Miss McElroy shook her head. “This is Dahlia Talbot, Pierre. Hers is a voice that, once fully mature, will be the best in all of Europe.” She put an arm around Dahlia and leaned towards Pierre and added, conspiratorially, “Which is why I’ve already planned my retirement to coincide with her coming of age!”
Dahlia smiled at the joke, but Pierre looked quite impressed.
“Dahlia, this is Pierre Moreau, restauranteur extraordinaire, and the most avid patron of the arts to be found in all of London.”
“Enchanté, monsieur,” Dahlia responded in French with a quick curtsy.
“Oh, mon dieu! I’ve already lost my heart to her!” Pierre exclaimed extravagantly. “Please!” he insisted, taking Dahlia by the hand and leading her into the heart of the café. “I have ze best table in the house for the best-singer-in-Europe-to-be.” He then looked back at Josephine and added, “And the best singer in Europe at present.”
He pulled out both their chairs for the ladies to sit down, then pulled the napkins off the table with a flick of the wrist that snapped the linen and placed them on their laps.
“Yes, yes, Pierre. Thank you,” Miss McElroy said.
Pierre took no offense to the dismissal. He merely bowed and said, “Enjoy your lunches.” He then hurried back to the door to greet the next guests just as enthusiastically.
Dahlia laughed, feeling quite forgotten after so much flowery praise. Miss McElroy knew to what she was referring. “It is his gift to make every patron feel as if they are the only ones worth having! All of his regulars know this, and love him for it. Most entertainers are, by their very nature, hungry for compliments and adoration. He gives it in abundance. That is why we all come here so frequently! And why he is one of the richest merchants in the restaurant business!” She laughed, looking back at Pierre. “Always know your audience, Dahlia, and you shall always be a hit!”
It took a moment for Dahlia to train her ear to hear her friend above the noise of all the conversations taking place around her. As loud and boisterous as the clientele was, it was easy to hear snippets of many conversations at once. She felt her hearing start the filtering process she unconsciously performed when trying to identify a single instrument in a full orchestra, or isolate the song of a bird amidst the myriad sounds of the countryside. Luckily, the table to her right was empty, and she was able to adjust her focus admirably on what Miss McElroy was saying. At present, she was pointing out some well known actors, actresses, and musicians – including several who would be playing in the orchestra for the ball.
“You’ll meet them later this afternoon,” Miss McElroy said with a wave of her hand. A waiter came and gave them menus. Every item on the menu had a funny name or pun to the title of the dish – all related to the entertainment industry. There was Stagehand Pie (whose description Dahlia recognized as Shepherd’s Pie), the Fine Arts Filet, Diva Stew, and sandwiches named The Leading Man (with five types of meats in it), Opening Night (an open-faced roast beef sandwich), and Break A Leg (sliced leg of lamb). It was all so original and artistic – she had never enjoyed reading a menu so much in her life! When Dahlia was finished reading the entire thing, she looked up to find Miss McElroy smiling at her. She had not, apparently, even opened the menu. The waiter came and Miss McElroy told him her order. Dahlia ordered The Cue, a cucumber salad. She didn’t want to eat anything too heavy before her practice.
Miss McElroy waited until the waiter brought their drinks, then launched into the topic she had been waiting to have, and which Dahlia had been trying to avoid.
“You were upset by the letter.” She stated.
“Well…yes.”
“Mr. Kent came to me, very distraught,” Miss McElroy began. “His uncle arranged this little foray to the west coast. They don’t get along, you know.”
Dahlia nodded. “I had guessed as much.”
“I’m quite sure that his uncle simply wanted him out of the house,”
“But why?” Dahlia interrupted. “He’s just a disagreeable, old man in a big house. You’d think he’d want the company.”
“Lord Telford prefers more…mature company.”
“You mean boring.”
“You are unique in your ability to get along with the young and the old. There are many people who simply cannot bridge the gap between the generations. They find the gap too wide, the differences too great to comprehend – or embrace. Many of them find it scary.”
“You mean his uncle is afraid of his nephew, just because he is young?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“That’s silly. Everyone was young once.”
“Yes, but different generations were young at very different times in history. Times change, opinions change,” replied Miss McElroy. Then, she tried to get back to the conversation she had started. “So, as I was saying. James came to me as soon as he had written you, but he didn’t know how to get you the letter and he asked me to send it on to you with one of mine. I told him that would not be any more proper than his sending the letter directly to you, and that he should leave it with me to give to you personally when you arrived. So you should, I think, be upset with me.”
