by Karen Joyce
“Please mother, Lincoln has not been made aware of my cousin’s situation,” said Lady Madeline in his defence.
“Of course,” said Duchess Montague, “How could he possibly know. Though I am surprised at his inquiry of her. ”
“Her situation, Lady Madeline?” Lincoln asked.
“Excuse me, if I may interject, Lincoln. This Lady Delphinia has created quite a disturbance and it appears that it has upset our small party. Perhaps, it would be best to discuss this at a more opportune time.”
“Yes, of course. You are quite correct, Percival. Please, accept my apologies for the intrusion.” Lincoln took a seat behind Duchess Montague and studied his pamphlet but he couldn’t comprehend the words before him for his heart was falling and his mind was reeling. Where was she? What did they mean by her situation? How long would he have to wait before he could see her again? Was that even possible? Had he made a terrible mistake or was it possible that he knew the truth already but was too afraid to acknowledge that truth within himself? He no longer understood anything anymore and it was torture, plain and simple and the weight of his falling heart echoed the fall of the Roman Empire. His weeping silence the sound of a thousand men’s cries.
“I’m surprised we’ve not had the opportunity to meet before,” said Percival.
“Is your family well known in England?” responded Duchess Montague.
“Not exactly, but we are both long-suffering acquaintances of Lincoln.”
“If that’s how you view your friendships, young man, then I believe we have been quite fortunate in not having crossed paths before.”
“Shouldn’t I be congratulated for continuing our acquaintance even though his friendship has been such a burden upon me?”
“I cannot imagine Lincoln ever being regarded in such a light. Perhaps it is you, Mr Fox that is the burden,” said Lady Madeline, intrigued by him.
“I suppose you are referring to his charitable nature, but they do say misery loves company.”
“Are you a miserable man, Mr Fox?” asked Lady Madeline.
“Not anymore,” he replied, staring at her with an intensity of eye.
Upon hearing Percival’s reply, Lincoln raised his head and looked at his friend. Though he was being playful, he was deep down a practical man. More practical than he and himself always too idealistic than his friend. The perfect ingredients that rounded out their friendship well, and it was this return to the present and those in his company that he was reminded of another purpose for this occasion. The meeting of Percival and Lady Madeline. Turning to is friend, he reached out and lightly tapped him on the shoulder. Percival looked up from his pamphlet and at his shoulder before turning his eye to Lincoln.
“What are you playing at, Lincoln?” Percival asked, a smile across his face. Lincoln lifted a finger to his mouth, signalling his silence and leant forward to whisper in his ear.
“Are you so visually challenged that you cannot see yonder in the box seat across the way?” Percival strained his eyes to make out the shadowy figures across the auditorium, but without his glasses for his short-sightedness was only able to make out the blurring and blending colours of vague shapes.
“Excuse me, Lady Madeline,” said Lincoln. Lady Madeline turned to Lincoln and he noticed a change in her. She had become less amiable, more reserved and he understood the language of her manner.
“Yes, Lincoln?”
“I’m afraid we are without binoculars this evening. If you don’t mind, perhaps you could allow Percival to view the theatre for a moment?”
“Of course, Mr Fox,” she said, as she lifted the binoculars off her lap.
“Please, Lady Madeline, I do not wish to be an imposition,” said Percival, as he rose from his seat and walked over to her. “May I?” he asked, looking at the vacant seat beside her. “Please,” said Lady Madeline, handing the binoculars to him. Struck by her beauty, Percival was again caught off guard and fumbled to take them from her hand, causing Lady Madeline to blush at his clumsiness that was out of character.
“Thank-you,” he said, when he had finally managed to take them from her. Lincoln watched him now as he viewed the balcony on the other side of the theatre.
“Well, how do you like that?”
“What is it, Mr Fox?” Lady Madeline asked, looking across the balcony. Though she was able to make out the figures with some clarity, she couldn’t make out the defining lines of their features.
“Lady Madeline,” said Percival, moving his head closer for her to look through the binoculars, “you must see for yourself.”
