The Notorious Mr. Hurst

by Louise Allen

  One of the footmen had come to open the door. Maude inclined her head to Eden with a smile and walked with perfect poise across the pavement, up the steps and into the hall. ‘Thank you, James. You may lock up now. His lordship will be very late and he has his keys.’

  She kept her back straight all the way up the stairs, along the landing and into her room, even though there was no one to see her. Anna came in answer to the bell and chatted cheerfully as she unlaced Maude’s gown, put away her jewels, unpinned and brushed her hair, unperturbed by her mistress’s silence.

  When she had gone Maude sat up in bed and watched the dying fire and contemplated, for the first time in her life, a problem she did not know how to solve.

  Chapter Eleven

  Maude was up there, in her box, although it was scarcely half past eight. He could sense her as clearly as if the scent of gardenias had wafted down to the bare stage and driven away the stink of gas, greasepaint and dust. Eden took the list of hopefuls for the audition from the stage manager and scanned it, although he already had it clear in his mind.

  ‘Who have you got to play opposite them?’

  ‘Tom Gates.’ Howard, the stage manager, ran his hands through his grizzled brown curls and frowned at the stage. ‘What props do you want, Guv’nor?’

  ‘Table, chair. Throw a shawl over the chair, put something on the table—give them something to use.’ He could feel himself turning to look up at the box and swivelled back, despising himself. He had dealt with his frustration, but he had not been able to force himself to think of just any woman. Instead, his mind had been filled with the image of Maude, her supple body, her soft, warm mouth, and he had groaned aloud, the sweat standing out on his brow. ‘Here.’ He thumbed through the pages of the play in his hand. ‘Give them all this scene.’

  ‘Right you are, Guv’nor Howard turned back to take the pages. ‘Her ladyship’s here.’ The man lowered his voice and jerked his head towards the tier of boxes up on the right. ‘Been here since eight. Said not to disturb you.’ Eden allowed himself a grunt of acknowledgment. ‘I sent Millie up with some coffee and sweet rolls.’

  ‘Good.’ At least he wasn’t fantasising, Maude really was up there. Perhaps there was nothing wrong with him at all, except lust, and slender brunettes with heart-shaped faces and haughty little noses were what it took to reduce him to this state of distraction.

  His doctor had patiently examined him, peered into his eyes, listened to his heart, performed whatever mysteries medics did over a urine sample and pronounced him as fit as a racehorse. The man had offered to bleed him should the strange dizzy spells recur, advised laying off the port and drinking more Burgundy instead and recommended a few early nights. ‘Not that there’s a damn thing wrong with you, Hurst,’ he’d added. ‘Still, I expect you want some advice for your money.’

  Eden stalked off to straddle a chair set stage right, his back to Maude’s box, without acknowledging that he was aware she was there. It was ungracious, he knew. He dumped the papers on the small table set beside it, pulled a pencil out of his pocket and tried to make his mind go blank. And failed.

  And it wasn’t just the physical attraction, it was the way she looked into his eyes as though she wanted to touch his soul and asked him questions and he found he was betraying his innermost thoughts, his weaknesses, the sore areas he tried to ignore.

  Try common sense…The more you avoid thinking about her, the more obsessed you will become. There are two options—make love to her or get used to her. The first was patently impossible, which left the second.

  Eden stood up, moved centre stage and shaded his eyes to look up at the boxes. ‘Lady Maude?’

  ‘Mr Hurst.’ He could see her easily now. Maude had taken off her bonnet and she was resting her elbows on the velvet padded rim of the box, a coffee cup cradled in her hands. ‘Thank you for my breakfast.’ She could pitch her voice to reach him without shouting, he realised, professionally impressed at the clarity.

  He should, of course, acknowledge that it had been Howard’s idea to send up the refreshments. ‘My pleasure.’ He wrestled with the conscience that he had assured her he did not possess. ‘But you must thank Mr Howard, our stage manager, for that.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Howard,’ she called, waving, and the man produced a rare smile and raised a hand in acknowledgment. Now she is going to charm the entire company, Eden thought, resigned to hearing Maude’s praises sung by all and sundry.

