Two Hearts

by Barbara Miller

  “I can see by your hesitation, she has.”

  “It is my own fault. I was so tired the night of the opening I sat on the stairs to wait for Brand to take us home. He and Dahlia were talking. I should not have listened.” Grace felt tears welling up and she dashed them away with her hand, not even having a handkerchief in her possession. That’s how she felt, stripped and impoverished all because of her own foolishness.

  “And what did she say?” Lady Morewood asked gently, reaching across to place her own handkerchief in Grace’s hand.

  “Nothing unkind. She asked him why he was leading me on when he knew he wasn’t going to marry me. He did not gainsay her. He simply said that was his business.”

  There was dead silence for a moment.

  “Go on.”

  “That was it. I ran down the stairs and waited in the hall.”

  “My dear girl, after all the trouble he has had with his sister do you imagine Brand would ever tell her the truth or let her know what he was planning or thinking?”

  Grace stopped sniffing. “He lied to her?”

  “No, he simply does not tell her the whole truth. He plays a part for her, to keep her from hurting him.”

  “Brand said some such thing himself, that he always felt he was playing a role for people, except not for you and not for me. He said he was his real self then.” Grace glanced out the window and realized they were making a sedate circuit of Hyde Park. “What a fool I’ve been, flirting with Lake that night. I wanted to punish Brand for not telling me he had written the plays.”

  “Or make him jealous?” the old woman asked, tilting her head archly.

  Grace took a shuddering breath. “Yes, that was part of it. But he didn’t seem to care what I did that night. Does that not prove that he doesn’t love me?”

  Lady Morewood leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “Don’t you see? You forced him to play a part that night? The last thing Brand will let anyone know is how badly they have wounded him.”

  “I knew that about him. I feel like such a fool. He will never forgive me.”

  “Never is a long time. You might speak to him.”

  “Where is he?”

  “At the theater. I assume he will come home for dinner but I don’t know for sure. Are you going tonight?”

  “Yes, yes, I think I shall. Perhaps it’s time I asked him what his intentions are.”

  “I take it you have changed your mind about marriage.”

  “Yes, I love Brand, even if he does not return that love. I may as well confront him. Anything would be better than this uncertainty.”

  “He cannot sleep or eat. He has never been like this before. I should say he is sick with love for you.”

  “Then, I will see him tonight and have it out. It’s stupid to be in so much anguish, almost like the characters in one of his plays. Without realizing it we have made the same mistakes. We have not said what was in our minds or our hearts.”

  “Good, now I can stop worrying, for I know what is in Brand’s heart and he loves you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  As Brand’s household sat down to dinner that night, he sent both Robin and Lake a warning look. Lake had shown up in the middle of the morning’s chaos to help the actors rehearse and Brand had put him in charge of keeping down their panic while he went to the bank to get their wages, both for last night and the arrears Stone owed them. By his calculation over a thousand pounds had been stolen last night but that wasn’t what concerned Brand the most.

  Robin ate in silence, ignoring better than Brand, Dahlia’s empty chatter. Lady Morewood tried several times to introduce the subject of the play but got only Joshua Lake to reply.

  Finally Lake asked Brand, “Do you go to the performance tonight?”

  Brand looked up. “Yes, I think I had better.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Dahlia asked.

  “You may as well know.” Brand turned to her and his mother. “There’s been some trouble at the theater. The magistrate suspects Stone has been killed. If the Pantheon is to continue I think it best to attend and lend my support.”

  “A murder?” Dahlia asked with a squeak. “I think it behooves you to keep clear of the place.”

  Lady Morewood looked at her son. “If Two Hearts is to be a success Brand must attend. It would be ruinous for the career of Mr. Marlowe to lose his most avid supporter now.”

  Brand saw his mother nod to Lake and watched him blush but he didn’t think that was what she really meant. She could be a puzzle, always making him master the hardest lessons on his own. He had learned that there was always more to what she said than mere words. She was trying to warn him about something.

