Peg whispered. “I wanted to keep mine. Bates wanted it gone, so it got gone. Did y’ want yours?”
Elly shook her head.
“Well, yer a’righ’ then. At least y’ will be.” Peg went down a few steps and gathered the costumes. “I’ll take these. Used t’ be my job anyway.” Small as she was, she effortlessly carried them down stairs.
Elly was frantic to be gone by the time Peg returned. The pain in her belly stopped, leaving a dull ache between her legs. Her head began to clear. She heard the stairs creak and braced herself for Peg’s return.
“Got any clean linen?”
Elly blinked her eyes. “Yes. I washed them yesterday. They should be dry. I hid some clean rags in the washroom.”
“Come on, then.” Peg practically lifted Elly off the step. “Can y’ walk?”
Still holding her skirt away from her bloody underclothes, Elly took some deep breaths, nodded, and followed Peg down three flights of stairs. They could hear some of the crew, but fortunately saw no one.
Elly went into the washroom and closed the door. When she looked around, Peg was gone. After peeling off her bloody underclothes, she filled a basin with cold water, and put her rags, drawers, slip, and stockings to soak. The insides of her legs were covered with blood. Still dizzy, she slowly cleaned herself, pulled on the fresh underclothes, and stuffed in the rest of Isabelle’s clean rags. The soiled linens rinsed easily and she carelessly tossed them over a drying rack. Bracing herself on the banister, she dragged herself back upstairs.
*
Before the Macbeth matinee, bloodstains were found on the backstage staircase. No one knew where they came from, but everyone suspected Peg McCarthy was involved. She had not signed in, and her understudy went on as the Second Witch.
At 6:00, Katherine Stewart and Jeremy O’Connell finished an early tea in front of the stove in his dressing-room. They had another performance at 8:00, so they still wore dark make-up, but no wigs. An outsider would have found them a ridiculous looking pair, but cast and crew passed by Jeremy’s open door, seeing nothing unusual. He put a cigarette to his lips, yawned, and stretched. “Nap time, Katie.”
“Not for me.” She recited, “‘Someone’s sleeping in my bed,’ said the mother bear.”
“Who’s sleeping in your bed, then?”
“Elly, poor dear.”
“Since when do you let apprentices sleep in your dressing-room? Is she ill? She was fine last night.”
“This afternoon she was wrecked and exhausted.”
“What from, for heaven’s sake? We’re not even in production.”
“From dislodging what may have been a child.”
“What!” Horrified, he glared at her.
She glared back. “Your wish has been fulfilled. If she was with child, Isabelle’s herbs have done away with it. She came to me after it was over. I fed her, put her to bed, and she’s still asleep, or she was when we went to the greenroom. I left her some more food, just now.”
Horrified, he relaxed his throat muscles enough to ask. “The girl is well, then?”
She held up her arms in a dramatic storybook fashion. “Let - us - go - and - see.”
Moments later, Katherine knocked on her own dressing-room door, pushed it open, and smiled to see Elly finishing her supper. She quickly stood up, almost knocking over the chair. Reaching to calm her, Katherine put one hand on her shoulder and the other under her chin. “You look like yourself again. There’s color in your cheeks, thank goodness. How do you feel?”
“I feel fine.” She smiled. “I’m sorry I slept so long. You must want to rest.”
“I do. And since you’re awake, I will.” Without ceremony, Katherine took a clean rag from her dressing table and covered the pillow on her cot, protecting it from the greasepaint on her face. She happily climbed onto the cot, pulled a quilt over herself, and closed her eyes.
Jeremy gently pushed Elly out the door. “‘Fairies, begone, and be always away.”
*
That evening, Sir William and Lady Richfield watched Macbeth for a second time. After the final curtain, they left their box seats and easily found their way backstage through a pass door. Isabelle was about to knock on Katherine Stewart’s door when she noticed Elly hanging costumes in the quick change room.
She peered through the doorway. “Elly, dear. Is it over?”
Elly stood proudly. “Yes, ma’am. I kept my promise.”
“Good girl.” She went inside and closed the door. “Was there a lot of pain?”
