Elly took a sip of her now cold tea. Her hand shook and she dribbled some down her front. Looking mortified, she clutched a serviette and tried wiping off the stain.
Isabelle smiled kindly. “No matter, Miss Fielding. Mr. Cook told me you have not been able to fetch your fresh frocks.”
“No, Lady Richfield. Robert Dennison packed them in crates like the ones carrying his paintings. My crates are marked with a red X.”
“Which gallery were they delivered to?”
“Gildstein.”
“I’ll send one of my footmen around tomorrow. Where should they be delivered?” She waited. No one spoke. “Well?”
Elly shrugged her shoulders. “You are very gracious, and I beg your pardon, but I am living at Mrs. Potter’s boarding house, and…”
“That impossible shambles on Charles II Street?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Isabelle scowled. “Jerry, that place should be burned down. Surely Eric Bates can find his actors better lodgings.”
Jeremy scowled. “Better, yes. Cheaper, no.”
“I see.”
Elly continued. “I share a room with two other apprentices. They do not have very nice clothes. They…”
Isabelle cut to the core. “They will steal your clothes.”
“Yes.”
“Then they must be delivered someplace else. All right, where?” Still, no one spoke. “Come on you lot, don’t all talk at once. How many frocks are there?”
“Four, with accessories.”
“How many can you safely guard at the boardinghouse?”
Elly thought for a minute. “There is an attic no one uses, so, perhaps, two.”
“Very well. Tomorrow the boxes will be delivered to my house. At your leisure, come and collect whatever you like. I’ll store the rest.”
Elly swallowed hard. “Are you quite sure? You really are too kind.”
“Not at all. I have three young daughters. A few extra frocks in the house will not even be noticed.” Isabelle waved her hand, dismissing the subject.
The doorbell rang and Rory was shown back in. Isabelle turned her head. “Dispatched, Mr. Cook?”
“Yes, Lady Richfield.” He nodded politely, and sat down. Evan took his toy soldiers and disappeared under the table.
Isabelle watched him go. “My brother should receive the packet on Tuesday. Miss Fielding's letter may not reach her father until Friday or Saturday.” She calculated the days and laughed. “It will be a Christmas card he will not soon forget.” She raised an eyebrow. “Now to the really intriguing matter: your parentage.” She leaned toward Elly, and the girl shrunk back in her chair.
Jeremy wearily shook his head. “We are clutching at straws, Isabelle.”
“Mr. Cook made that quite clear. Miss Fielding, my solicitor is a man of absolute discretion. With your permission, I shall have him look into the matter. He may find nothing, but I can see no harm in trying.” Elly’s shoulders tensed as she stared down at her spilled tea.
Katherine spoke softly. “Elly dear, if by chance your father is not related to you by blood, he may have no legal claim on you. Then you will be free to do as you please.”
Elly forced out a hoarse whisper. “Thank you, Lady Richfield. I am very grateful.”
Isabelle smiled. “Perhaps he can also discover if your mother left you an estate.”
Katherine’s eyelids were drooping, and Jeremy knew she longed to fall into bed. He would not let Elly leave the house without understanding that she could be carrying a child.
The clock struck nine and he put on a cheerful face. “Ladies and gentlemen, the hours pass. You ladies have lady business to discuss, so we gents bid you a pleasant good-evening. Katie, I will keep the chaps with me tonight and see you tomorrow for breakfast. Evan. Rory.” He bent his head in Elly’s direction, and lightly tapped his stomach.
Understanding his sign language, Katherine gestured to Isabelle that she should wait. Rory looked confused, but jumped to his feet. Evan emerged from under the table. After hasty farewells, Jeremy ushered the two chaps down the stairs, and closed the top door.
As soon as the men were gone, Katherine dropped her head into her hands. Isabelle slouched back into her chair. Katherine looked up with one eye. “Bless you, Isabelle. You’re a saint.”
“A saint?” Isabelle stretched and smiled. “I’ll remind you of that the next time you’re vexed with me.”