  ‘Right.’ He looked at his pocket watch before laying it beside the script. ‘Let’s get on with this.’

  Maude bit the end of her pencil and concentrated. Mr Howard had given her a list of the hopeful ingénues and she was making careful notes against each. Not very clear…Moves awkwardly…Over-dramatic…Too old…Moves beautifully, but couldn’t hear her…

  When Eden stood up and announced a break for luncheon, she had come to the conclusion that there were only three so far who seemed right. ‘Mr Hurst!’

  Eden turned, looking up, and she was almost tempted to launch into the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. She repressed the urge; her acting would reduce the audience to fits of laughter. ‘Would you care to take luncheon up here?’

  She had managed, with some success during the day at least, not to think too much about those moments in Eden’s arms that night. Now he seemed to hesitate and she felt her poise slipping.

  ‘Thank you, but, no, Lady Maude. Perhaps you would join Howard, Gates and me down here?’ He must have thought her silence meant she was doubtful, for he added, ‘With your maid, of course.’

  ‘Thank you, we will be right down.’ It was not doubt, Maude thought, managing to keep the smile off her face with difficulty, it was delight. For if he was inviting her to join them, then it meant he was prepared to listen to her ideas.

  With Anna at her heels she made her way on to the stage to find hands were transforming the make-shift set into a dining room and putting chairs around the table. Millie bustled on with a tray and began to lay out plates of cold meat, a raised pie, bread and cheese.

  ‘Have you ever been on stage before?’ Eden asked her as she stopped, centre front of the fore-stage, and looked out over the ranks of seats.

  ‘Only in small private theatres in country houses. This is breathtaking. It feels so much bigger than it looks from the box.’ She glanced at him and saw he was standing, studying the view from the stage with the same look on his face as she sometimes saw on her father’s countenance when he came home to Knight’s Fee, their Hampshire estate. This was not just Eden’s work, not just a tool of his trade—this theatre belonged to him in a way that went far beyond deeds of ownership. What she could see was passion and possession and pride.

  ‘You have good projection and pitch,’ he remarked, turning back to the table and taking the jug of ale from Millie. ‘Are you sure you cannot act? Think what the appearance of Lady Maude Templeton on the stage would do for the box office.’

  ‘Empty it,’ she said, laughing, and took the chair he held for her. Anna, looking alarmed, was seated next to Tom Gates and Howard took the foot of the table.

  ‘Help yourselves.’ Eden waved at the spread before flattening his notes next to his plate and pouring ale. ‘Can you drink this, Lady Maude?’

  ‘I expect so,’ she said, cutting the pie and serving it out. ‘It is thirsty work, listening.’

  ‘Right, then. The first one.’

  It took about three minutes for the men to forget who she was and to absorb her into the discussion. Elbows appeared on the table, notes were scribbled with one hand while the other waved a slice of bread to make a point, slices of meat and cheese were heaped on her plate without ceremony and Gates clinked his mug against hers. ‘Cheers.’

  Anna sat, quiet as a mouse, eating steadily, while Maude listened. So far, everyone was agreeing with her impressions, although their analysis of faults and talents were far more detailed and technical than her own.

  ‘Number ten,’ Eden said, spearing an apple
with his knife. ‘No projection. No presence.’ The others nodded. Maude looked at her notes.

  ‘I don’t agree.’

  The three men reacted as though the loaf of bread had addressed them, she thought, amused. ‘I beg your pardon, Lady Maude.’ Howard stopped gaping at her. ‘She wasn’t good technically.’

  ‘She looked charming, she is graceful and she reacted well to Mr Gates’s lead,’ Maude stated. ‘Can’t you teach her to project her voice better?’

  ‘She should know how,’ Eden said.

  ‘But she’s young, she cannot have much experience. Won’t you call her back?’

  Gates looked at Howard. Howard looked at Eden. Eden poured more ale. Maude could almost hear their thoughts. His theatre, his company, his decision—and if he let her override him, would it diminish his authority?

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything about the others?’ he asked.

  ‘Because I agreed with you about them.’

  ‘Ah. Well, Lady Maude, you are our expert in the audience. Howard, put number ten down to call back.’ Face studiously blank, the stage manager made a note. ‘Number eleven?’

