The Nomad Harp

by Elizabeth Rotter Matthews

  “The boy actor, you know the one. Betty his name is, William Betty. He's doing a scene from Hamlet for his audience,” the gentleman replied.

  Archer turned to Pontley and asked if he had as yet seen the Young Roscius, but Pontley was not attending to him. He could not take his eyes from the black horse whose reins the boy held; there was no mistaking the distinct white markings on the black mare. With an effort he withdrew his gaze and Archer was struck by the grimness of his expression.

  “Not impressed with the prodigy, eh, Pontley? Haven't seen him yet myself, but there's no going anywhere in town where they aren't talking of him. Shall we ride over?"

  “No. That is, you may if you wish but I have no desire to see him."

  “I have tickets for the theatre this evening and I'm devilish sharp-set, so I'll give it a pass."

  The two men rode on and Pontley was grateful when their ways diverged a short distance from the entrance. He retraced his route into the park and rode close enough to the gathering to have an excellent view of the young man. It was indeed Jennifer, tricked out in a young man's dress and cleverly made up to bear an incredible likeness to the actor. Her voice, too, carried a good distance (probably from years of practice screaming, he thought mournfully) and she was reciting Hamlet's speeches as though she were born to the role. It was a matter of astonishment to him, though, that she was able to fool the gathering, since many of its number must have seen the boy perform. She was nearing the completion of a monologue and he placed himself where she could not fail to see him. When her eyes met his there was a glint of defiance in them, and he was not sure that she would obey the beckoning gesture he made.

  Jennifer had begun to wonder how to extract herself from her prank, for it seemed likely that this partisan crowd would follow her when she attempted to leave the park. More from self-preservation than from a desire to obey her fiancé, she made an elaborate bow to the hearty applause, sprang onto her mare like a boy and joined Pontley. Together they rode from the park without a word, and quickly lost themselves in the maze of streets beyond. It was not until they neared the house in Brook Street that he spoke.

  “You appeared to be enjoying yourself, Jennifer."

  Her chin lifted stubbornly. “I was, and it did no one any harm."

  “I dare say. And yet you rode out alone, which was not only improper but might have been dangerous."

  “You bought the horse for me to amuse myself, Philip."

  Another expensive lesson, he thought. “I am not sure the Young Roscius would appreciate being imitated, and your performance, though excellent, did not perhaps reach his standards. What if someone had attempted to expose you as a fraud?"

  She gave a nervous giggle. “I had them all fooled, as you could see. Much leeway is given for the lack of costume and scenery, my dear fellow. And I thought my disguise admirable."

  “You look enough like him to pass as a double. Where did you come by the clothes?"

  “Oh, that was a simple matter. I asked a footman to purchase me an outfit, as I wished to surprise my brother with it. When I told him my brother was younger but about the same size, he came up with these and they fit very well."

  “And I suppose the bill will be sent to me."

  “Of course. Well, I have no money of my own left, Philip,” she confided, “and they were not so very expensive. Not so much as one of my gowns."

  Pontley assisted her to dismount before the waiting groom, who nervously cast a worried look at his lordship. The groom had attempted to refuse Miss Stafford when she arrived at the stables in a boy's costume demanding that her new horse be saddled, and not with a sidesaddle, either. She had railed at him like a fishwife, and since Lord Pontley was out and could not be consulted, he had done as she bid. The viscount did not now reprimand him but led the young lady back to the house, where they were directed to the dowager, who smoldered in the breakfast room. She had long since been informed that Jennifer was not in the house, and had not left with the viscount. As she studied the girl's costume, her face became more sour than usual, her eyes filled with fury.

  “You have been abroad in that outfit, Jennifer? And you permitted it, Pontley?"

  “I had nothing to say to it, Aunt. Jennifer conceived the idea of passing herself off as the actor Betty in the park, where I found her."

  The young lady's face became mulish. “There was no harm in it, Aunt Gertrude. No one suspected that I was not the real actor."