“Only for a few minutes. It was over very fast.” Elly looked at Isabelle with absolute trust. Her sweet vulnerability made Isabelle want to shield her from the world.
“Thank goodness.” She touched Elly’s cheek. “Dreadful as that was, it’s finished, and you can get on with your life. You’ve been through more in a few days than some people go through in a lifetime. I’m very proud of you.”
“Thank you. You’re so terribly kind.” Elly’s huge eyes were full of love, and fast breaths pushed her thin ribcage in and out. Isabelle looked at her waistline. Like any mother examining her child, Isabelle pushed the girl’s hands away and felt her waist. “Your corset is actually loose.”
“I don’t know why I bother to wear one. I’ve always been thin.” Embarrassed, she pulled away. “At the boardinghouse, there isn’t very much food.”
“Well, you certainly won’t be going hungry again. Whether you’re related to me, or not, I must do something to change your circumstances. My solicitor’s people are checking your background. We should know something in a few days. Oh, I nearly forgot.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in a handkerchief. “My maid found this in one of your boxes.”
Elly unwound the handkerchief, stopped and stared. It was the clay figurine of Kate, her long copper hair and blue costume, bright and smooth under heavy glaze.
Isabelle watched with interest. “She looks like you.”
“It is me, in a costume from a school play. Thank you so much for finding this. I thought it was lost forever.”
“Did Robert Dennison make it?”
Elly smiled and nodded.
Isabelle hesitated, then pulled her into a chair and sat down next to her. “Tell me about him.”
Relieved and grateful, Elly told Isabelle every detail of the unorthodox relationship with her art-master. When she came to the terrible misunderstanding, the night before she left for London, Isabelle closed her eyes and shook her head. “That poor man.”
Elly’s mouth dropped open. “That poor man? What about me?”
“You child, were dumb ignorant, like most young women. We learn, and get over it. He, by the sound of it, did everything right, and it still turned out wrong.” She leaned forward, speaking slowly. “Let me make sure I heard you correctly: You were both in your night clothes. You willing lay on your back, on the floor. He knelt in front of you, then stopped to ask if you wanted it?”
Elly nodded. “He asked twice.”
“Twice!” Isabelle’s eyes were like saucers.
Elly nodded, nervously stroking the figurine. “I thought he was going to touch me with his hand, like he had in the grotto.”
“Oh, dear.” Isabelle stood and stretched.
Elly cringed. “I know it was wrong of me to want it.”
“No, it was not wrong. Every woman wants to be touched, in all manner of ways… after we finally learn to do it properly.” She rubbed her brow. “I’m looking forward to meeting this painter of yours.”
“You are? Even after he…”
“After he, what? If you’ve told me the truth, I can’t fault him at all. Granted, in the conventions of our society, a school-master shouldn’t even speak privately with a female student, but neither of you are conventional.” She tilted her head with a surprised chuckle. “Have you any idea how extraordinary this man is? You have actually stumbled across a man who is talented, attractive, potent, and chivalrous. You have found a prince.” She
saw the girl’s overwhelm, and her heart ached. “You need a long rest in a good bed. I’ll tell Bill you’re coming home with us tonight. We’re giving a ball tomorrow night and dinner Christmas day. Don’t worry about clothes. The house is full of anything you might need. I’ll see if your beau wants to join us as well.”
Elly sat up, surprised. “I don’t have a beau.”
Isabelle chuckled. “Rory thinks he’s your beau.”
“He’s not. I’m fond of him, but…”
“Oh, I forgot something else.” She opened her bag and handed Elly a small box. “Happy birthday. Kathy found this for you. It’s from the two of us.”
“I thought everyone had forgotten.” Thrilled, Elly opened the box. “Oh, Lady Richfield. This is too beautiful.” Inside lay a small brooch made from tiny, exquisitely carved, comedy and tragedy masks. The masks were burnished gold and the ribbons were sparkly diamond chips. Isabelle pinned it to Elly’s rumpled pink collar.
Chapter 13
Thursday, December 24, 1903
Jeremy and his valet Max spent most of the next day chopping and stewing in preparation for Christmas dinner. The menu would be a succulent goose stuffed with sweetmeats, surrounded by roast potatoes and a sea of vegetables. There would be three kinds of wine, fresh rolls, giblet gravy, and a very rich Christmas pudding.
