over one eye. Perhaps, if things had been different . . .

  But she would never know. His commitments were taking him far away, and she wouldn’t dream of keeping him from the life he wanted to live.

  “She’s gone,” Patrick said quietly.

  Nate cocked open one eye. “How did you know?”

  “I can always tell when you’re truly asleep. I also knew the exact moment you woke up. Whenever you’re awake, your forehead gets an unhealthy-looking wrinkle. You worry too much, my brother.”

  “You should not have told her I had an interest in her.”


  Patrick feigned an air of innocence. “Well, don’t you?”

  “No!”

  Patrick gave a disbelieving smirk.

  “In any case, that’s not the point,” Nate said. “The point is you had no right to speak on my behalf, to imply that I had feelings for her—”

  “What I’m curious about,” said Patrick mildly, “is why you did not interrupt our conversation. For some reason, you kept on pretending to be asleep. Was it because you wanted to know what her reaction would be?”

  “You are far too clever for your own good,” Nate said crossly. “I don’t need you or anyone else in the family meddling in my life.”

  “Well, in a few months’ time you will be off to India, and you won’t have us to bother you anymore.”

  “Exactly. And you heard what Rosalyn said. She’s not about to marry a soldier. Not under any circumstances.”

  “So you would be interested in marrying her if she agreed?”

  Nate stood up. His brother could wear down a saint. “I’m going to bed.”

  “What I mean is, why are you so intensely determined to return to the army?”

  “I’ve explained this before.”

  “So you have. But something still doesn’t add up. Nate, what aren’t you telling me?”

  Nate fought back a retort. He could deny it endlessly, but he could never truly fool his brother. The urge to unburden himself, to tell the truth, nearly overcame his determination to stay silent. He reminded himself, as he had countless times, that there would be time enough to tell Patrick everything—after he’d returned to India and made good his intentions. After he’d regained his own self-respect. In the meantime, he had to stick to his guns.

  “I can’t help it if you won’t believe me when I say that the army is my occupation, my calling. Just as you love your work in the theater.”

  “It’s true that I wouldn’t want to work anywhere else. And yet, if my occupation had ever stood between me and marriage to my Hannah, I would have left it in a heartbeat.”

  Patrick was free to say that, of course. Nate wasn’t. Having no answer to give him, Nate headed for the parlor door.

  He stopped short when he saw Hannah standing in the doorway. How long she had been there, he didn’t know, but clearly she’d heard this last remark of Patrick’s. She regarded her husband tenderly. “You’re a good man, my love.”