  “Have you no shame? Parading about as a boy, calling notice to yourself in the park? You are intent on disgracing your family and yourself! What if word of this gets about? Not a drawing room in town will be open to you! We scarcely live down one incipient scandal when you must throw yourself into another. And don't look to me to save you from disgrace, missy. One day your cozening smile will no longer work for you with anyone, you will be so far beyond the pale.” She turned in her fury on Pontley. “You must control the chit. Have her locked in her room, if it is necessary, but do not let her go about town casting shame on us all."

  “I would remind you, dear aunt, that I am not yet married to Miss Stafford. She is presently under your chaperonage."

  “Then as her chaperone I insist that we retire to the country immediately. The next time she comes to London it will have to be under your aegis, Pontley, where her behavior cannot reflect on me."

  Jennifer wailed her anger at such a decision, but Pontley bowed and agreed. “I can be ready to leave whenever you wish, ma'am, but I would remind you that as your niece, Miss Stafford's behavior is like to reflect on you always."

  The old woman gave a shudder of repulsion. “I will be ready to leave in two hours."

  It was vexing beyond anything for Jennifer to be discussed as though she were not present. She grasped a cup and flung it at Pontley's head, which it grazed slightly. His lips compressed into a hard line. “Get to your room and see that your maid begins packing immediately, Jennifer. I will not hesitate to have you carried to the carriage if you are not ready or willing."

  Jennifer knew she had gone too far, but she did not apologize. Instead she glared at him and stomped from the room. Pontley immediately summoned a footman and gave instructions for a departure. When they were alone again he turned to the dowager.

  “I would suggest, ma ‘am, that you have a close watch kept on your niece until we depart, since I do not think it beyond her in her present frame of mine to try to run away. It would matter nothing to her that she has nowhere to go."

  Even Lady Pontley was shocked by this suggestion, but she realized that it was not an impossibility, and she accorded him a bitter nod before stiffly leaving the room. Pontley, as usual, was forced to keep at bay the thought that this sort of crisis was now a permanent feature of his life. It would become no better on their marriage, and perhaps worse.

  Chapter 14

  Mrs. Morgan blew her nose repeatedly, and Betsey's eyes were wet with tears when Glenna bid them farewell. She took a last look about the house as nostalgically as though she had lived there the better part of her life rather than a few months. Mr. Glover saw that there was a ham for the vicarage loaded into the carriage, and assured Glenna that her furniture would be well cared for.

  The sun broke through an overcast day as the two young ladies climbed into the carriage and they waved forlornly to the group who had made their stay so pleasant. No longer was the carriage-way overgrown with grass, nor the brambles so wild as to scratch the sides of a vehicle passing along it. The grounds were manicured and the hedges trimmed, and just before they were out of sight of the far coppice they had a glimpse of a deer.

  “Do you suppose it was ours?” Phoebe asked sadly.

  “I'm sure of it, love,” Glenna responded with a bracing smile. “Come now, you must look forward to being home again, to seeing your mama and papa."

  “Yes, of course. it is just that ... Burgess Hill is so far from here."

  Although Glenna understood her to be saying that Burgess Hill was so far fr
om Captain Andrews, she made no effort to allude to that subject. “You have been an angel to stay with me so long. We have had a pleasant time, haven't we? I've grown accustomed to being mistress of an establishment, Phoebe, and do not look forward to finding lodgings."

  “Have you no relations you wish to visit? It pains me to think of you in some shabby rooms in Hastings, in spite of all your friends there. Why don't you go to the Stokeses for a while? I know they would be happy to have you."

  “It would only delay my establishing myself somewhere. Do you suppose at my age I need have a companion?"

  Phoebe regarded her incredulously. “Well, of course you do. Surely you had not thought to live alone."

  “I would prefer it, but I believe you are right. What a nuisance! Have you ever met a companion who was not bird-witted, Phoebe?"

  “Never."

  “Nor have I. There is no use in dwelling on it now, however. Shall I read for a while?"