Jeremy always enjoyed preparing holiday meals, but this was to be the most important meal of his life. After the main course, before Max brought out the flaming pud’, he intended to propose to Katherine. After twenty years of pretend marriage and fatherhood, he wanted to make it real and legal.
He planned to clear out Stephen’s belongings, take down the wall between his bedroom and the guestroom, and make a master bedroom he and Katherine could share, every night. Evan would finally have all his belongings in one large room, the way he wanted them. Katherine disliked ostentatious jewelry, so Jeremy had purchased an exquisitely cut, but modest, diamond ring.
Not trusting himself to find the appropriate words, he borrowed Shakespeare’s fourteenth sonnet for his proposal speech. He had memorized it as a boy, knew it as well as his own name, but silently repeated the words over and over, as a kind of prayer:
“Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck…
…But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive…”
Anticipating her loving tears, as he placed the ring on her finger, and Evan’s rapture that his parents were finally marrying, Jeremy was happier than he ever remembered.
All too soon, it was time to dress for Isabelle’s Christmas Eve ball. He left Max to finish in the kitchen, hurried through a bath, tossed on a dress suit, and met Katherine by the door. They took a hansom to the corner of Piccadilly and Hamilton Place, arriving promptly at nine o’clock. The road was filled with Lord Richfield’s footmen helping guests from carriages, across the sidewalk, and up the few steps into the house. In the foyer, another army of servants carried away coats and hats, served champagne and mulled wine.
Knowing that Isabelle’s guests admired actors when they were on the stage, but considered them to be social riffraff, Katherine and Jeremy dressed very conservatively. He still looked stunning, clothed like any other man in conventional white-tie-and-tails. Katherine matched him in a simple but very elegant black-satin gown, long satin gloves, a double string of pearls, a matching bracelet, and earrings. Her only colorful item was a fresh holly broach. She wore just enough makeup to accentuate her translucent eyebrows, eyelashes, and the classic contours of her perfect face. Her honey-blond hair was swept up in an elegantly simple French twist. Many of Isabelle’s other guests were society matrons wearing bright rouge and gaudy gowns. Jeremy had never felt prouder to have Katherine on his arm. Happily imagining her wearing his diamond ring, he moved her through the crowded foyer and heard:
“Kathy!”
Jeremy froze, horrified. The voice was unmistakable.
“Simon?” Katherine turned, frantically looking for the voice. She spotted him at the end of the room and hurried through the glittering guests. Jeremy was close at her heels, as she sped into a clear corner and the open arms of Simon Camden.
Heart pounding, fists at his sides, it was all Jeremy could do not to sock Simon. This was to be his Christmas alone with Katherine and Evan. Simon was not invited. In fifteen years, Simon had never arrived in London without giving Katherine weeks of warning. Also, he had never arrived looking this good. Simon was a road rat. He always appeared at her door with greasy hair, filthy clothes, and a half-week’s growth of beard. His first days back, he had visited his barber, his tailor, and boot-maker and, by the end of the week, he became the stunning specimen he was right now.
Shorter than Jeremy, but still taller than most men, forty-two, and athletically built, Simon oozed charm. His thick golden hair was streaked with glossy silver, beautifully cut, and combed back, just touching his shoulders. Since he was not currently on the stage, he had grown a finely manicured beard to frame his high cheekbones. An elegant moustache curved to match the delicate curve of his brows. His forehead was high, his nose was straight, and his gray eyes were laughing. His dress suit fit like a glove. His patent-leather slippers gleamed and his nails were buffed. For a split second Jeremy hoped Simon had fallen in love with some other woman. When he spun Katherine around, then kissed her passionately, that hope dissolved.
Katherine laughed with pleasure. “We thought you were in New York.” She lovingly stroked his cheek, “I was so worried when your letters stopped coming.”
“It’s a long story. I’ve missed you.”
“Oh, certainly.” She laughed as he held her tight, kissing her again.
Longing to yank them apart, Jeremy clenched his fists and waited for the interminable kiss to end. When Simon finally came up for air, he turned his head and did a double-take. A vision of loveliness slithered through the crowd. He smiled hungrily. “Who is this Grecian goddess?”