  By mid-afternoon Anna had fallen asleep on the padded bench and was snoring softly, but Maude was still engrossed. She had three more possibles on her list and was finding her judgements easier now she had heard the men’s opinions over luncheon. Finally, at half past five, Eden called a halt and she went back down to the stage, leaving Anna sound asleep in the box.

  ‘Well,’ Eden said. ‘Show me your lists. Lady Maude, gentlemen.’ He spread them out on the table side by side. ‘It would appear we are unanimous. There’s six for you to call back tomorrow, Howard.’

  ‘You mean I got them right?’ Delighted, Maude bent over the table, tracing the notes with her finger.

  ‘I’m impressed.’ Eden was standing close beside her, the others had walked off; in the distance she could hear Howard calling the names of the afternoon’s selection. ‘Are you tired?’

  ‘No,’ Maude said, then found she could not stifle a most unladylike yawn. ‘But I do have a thick head. All that concentrating, I suppose.’

  ‘And no fresh air. These gas lights are all very well, but it is not a good atmosphere to be in all day.’

  ‘We could go for a walk,’ Maude suggested, watching as Eden stretched like a big cat, all supple muscle and long limbs.

  ‘It will be dark. This is February, remember.’ He stood, turning his head as if to ease his neck, then sat to gather up the papers.

  ‘Is your neck stiff?’ she asked as he rotated his shoulders. His attention was on the sheets in his hand; she doubted he was even aware that he was doing it.

  ‘My neck? Yes, a little. I am usually on my feet more.’

  ‘Let me.’ Maude moved behind him, put her hands on his shoulders and dug her thumbs into the hard muscle. ‘I do this for Papa when he’s been in the House all day.’ Under her hands Eden’s shoulders stiffened. ‘Am I hurting you?’

  ‘No.’ She wasn’t sure if she believed him; his voice sounded more than a little constrained. But it was such a delight to find a perfectly innocuous excuse to touch him. No one could object to having their shoulders massaged, surely?

  ‘Thank you. That is much better.’ He moved restlessly and she lifted her hands away. ‘I will call your carriage.’

  ‘I love the streets after dark. Walk me home, Eden?’

  Eden had been turned away from her, now he swung round. ‘It is too far.’

  ‘To Mount Street? Half an hour, I should think. But I will send Anna home in the carriage, she is tired.’

  ‘You cannot walk through the streets with a man and no chaperon,’ Eden said firmly.

  ‘I have a veil on my bonnet and they are all perfectly respectable streets.’ Maude contemplated him, wondering what argument would work. ‘I have a headache. It will be much better for me to cure it with fresh air and exercise than having to dose myself with something when I get home.’

  ‘Is it a thick veil?’ Eden asked. She could almost hear the sigh.

  ‘Very,’ Maude assured him. ‘Will you ask Mr Howard to send Anna home in the carriage when she wakes up?’

  ‘Yes.’ Eden looked resigned more than cheerful at the thought of the walk. ‘Come along, then.’

  ‘I will meet you in the front lobby,’ Maude said. ‘It is after four, so I cannot go back stage, remember?’

  ‘I assume your father was attempting to safeguard your reputation when he imposed that condition.’ Eden regarded her with a jaundiced eye. ‘No doubt it never occurred to the poor man that you might want to take to the streets with me, unchaperoned?’ As he strode off stage without waiting for her answer, it appeared to be a rhetorical question.

  The evening was cold but dry; the air, even full of the smell of horse manure and smoke, was refreshing after the close atmosphere inside. Maude slipped her hand through the crook of Eden’s left arm and breathed deeply as they made their way along Long Acre towards Leicester Square.

  The streets were crowded, bustling and, in this part of town, thoroughly vulgar. ‘I love this,’ she confided. ‘Look at how much life there is going on here.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Eden sounded less enchanted by the sight of barrow boys, ladies of dubious virtue on street corners and groups of working men noisily making their way to the nearest tavern. ‘And a couple of streets further north and we’re into the St Giles rookery, so hold on to me and don’t go wandering off or you’ll experience more life than you’ve ever dreamt of.’

