She continued to give Milly lessons in the dressing room with the chalked-up letters whenever they had a spare moment or sat sewing. When Maggie caught them she was derisory.
"Since when has education ever done women a bit of good?" she mocked. "All it does is give them ideas above their station. This is a man’s world, and the sooner you realise it and start using your quim to get what you want, the better."
Miranda had flushed to the root of her hairs, but stood her ground. "I don’t want a world like that for my daughters. You can go that way if you like, but I have the courage to fight."
"Courage can’t keep you warm at night, ride you at a gallop until you scream with joy," Maggie said witheringly.
"Perhaps not," Miranda returned coolly. "It also can’t beat you, lock you away in a mad house, divorce you, take your children away, starve you, or rape you if you are unwilling to engage in conjugal relations for a good reason like being pregnant or having just come from a miscarriage or childbirth. There are plenty of worse things in the world than being alone."
"If there are, I ain’t found ‘em yet," Maggie said with a toss of her head, though her eyes were now much less mocking.
"Then you have been most fortunate. You are of course entitled to your opinion, just as I am to mine. So we shall agree to differ, and you and your husband will stop trying to encourage me to do wrong. And I don’t see why you ever even married in the first place if you’re going to be continually unfaithful to each other."
"Keeps up the excitement," Maggie said in an off-hand manner.
"Can’t you manage to find happiness with each other? My sister says—"
"She's robably as much of a milksop as you are," she said with a dismissive wave.
A spark of mischief lit Miranda’s eyes. "Oh, I’m not so sure about that."
She stepped over to Maggie and whispered in her ear for a few minutes. "You try it, and then tell me if you think she’s a milksop."
Maggie looked surprised and intrigued. Then she lifted her nose in the air. "Where’s my gown? We’re about to go on in ten minutes and—"
"I had to repair it again. It really is a bit too long. You’re going to do yourself an injury coming up and down the stairs, just see if you don’t."
"It’s my silly neck to break," she said airily. "Come on, gown, headdress. Let’s hurry." She clapped her hands as imperiously as the queen of the Nile.
With one last long look at Miranda, as if not quite sure what to make of her, she swept out.
George caught the look as she went past and asked quietly, "Is she still giving you a hard time?"
Miranda shrugged one shoulder. "A bit. Nothing I can’t cope with. In fact, I think I might have hit upon a solution."
George would have asked what it was, but Milly came scurrying up to thank her for the adornments she had added to her dress as a surprise.
"Really, you do the most lovely embroidery. I’m only worried I’m going to look better than Maggie now."
"No, it’s just on the sleeves and hem. I’m sure she won’t be angry, or think you’re trying to upstage her."
"Ta again." She hugged her and ran off to get ready for the start of the play.
George’s gaze was warm and appreciative as he leaned closer. "That was very kind of you. I know you have little time around here. In fact, I would like to increase your percentage--"
She stared at him. "But you can only do that if you decrease someone else’s."
"Yes, my own, but I can—"
"Don’t be silly. I do little enough around here, and the job is not exactly difficult."
He moved even closer, until he could feel her warmth like an enveloping cloak. "Still, I see how patient you are with Milly. Some people find her slowness a bit of a trial."
"She had a good heart. Slow and steady wins the race. I say," she said conspiratorially, "do you think she know Daniel fancies her?"
"Does he?" he asked in surprise.
"Well, I think so. I mean, I’m no expert, but do you think there’s any objection to it? And I also wonder if, well, she had given in to Hugo. If they were, you know—"
"Not so far as I’ve ever been able to tell, no. Bart tried. Failed. She’s had a hard life, so I suppose—
"Women, do you think?"
He shook his head. "No, I don’t think so."
"So why not Daniel?"
"Why not indeed? I swore I would let everyone do what they want."
"There’s no harm in dropping a hint or two, or leaving them alone together, is there?"
"No, I suppose not," he agreed.
"I will if you will."
"Agreed."
They smiled at each other like naughty children.
Then George sobered. "I’m so glad I saved you from that alley."
"I’m so glad you did too," she said with a laugh.
"You’re a good woman, Miranda."
She raised her nose in the air a trifle. "You needn’t sound so surprised about it."
He shrugged. "It’s a rare thing in my experience."
"Oh come now, Emma and Abigail and Milly? Becky and Liz? You’re surrounded by good women, even if some of them are supposed to be bad."