Katherine laughed and shivered. “I’m cold, let’s sit by the fire.” They went into the drawing room. Isabelle helped herself to an easy chair. Katherine pulled Elly next to her on the sofa, put an arm around her waist, and hugged her affectionately. “You pulled off quite a feat, young lady.”
Elly was startled. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Katherine chuckled, “My Jerry is not easily swayed. When Rory told me you were a runaway, I already pictured you on a train home.”
“But, I would not have gone home.” Elly sat tall. “Even if I had been forced onto a train, I would have gotten off again. I’ll kill myself before going home.” Her speech was calm and the older women were concerned. She continued in a quiet, matter-of-fact way. “We talked about that, Robert and I, what I could do if the theatre didn’t take me. I have a few pounds saved. I would have found a boardinghouse and a position, any position.”
Isabelle tilted her face. “Employment isn’t that easy to find, and young girls need permission from their fathers before…”
“I would have worked as a skivvy, a pub girl, anything.”
The older women exchanged looks, imagining this beautiful young innocent dragged into a brothel. Katherine smiled reassuringly and pushed loose hairs away from Elly’s face. “Well, isn’t it nice you don’t have to. That’s not to say a bed at Mrs. Potter’s boardinghouse, or apprenticing with Jeremy O’Connell are particularly comfortable situations.”
Elly’s shoulders tensed. She whispered, “How do you know if you’re going to have a child?”
Both women looked at her. Katherine answered softly. “Your monthly visits stop. After about the second month you begin to gain weight. You may feel ill in the morning.”
Isabelle asked, “Are you expecting a child?”
“I don’t know.”
“When were you last with a man?”
“It was only once. Last Thursday.”
“From your expression, I don’t think you liked it.”
She shook her head.
“Well, not liking it the first time seems to be the fate of most women. Fortunately, there are men who know how to do it. Make sure your next lover is experienced.”
“I’ll never have another.” She spoke with disturbing finality, so Isabelle chuckled.
“What nonsense! You are beautiful, and sweet. You’ll enjoy a bevy of handsome men.” Elly stared up and Isabelle smiled kindly. “How long ago was your last monthly visitor? What day did it finish? Exactly.”
Katherine and Isabelle watched tensely as Elly concentrated, calculating the days. “I think it was… No, I remember, it finished Thursday, last.” She smiled and nodded. “Yes, I was pleased I had gotten it over with, before coming to London.”
Both women looked grim. Isabelle spoke slowly. “So, your bleeding stopped on a Thursday, and your young man took you on the next Thursday?”
“Early Friday morning, actually. Yes, ma’am.” She swallowed. “Is that bad?”
Trying not to frighten her more, Isabelle moved her head from side-to-side. “It could be.”
Elly looked very upset, so Katherine took her hand. “It also may not be. We need to wait another three weeks and…”
“No.” Isabelle’s voice was quiet, but emphatic. “We do not need to wait. Jerry mentioned that I am skilled with herbs. I shall give you some. You simply make them into a tea. Drink a cup in the evening, the following morning, and again the following evening. Within the next twenty-four-hours, your bleeding will come and take away the beginning of any child. The whole business will be qu
ickly finished and done. You’re a clever girl and you’ll do as I say. All right, dear?”
Elly’s throat felt thick as she murmured, “Whatever you think best, Lady Richfield.”
Katherine put an arm around her. “It’s getting late, but I can’t send you back to Mrs. Potter’s. Would you like to spend the night?”
“Oh, may I? Yes, please!”
Chapter 9
Monday, December 21, 1903
The afternoon sky was a brilliant blue, dotted with thick, fluffy clouds. Katherine stayed home to write letters, while Jeremy, Evan, Rory, and Elly raced to Hyde Park. Bright sunlight warmed dozens of smiling people relaxing on benches and blankets. Evan and Rory went to fly a kite, as Jeremy spread a rough blanket over the brown grass. Elly sat on the edge, modestly tucking her long legs under her coat.
Jeremy watched bright kites soar overhead. “I love anything that flies. I am so jealous of the birds. Did you know that just last week, in America, two brothers actually flew an engine driven… I think they called it a ‘Flyer’? I went up in a balloon once. It was marvelous.”
