by Kari Edgren
Since learning about the little wretch, Henry had taken to examining my burn whenever we were together. Without fail he would frown at the mark like a proper surgeon, and if we were alone, interrogate me further on my first impression of frostbite. Regardless of how many times I argued the impossibility of such a wound, his frown would inevitably darken. One time I even heard him mutter Mr. Chubais’s name, as though the two were somehow connected based solely on a chill.
After seeing the distress a single burn had caused him, I hadn’t yet shared what would happen if I failed to cross into the Otherworld. Even now I prepared myself for further inquiries when he squeezed my hand. “Very well.” Straightening, he turned and stared out the window deep in thought.
His silence persisted until the carriage came to a stop, and he leaned over again. “I love you,” he murmured. “Remember that no matter what else may happen tonight.”
What else may happen? Did he mean the anticipated snubs from the other gentry attending the theater or a possible encounter with his former mistress? He left no time for me to respond to his cryptic words before brushing a kiss against my cheek and rapping on the door.
We stepped from the carriage into a boisterous crowd of theatergoers. Henry’s presence was noticed at once, and those nearest stepped aside to allow room for our small group to move. People stared openly, their conversations growing hushed as we walked by. Surprised by the attention, I felt suddenly awkward and offered a quick prayer to be spared the humiliation of tripping over my gown. Henry moved with his usual grace, seemingly oblivious to the bobbing heads and respectful chorus of “my lord” that followed in our path. It was quite a spectacle, and in truth, I felt more than a little awed that Henry’s presence warranted such behavior.
“Oh, good heavens,” Nora muttered from right behind me. “He’s just a man.”
Once inside, we entered a crowded corridor where Henry nodded to various acquaintances without stopping to engage in further conversation. My eyes jumped from face to face in an attempt to take them all in, and I felt a sense of relief when the masses thinned as we passed through an archway leading up to the first boxes. At the second floor, Henry ushered us into a small room that overlooked the theater. Directly at eyelevel, a circular line of gilded boxes ran along the outer wall. The main pit was located on the ground floor in front of the stage, the rows of green upholstered benches filled to capacity with spectators.
Movement caught my eye from the far side of our box. A gentleman and lady walked toward us so similar in feature, they had to be brother and sister. Fair hair framed their long faces that showed every appearance of affability and pleasant natures.
“Miss Kilbrid, Nora Goodwin,” Henry said, “may I introduce my friends, Lord Andrew Saxby and his sister Lady Jane Saxby. They heard we were coming to the theater tonight and asked to join our party.”
I fought the urge to throw James a smug look. No one of the first rank indeed! “Insisted, more like it,” Lord Saxby said. “My sister and I have been most eager to make your acquaintances once we heard you were sailing from the Colonies. Isn’t that so, Jane?”
“Very true,” Lady Saxby agreed.
“You are most gracious,” I said, offering a small curtsey while Nora simply nodded her agreement.
“In our estimation,” Lord Saxby continued, “Henry returned home much improved, and we wanted to meet those responsible for hewing his rougher edges. I dare say, only steady hands and stoic hearts could have accomplished so tremendous a feat.”
Nora looked at Lord Saxby and smiled. “You are indeed right. I for one frequently recommended the hammer and chisel, but Henry would have no part of it. He was rather particular when it came to his edges.”
Henry gave Nora a wry smile. “Servitude was chisel enough for my needs.”
“If it’s any consolation,” Nora said, “you are not the first man to benefit from a hard day’s work.”
Lady Saxby laughed. “I must agree, Henry benefited a great deal, though Miss Kilbrid hardly seems a difficult master.”
“I worked from dawn till dusk under Miss Kilbrid’s employ,” Henry said, a smile threatening at the corners of his mouth. “Do not be fooled by that sweet face of hers. Behind it resides the most merciless taskmaster.”
“Be fair!” I protested. “You worked no more than any of the other farmers. And far less than many.”