  When the ladies had risen and left the table Brand filled his glass with brandy and passed the decanter.

  “Why didn’t you send for me?” Thomas asked. “I could have examined the body and perhaps helped in the investigation.”

  “There wasn’t a body,” Robin said excitedly. “Just blood, gallons of it.”

  “Gallons?” Thomas’ voice dripped skepticism as he and Gavin traded looks. “How big a man was Stone?”

  “Above average,” Brand said. “The magistrate thought the thieves had taken the body and chucked it in the Thames but I can’t see why.”

  “No,” Lake said. “That would not hide the crime. I can see them torturing him until he revealed the hiding place of the money. But why then kill him once they got it?”

  “To keep him revealing who it was,” Robin suggested. “Perhaps even some of the actors.”

  “But why remove the body?” Gavin mused. “That would have been sure to have slowed them down.”

  “Is it possible more than one person was wounded?” Thomas asked. “That it was more than one person’s blood?”

  “Anything is possible. I notice you are all assuming this was the work of more than one thief,” Brand said.

  “Stands to reason,” Robin replied. “One man might have overcome Stone but it would have taken a giant to have carried him out of there alone.”

  “And the noise,” Joshua said. “Why did no one hear such mayhem and awake with all those stairs creaking?”

  “Why indeed?” Brand said. “I have my own theory about the crime and it does not agree with the magistrate’s.”

  “I could tell he set your back up,” Robin said as he refilled his brandy glass. “Asking where you had been the previous night.”

  “As I recall, he asked you that same question. If Carstairs had not vouched for you, you might have been under suspicion. So I have hired a runner to look into the matter.”

  “That’s where you were this afternoon,” Robin said.

  “Yes and I think I will leave for the theater as soon as possible to help reassure the actors. I would not want any of them to get nervous or drunk and flub their lines.”

  Robin pursed his lips, nodded and shoved the brandy aside.

  Thomas stood up. “If you don’t mind, I think I shall come too. I’d like to take a look at the crime scene.”

  “I was hoping you would,” Brand said. “Why don’t you come too, Gavin? There’ll be so much whispering in the audience no one will notice a cough or two.”

  “I too am intrigued by this crime you describe.”

  Joshua glanced at his brother. “Would it bother you to look upon such a scene?”

  Gavin gave a crack of laughter. “I doubt it will faze me as much as a city magistrate. When you are used to gore you are able to think more clearly about what might have happened.”

  * * * * *

  Grace and Maria had not resorted to any subterfuge about where they were going and Wallace had made no move to detain her or suggestion that he accompany them. He had other worries—a vengeful wife about to descend on him. They had left him with his port.

  She was sorry now that they had come to the theater tonight for the news of Stone’s death had been a shock even though it had been gently delivered by the old porter in the anteroom. Grace had rat
her liked the energetic man with the gutter accent. He was good at what he did and the theater would feel the loss of him. Perhaps Brand could step in and help William Marlowe get his play produced as well as his own plays. She was not clear on Stone’s position. He rented the Pantheon and held the license. Was that a position Brand could or would be willing to fill? In the meantime someone must pay the actors. She would have a word with the clerk after the performance.

  “Brand’s box is still empty,” Maria said. “I expected to see him here again.”

  “I did too.”

  “I saw William Marlowe talking to the clerk,” Maria whispered. “So at least he is watching over the production.”

  “Perhaps Brand asked him to make sure the play went on in spite of the tragedy,” she said, surprised that she could talk when she felt so numb. She had Lady Morewood’s assurance that Brand would never betray or mislead her but Grace could not get his words out of her mind. Even if this was not the end of her relationship with Brand it might be the end of her participation in the plays. The new manager, if Brand or even Marlowe, would never let her have a hand in the costumes the way Stone had, would never let her design the scenery or paint it. The theater was in her blood and her only possible outlet had been taken away. From now on she would be no more than an observer, like she had been before. Life would go floating by and she would have no part in it. She gripped her fan so tightly one of the sticks broke. What a bother. She had just had it repaired.

