“There is no one for me but you!”
“You think that now,” she said. “You will find another. I promise you!”
He made no reply. The rest of the the drive was in silence. When he took her back to her house he was polite and formal. She tried to maintain the same calm though her throat was tight with pain at the thought that she was not likely to see him again.
“Goodbye, May,” he said tautly.
“I shall miss you, Howard,” she told him, her eyes meeting his sadly.
She hurried inside so he would not see her tears. She was miserable for several days afterwards and only the necessity of going to the theatre and giving a performance kept her from moping in her room.
It was inevitable that the day of her wedding should arrive. She made her last appearance as Hermia in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”. There were tearful goodbyes to her fellow players, most of whom had been her friends since she’d first joined the Waddingtons.
One hearty old actress hugged her and bellowed what most of the others had said, “You’ll be back! Mark that! You’ve a true talent and love for the theatre! You’ll not remain away from us long!”
Mary smiled and shook her head. But in her heart she felt it was true. She did love the theatre and the adulation of the audiences. If the opportunity presented itself she would probably return. Meanwhile it was to be marriage and life on Lord Carter’s estate in Hampstead.
Lord Patrick Carter arranged the details of the wedding. And it was typical of his preference for dogs to humans that there were more canines in attendance at the ceremony than people. Hector Waddington was on hand to give Mary away and Peg acted as her matron of honor. Lord Patrick was attended by his estate manager and a Great Dane solemnly garbed in a black waistcoat. It was to the great brown beast’s credit that he sat with dignity by his master all through the service.
The ceremony was held in the family chapel on the grounds of the estate. The old vicar who conducted the nuptials raised his venerable eyebrows when following the main wedding party a master of hounds with some thirty-odd dogs took up a stand at the rear of the tiny, stone church.
Mary presented a lovely picture in her high-waisted white gown and veil and old Lord Patrick Carter looked proud and pleased. Peg wept through the ceremony while Hector, with his old actor’s poise, looked every inch the noble father. The frail old vicar pronounced the words, “man and wife” which gave plain Mary Scott, otherwise known as May Waddington, yet another name — Lady Mary Carter.
The festive wedding party lasted well into the night and was held in the main ballroom of Lord Patrick Carter’s imposing house. In the big baronial room, a string quartette played jigs from the minstrel’s gallery. Lord Carter had invited his neighbors and estate help to the party as well as the dogs, so there was no formality.
Mary and he cut the huge wedding cake and all were given slices of it along with other delicious food and champagne. A huge roast of beef had been prepared especially for the dogs and twice during the evening the thirty-odd animals raced into the ballroom to romp among the guests. The music, laughter, barking and dancing made it a highly unusual and lively affair, one which Mary would never forget.
Finally all the guests left, except Peg and Hector who were to stay at the house, and the time came for old Lord Patrick Carter to bid his bride goodnight.
The little old man smiled at her and said, “This has been the most wonderful evening of my life! I trust you were not unhappy?”
She told him sincerely, “Not at all! It was a truly delightful experience.”
“And I have decided you shall not be lonely tonight or indeed on any night,” Lord Carter said with a twinkle in his pale, gray eyes.
“No?” she said, wondering with a start of fear if he were about to abandon his promise to be her husband in name only.
“No,” the old man chuckled. And with that he made a signal and the master of hounds came forward with a spotted coach dog pup, who looked up at her happily with large yellow eyes and wagged his tail. “This is Rover. He enjoys nothing more than sleeping on a bed. He is friendly, clean and in time will become a good protector. He is my gift to you on this wedding night!”
She laughed in delight — and relief. “How generous of you! Will you not miss him?”
“Hardly,” Lord Carter said. “I have a half-dozen others in my bedchamber every night.”
She knelt down and patted the soft head of Rover fondly and said, “Then I shall be pleased to accept your gift!”
Rover became her constant companion by day and night. The Waddingtons stayed on for a few days and then had to return to their duties at the theatre. They left only after promising to return whenever they could spare some time away from their acting.
Thus began a new period in Mary’s life. She found it hard to adjust to being the mistress of a great house and “Milady” to the servants and her husband’s friends. The running of the household took a great deal of her time and occasionally Lord Carter had small dinner parties for some of his wealthy and titled neighbors.
At one of these dinner parties in early December Mary heard several interesting pieces of gossip at the table. A dowager named Lady Sylvia Field informed her, “Beau Brummell has left England. You might say the Prince Regent has banished him.”
“And they were such friends!” Mary marvelled.
The stern-faced Lady Field frowned, “No longer. And I understand that Brummell is badly off financially. He has no money and left a lot of debts behind him!”
“Tragic!” she said.
“I expected it,” the old woman said. “And did you know we have a new Lord Blake? Old Sir John had an apoplectic fit and died three weeks ago. His son, Edward, who was invalided home from the army in India, has succeeded to the title.”
“Oh? So it is Sir Edward Blake now,” she said thoughtfully.