“The young Queen herself and Prince Albert,” she said, with surprise and delight. “Mother,” she said, turning to her right, “you will simply not believe it. You must look at once?”
“Who is it dear?” asked Duchess Montague, lifting her binoculars to her eyes, scanning the faces opposing her across the large gulf separating them.
“Imagine Victoria and Albert sitting across the balcony from us, and yet they haven’t the time to respond to my invitations for supper. Put the binoculars down dear. The performance is on the stage, not in the box seats of the theatre.”
“Duchess Montague, are you familiar with the composer of tonight’s opera, Giacomo Meyerbeer?” Lincoln asked.
“Why yes, it just so happens I was present at the London premiere of his opera, Il Crociato in Egitto some twenty years or more at this very same theatre.”
“Ah, yes, The Crusader in Egypt. What a treat that would have been and you must have been just a child.”
“Don’t you try and flatter me, Lincoln. An old woman like myself is immune to the charms of young men. Even one as charming as yourself,” she responded, blushing a little.
“Wasn’t it the last opera to ever feature a castrato?”
“You are quite correct, dear,” she said, “the part was performed by the marvellous Giovanni Battista Velluti.”
“I hear tell the longevity of his career was in part due to the treatment he received for a fever he was stricken with as a young boy,” interjected Percival.
“Whatever do you mean?” asked Lady Madeline.
“Castration,” said Percival with a cheeky grin.
“Well I never,” said Duchess Montague visibly shocked by this revelation.
“Mr Fox, what a ghastly thing to say,” exclaimed Lady Madeline, as she lightly tapped him on the arm with her pamphlet.
“Don’t be too hard on my dear friend. It is his function as a university professor to educate his students and peers, especially when it comes to subjects he’s very familiar with,” explained Lincoln, as he winked at Percival. “Oftentimes, he forgets that he is no longer in the lecture hall.”
“Well, I would expect an educated man to be more discreet about such matters and I do hope this is not what those young impressionable minds are being taught during their studies” she added.
“I apologise, and, you can rest assured, I am not in the habit of discussing such lewd subjects.”
“I am glad to hear of it,” said Duchess Montague.
“A university professor,” repeated Lady Madeline, “and where, may I ask, are you posted?”
“At Oxford University,” he replied. Lincoln listened as their conversation deepened and observed they appeared to have a natural affinity for one another, something that confirmed his decision to introduce them.
“Tell me, Duchess Montague. What have you heard of tonight’s Soprano, Jenny Lind?”
“The Swedish Nightingale. I have heard she has captivated all of Europe. It has been rumoured during her tour of Denmark, the clever Danish author, Hans Christian Anderson was so besotted with the young woman that he fell in love with her at first sight.”
“She must be quite fascinating,” said Lincoln, “I look forward to seeing her play the part of Alice.”
“I have also heard that she didn’t share his affections,” interrupted Lady Madeline. Lincoln turned to find Lady Madeline staring at him, an undercurrent of meaning
in her words.
“I guess we cannot know what is in the heart of another,” said Percival, not understanding the hidden language that was being spoken between Lady Madeline and Lincoln.
“Oftentimes one would be surprised to learn that there is a great fire burning within the deep well of one’s heart and yet it is imperceptible to the naked eye alone,” said Lady Madeline.
“Madeline, what nonsense are you speaking of?” asked her mother.
“I would have to disagree,” said Lincoln, “If the feeling is mutual, I believe there is a degree of knowing, whether it be conscious or not.”
“Then we do not need words,” said Lady Madeline.
“That is correct,” agreed Lincoln, “but it should be spoken all the same.”
“I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous,” added Percival, as he turned to Lincoln, shaking his head at his friend’s nonsensical words. “You cannot simply rely on a touch, or a look. These things are too often misconstrued and can lead to gross misunderstandings.”
“Tell me, Lincoln, have you any evidence of this phenomenon? Does this other to whom you refer know in her heart of your love for her?”
