Two Hearts

by Barbara Miller

  “I’m not sure that I do. He does listen to me when there is something wrong. That is enough.”

  “So you have advised him.”

  “As much as I dare. But thank you for your anger on my behalf. Speaking of plays I have the last scene copied out. I shall run upstairs and get them when we return.”

  “Good, I shall loiter out of sight of the breakfast parlor window in case your brother is up.”

  “As though that will help. I did not think my strategy would be to feed him to death.”

  * * * * *

  When they rode into the stable yard Wallace was already there confronting Captain Everson, who was protecting Jilly and her baby from a chimney sweep. The captain had his sword drawn and was keeping them all at bay as Jilly backed into the corner of the stable and wall clutching her infant.

  “What the devil?” Brand leaped off his horse and went to confront Wallace who was barricading the steps so the rest of the staff could not help.

  Grace slid down off her horse unassisted. “What is going on Wallace? I know you are at the root of any disturbance.”

  “This man wants his daughter back,” Wallace said.

  “Who cares what he wants. What is a woman who just gave birth doing out of bed and clutching her newborn?”

  Captain Everson seemed to relax. “Why don’t you ask the girl, Miss Montrose.”

  Jilly began crying. “He made me get up, Miss Montrose. You brother said me father was below and I had to go with him, me and the little ‘un.”

  “Oh, he did?” Brand would have grabbed Wallace by the cravat except that be dodged behind the sweep.

  “She’s my dotter, idn’t she? I’ve a right to take her away wif me.”

  Grace stepped up beside Brand. “You are the one who would not shelter her when she was turned off. Have you found a post for her, perhaps a place to sell the baby?”

  “Yes, a post. As for the babe you can keep him for a price.”

  Jilly wailed. The words were no more out of his mouth than Brand planted the man a facer.

  Everson laughed. “Thank you so much. I have been wanting to do that this half hour but was somewhat outnumbered.”

  “You’ll pay fer this,” the man said from the ground as he wiped the blood from his lip.

  “Jilly is nineteen,” Grace said. “You have no power over her.”

  “Then keep her, just pay what I lose without her labor.”

  “Aggh. It’s like talking to a wall, like talking to Wallace.”

  “You have just attempted an abduction,” Brand said. If you are still here when my nephew gets back with the magistrate you will be arrested and thrown in prison.”

  “I just want my due. I just want what’s coming to me.”

  Wallace had left his post at the steps so that Maria could edge past him. She dumped a huge cauldron of dirty water on the sweep and he shrieked as if it had been boiling.

  “That’s more than you deserve and probably the only bath you’ve had in a twelve month.”

  The man finally scrambled away shouting oaths and dire threats, most of which Grace could not understand because of his broad accent.

  Everson laughed and relaxed his position to lean on his saber. “I see I am de trop now. Miss Montrose and her ladies alone are enough to rout these Philistines.”

  “Probably,” Brand said. “But it did feel good to throw that punch. “As for you, Wallace. You attempted to assist in this abduction. We shall see where the magistrate stands on that.”

  “This wasn’t my fault. We had to give the girl up.”

  Maria snorted. “He was the only one who wanted to turn her over to him.”

  Wallace stormed back into the house.

  “Thank you Captain Everson,” Grace said, coming to take the baby from Jilly.

  “I missed you at the park but it turns out to have been fortuitous.”

  “I agree,” Brand said. “If he had gotten the girl and babe away from here, we might never have found them again.”

  Everson slid his saber into his scabbard. “No need to cry over near misses.”

  “We should have informed you of our change of plans,” Brand said. “We ride in Regent Park now.”

  “Handsome of you to tell me.”

  “It would be very unhandsome of me not to.”

  * * * * *

  It took Grace some time to get Jilly and the baby settled again, then she had to instruct the staff that the doors must be locked at all hours of the day. By the time she changed into a walking dress and gathered up last night’s work, the copies of the script, Brand and Everson were both gone. But she did encounter one of Brand’s footmen outside the back door.

  “He means to post a guard round the clock Miss.”

  “He thinks of everything. Good. You can take your meals with my staff.”

  After luncheon Grace donned an old brown walking dress and a cape, then stuffed the scripts into a writing portfolio. They must carefully avoid Wallace, deliver the copies of the scripts to Brand without letting him know where they were going, then get to the theater to help prepare for the dress rehearsal without being discovered by William Marlowe. Oh, why had she prodded him to attend the rehearsals? And how had life gotten so complicated?

  Grace breathed a sigh of relief when Wallace was not at the luncheon table. Maria was and she ate quickly, then Grace gulped a cup of tea, rang for Finch and ordered him to call a hackney.

  “I could have William harness your own team, Miss Montrose.”

  “Where is my brother?”

  “In the front salon.”

  “From which he can spy on both streets. Never mind about the hackney. We will go out the back and get one ourselves.”

  “I shall send a footman with you. A crying shame you are a prisoner in your own home.”

  Maria grinned after Finch left. “It amazes me they have never gotten suspicious of our activities.”