  “Are you all right? Have you hurt your hand?”

  “No, I am fine.”

  “Look, there is his sister coming into his box now.”

  Grace looked across at Dahlia and discovered a triumphant look on her face. It could mean only one thing. Brand was not going to marry her and Dahlia knew that. Grace stared at her without expression for a moment, feeling the defeat utterly. Not just losing Brand but losing her one creative outlet. Then something fluttered in her heart. Perhaps only anger but it made her desperate to show some face other than defeat.

  She managed a brilliant and glittering smile, making any disinterested party think that she was delighted to be acknowledged by Mrs. Dahlia Briggs. Dahlia looked around for the source of Grace’s smile and seeing none, looked puzzled.

  “There’ll be a new manager,” Maria said. “Perhaps one not so easy to help as Mr. Stone.

  Grace looked at her. “I was thinking the same thing myself. But the actors will tell him we stand in place of the costumer and set designer. Would any man pay for what he can command for free? He will be glad for our help. You’ll see.” How odd that simply smiling and trying to cheer Maria had made her take a more optimistic view of their situation.

  The first act went off without a hitch though the actors did seem nervous. Why not, with the murder investigation hanging over them? By now Grace had all the lines memorized. She would have delivered them differently from Dame Devlin. She would have been better.

  When the intermission had just begun one of the prop boys brought a note from Dame Devlin saying her side seam had split and no one could stitch it except her dear Maria.

  “I shall go.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Grace said.

  “Do you think you should?”

  “I want to talk to Robin if I can find him. Besides, you know what will happen if I remain in my box alone.”

  * * * * *

  Brand looked out the side wing at the audience. If anything the house was even fuller than on opening night. He finally had the courage to glance toward Grace’s box and it was empty. He didn’t know if he was surprised or not. He only knew that it hurt to have her shun him.

  He also knew that she had not seen or communicated with Lake that day either. One of her servants had come with a note but it had been for his mother. He didn’t have time to think about that now. He wasn’t sure what exactly Stone usually did backstage but he was there to do it. Everything from lending an actor his neckcloth to helping one of the secondary characters fix the catch on her slipper though he rather thought she could have done it herself. The first act had gone well perhaps even better than the night before since Dame Devlin kept tearing up over Stone’s death at just the right moments.

  He heard a scuffle and an outraged exclamation that he thought sounded like Grace, then a heavy thump. He rounded the curtain to find Carstairs on the floor unconscious.

  “What the devil?” he asked Grace. “Did you knock him out?”

  “No, it was Everson,” Grace answered as she bent to check the actor’s pulse. “He was accosting me and Carstairs intervened.”

  “Is he mad?” Brand knelt beside her and placed his folded coat under the actor’s head.

  “Desperate at least. He said his chance for an income was gone and he must have money. He meant to abduct me.”

  “What?” Brand turned to Grace and hugged her to him as they knelt on the stage. “I should have been protecting you. But how could he expect to get away with this?”

  “If he had been able to drag me to the back door, he very well might have.”

  “Where is Everson now?” Brand demanded.

  “He climbed to the catwalk.”

  “I’ll kill him,” Brand said calmly as he rose and searched the darkness above.

  “But what about the second act? We have no Richard.” Grace was busy fanning Carstairs who moaned.

  “You’re right. I’ll deal with Everson later. I know Carstairs’ lines. Help me get this coat off him.”

  “But Brand, what will your mother say?”

  Robin popped around the set and said. “They can’t get Dame Devlin into that dress, she ate too much. I say do you need any help, Uncle?”

  “Yes,” Brand said as they gently divested the actor of his greatcoat and Grace laid Carstairs’ head on Brand’s rolled up garment. “Just stay with Grace. If Everson shows his face again screech like a banshee.”