“From what I can see, the recompense was well worth the effort,” Lord Saxby said. “A summer spent farming in exchange for two Colonial beauties. To be sure, I would consider going myself for such a reward.” While he spoke, Lord Saxby fixed his eyes on Nora. I glanced at her, realizing for the first time just how different she looked tonight. Her hair had been put up in a softer style instead of the usual tight bun and the sheen of her silk gown brought out the playful sparkle in her eyes.
“What about self-improvement?” Nora asked, in no way cowed by his overt flirtation. “I’ve heard it’s a man’s best reward.”
Lord Saxby shook his head, the warmth in his eyes growing stronger. “I would accept nothing less than a beauty for my labors.”
James moved to Nora’s side and placed a hand on her arm. “Would you care to sit?” he asked. “The performance is beginning.”
Two men had appeared on the stage while we were talking, one dressed as an ordinary actor, the other in beggar’s rags. We moved to the chairs as the beggar stepped forward to speak.
If Poverty be a Title to Poetry, I am sure no-body can dispute mine. I own myself of the Company of Beggars; and I make one at their Weekly Festivals at St. Giles’s. I have a small Yearly Salary for my Catches, and am welcome to a Dinner there whenever I please, which is more than most Poets can say...
The two actors continued their introduction, their voices booming out over the noisy audience. The chairs were decided and I found myself seated in between Henry and Lady Saxby. Nora sat two chairs away, her face aglow with excitement. Lord Saxby placed a hand on her arm and leaned close to speak into her ear. She laughed, rewarding him with a warm smile. James sat sullenly on her other side, his mood quite altered from earlier. I hoped the little troll was experiencing some sort of remorse for his part in my being here tonight. It was a pleasant thought, though highly unlikely as a conscience—something James most certainly lacked— was required for guilt.
But I see it is time for us to withdraw; the Actors are preparing to begin. Play away the Overture...
The men bowed and left the stage, accompanied by music from the orchestra. Any ease Henry had shown when we first entered the box had vanished, and he now sat motionless, with his arms crossed over his chest. The hard line returned to his jaw. Tension rolled off of him, and I braced myself for a long uncomfortable evening.
What followed was a production unlike anything I expected. Despite its title, The Beggar’s Opera had little in common with real opera, offering instead a ribald mockery of its formal Italian namesake. The first act opened with the corrupt thief-catcher, Mr. Peachum seated at a large table, studying a leather-bound ledger. His wife and servant came out next and I felt my tension match Henry’s in anticipation of the infamous Justine.
Lady Saxby tilted her head toward me. “The gentry turned out in force tonight,” she said, so only I could hear. “Your presence is garnering equal attention to the actors.”
Her observation startled me. “What do you mean?”
“I have been watching the other boxes, and without doubt you are the topic du jour. Look straight across. Do you see those two old hens? That’s Mrs. Bradshaw and Lady Osbourne. They’ve been speaking behind their fans since the overture. To their right in the next box are Mr. Thornton, his sister Miss Thornton and his fiancée Miss Upton. They aren’t even pretending to watch the stage.”
As Lady Saxby spoke, I glanced across the pit. The three young people quickly looked away. The two old ladies raised t
heir fans a little higher and continued talking.
“And then there is Lord Stroud in the next box,” Lady Saxby continued. “I swear, the man hasn’t taken his eyes from you for a single moment.”
I looked to the right of the Thornton’s box and saw Julian watching me just as Lady Saxby had described. He met my eyes and smiled. I returned his smile without a second thought.
Loud clapping and cheers erupted from the pit below. “My, my,” Lady Saxby said, “the diva has finally appeared. Polly Peachum never fails to draw a hearty applause.”
Snapping my head toward the stage, I nearly groaned aloud. Without doubt, Justine Rose was one of the most beguiling creatures I had ever seen. Thick copper locks framed a near perfect porcelain face. Her full mouth had been stained the color of red wine, and seemed to beckon every gentleman in attendance for a kiss. Loose curls fell down her back, a few slipping over the front of a bodice that was cut to emphasize the deep cleavage of her ample bosom.