“Weren’t you afraid?”
“Terrified. That was part of the fun.”
Since he was in a good mood, she dared to say, “Thank you for not sending me away.”
He chuckled kindly. “No thanks are in order. Your arguments were highly convincing.” He nodded toward Rory and Evan, and laughed as the boys clumsily bumped into each other. “You convinced me that you will be an asset to our company. It was all your doing.” She stared with wide eyes, and he explained, “You are blessed with intelligence, beauty, and courage. Those are the makings of an actress.”
She swallowed, listening intently.
“This was your first, and a vitally important lesson. You must always convince people that you are wonderful, especially when you do not believe it. Speak the words and they are half true. Speak them twice and they become true. Ours is a very hard profession. When we are out of work, we suffer until we find work. Once we find work, we suffer more. There are sadistic directors,” he smiled impishly, “costumers who make us look fat, other actors who destroy our timing, stage pieces that fall on our heads, and critics who tell all the world that we are rubbish. If we do not believe that we are marvelous, no one else will.”
She clutched her hands together, nervously shaking her head. “But I am not marvelous. You are over-kind to think me an asset before I have proven my worth, and we have acting class tomorrow. The other actors told me what it is like, and I know I will be dreadful.” Bright tears lit her eyes, but as always, they did not run down her cheeks. The narrow vein in her temple pulsed as it had that day in the pub.
Jeremy was concerned. “Have you been told that you must not cry?”
She blinked the tears away. “My father and Sir John, my intended, forbid me to cry.” She swallowed hard. “Robert Dennison believes that tears are necessary, sometimes even for men.” Her voice cracked, a drop ran down her cheek, and the vein flattened.
“Well, points for Dennison in this one case at least. As an actress you will play tragic scenes, and I will expect you to cry buckets.” He comically leaned into her and she laughed. “Elly, Elly, Elly… No one expects you to be marvelous tomorrow. Frankly, if you are still standing by the end of your monologue, the chaps will be impressed.”
“What about the women?”
“The women, too. The girls will hate you, if they do not already.”
“Peg hates me.”
He laughed sardonically. “Small wonder.”
“But why? I have done nothing to…”
“Oh, my dear. Are you actually that naïve?” He looked at her staring back with huge innocent eyes. “I believe that you are.” He shook his head. “My dear, you are beautiful. Many men will fall in love with you for that alone, and many women will despise you for that alone.”
“But I haven’t done…”
“You do not have to do anything. Once you start playing roles, you…”
She sat up straighter. “Will I be playing roles?”
“I do not waste my time on anyone who is not capable. You know that Peg is in love with Rory.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Oh no, sir. She hates him. At the boardinghouse they rowed terribly. She threw a tea-mug at him.”
“Did she really? Well, he would not be able to distress her, if she did not care for him.”
“I have heard that she…” She lowered her gaze.
“That she aborted a child? Yes. That is common knowledge, and to answer your next question: No, Rory was not the father. Did he bed her? Repeatedly. The first weeks he was here, he could not get enough of her. Being the class of man that he is, he tired of her. Being the class of girl that she is, she still clings to him. Now that Rory fancies you, I imagine that Peg despises you both.” He checked his pocket watch. “Nearly tea time. The good Lady Richfield expects us at 5:30. We had best be on our way.”
Sir William Richfield’s house was a block from Green Park on the corner of Piccadilly and Hamilton Place. At exactly 5:30 they appeared rosy-cheeked and hungry for high tea. The smiling butler answered the carved wooden door, festively decorated with holly and pine. “Good afternoon, Mr. O’Connell, Miss, Sir, Master Evan. Please come in.”
Jeremy handed over his coat, hat, and kite. “Thank you, Smythe.” A row of servants took their hats and coats.
A robust, “Hello all! Jerry, good to see you,” came from Sir William Richfield. Middle-aged, tall, plump, and very jolly, he pumped Jeremy’s hand.
“Good afternoon, Bill. May I present two of my apprentices, Elly Fielding and Rory Cook. You know Evan, of course.”