  ‘As if I would,’ Maude said demurely. ‘Oh, look, Eden, hot chestnuts. May I have some?’

  Eden bought a cone of old newspaper, filled with blackened, fragrant nuts and began to peel them as they walked, hampered a little by Maude on his arm, although he gave her his gloves to hold. She laughed at his muttered comments as he struggled. ‘You’d curse if it were your fingers being burned,’ he grumbled at her when he finally freed the hot kernel. ‘I suppose you want the first one too, don’t you?’

  ‘It would be the gentlemanly thing to offer it to me,’ Maude observed, amused by the glimpse of Eden fumbling with the nut like any schoolboy. ‘And don’t tell me you aren’t one,’ she added as he opened his mouth. ‘But I am definitely a lady, so I think you deserve the first fruit of your labours.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He popped it into his mouth, then mumbled, ‘I’dths too hot!’

  ‘I know,’ she said, laughing. ‘Why do you think I let you have the first one?’

  He grinned back at her teasing and began to extract another. ‘Here, open your mouth, it will mark your gloves otherwise.’

  Eating in the street, let alone having a man popping food into her mouth, was thoroughly unladylike behaviour, Maude knew, lifting the edge of her veil just enough for Eden to deliver the chestnut between her parted lips. But as they walked down Cranburn Street into Leicester Square the people they were passing weren’t ladies and gentlemen, but people with far fewer inhibitions about enjoying themselves, and their chestnuts were not the only things being consumed. Regaining proper speech again, Eden tossed the rest of the parcel to an urchin. ‘Here, catch.’

  ‘Oh, look, Stagg and Mantle’s are still open,’ Maude said, veering sharply off to the left as soon as they got into the square, only to be brought up short by Eden digging in his heels.

  ‘Over my dead body are you dragging me into a linen draper’s,’ he stated, with more firmness than gallantry. ‘And,’ he added as Maude studied his face for any signs of yielding, ‘if you so much as flutter an eyelash at me, I will call a cab and that’s the end of our walk.’

  ‘All right.’ She tucked her hand more firmly into the crook of his elbow. ‘It is your turn anyway.’

  ‘For what? Mind that coal cart!’

  ‘For a treat.’ Maude looked up at his austere face. ‘I had the chestnuts, now it is your turn.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware that walks involved treats.’ Eden sounded amused—or was he simply bemused?

  ‘
My governess started it, and then my girlfriends picked it up and it has become a tradition. So—your turn to choose.’

  ‘I can’t think of anything I want. Nothing, that is, that it is reasonable to want on a crowded street,’ he added as they walked down Coventry Street towards the bustle of Piccadilly.

  ‘Hatchard’s?’ Maude enquired hopefully. Once she had lured him into a bookshop, there was the prospect of browsing together companionably, finding out what kind of books he liked, edging him towards the poetry…

  ‘I have far too much reading waiting for me, without adding any more. Aren’t you tired yet?’

  ‘Certainly not, this is a mere stroll. At home in Hampshire I walk miles. Oh my, look at that quiz of a hat.’

  ‘It probably cost twenty guineas. The family estate in Hampshire, no doubt?’

  ‘Yes, Knight’s Fee. I love it. So does Papa—bone deep. You know, this afternoon, when I saw you looking out from the stage at the theatre, you had just the sort of expression he does when he looks out at the land.’

  ‘Bone-deep love? Yes, I suppose that is what it is. The first time I stepped into a theatre I was fourteen years old and the magic got hold of me and has never let me go. I had never possessed anything before that was my own creation. The theatre let me create and then I was able to buy one, and another, to put on plays. But none of them were right—but I knew I would know when I found it. And in the Unicorn, I have.’

  She held her breath, willing him to go on, to let her see more, to understand more. But he had caught himself up, she could sense it.

  ‘And you, Maude—you couldn’t live without your country estate and your town house, your balls and your charities, could you?’

  ‘I could if I still had my friends and I could still visit Knight’s Fee. Women have to get used to the knowledge they must leave their childhood home, at least, unless we give up all idea of marriage.’ It made her slightly breathless, actually speaking of marriage to Eden.

  ‘And you haven’t given up, despite your advanced years?’ He sounded serious, despite his joke about her age.