While waiting for the applause to die down, she stared out at the main audience, her radiant smile befitting an angel. After several long seconds, her almond shaped eyes moved up to the boxes for a subtle survey of her more affluent admirers. Moving from right to left, the graceful turn of her neck followed the circular line of the outer wall, coming to a stop when she saw Henry. Her composure never faltered. Nor did her smile, which took on a seductive quality akin to a fallen angel.
Only when the crowd had quieted down, did she move her gaze from Henry to the stage where Mr. Peachum waited expectantly. Placing her hands on her hips, she sauntered over to her father and started speaking.
I know as well as any of the fine Ladies how to make the most of myself and of my Man too. A Woman knows how to be mercenary, though she hath never been in a Court or at an Assembly. We have it in our Natures, Papa. If I allow Captain Macheath some trifling Liberties, I have this Watch and other visible Marks of his Favour to shew for it. A Girl who cannot grant some Things, and refuse what is most material, will make but a poor hand of her Beauty, and soon be thrown upon the Common.
During the last sentence, Justine let her eyes wander unabashedly back to Henry. Much like her character, she was making the most of herself tonight. By the looks of it, she welcomed Henry to come hither to partake of those trifling Liberties and possibly even that most material.
Jealously flared inside me. How dare she look at him that way! As though they were still lovers and shared some intimate secret. My first inclination was to plead a headache and ask to be taken home at once. But Nora would insist on accompanying me and her night would be ruined. So I stayed and watched Justine flaunt her goods from one end of the stage to the other, throwing seductive looks toward Henry at every opportunity.
As the play progressed, I grew even more disheartened to learn that it was a cleverly written satire that not only mocked Italian opera, but also poked fun at politicians and social injustice. Neither was there anything in Justine’s portrayal of Polly Peachum to give me reason to gloat. Her acting was above reproach. By the time the second act ended, I grudgingly agreed with James that she was a rare specimen, indeed. No wonder Henry had chosen her to be his mistress. Any man in his right mind would have done the same if given the opportunity.
The three acts stretched on for what felt like an eternity. I sulked in silence, growing increasingly moody from the relentless cheers for Miss Peachum. The woman had only to deliver a witty phrase or sing a few lines to receive praise. Even Nora became caught up in the spectacle, laughing and clapping with the rest of them.
Henry, at least, had the good sense to stare down at his lap rather than at Justine. By the middle of the second act, his full attention was absorbed by a stubborn hangnail. He then occupied himself with tracing along the skin where his hand had been cut by the pocket watch the day I arrived.
The last song brought the audience to their feet, applauding wildly to show their appreciation. Henry also stood, though for an entirely different purpose. “We should leave,” he said. “Lucy may be waking soon.”
I wholeheartedly agreed and had turned to go when Nora came toward me, flanked by James and Lord Saxby. “My life is fulfilled,” she said. “Without doubt, Justine Rose is the most extraordinary woman I have ever laid eyes upon.”
“She would be flattered by your good opinion,” James said pleasantly. His somber mood had passed, returning his previous good humor. A bad omen by any estimation, and I hadn’t even managed another breath before his true intentions were revealed.
“We can go meet her if you would like,” he said, then turned his little trollish eyes on me. “If Miss Kilbrid doesn’t mind, of course.”
Nora turned to him, her cheeks a rosy pink with excitement. “Do you really mean it?”
“She is a special friend of Lord Fitzalan’s,” James said. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a visit from a devoted admirer.”
“Oh, Henry,” Nora said. “Will you please make the introduction? I shall be forever in your debt.”
Henry shot James a dark look. “We have pressed our luck long enough for one evening, James. The ladies should return home before their absence is discovered and we are permanently barred from Lady Dinley’s drawing room.”
