Vintage Love

by Clarissa Ross

  She went to the window again and saw him enter his carriage and drive off. Only then did she succumb to her second desperate sobbing of the night, flinging her naked body across the bed and giving free rein to her grief.

  After a half hour’s time she donned her nightdress and attempted to sleep. She left the candle burning for company, and so was able to note Andrew’s rumpled condition when he awakened her much later by his clumsy entrance. She had never seen him so consumed with spirits, yet he managed to stagger awkwardly about.

  He came to the foot of her bed and snarled, “Slut!”

  “Please go to your own room!” she begged him. “Where is Graham?”

  “On the street where he belongs!” Andrew gloated. “I picked the little swine up out of the gutter and I tossed him back there tonight!”

  “Why?”

  “Because he showed himself to be on your side! A pretty picture, isn’t it? My little bedmate helping you!”

  It was all too plain that Graham had tried, albeit ineffectually, to plead her case and had been discarded by Andrew because of it. She felt sorry for the lad, despite his attachment to her husband. “You owed him more than that. He was only trying to spare us more shame!”

  “I will judge what he did on my own terms,” Andrew flared, still in an ugly mood. “Tell me, did you enjoy your bedding down with that Frenchman?” he leered. “They are considered most expert!”

  She edged across the bed as he approached her menacingly. Then she cast aside the covers and leaped toward the door, but he adroitly blocked her way.

  “Count Beaufaire came and left at once!” she cried. “He didn’t touch me!”

  “A likely story!” Andrew jeered, attempting to seize her.

  “It is true!”

  “I’ll bet he admired your lovely, creamy skin.” Andrew growled low in his throat and reached out for her. “I’ll make it black-and-blue for the next time!”

  “Please!” she sobbed, backing away from him toward the bedside table and the candle in its heavy brass candleholder.

  Andrew lunged at her, and reacting instinctively, she grasped the candlestick and struck him on the temple and across the cheek. At the same time the candle fell to the floor and went out, and the room was left in shadows.

  Andrew lay stretched out in an ugly sprawl, completely unconscious. Still sobbing, Enid began to dress quickly and thrust a few things into a portmanteau. Then she raced down the stairs and halted in surprise at the sight of Graham standing there.

  “I followed him home,” the youth said.

  “He said he has finished with you!”

  Graham smiled grimly. “He went through all the motions, but I vow he’ll change his mind in the morning!”

  “I struck him with the candleholder—he may be dead!” she told Graham in a choked voice.

  He took her by the arm as she began to sway back and forth. “It would take more than that to kill him, I assure you!”

  “I must leave here at once,” she wailed.

  “I have a carriage waiting outside. Take it. I will stay here and see that he is all right.”

  “Please let me know his condition—I am so afraid!”

  “Where will you be?”

  She gave him Kemble’s address and then he saw her to the carriage. Once inside its dark interior, she wondered if the events of this night had truly happened or if they had been a ghastly nightmare. She knew only too well that they were real and ugly.

  Kemble was still up and reading a playscript when Enid burst in on him. He received her with his usual consideration. After drinking some brandy and unburdening herself to him as she sat before the fire, she felt more in control of herself.

  “I can never go back to Andrew,” she declared with a shudder.

  “That is a sensible decision,” the actor agreed.

  She gave him a frightened glance. “If Andrew is still alive, that is.”

  “Who knows about your striking him?”

  “Graham.”

  “His boy?”

  “Yes. I sent him up to see how badly I had hurt Andrew.”

  “But you didn’t wait to find out if he was dead?”

  “No.”

  “So Graham could testify against you if you really killed Andrew.”

  “I suppose so, though I doubt if he would. He has been on my side in this.”

  “Strange,” the actor said thoughtfully as he bent over the hearth to stir the glowing embers.

  “He is not a bad young man. I am saddened that Andrew has corrupted him so.”

  “Perhaps this will turn out to be a changing point in his life,” Kemble suggested.

  “I hope so. In any event, I shall always be grateful to him.”

  “What do you plan to do?” Kemble asked, rising to his feet and picking up his brandy glass.

  “If there are no complications, I shall go down to Surrey and stay with my parents. They will welcome me. My father has never been happy about my marriage.”

  “That I can understand. But what about us?” His voice tensed slightly.

  “I cannot stay here,” she said. “It would spoil things. You would be touched by the scandal.”

  He laughed. “Most theater people thrive on scandal.”

  “And my being here would make us behave like man and wife. That would be fatal to our relationship!”

  Kemble’s large brown eyes searched her face. “This Frenchman, Count Beaufaire, who has suddenly turned up in London—he’s my phantom rival, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” she confessed.

  “I suspected as much. Do you still love him?”

  “More than I had imagined.” Now that the question had been asked of her, she realized the depth of her feeling for Armand.

  “Will he remain in London?”

  She shrugged. “I do not know. I had very little time to talk with him.”

  “I wonder that he did not claim his winnings,” Kemble could not refrain from musing.

  “He is too much the gentleman,” Enid said softly.

  Kemble sighed. “I have no doubt that you will hear from him again.”

  “I hope so. He brought me word of the death of my best friend and her husband. We spoke of little else before Andrew broke in on us.”