“Yes,” Lady Field sighed. “He’s rather handsome but a scoundrel, at least where women are concerned.”
“Has he married yet?”
“No. I doubt that he will. He is too fond of other men’s wives!”
Mary pretended casual interest, trusting that the soft candlelight of the table would hide any betraying expression she might have shown. She asked, “What about his brother?”
“Howard?”
“Yes,” she said.
Lady Field looked surprised. “Haven’t you heard? He is soon to be married.”
“Really?” She could not help the hollow sound of her comment. “To whom?”
“A Nell Thomson,” Lady Field said. “The daughter of a wealthy importer. A pretty child but bad-tempered and spoiled so they say! And more than a little … odd, for want of a better word.”
“Howard is so pleasant. I trust he will find happiness with her,” Mary said.
“I hope so,” the old woman agreed. “Though I’d be bound to say the chances are likely all against it!”
From the other end of the table Lord Patrick Carter caught her eye and gave her an affectionate smile down the long table line with guests. She smiled at him in return. She had grown tremendously fond of the kindly old man who had not only made her a lady in title, but had taught her how to behave like one. From him she learned fine points of conduct that not even the Waddingtons had been able to offer her.
She and Lord Patrick often went on long walks together, accompanied by a few of the dogs. Rover was constantly at her side and the old man had a pet pug of which he was inordinately fond.
As winter came and their walks were of necessity curtailed, she and the old man would often sit in the study of the great house by a blazing log fire. The dogs would settle contentedly in the room around them, most of them sleeping and sighing contentedly as they dreamt. Alone with her, Lord Patrick Carter lost his shyness and she found him a wonderful story teller She encouraged him to talk and liked to hear his many tales of days gone by.
One winter night he told her, “I remember a story of the venerable old Thomas, Earl of Pembroke
. He had many odd ideas and one day the oddest of all occurred to him. He decided that he would place glowing charcoals into the eyeballs of all the many statues at Wilton. He then called his family to see how much more life-like the statues had become with their new eyes! In the meantime, his son-in-law, a prankster, improved on the plan. When the charcoal burned out he used it to mark black hair over all the statues of the great so that they more than slightly resembled apes!”
Mary laughed. “I never tire of hearing your tales!”
This encouraged him to tell her another. With a wink, he said, “Lady Anne Foley had a great many male ‘friends.’ Too many to please her husband. And after one of her lyings-in she wrote him, “Dear Richard, I give you joy. I have just made you the father of a beautiful boy. Your loving wife, Anne. P.S. This is not a circular letter!’ The good Lord Glenbervie swears this to be true!”
Mary fondled the head of Rover who sat beside her chair. She said, “You have known so many people.”
“I’ve had many years in which to do it,” her elderly husband said with a smile. “Is our isolation here bothering you? Are you lonely?”
“Not a whit,” she declared. But it was not entirely true. There were times when she missed the theatre, times when she wondered about Howard Blake and his marriage and many moments when she worried about Jeffrey and what had become of him.
In February Lord Carter had an attack and Mary called in a physician. The verdict was that the old man had suffered a slight stroke. The physician bled him and after a week or two he seemed to regain most of his former strength.
It was then that he touched Mary’s heart by coming to her one day and saying, “I find myself worrying about you. More especially since my illness.”
“You must not worry,” she told him.
The old man sighed. “You are too much alone.”
“I have Rover,” she said with a smile. “And I read a great deal.”
“That’s not enough for a healthy, young girl,” Lord Patrick Carter said with a troubled look on his emaciated face. He paused, then said very gently, “If you should decide to take a lover I will offer no objection!”
She was startled to hear him speak so bluntly. “How can you suggest such a thing?”
“I must be honest,” he said. “I will accept anything for your happiness.”
“You will not have to accept that,” she promised him. “When you made me your wife I took on certain responsibilities. I do not plan to shun them. I will never bring shame to your house.”
“I would not consider it shameful,” he said. “I was selfish in marrying you.”
She touched his arm gently. “You came to me when I was badly perplexed and needed someone. I chose to be your wife and I will honor my vows till death do us part.”
“I do not deserve you,” the old man said humbly, tears brimming in his weary eyes.
In April he had another attack. This one paralyzed his left side and confined him to his bed. From then on he failed rapidly despite all the doctors could do. He still enjoyed his dogs and had them come into the room and remain with him but there were no more walks.
Mary was constantly at his bedside. When it became clear the old man could not live much longer, Peg and Hector joined her. They were both shocked by how the old man had failed. It came as no surprise when one hot July evening he quietly passed away, his hand in Mary’s.
She wept many tears for the old man whose wife she had been. That night the dogs whimpered and later in the moonlight howled out their grief for the staunch friend they had lost. In keeping with her late husband’s wishes she had the dogs brought to his grave side to see his casket lowered into the ground.
After the ceremony, as she sat black-clad and veiled in the drawing room Peg and Hector discussed the future with her.
“What are your plans?” Hector asked.
“I have none for the moment,” she said. “I need to recover from my grief.”