  Thus their journey progressed as pleasantly as possible, and if Glenna occasionally allowed her mind to stray to how she was to go on in the future, it was not to be wondered at. Phoebe had spells of melancholy as well, but they worked to keep one another's spirits up, and arrived at the vicarage to a warm welcome. Pontley's coachman was thanked and an unsuccessful attempt made to reward him for his services. His instructions were to deliver the carriage to Lockwood and then take the stage coach to London, so the young ladies saw that their belongings were quickly removed to the house.

  There was a surprise awaiting them at the vicarage in the person of a young man they had both known years ago when he had lived there with the vicar as his tutor. Although it was seven years since Phoebe had seen him, she would have recognized the boyish face anywhere. “Carlton! Whatever are you doing here?”

  The vicar interrupted to say, “It is Lord Kilbane now, my dear, and we are honored to have his lordship spend the holiday with us. There is not time for him to get to Ireland this year for his break."

  “Well, I am delighted to see you again. Isn't this famous, Glenna? Now we can put on a theatrical.” Phoebe extended her hand to the young man, who was almost a brother to her.

  Lord Kilbane grinned and murmured, “Always a pleasure to see you, Miss Thomas. I remember our theatricals as among the most cherished hours of my stay here.” He turned apologetically to the vicar. “Not that I did not relish my lessons, of course, sir."

  Since Kilbane had not been and never would be a scholar, his statement was viewed with amusement, but he was an engaging young man whose kind heart, easygoing manner and ready laugh made his passage through the vicarage a matter of pleasure for all its occupants. When he turned to Glenna, there was a sparkle in his eyes. “And Miss Forbes. I had not thought to be reunited with you when I wrote to invite myself to the vicarage.” He turned suddenly serious. “I understand you lost your father last summer. Please accept my condolences. I realize how close you were."

  “Thank you, Lord Kilbane. I know you understand what such a loss is.” It was more than three years since the young man's father had died, but he nodded agreement and pressed her hand. Glenna, like Phoebe, had always considered him in the light of a younger brother. At twenty-one he was grown more handsome and the black curly hair was kept more neatly, but the boyish enthusiasm of the fourteen-year-old had not diminished. He spoke irreverently of his life at Cambridge as they entered the house, and even the vicar could not resist a chuckle.

  Phoebe willingly agreed to share her room with Glenna, as there was only the one spare bedroom at the vicarage, but she muttered as they entered, “Not your harp, please. It will have to take its place in the drawing room as before."

  “I cannot think the vicar will mind, since I intend to be here for a few weeks this time. I remarked no astonishment when it was carried into the house."

  “They are becoming used to your idiosyncrasies, my dear,” Phoebe retorted.

  “Such tolerance. I shall have to acquit myself well to repay it."

  “Do you know, I think that is the perfect solution.” Phoebe stared off into space for a moment before enlightening her friend. “Papa has been fretting about funds for the village school, and I think we could help him. Remember we did so once years ago? Oh, it needn't be a great production, just a short program with you playing the harp and a drama of no great length. Lord Kilbane would surely enter into our scheme, and we could each play several parts if it were a farce."

  “But Kilbane and I won't be here very long, Phoebe."

  “We could have it just after Christmas, when everyone is still in the country. If we choose something worthy, it is bound to be of great length, so we will have a light sort of play. More folks would be interested in that in any case."

  “Even a light play, as you call it, would be too long for the three of us to handle in such a short time, I fear."

  “No, listen, I have it. Did your cousin Mary Stokes ever send you the charming satire she did on country house parties?"

  “Yes,” Glenna grinned. “I had no idea she had so sharp a tongue, or that she would exert herself to scribble it down not once but any number of times to send to her friends."

  “Well, she didn't, you know. I have it on the best authority that she paid the governess at Wattings five shillings a copy to do so for her. Never mind that. Don't you think it would be perfect? Kilbane could act Squire Irascible and Mr. Hedgehead. He would adore those parts."