"Still, thank you." George leaned forward and put his head against her neck again. Once more he smelled the magical spot behind her ear. It had been torture being with her each day, but it had got easier. Cold baths and his reminding himself continually that he could never risk having a woman he cared about fall afoul of his business associates had been enough to keep him from pulling her to him and kissing her.
Now he was surprised when she leaned against this body. But before he could decide to press forward or pull back, Daniel came bustling up.
"You coming out, Boss? Everyone is waiting on you with the book."
"Can you go ahead without me? I’m going to see some old friends tonight."
She saw a tall silver-haired man in evening dress waiting for him in the distance.
"Make sure Daniel takes you home, you understand?" he said before adjusting his cuffs in preparation for leaving.
"Gent’s club tonight?" she asked, unaccountably piqued.
"Just some business," he said dismissively.
"Have fun."
"I am now." Before she could say or do anything, he grazed his cheek against hers, kissed her in the exact same spot as he had before, behind her earlobe and jaw, and left.
Miranda clapped her hand to the spot, now damp from his tongue, and shivered. She felt the fire surging through her veins like an inferno, and longed to feel his mouth running along her spine again. Or boldly claiming her own lips. Whatever he felt for her, it could not possibly be indifference. He had kissed her several times now, had touched her in a deferential but intimate way, yet he was so aloof.
They had not said more than a few things to each other all week apart from essentials about the theatre or daily life, for all they shared four meals a day together and worked in the same place. Sometimes she even wondered if he noticed her at all.
But then he would say something which demonstrated he had been observing her acutely. Oh, it was all too confusing. She wished she knew more about men apart from the theoretical. More about George...
She apparently did know more than just theory according to her colleague, for Maggie returned to the theatre all smiles the next day, and said, "Not a milksop at all. You must tell me more when you have a minute." She looked like the cat which had swallowed the canary.
"Oh, I don’t know—" She blushed. "What are you doing here anyway? We have no rehearsals today, do we?"
"No, but I thought I might take care of a few things here, and then I’m meeting a friend for dinner."
"So you don’t need me?"
"No, not at all."
"I’ll be in the wardrobe room if you change your mind." She left Maggie humming happily to herself.
Miranda had spent her first week going through all the costumes cleaning and repairing them, and making a neat invento
ry in a book. Daniel was very good at certain things, but efficiency did not happen to be one of them. She was looking forward to doing the same with the props as well as soon as she was finished with the clothes.
As she sat working she amused herself by going over the lines for Cleopatra’s speeches. She had done it on several occasions to help Maggie as well as her understudy Milly. Miranda loved the sound of the language, the rhythm, and it was a most interesting play.
She wondered what drama they would be doing next. Another comedy if she had to guess. She would ask George when she got a chance. Perhaps she could help take some of the burden off him by working with the book, for very few of the ensemble could actually read very well, of the few who could read at all.
They were blessed with good memories and the ability to improvise when in dire straits, but they could be so much better if they were pushed along a bit more, she thought.
George was a wonderful employer, but almost too kind to them. She had seen it before with children. They never got on in life because their parents were too indulgent. Oh, she knew this would not be the most fabulous theatre in the whole of Europe, but that was no reason not to give it their best, was it?
The fates gave Miranda her chance to put theory into practice in the most unexpected way, for a short time later a loud commotion outside on stage caught her attention.
Throwing down her sewing and hurrying toward the main entrance to the theatre, she went to the proscenium arch and looked out. She saw were several people clustered around the front of the stage.
"I thought I heard a noise," she said, rushing forward. "What happened?"
"It’s Maggie. She’s fallen, hit her head very badly," Daniel said, shaking the handkerchief out of his pocket and kneeling so that he vanished from her line of sight.
"Don't move her—"
"We won't."
"Did you send for a doctor?"
"We just found her."
She reached the edge of the stage and looked down. She was sickened by what she saw. For the poor woman had indeed taken a most dreadful tumble. Blood had spattered everywhere. Even more strange, she was actually wearing Miranda’s very own cloak and bonnet…
Miranda felt an unexpected jolt, but told herself not to be so silly. There was nothing to be nervous about. She remained silent upon the subject, for she was far too concerned about her colleague to worry about such a thing.
All the same, she felt some chagrin over the fact that the lovely things which George had been kind enough to give her had been ruined.
Well, at least he had not paid for them out of his own hard-earned money, she thought to herself with some degree of relief, little suspecting how much of an impact she had made upon her employer.
"Drat, she’s always tripping on those skirts," Milly said with a sniff, stroking the woman's hand timidly.
"But why was she wearing it under her outer garments?" Daniel said with a shake of his head.