“Ten more minutes will make no difference,” Nora persisted. “Please, Henry. I had to drug my mother to come tonight and may never have another chance.”
For Nora’s sake, I had already suffered the indignity of Justine’s success, not to mention the wanton looks she had been throwing Henry since partway through the first act. Best friend or not, I had no intention of adding insult to injury by participating in a private meeting with the strumpet.
Heavens above! It was high time for my headache. “I fear all the noise has gotten the best of me.” I looked at Henry, trying to keep my face impassive. “Some fresh air should help. Would you mind if we walked to Lady Dinley’s and James can stay to make the introduction? Once Nora has had her fill of the glorious Miss Rose, they can return home in the carriage.”
“That is a splendid idea,” Lord Saxby said, interjecting himself into my plans as he offered Nora his arm. “Miss Rose is a dear friend and I would be honored to introduce you.”
Nora gladly took his arm. “You are very kind, Andrew Saxby.”
He gave her a warm smile. “And you, my dear lady, are forever in my debt.” He glanced at James, a devious glint in his eye. “Be a good fellow and accompany my sister. The hallways are narrow and only allow for two at a time.” With that he strode from the box, a gleeful Nora at his side.
James watched the interaction, his good mood turning to dismay. He hardly had time to glare at me before offering Lady Saxby his arm and hurrying after Nora.
Henry wasted no time in escorting me from the box. The adjoining common area was already filling with people happily chatting in small groups. Rather than traverse the crowd, he turned in the opposite direction, opting for an alternate route from earlier. I held onto his arm as he led the way down a rickety flight of steps and through a dismal hallway, sparsely lit by the occasional candle. We encountered a handful of stagehands along the way, but no other theatergoers. This I assumed was Henry’s ultimate goal, to leave the theater as quickly and inconspicuously as possible. It didn’t take a genius to surmise just how he had gained such an intimate knowledge of the back passageways.
The hallway came to what seemed a dead end when I heard the creak of an iron handle. A door swung open and brisk air hit my face. I looked around, seeing that we had arrived in an abandoned alley.
“It isn’t the most glamorous exit,” Henry said, “but preferable to the gauntlet of endless conversation we would have encountered by going the other way. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” I took in the clear night sky, relieved to be outside.
“Are you serious about walking?” he asked. “I can always call for the car
riage and send it back for Nora and James.”
“Cate’s home isn’t far and I really do need some air.”
Henry sighed. “Me too.”
His arm remained firm around my waist as we navigated past the various crates and debris strewn throughout the alley. The path was precarious at best, lit to some degree by the moon and innumerable stars. At the sound of scurrying feet, I pressed closer to Henry and tried to avoid stepping on anything alive.
To my relief, the alley was shallow and soon ran into Drury Lane. Carriages clogged the road, their footmen yelling at each other to give way. We stayed to the shadows and slipped by unnoticed onto the next street. From there, we entered what appeared to be a park with a wide, graveled footpath. Dead leaves littered the ground, illuminated by lamps sitting atop tall, iron posts.
“The mayor keeps the lamps burning ’til eleven to deter criminals while good folks are still afoot,” Henry explained. “After that it is each man for himself.”
“Are you worried?” I asked him.
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “No one would dare attack us.”
We fell silent when another couple came into sight, their arms linked as they strolled by in the opposite direction. Once they passed, our silence continued to stretch on, becoming somewhat strained. I wanted to restart the conversation, but there was only one thing on my mind at present. Try as I might, I could not stop thinking about Miss Justine Rose.
“Did you enjoy the opera tonight?” I blurted out.
“No, I did not,” he said. “The Beggar’s Opera has been playing on and off for the past two years and has grown tiresome to me.”
His words offered a promising, yet somewhat ambiguous start. Determined to have the truth, I turned to shameless prodding for my next recourse. “It was cleverly written,” I pushed on. “And the audience had no lack of appreciation for Miss Rose. Were you pleased with her acting?”