  The actor put down his brandy glass and asked, “Do you think you’ll be able to sleep now?”

  “I’m surely weary enough.”

  “Then let me see you safely to bed.”

  She rose slowly, staring at him. “What about you?”

  “This is not a night for us. I shall make myself comfortable on the divan here.”

  “That doesn’t seem right!” she protested.

  “It is exactly right,” Kemble said, putting an arm around her. He saw her to his bedchamber, kissed her good night, and closed the door gently behind him.

  10

  When Enid appeared in the sitting room the next morning, Kemble had already made a pot of tea and set out plates of bread, cheese, and smoked fish. He kissed her tenderly and said, “I insist you eat a good breakfast.”

  She sat down at the oak table. “You should have waited and let me prepare it.”

  He laughed. “We actors are used to making our own meals. Don’t forget I toured for some years and lived in the meanest of lodgings. One is forced to become self-sufficient under those conditions.” He poured a cup of tea for her and then filled his own.

  “I had a few bad dreams last night, John,” she said.

  “You were fortunate to sleep at all after such an experience.”

  They had barely begun to eat when a knock sounded at the door. Kemble opened it, to reveal Graham standing there.

  “May I speak with Lady Blair?” he asked.

  “Certainly,” Kemble said. “You must be Graham.”

  “Yes, sir.” The lad crossed the threshold almost shyly, looking younger than usual, and bowed when he saw Enid. “Good morning to you, Lady Blair.”

  Enid rose quickly. “Thank you for comin
g, Graham. What news do you bring?”

  “All is well. You did not kill Lord Andrew.”

  “Thank goodness!” she gasped, a wave òf relief washing over her.

  “How much harm was done him?” Kemble asked.

  “He received an injured temple and had a good chunk of flesh torn from his cheek,” Graham replied. “He will bear a scar to his dying day.”

  Enid shuddered. “He is so vain, he will never forgive me for that! What about you, Graham? How did he behave to you this morning?”

  The youth looked forlorn. “He gave me no thanks for calling a doctor and seeing him safely to bed.”

  “He is most unfair!”

  “He blamed me for helping you get away, and he called me a number of unpleasant things.” Graham’s face turned crimson. “Many of which happen to be true.”

  “So you cannot go back to him,” Enid said.

  “No, I can’t.”

  Kemble spoke up. “I think you should be grateful for that. There is nothing but a sorry end for most sexual deviants. And if you chose to stay with him, you would be forced to continue along the same perverse path.”

  Graham eyed the actor earnestly. “I have given that some thought, sir. I haven’t always lived Lord Andrew’s way. Not long ago I even courted a girl.”

  “You would do well to return to that time,” Kemble advised.

  “I agree,” Enid declared firmly. “If Andrew would take you back, or if you were to have an alliance with some other man, it would surely work against you. Save yourself while there is still a chance.”

  “Thank you, Lady Blair.” Graham smiled, then he turned to Kemble. “If I had employment of some sort, things might go better for me. I have always had a yearning for the stage.”

  Kemble studied him with a professional eye. “Your face is pleasant enough, and you have a good figure. Your speech is that of the upper class. If you could subdue your somewhat effeminate mannerisms, I think I could try you out in a few minor parts.”

  Graham nearly burst with excitement. “Would you sir? Truly?”

  “Why not? You showed Lady Blair exceptional kindness. I can do no less for you. But remember, there are no sexual misfits in my company. I allow none of that.”

  “I wish to get away from it, I swear!” the youth cried.

  Kemble nodded. “Very well. Go to Drury Lane and ask for Mallory, my stage manager. Tell him you’re to play the walk-on parts in the new production. He’ll give you instructions, and you’ll have a chance to apprentice yourself to the theater.”

  “Thank you, sir, thank you!”

  “The pay is small,” Kemble warned him. “Only ten shillings a month.”

  “I can manage,” the youth assured him. “Thank you both!” And with a low bow he hurried out.

  When he had gone, Enid asked Kemble, “Do you really think he will reform?”

  “It is hard to say. I’d be willing to wager there is hope for him, and I’ll see he gets every encouragement. With his sensitive mien he could go far.”

  Enid and Kemble seated themselves at the table again, and John poured fresh tea. While she sipped at hers, Enid thought about her decision to go to her parents. She didn’t want to leave London without first trying to contact Armand. She also wanted some of her clothing.

  After the breakfast dishes were cleared away, she sent a messenger to the Blair mansion, asking the housemaid to pack several gowns and a few personal articles and have them delivered to Kemble’s flat.

  Then she had an inspiration. “John, I think I will spend a few days with Gustav and Susie. I’m sure they can put me up.”

  “Why not remain here?” he asked in surprise.

  She blushed. “You know why.”

  His facial muscles tightened. “You can think of no one but the Frenchman.”

  She made no reply.

  “All right,” he said with a sigh. “I shall not push my luck. I’ll see you to the studio. And when your luggage arrives, I’ll bring it over there.”

  Susie was alone when Kemble dropped Enid off later on his way to rehearsal at Drury Lane. The auburn-haired actress was delighted to hear that Enid wished to remain with her and Gustav for a while.