They sent Becky out for a cab and she came back a short time later. "Where shall we take her? Dr. Baron has gone to a lying in. We saw him just after breakfast, remember?"
"Take her to the Bethnal Green clinic that George mentioned to me," she said, blushing. Indeed she had been there a few times herself working as a volunteer. "Dr. Herriot. I’m sure they’ll help. Try not to jolt her head or neck when you move her. And someone find Hugo, please?"
Pale young Bart said, "I’ll go get him," and scurried off.
Just as they were leaving with Maggie's prone body, George came in. He stood stunned for a moment, then offered to go with the unconscious woman, but Milly and Daniel shook their heads.
"We’ll manage. You stay and get things opened up for tonight. Milly will be back as soon as she gets her settled. We’re trying to find Hugo. Miranda is here if you need a hand with anything."
Miranda had assumed they were all on their way to Bethnal Green, and had already gone back to the wardrobe room, little dreaming what was about to be asked of her.
George paced up and down for a few moments, wondering what to do. Milly was a good girl, but it was not going to be easy. She was sensitive, evidently upset about Maggie, with whom she had become friends, and of course, he was going to be hard-pressed to get Milly ready for the performance that night even when she finally did come back. He should not have let her go to the clinic. But to do otherwise would have been unfeeling.
He sighed and stared. There was blood all over the floor, and some of the footlights had been smashed. Looking around, he felt the weight of a general oppressive atmosphere descend upon him. He had not felt so crushingly hopeless for a long time. Not since Miranda had come into his life.
At that thought he decided to seek her out on the pretext of getting her help with the cleaning and readying of the theatre.
Much to his surprise, as he toward the back of the theatre to look for her, he heard her conversing with someone. But no, she was doing both parts, Antony and Cleopatra, in one of the major scenes between the two main characters.
He slipped inside the wardrobe room door and stared. She was indeed alone, and her hands were full of costumes she was rehanging. She did not even need a book?
"Miranda," he said softly.
She turned around and gave him a welcoming if wan smile. "Have you heard about—"
"Yes. But I need to know. Where did you learn? The play, I mean."
"Our family has always adored Shakespeare, and I’ve been blessed with a good memory."
"You mean you can read?" he asked in surprise.
Miranda bristled. "Of course I can. What sort of a noodle do you take me for?" She was also piqued he had not seemed to notice her trying to help teach the others.
"Not everyone who can’t read is a noodle," he observed gently. "Some of us are not so fortunate as to be able to master the skill very well. And some of us are too poor to be able to have the privilege to learn."
"Oh, I’m sorry," she said sheepishly, thinking he was referring to himself as being a poor reader, though he seemed to get on well enough so far as she could tell.
It was quite true that he hadn’t always read English with any pleasure or skill, but that had been his own stubbornness as much as anything else. How ironic that out of all his brothers he had become the most British in some senses...
But George was not going to think about that now. For at this very moment he had to make a decision. And the deep blue eyes shining up at him made that all too simple.
"I’m going to give you a chance, Miranda."
"Chance?" she echoed in confusion.
"Maggie is obviously in no condition to go on stage tonight, and you apparently know the play by heart. I need you to do it. Be Cleopatra for me."
She blushed crimson. "Oh, no, really, Milly is the understudy. I could take her part, though."
He shook his head. "She is blonde and blue eyed and round as an apple dumpling. She is not the sultry dark woman needed for the role at all. And the wig looks like a demented badger sitting on her head."
Miranda gaped. It was the first time she had ever heard him make a joke.
"You know the words. I’ll coach you on the movements and so on. But we haven’t much time."
"Oh, no, really, I—"
"It will be ten times more money than being a dresser. You’ll get all sorts of adulation, and you’ll be helping me out of a very tight spot. And since I once did the same for you, we would be even."
She frowned. "Well, when you put it like that, I suppose I have little choice."
George scowled, misunderstanding her as she had him. She thought he was calling in a past favor. He thought she was only interested in the cash.
Mercenary like all the rest, he thought with an inward sigh. He might have known his goddess would have a flaw. But then, he couldn’t really blame the child. She had to earn a living, after all. At least she wasn’t queaning it the way so many women were.
And was he really so much better? It was true he was really only pretendin
g to be a pimp, collecting his fair share of the wages of sin at the pub, brothel and bath house, but he had prostituted himself as assuredly as a streetwalker. His currency was simply a little bit different—information so he could find his family. Whatever might be left of it after so many years….
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 6 Page 44