  “The last thing anyone would suspect is that we are prop maker and costumer to the Pantheon Theater. We had better leave before Wallace thinks of a defense and comes looking to argue with me. I like him best when he is pouting.”

  “What are you going to do about your brother?”

  “We’ve already decided, feed him into a stupor and sneak away.”

  “I don’t mean for this visit. I mean for the rest of your life.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Do I have to decide now?”

  “A sure way to eliminate the problem would be to marry Lord Morewood.”

  Grace shrugged. “I’m not sure I want to marry anyone.”

  “You will lose him if you are not careful.”

  “To tell you the truth, Maria, I am not sure Brand intends marriage. Sometimes I think he only wants me as a theater companion.”

  “And the rest of the time?”

  She felt herself shrugging helplessly. “As a lover.”

  “I don’t believe it. A man in Morewood’s position would never make such a suggestion to you. Has he?”

  “No. On the other hand, he usually avoids the mention of marriage as though the word were poison in his mouth,”

  “We’ll see about this.”

  “What do you mean to do?”

  “I don’t know but I shall think of something.”

  Finch came back with Morewood’s footman to conduct them to the next street. Grace threw on her cloak and gathered up the writing case with the scripts in it. Ten minutes later they were at Brand’s house, where she told the hackney to wait and went to the door with Maria to deliver her night’s work.

  “Neither Lord Morewood nor Mister Marlowe is in,” Stoddard said.

  “Not in?” Grace repeated, wondering how to get the scripts to Marlowe without revealing her connection with the theater.

  “Marlowe probably went to the theater,” Maria said.

  “Would you wish to speak to Mr. Briggs?” Stoddard offered.

  “Yes, perhaps we should give the papers into his keeping.”

  “I shal
l fetch him. He’s having breakfast.”

  The figure that marched down the hall a moment later was not Robin but his mother Dahlia.

  “What do you want with my son?”

  Grace passed a hand over her forehead. Not enough sleep and things were already going askew today. They should never have stopped here. “I was just trying to get these scripts to Mr. Marlowe but I think now we shall drop them at the Pantheon ourselves.”

  “You seem to be intensely involved in the theater. Are you the one who has prompted Brand’s fascination with it?”

  “No, Brand has always attended religiously.”

  “Well, I will thank you to keep Robin out of it. All he does is bore on and on about plays and actors. I shall be glad when this spring break is over and he goes back to school.”

  “Sorry to have bothered you. We must be going. Give your mother my regards.”

  “Grace.” Maria clutched her arm. “We can’t go out this way. Wallace is coming up the walk.”

  “Drat,” Grace said, glancing out the side panel of the door. “Stoddard, will you pay off the carriage after you have turned my brother away.” She handed the startled butler a guinea.

  “What are you doing?” Dahlia demanded.

  “Asking to use your back door. Wallace must not find me here.” Something of her desperation got through to the woman.

  “I would as soon he did not either,” Dahlia agreed.

  “Ah, good, you mean to help us,” Grace said without believing it.

  “Help you?” The woman took a startled step back.

  “Yes, never say whether you saw us or not this morning but send Wallace packing. I know you can do it. You’re a dear.” Grace clasped Dahlia’s hand in a speaking way, then dragged Maria toward the back door. They let themselves out, surprised the grooms at the stable and commenced sneaking along the alley until they got to the next block.

  “I hate to mention this,” Maria said, “but the Pantheon is in the opposite direction.”

  “Yes, I know but we must escape first.”

  “Here we are skulking along a back street in the rain, shielding papers and clothes not our own while the cold water seeps into the seams of our cloaks. Are we mad, or what?”

  Suddenly Grace began to laugh. “Yes, we are. But isn’t it exciting.”

  A gig wheeled by and jerked to a stop. She was afraid they had been discovered but Robin hopped out and hailed them. He’d commandeered the hackney they’d just vacated.

  “Quick, get in. I won’t answer for your brother not searching every street for you, though Mother pretty thoroughly routed him.”

  “You are a lifesaver, boy,” Maria said as she got in.

  It was a tight squeeze with the three of them but they had not far to go before the driver left them in the alley by the stage door.

  “Quick, Robin deliver these scripts to Mr. Marlowe or else Mr. Stone,” Grace said. “If it’s Marlowe, act as though you are not staying.”

  “Consider it done. Where will you be?”

  “In the wardrobe room under the stage.”

  Grace thought about Brand as she donned the work apron that kept the stray threads and dust off her dress. Maria handled the last minute alterations and Grace stitched torn hems and loose buttons, sometimes while the person was still in the costume. She kept trying to decide if she would be willing to give up her independence. It was more of a sacrifice for a woman of wealth. The ordering of her affairs, her home, would no longer be her choice. She would have to trust Brand as she had not trusted any man since her father had died.

  Then there was the question of whether he really meant to ask her or not. If he did he was taking his time about it. Perhaps he had the same doubts about marriage that she had. And of course every time they got near the topic she reared like a spooked horse and said something asinine. No wonder he was wary of the subject.