  “I’m thrilled to have you!” Susie bubbled. “Gustav is out now on some business involving the refugees from across the Channel, but I know he’ll feel the same.”

  Enid told Susie what had happened the night before and ended with, “It is my hope that Gustav can locate the count for me before I leave London.”

  “There is every chance he can, since he is in close touch with all the refugees,” his new wife said. “And you were right to leave that wretched Andrew!”

  “I hope so.”

  Susie gathered up her bonnet and shawl. “I really must go. I shall be late for the rehearsal. You rest, and when Gustav gets back, I’m sure he can help you.”

  Enid remained alone in the studio for what seemed endless minutes. Then she heard someone knocking on the door. She opened it to a short man with thick white hair and a haunted look on his lined face. He was dressed shabbily and appeared nervous.

  “I am Duval,” he told her in French. “I was to meet Gustav and I missed him.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “He has gone out and won’t be back for a while.”

  The man twisted his black, three-cornered hat in his hands. “May I wait for him?”

  Enid hesitated. “Are you a friend?”

  “A friend from France. I escaped only a week ago. Gustav is helping me and my family get settled here in London.”

  Enid relented at once. “Then do come in and sit down.”

  He obeyed her, all the while watching her warily. At last he broke the silence by asking, “Are you Madam Brideau?”

  “No,” Enid replied with a small smile. “I’m a friend of Gustav and his wife.”

  “I see.” Duval again lapsed into silence.

  She decided to try to question him a little. “Did you see the revolution start?”

  “I was there when it began,” he replied. “When they stormed the Bastille.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “No one believed it was possible. The rabble stole nearly twenty-eight thousand muskets and cannons, and then they stormed the Bastille. I was on duty there, under General Besenval, and by doing my duty as a military officer, I became an enemy of the people!” He shook his head sadly.

  “Go on,” she urged.

  “The general had plenty of troops to guard the fortress, and the governor of the Bastille—De Launay—was a good-enough man. He had inherited the post from his father. He wasn’t a soldier, mind you; he wore a gray frock coat. Well, at noon on July fourteenth the mob demanded that he remove the artillery from the eight round towers. De Launay warned them that he would resist any attack until death. But he finally agreed to do their bidding when they said they would disperse.”

  “And did they?”

  “No. As soon as the cannons were removed, they demolished the first of two drawbridges and brought their guns into position against the second. The officer in charge of our troops suggested we surrender, but De Launay said he would rather blow up the Bastille. Our commander decided to act on his own and sent out a note, offering to surrender if the mob would spare the garrison.”

  “Did that work out?”

  “Not at all,” Duval said bitterly. “One of the rabble, an ex-soldier, accepted the note and took it to the others. Then he came back with the word that they would agree to the commander’s terms. That was the beginning of the slaughter. Without permission from De Launay, the commander lowered the drawbridge and the throng rushed in, murdering everyone in sight. I made myself scarce in the dungeons until I had a chance to escape.”

  “What about the others?”

  “It was bedlam! The insurgents went about smashing the windows and the furniture, releasing the prison’s few convicted men. De Launay was seized by the crowd. Some tore out his hair—others jabbed him with swords. Finally a cook named
Denot cut off his head with a butcher’s knife! He later boasted of the deed and demanded a medal for it. The dripping head was skewered on a pike, and this poor man, who had only done his duty, was described on a placard as a disloyal, treacherous enemy of the people!”

  “Everyone must have gone mad!”

  “It is the time of madmen! I heard someone with a foot long beard proclaim that he was God and must slaughter all of us.”

  “You were indeed fortunate to have escaped,” Enid murmured.

  “And to have brought my wife and children with me,” Duval added. “We traveled north and remained hidden near Calais for days, until a boat came late one night and took us and other refugees aboard. From there it was an easy journey to London.”

  “Aren’t there people trying to help the so-called enemies of the people to flee the country?”

  Duval nodded. “There is an underground here, led mostly by Frenchmen who had already emigrated to England. Gustav is one of many who have helped save lives.”

  “I knew he was deeply concerned about the plight of the Royalists.”

  “He is directing things here in London,” the white-haired man told her. “But I’m sure he would rather cross the Channel and fight the rebels who are bent on destroying France.”

  “We know that the king and queen have been uprooted from Versailles.”

  “They are in grave danger.”

  “Friends of mine … the Duke and Duchess d’Orsay … lived near the palace and were murdered by the rioters.”

  “Many of the Royalists have suffered the same fate.”

  “Have you heard of a nobleman by the name of Beaufaire?” she ventured.

  Duval’s worn face lit up. “He is a hero among us. He was fighting for the cause even before the revolution broke out into the open.”

  Just then Gustav arrived. He saw Enid first, then Duval, and his face registered surprise. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.

  “I will tell you about myself later,” Enid answered. “But Monsieur Duval has been waiting to talk with you.”

  Gustav frowned and then turned to his countryman. “If you will come this way.”

  She waited while the two men went into the kitchen area and had a rather lengthy discussion behind a closed door. After they came out, Duval hurried away and Gustav turned his attention to her.