  “Everson? I never liked him.”

  “What are we going to do now?” Grace asked.

  “You keep saying we,” Brand noted as he pulled on the unconscious man’s coat.

  “Well, I have a stake in this too.”

  “Yes, I was forgetting, you bought this coat for him.”

  Grace knelt to help Robin unbuckle the sword belt which Brand then strapped on. “How did you know that?”

  “One of the secondary characters has a penchant for gossip. The sets as well, I hear. My compliments on your talent.” He inspected his makeshift costume and adjusted the weapon.

  “And mine on yours, William Marlowe.”

  “He arched an eyebrow at her. “Who told you?”

  “No one. I figured it out for myself.” She looked up at him. “With the hat they may not even notice the switch except for your voice.”

  “We shall give out that the understudy played the second act.”

  “If you are recognized won’t that cause a scandal?” She stood up to smooth the fabric over his shoulders. He enjoyed the feel of her hands on him. She made him feel like a hero even though he was only a writer.

  “Not as much a scandal as if they found out about me.”

  “What have you done to him?” Dame Devlin shrieked dramatically as she tottered to Carstairs’ side. She was in her negligee and Maria followed with the dress.

  Lake appeared and squeaked a helpless, “What do we do now?”

  “Robin and Lake,” Brand commanded, “see if you can carry him backstage. And send one of the hands for Thomas. He should be in my box.”

  “What about her,” Robin asked, just as Dame Devlin went into a dead faint and collapsed on the floor.

  “The same,” Brand said briefly, shaking his head.

  Maria glanced at the garment in her arms. “We couldn’t get her into the dress anyway.”

  “I shall wear it,” Grace said, beginning to unbutton hers at the back of the neck. “Get the wig off her.”

  “Well,” Maria huffed. “At least go to the dressing room or between the curtains.”
/>   “There’s no time,” Grace said. “Help me.”

  “Are you mad, Grace?” Brand asked as he unbuttoned the back of his heroine’s dress.

  “No less than you, Marlowe.” She let the silk slither to the floor and Maria quickly threw the costume over her head.

  “How long have you known?” Brand murmured into her ear. Even through his voice was always low and commanding, when he spoke softly to her it was also seductive.

  “Since last night. Your mother knows too.”

  “What gave me away?”

  “‘Don’t look at me like that’.”

  “I can’t help looking at you with avarice in my eyes. You’re beautiful.”

  “No, Brand. Pay attention.” Grace’s head emerged from the folds of the dress and Maria began to button it. “Richard says ‘Don’t look at me like that’ no less than three time and he says it just the way you do.”

  “Can I raise the curtain now?” the prop boy asked.

  “No!” Brand shouted. “Give us a few more minutes. That was it?”

  “And the obvious influence of both Shakespeare and Marlowe on your work. Maria, the wig!”

  “Let me at her, sir. If she’s going to ruin herself, she will do it in style. Here is the book and the shawl. You are ready. I just hope you can remember the lines.”

  “That is the least of my worries,” Grace said as she walked onto the set and took her place on the stone bench for her scene. The frightened girl playing the maid followed her out.

  Brand stood in the wings admiring her all through her interview with her maid and the entrance of Robin. He thought he saw some movement in the audience but it was hard to tell. He did see Dahlia leave his box and was waiting to warn Robin when he came offstage.

  “That was your last line. Be aware that your mother is on her way.”

  “Enough said. Thanks, Uncle Brand.”

  When it was time for his entrance he was not nervous in the slightest. Grace knew he wrote the plays and she did not hate him. She was here with him on the stage, wasn’t she? In fact, she may have known he was the playwright the whole evening she was flirting with Lake. The young man would be relieved to discover he was not the object of her affections. And Brand was relieved that she had no apparent feelings for Everson. Perhaps she had been caught up in sympathy for the wounded soldier but that had not fogged her reason.