“Yes, Lady Madeline, I do believe she is aware,” Lincoln answered, as he lowered his eyes under her ashen-grey gaze and then, all of a sudden, the lights dimmed.
“Hush now, you two. The show has begun,” said Duchess Montague, silencing them with a wave of her hand. Not a whisper was heard as each of the nearly seventeen hundred audience members were overcome by the low, powerful truncated sound of Oboes in C minor thundering throughout the auditorium, leaving everyone within it hypnotised under its spell. This dramatic prelude was broken in upon by the quiet and low violin tremolo on G and the descending semiquaver staccato rising and falling dotted by an ostinato on bass octave chords. Then the heavy, dark red velvet curtains upon the stage drew apart to reveal the opening act. A chorus of knights rushing across the setting of the shore on Palermo, Italy. All was abated by the performance but for a small few it reverberated within them deeper and touched them like an open nerve vulnerable to the coldness of the wind. None more so than the three of the four shadows sitting in the upper circle of the auditorium to the left of the stage: Lady Madeline dressed in the deepest shades of envy, Lincoln, seated behind just over her shoulder and another gentleman, Percival, sitting to her right. If one was to look within they would see that there was another story unfolding: Lady Madeline confused, afraid and touched with a faint wave of anger that now washed over her. Intensified by the low, baritone, mezzo-soprano of Robert as he sung of his longing for Isabelle. For when she saw Isabelle upon the stage, she did not see a character within a play but another face. One that shared a likeness to Lady Delphinia. Then Lincoln who was carried away by the sorrow in Isabelle’s falsetto at Robert’s absence, wondering if his own absence pulled at Lady Delphinia's heart in the same measure. And Percival, who was surprised to hear Lincoln’s confession and wondered if the woman he spoke of was Lady Madeline and feeling as he did now, the tension that lay between them, he was almost certain of it. This caused him to feel acutely envious of Lincoln and when he viewed Robert’s rival for Isabelle’s love, the Prince of Granada, he shared his passion for when he had looked upon Lady Madeline it were as if he had been struck by lightning and all through the performance all he could think about was how if he moved his finger just a touch he would feel her move through him. They remained this way for some time, lost to the spellbinding music of the opera. The voices seeking them out in the shadows. The reverberating operatic voices stroking their hearts from afar and they surrendered to the fantasy. Each of them, but none more so than Lincoln who understood what Robert felt in the loss of his love Isabelle and the temptation to steal the magic branch from the tomb of Saint Rosalia; but there was a transformation in the third act, as fantasy crossed over into reality, when the evocation of the Nun’s rose from their graves to feast upon Robert’s soul with the sinful powers of their unclean thoughts. For Lincoln felt an immobilising fear come over him and he couldn’t breathe and he felt as if all the audience’s eyes were upon him, whispering about him, throwing their heads back in mockery with laughter. She will find out the truth of what you have done and you will lose her forever, they said. Lincoln tried to conceal his face from their stares. Panicking, he rose from his chair and ran from the balcony box and the theatre out into the night under the cover of darkness where the cool air surged down into his lungs. Being away from the theatre calmed him down and when he looked upon the grand building from outside, he felt an anxiety at the thought of returning but there was no other choice; and as he climbed the steps toward the entrance, he felt as if he were walking into his grave.
Stepping into the foyer he saw Lady Madeline at the bar drinking from a champagne glass. When she saw Lincoln enter she quickly handed her glass to the waiter and ran to him.
“Good heavens Lincoln, I turned around and you were gone, so I hurried to find you,”
“It was nothing. I just needed to get some fresh air.”
“If you say so, but I do hope you aren’t feeling too unwell,” she asked, as she reached up and felt his forehead for a fever.
“Never mind all of that,” he said, taking her hand away from his head. “Let us return to our seats before our absence causes a scandal.”
“Would that be so pernicious of them?” she asked, turning her head to the side a little like a small dog begging his owner to take him for a walk.