“How-do-you-do? I see the theatre’s future is in good hands. Well done, Jerry.” He turned to Evan. “How are you, m’ boy?”
“Very well sir, thank you. Is Lucy here?”
“She’s upstairs with her mother, and yours. Oh, I’m supposed to send the young lady up to them.” He turned to Elly. “Miss… um… sorry… mind like a sieve.”
Elly laughed sweetly. “…Fielding. I’m sure your Lordship’s mind is full of far more important things than the names of young girls.”
A silly smile spread across Sir William’s face and his eyes went out of focus. Jeremy was surprised and pleased. Perhaps Elly was not so naïve after all.
Evan grabbed Elly’s hand. “I’ll show you.” He led her up the wide staircase.
Very shortly, the men were ushered into the west dining room. Isabelle, her pretty twelve-year-old daughter Lucy, Evan, Katherine, and Elly greeted the men. Elly had changed into a fresh dark-pink frock. Her hair was tied with a pink satin ribbon.
Happy calls of, “Mummy! Daddy!” came from seven-year-old Cindy, and four-year-old Bella. They raced first into Isabelle’s waiting arms, then Sir William’s.
Rory held Isabelle’s chair. She sat gracefully while brushing her fingers over his hand. It was a slight gesture, but he caught his breath and stared into her smiling eyes. Coloring slightly, he sat next to Elly, and cut her a slice of game pie. “We need to eat. Tonight we’re back at Potter’s.”
Isabelle looked up. “Mr. Cook, tell me about this infamous boardinghouse.”
He raised an eyebrow. “There’s not much to tell, Lady Richfield. Those who never had a dry roof in their lives think it’s grand. Some of us find it a hell hole.”
She shook her head. “How long have you lived there?”
“Year-and-a-half.”
“An entire year-and-a-half?”
“Some have been there much longer.”
“How does one get out?”
“Hilda Bates decides you’re worth wages and puts you on salary.”
Jeremy bellowed happily, “You won’t have to wait much longer.” Rory sat to attention and Jeremy beamed, “I’m sorry, my boy. I wanted you on salary for the Scottish Play. You will get wages for The Tempest. Just do me a favor and look surprised when Eric tells you.”
“Thank you, sir. I certainly shall.” E
veryone cheered and applauded.
When the meal finished, the men and children went to the games room. Isabelle excused the ladies, and took them upstairs to her luxurious bedroom. The canopy bed was a masterpiece of embroidered silk, and Elly could not imagine falling asleep in such a museum piece.
A maid carried in a tray with a small tea pot, one cup, and saucer. She set the tray on a table, and curtsied. Isabelle thanked her, followed her to the door, and locked her out.
Katherine sat on the edge of a loveseat and Elly hovered near the door.
Calm and methodical, Isabelle walked to one of several wardrobes, unlocked a wooden door, removed a small apothecary’s chest, and brought the chest to a table. She opened two small drawers, scooped a few dark twigs from one, powdery leaf fragments from the other, and put them into the teacup. When she carefully poured boiling water over the twigs, a musty aroma filled the air. “That needs to brew for a bit.” She covered the cup with the saucer and sat back.
Elly’s breathing was quick and shallow. “Must I do this?”
Isabelle looked her squarely in the eye. “No. But you would be very foolish not to.” She took two small gauze sachets and carefully filled them with the herbs.
Elly tried again. “What if I’m not…?”
“Your bleeding will simply come earlier and stronger than usual. It’s foolish to wait. I know. I waited... once. The second time, I did not. Here are two sachets, one for tomorrow morning, and another for tomorrow night.” She went back to the wardrobe and found a parcel wrapped in brown paper. “These are fresh rags. On Wednesday you’ll need plenty. By Thursday it should all be over.” She smiled. “Like a bad dream.”
Katherine stared at the floor. “Friday’s Christmas,” and looked at Elly. “Wednesday’s your birthday.”
But From Thine Eyes: Scintillating historical drama set in an Edwardian English theatre (His Majesty's Theatre Book 2) Page 10