“We’d like you to return to the playhouse,” Peg said. “We’re doing a series of modern plays now. You would enjoy it.”
“Perhaps, later,” she said. “Not for a while.”
Hector stood with his hands clasped behind him, and asked. “What of this house and the dogs?”
“Patrick left me everything,” she said. “It was his wish that I keep the estate and see the dogs live out their natural lives under the best conditions. So I shall make certain this is done.”
Peg looked at her in her kindly fashion. “You became greatly devoted to him, didn’t you?”
“He was unique among men,” Mary said. “I do not think he knew the meaning of selfishness.”
Peg nodded. “The marriage was not a mistake for all that some criticized it.”
“I care nothing for whatever gossip there might be,” Mary said. “The marriage was a good one.”
Hector said, “When you do come to London it would not be seemly for a titled lady like yourself to live with us in our humble lodgings.”
“I’ve thought about that,” she said. “I have asked my estate agent to look for a suitable town house not too far from the West End. When I find one and move, I want you and Peg to come live with me rather than remaining by yourselves.”
The old actor lifted a protesting hand. “We couldn’t allow that!”
“Why not?” she asked. “I have more money than I shall ever need. I want friends and company. I want you.” In the end she persuaded them that they could be valuable to her.
Lord Patrick Carter had been dead nine months when Mary became impatient with life at the estate in Hampstead. The old man had been much more company for her than she’d realized. She found it awkward to entertain on her own and longed to return to London and the theatre.
By April her estate agent had found a suitable furnished house in Brattle Court not far from the Maiden Lane Theatre. She at once sent word to the Waddingtons to prepare to move in with her. She planned to take Rover to London with her as she and the dog had become inseparable. The rest of the dogs would continue their comfortable life on the estate with the master of the hounds to look after them.
It was her plan to keep the staff on at the estate and return to it for occasional holidays. This would give her a country place when she grew tired of London, though at the moment it seemed unlikely that she ever would.
Shortly before she left, her estate manager came to her with the news, “There’s a travelling circus broken down on the road by the estate entrance, My Lady. They have a few animals and the like. While they’re getting the wheel fixed on their main wagon I wondered if we might send down food for the circus people and their animals. They look as if they’ve not been doing well and I think the late master would approve.”
“By all means,” she told the manager. “Gather what you think will be suitable in a cart and I will accompany you and see that they take the gifts.”
The pony cart was filled with foodstuffs and the manager drove her down to the main road. The big circus wagon was still waiting for a new wheel as the circus people moved restlessly about. At the sight of the pony cart they gathered around it.
To her delight, when she asked for the owner of the circus it was none other than Mr. Pilkington who presented himself. The stout man looked much shabbier than the last time she’d seen him. With a bow, he removed his battered hat and said, “How nice to see you, dear lady. I fear we have fallen on evil times. After weeks of rain and little business our wagon has broken down. We are presently waiting for the wheelwright to return and replace the wheel.”
Mary said, “I have brought some food and other things for you and your animals.”
“You are too kind!” he said, pleased.
Mary said, “I remember your kindness to me once. My estate manager will dispense the things among you.”
She’d barely finished speaking when she saw a stout female figure hobbling towards her. It was Madame Goubert, the strong woman, who came rushing up to throw her arms around her. The old woman ki
ssed her and wept.
“It’s good to know you’ve prospered, my girl,” the strong woman said. “It has been different for me! Bad times with the circus! And my legs are crippled with arthritis! My arms are as strong as ever but the weakness in my legs has ruined me as a strong woman! Pilkington keeps me on out of charity!”
“There’s no need for that,” Mary told the buxom, old woman. “I’m going to London shortly and I can use a good woman like you.”
The delight on the strong woman’s face was pathetic to see. “You can’t mean it!”
“I do!” Mary said happily, embracing the stout woman as best she could. We’ll return to London and conquer it together!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The house in Brattle Court was small compared to the mansion which Mary had left. She brought along a small retinue of servants, including Madame Goubert, one of whose particular functions was to take care of Rover and exercise him. Mary also brought a small town carriage and a coachman and installed them in the coach house.
Peg and Hector Waddington joined her and were given an upper floor of the house to themselves. She was not as yet ready to return to acting but they promised her that as soon as she was there would be a play for her.
In a discussion in the elegant drawing room Hector told her, “I’m sure the following you had will remember you. The big thing this season is the contemporary comedy. I’ve found one in which there is not only a fine starring role for you but juicy parts for Peg and myself. It is called, “The Professor’s Wife”. I’m sure it will be a hit.”
“I’ll look forward to doing it,” she said. “Though I will miss the nightly bouquet of roses which Patrick so faithfully used to send me.”
“How long ago that seems!” Peg said with a small sigh.
Mary addressed herself to Hector Waddington and asked, “What about Jeffrey Hunt? Is there any chance of his returning to the company?”
The old actor and his wife exchanged a knowing glance. Then he said, “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?” she said, suddenly upset. “Has anything happened to Jeffrey?”
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