  “Show me your copy, love. I do not remember it so well as you do.” Glenna had caught Phoebe's enthusiasm, and the two were soon poring over the very delightful sketch. It had the advantage of containing only three short acts (Mary Stokes would hardly have written more), with only half a dozen players, and was just the sort of production to appeal to the neighbors around Burgess Hill. Phoebe soon rose, declared her intention of confirming the project with her parents, and departed.

  By the following day the participants had begun rehearsals in the drawing room, which was graciously relinquished for their endeavors. There were several places in the script where they were obliged to make changes because they had not enough actors—an irksome chore, but necessary. While they were puzzling over this, a note was delivered from Pontley asking if he and Miss Stafford might call that afternoon.

  Phoebe's brows drew together with concern. “Oh, Lord, Glenna, he has already returned from London, and we had his coachman. How inconvenient for him, but he does not even mention the circumstance."

  “Who is he?” Kilbane asked, his curiosity piqued that the ladies had been driven to the vicarage by someone's coachman.

  "You explain to him, Glenna. I would make it sound ridiculous,” Phoebe asserted.

  “It is a very simple matter, Lord Kilbane—"

  “Spare me the ‘Lord,’ if you please, both of you."

  “Yes, well, last winter I became engaged to a Captain Philip Hobart of the Royal Navy. In the spring his cousin, Viscount Pontley, died, and about the same time they learned that the younger cousin had died in India in the autumn. So he became the eighth Viscount Pontley. I broke the engagement a while after that and of course had nothing further to do with him. But when my father died last summer Pontley came and suggested that I live at his estate in Somerset and oversee the renovations he wished undertaken there. Phoebe went with me and when we were ready to leave he sent his coachman to drive us back.” She turned to Phoebe to murmur, “I see nothing ridiculous in it."

  “It depends on how much of it you tell, of course,” Phoebe agreed with laughing eyes, before turning to Kilbane. “Lord Pontley lives at Lockwood, perhaps ten miles from here. I shall certainly agree to their call, Glenna, so that we may thank him for the coachman."

  While she penned a cordial note to Pontley, the Irishman asked Glenna about Miss Stafford. "She is his fiancée, and niece of his uncle's wife. We have not met her, either, but I understand she is a charming young lady. No doubt she is staying with the dowager until the wedding.” Glenna was tempted to tell him her opinion of the dowager, but
decided against it.

  They had just determined the division of parts some hours later when the viscount was announced and entered the drawing room with a remarkably attractive girl in a demure blue driving costume. The vicar and Mrs. Thomas welcomed them and introduced Lord Kilbane. Miss Stafford acknowledged the introductions to each member with a shy, trusting smile, her eyes alight with interest. When Mrs. Thomas drew the girl into conversation, Pontley took the opportunity to speak with Glenna and Phoebe.

  “I understand your journey was uneventful and you both appear to be in the best of health.” His eyes dwelled for a moment on Glenna's restored looks, and there was an unmistakable glint in them.

  Phoebe hastened to express their gratitude for his coachman and the Manner Hall coach. “We could not have managed Glenna's harp without it, of course, but we had no idea of infringing on your use of your own coachman. I felt alarmed to hear that you had returned from London already, for you must have needed him."

  “We managed very well without. Our departure from town was earlier than we expected."

  “I do hope through no indisposition of the Dowager Lady Pontley,” Glenna offered sweetly, convinced that this should repay him for his mockery.

  His serious expression startled her. “No, not an indisposition. She is quite well, thank you, and I will tell her that you inquired."

  “Does Miss Stafford stay with her at the dower house?” Phoebe asked curiously. “And has a date been set for the wedding?"

  “Miss Stafford stays with her aunt, yes, and the date of the wedding depends on when Sir George and Lady Stafford can join us here. It is hunting season, you know,” he remarked dryly.

  “You are to be married at Lockwood?” Phoebe was surprised and did not attempt to conceal it.