  The floorboards creaked over them as Dame Devlin made her entrance. And what if he only meant to suggest that they become lovers. She objectively considered the advantages of such an arrangement, to have Brand, yet give up none of her freedom. But when she thought about what she really wanted she shook her head. She realized she could not bring children into such a world, or should not. Her cheeks burned with shame when she also realized she might easily end up like one of her unfortunate maids.

  During that long morning she discovered she was a sham. Her lust for danger, for uncertainty extended only to things that did not matter. Where her heart was concerned, she wanted security, a pledge and nothing less would do.

  But Brand deplored her maids’ situation, with no fathers to be models for their sons. He would never risk producing an illegitimate child himself. And where did that leave her? Much as she cringed at the thought of Maria approaching Brand, she did want to know what he was thinking. He had said something once on one of their rides about not having produced the next generation so that must mean he intended to marry some day.

  It was not Brand’s actions or words that made her doubt him but his ulterior motives. In that way her own base suspicions might be tripping her up. It was Wallace who’d taught her to look for the self-interest behind everything a man did. Surely not all men practiced such deceits on women. She would simply have to ask Brand herself the next time he turned amorous.

  “Grace you have just sewn that vest to your own apron.”

  “Sorry. Is the first act over?”

  “Nearly, I think. They will be downstairs with more rips in their clothes and demands for a costume change.”

  “We will pretend to leave as soon as they are outfitted for the second act. I have a notion look for some information in Mr. Stone’s office. Since he is rehearsing the actors this is the perfect time.”

  “But what will I do?” Maria asked.

  “You will be my lookout, of course. Surely you are aware that every clandestine operation needs a lookout.”

  “Really? And what shall I do if Mr. Stone heads back to his office?”

  “Delay him.” Grace looked at her impatiently.

  “How?”

  “Faint or something. You are good at that.”

  Brand and Lake sat halfway back in the theater to judge how the voices carried while Stone was in the pit. Brand leaned back in his chair well satisfied with the way the play had turned out. He did not like Carstairs for Richard but the actor was their leading man. What could he do? And Dame Devlin was nothing like he pictured Margaret but once again they were stuck with Stone’s actors. And he knew he was only discontented because he pictured himself and Grace in those roles. Two people who were coming together in spite of argument and interference.

  Joshua Lake turned to him. He was wearing one of his new suits. “They seem to have Act One perfect. They are going to change and do the dress rehearsal of Act Two. They can study the final line changes while they eat supper.”

  “I see you have beaten the Shakespearean intonation out of them.”

  “Easier now that Twelfth Night has ended.” Lake opened his copy of the scene revisions. “I confess I am amazed how they remember all these lines.”

  “They are like beads on a string. Initially each actor has only to remember his or her own and where the cues are.”

  “I know but if one actor forgets one line the string is broken.”

  “No, eventually they actually know each other’s lines too and seem to be able to cover for each other. They would rather anything than a disaster on stage.”

  Lake smiled. “I have never gotten to properly thank you for all you have done, not just the job and being able to learn from you but a place for my brother. I swear he has improved already. He is not coughing nearly as much.”

  “I want you to be able to focus on writing. I have read your first manuscript and find it promising. I think it should be the Pantheon’s first production next season.”

  “Do you mean it?” The young man was poised on the edge of his seat. “But what name will it be under?”

  “Whate
ver you choose. If you want, you can do your plays under your real name and mine under William Marlowe.”

  “This is exciting. We have plenty of time to polish it, to get the sets designed and the costumes ready. Who does that for Stone?”

  “I don’t know. He has always been very cagey about it. At first I thought it was him but he can’t possibly be that artistic. We’ll make him tell us though.” Brand’s mind went to the watercolors in Grace’s library. If she had purchased the set designs, then the artist was one of great merit and Grace must be intoxicated with the theater. Perhaps she could tell him who the artist was. He was still musing on the paintings when the footman in the second act caught his attention. Even with the fake moustache he would have known his nephew anywhere. Now, how the devil had the boy insinuated himself into the theater?

  Joshua sat forward and squinted at the actor. “Isn’t that your nephew?”

  “Yes.” Brand heard the tired resignation in his own voice.

  “Did you know?”

  “No but if we both recognized him so easily then everyone will.”

  The young man looked to him and smiled sheepishly. “It will be hard to chide him for his aspirations since you support the theater so ardently.”

  “Though I leap to extricate Robin from situations I perceive as physically dangerous I’m inclined to let him stew in his own juices this time.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Brand had just come back from The Pantheon where chaos reigned backstage. Stoddard took his damp overcoat and Brand started up the stairs. Chaos was normal for the day before an opening night and it no longer worried him, especially with Marlowe-Lake helping out. The actors were all wandering around on their own reciting their lines such that it sounded like an insane asylum. Two of them were practicing the sword fight on stage. There was nothing more he could do about anything except trust that tomorrow evening would go as planned and Grace would be able to get away from her brother.

  He was not writing, not until the play was launched. Not writing always set his teeth on edge. Perhaps that poem he had started. He heard a noise from the library but knew it could not be Joshua Lake for he had left him fussing with the costumes at the theater.