“I wouldn’t want to upset your mother. She has grown quite fond of me.”
“You shouldn’t concern yourself with my mother. She approves of our growing friendship.”
“Indeed, we have grown close, Lady Madeline and I pray we are close enough that you do not find what I am about to ask you imprudent.”
“You must never be afraid to speak honestly, Lincoln,” said Lady Madeline, the wings of her heart causing the tone in her voice to fly higher and higher with hope.
“I must ask, if only to settle my mind. What did your mother mean about your cousin’s situation? What situation, Lady Madeline? Is she in jeopardy?”
“I implore you to please refrain from voicing these concerns you have for Lady Delphinia. The unnatural infatuation you have developed for her is quite unnerving. Why, I doubt she would share the same affections for your welfare if she was in a position to do so.”
“Please, Lady Madeline, I apologise if I have upset you in any way, but why have you and your mother refused to acknowledge her? All those times I saw her and you both behaved as if I was imagining it. I was beginning to doubt my own sanity and wondered, if indeed, I was going mad.”
“Please, Lincoln, I wish I could explain it to you but the situation with my cousin, it’s very complicated.”
“I can see I have upset you terribly. Please forgive me for my impropriety.”
“Yes, of course. I was only just feeling a little faint.”
“Then you should sit down at once,” he said, as he tried to move her to a lounge seat but she resisted and stood firm.
“Do not concern yourself with my health. Whatever it was has passed and I am fine now.”
“Very well then, shall we,” he asked, as he reached out his arm for Lady Madeline to take, and escorted her back to the balcony. While he watched the remaining acts of the Opera unfold, the overwhelming fear that had caused him to run from there had dissipated into the night and he felt euphoric. And when the orchestra marked the closing scene of Robert’s reunion with Isabelle in the cathedral, this time they created another image within his mind. One of Lady Delphinia sweeping across the floor of the ball room. Her head lifted up toward him as they looked into each other’s eyes while they turned and turned upon the floor.
XIV
The centre of the ballroom in the Argyll rooms on Regent Street was alive with the sashaying of luxurious, bustled tulle ball gowns as they lightly brushed against the floor; in delicate hues of pink, salmon, light blue, maize and apple green contra
sted against dark, rich brilliant colours trimmed with flowers and feathers. The women twirling and swirling in an endless whirl of gaiety. Led as they were so willingly by gentleman dressed in dashing formal black dress coats with black and white cravats, decorated with small gold studs and white linen cambric handkerchiefs in their coat pockets. The movement of their graceful, weightless steps of satin slippers and leather boots were lifted by the orchestra’s rhythm and heightened by the increasing tempo of the quadrille, foxtrot and the German polka. It was quite an affair, majestic and grandiose yet, if one knew how all this attention intimidated the person in whom this honour had been made they would have been surprised. For this debutante ball was a world away from the small fishing village that the young woman had called her home for so many years, before being orphaned and taken in by the Duke and Duchess of Montague as their young ward, and even amongst the assuring words and comforting smiles of the guests, she could detect their forked tongues as they whispered behind her back in parts of both ridicule and speculation.
“Imagine my surprise to find an invitation requesting my attendance at the Debutante Ball of Lady Montague and to find out it isn’t in honour of Lady Madeleine,” said a young lady standing by the jelly stand with a small group of other young ladies.
“You don’t have to tell me. None was more surprised than I to be invited to such an elaborate affair and yet, to have never met the young lady in question of whom it is being held and to have never even heard her name uttered before,” added another young woman, as she brought a spoonful of jelly to her mouth.
“I dare say for what she lacks in having impressed her vision upon society, she makes up for in reputation,” said another, her voice taking on a quieter more conspiratorial tone, as she looked around to ensure no other guests were privy to their conversation.
“Whatever do you mean, Miss Jezebel?” one of the ladies asked.
“They say she was found walking abandoned upon a dirt road in close proximity to the estate of Montague Manor and she has been secretly raised by the Montague’s ever since.”