*
Elly Fielding had arrived, excited and breathless, in an exquisite green-velvet gown. Youthful styling, and a stiff corset, molded her boyish figure into a shapely hourglass. The scooped neckline exposed the pristine white flesh of firm young breasts. A small gold theatre-mask broach was perfectly displayed near her cleavage. Her light-copper hair was swept up, with one long curl pulled cunningly over one naked shoulder. The slightest touch of charcoal accentuated her pale eyebrows and lashes, making her large green eyes appear even brighter.
Jeremy guessed that Isabelle’s dressmaker had worked through the night. He offered his hand. “My dear, you are a vision.” He bowed from the waist, lifting her gloved fingers to his lips. She lowered her eyes and curtsied. “Simon, may I present one of my apprentices, Elly Fielding? Miss Fielding, this is Simon Camden.”
Elly looked faint as Simon stepped forward, slowly looking her up and down. “This is an apprentice? Things have certainly improved.” Rather than bending toward her, he took her hand and pulled her toward him. They were nearly touching and her cheeks burned like fire. “You can still blush?” Smiling seductively, he brushed her fingers against his lips. “How lovely, you’ve not been jaded.” Looking very uncomfortable, she jerked her hand away. He held it tight.
Katherine came to her rescue. “Simon, let the girl alone.” She gently broke his hold.
He swung Katherine into another embrace. “I missed you, and I can’t believe you’re still mated to this old pouf.”
At that, even Jeremy laughed. Katherine threw him a kiss. “You brought us together, all those years ago. Jerry is still the best thing going.”
Feeling himself grow an extra two inches, Jeremy almost did not care when Simon moved his lips over hers, crooning, “You’ve been all over the world, in my mind.”
A familiar voice croaked, “Mistletoe works, I see.”
“Bernard!” Simon let Katherine go and extended his hand. “How long has it been?”
“You look well, my friend. The Americas agree with you.” George Bernard Shaw shook Simon’s hand, then
Jeremy’s, and kissed Katherine’s cheek. “I’m not sure you all know Janet Achurch, and her husband Charles Carrington.”
Simon took Janet’s hand and bowed to kiss it. “Dear Lady, the fates have never allowed us to play in the same city at the same time. It is a tragedy that I have missed both your Doll’s House, and your Candida.”
Bernard Shaw looked around the vast hall. “Anymore of you thespian lot here tonight?”
Katherine pointed to a balcony. “I spotted Maurice Barrymore and his crowd when we first arrived.”
Elly looked up and caught her breath. At the center of the grand staircase stood Rory Cook. Very handsome, with freshly cut hair and perfectly tailored evening-clothes, he leaned casually against the banister and chatted with three plain young women. They stared adoringly, and he enjoyed their attention.
Bernard Shaw and the others splintered into small groups.
Elly excused herself and slithered through the crowded hall. Simon watched her go.
Katherine smiled. “There’s a young man on the stairs.”
Simon squinted, trying to see across the wide hall. “Ah yes, good-looking blond chap. Short – one of yours?”
“Another apprentice, Rory Cook.”
“In my day apprentices were poor.”
Jeremy chuckled. “They are poor as church mice. Not a bean between them. Isabelle’s taken a fancy and made them her dress-up dolls.”
Simon nodded. “Good for them. That girl’s an extraordinary beauty, what are you going to do with her?” Jeremy smiled suggestively and Simon sputtered, “All right, Jerry, I know what you’re not going to do with her. More fool you. Can she act?”
“Not yet, but her instincts are marvelous.”
“How old is she?”
“Eighteen, yesterday. Come on you lot, I’m famished.”
Jeremy squeezed through clumps of genial partygoers. He slithered into the drawing room. Gleaming silver chafing dishes brimmed with stuffed lobster, thin slices of lean beef, glazed pheasant, roast potatoes, sautéed vegetables, and hot rolls. When he looked back, Katherine and Simon were gone. He cursed himself, guessing Simon had whisked her off to a secluded spot.
But From Thine Eyes: Scintillating historical drama set in an Edwardian English theatre (His Majesty's Theatre Book 2) Page 13