“Oh, no,” Dahlia started, thinking about this explanation. “I mean, I guess I was more upset by the timing of receiving the letter, rather than its content. I think I would have liked to know before coming to London that he would not be here.”
“Well, receiving the letter prior to your arrival would not have changed the situation, now would it?”
“No, I guess it wouldn’t,” admitted Dahlia. “Is it a very good opportunity for him?”
“I believe it is. I met the architects for whom he will be working. They are very well regarded here in London. I think Mr. Kent was very keen to do the apprenticeship, although he didn’t like the timing any more than you.” Dahlia smiled. “Very bad time of year to be travelling to the West Coast!” Dahlia’s smile faded and Miss McElroy laughed.
“Oh, don’t be so serious, Dahlia. If he didn’t care about seeing you he wouldn’t have come to me, or left you the letter! The boy’s been hit by cupid’s arrow and there’s no pulling it out without pain! What about you, though? I think you consider him to be a particular friend, nothing more. Am I right?”
Dahlia took her time, considering. Just then the waiter came with their food, and they started to eat.
Then, she was distracted by Pierre who was coming towards them to seat a pair of ladies at the table next to them. Dahlia was able to put off her answer to Miss McElroy’s question as they listened to Pierre’s exclamations and inquiries to the newcomers. He was expounding on the beauty of both women and asking to whom he was obliged to fight for the right to win their hearts. Both women laughed. The one next to Miss McElroy rolled her eyes and smoothed her red hair under her hat.
“Oh, Pierre, if only women could fight like men and have done with it.”
“Trouble with the little Lord?” asked her companion. “I thought you two were seeing each other quite regularly. I half expected you to be the lady of the manor by spring and leave the stage all together!”
“Oh!” cried Pierre. “Leave the stage? Could any man be worth depriving your fans of such a great talent?”
“This one is, from what Daisy says,” said the woman next to Dahlia. “And from what I hear from my room next door…” They all laughed.
“He is wicked good when you blow out the candles, but we’ve been together nigh on a month and he can’t even get my name right! Calls out for ‘Dahlia’ in his sleep.”
Dahlia looked up sharply at the woman at the next table. How strange to hear her name. It was not very common. Then she glanced at Miss McElroy who suddenly seemed very interested in her stew.
“Oh, mademoiselle,” Pierre was consoling her. “It is the name he calls out just before he goes to sleep that matters, eh?” All three laughed again. Dahlia didn’t get the joke, but she deduced it was off-color.
“It is all for naught,” said the woman named Daisy. “My James has g
one off to god knows where in the wilds of the west and my bed is very cold and lonely without him!”
Dahlia’s eyes got very big and she looked over at the woman, who was being consoled by Pierre and her friend.
“Eat your salad, my dear. We’ll be late for the practice,” said Miss McElroy. Dahlia’s mind was working too hard to focus on eating. Good it be possible that the James this woman was talking about was her James – James Kent? He had been called the ‘little Lord’ and was gone off to the west, and James was the nephew of a Lord and he was in West Midlands. It could not be coincidence. Would James Kent say her name, Dahlia, in his sleep? The thought was a pleasant one. That meant that he dreamed of her. She almost smiled, then remembered the other bits of the conversation. Like this woman’s James being in her bed while mentioning the name Dahlia. And them being together for over a month! Dahlia’s face grew red.
She then remembered Daisy’s companion saying she expected her friend to be lady of the manor by spring. Was her James going to marry an actress? How could he? She pushed her salad about the plate without eating any of it. Miss McElroy was talking but she couldn’t focus on what she was saying. Why had she been talking to Miss McElroy about James’ letter if he was betrothed to another woman? Anger was welling up inside her. How could any man be so infuriating? So deceitful? She looked up at Miss McElroy, who was looking at her.
“To answer your question, no, he is nothing more than a friend!” She stood up and threw her napkin on the table. “And not a very good one at that!” Then, she walked out of the café.
Chapter 22
Outside, Dahlia paced back and forth on the street. She was angry at James for what he did, angry at herself for caring what he did, and ashamed for having behaved so badly in front of Miss McElroy. She was just a stupid young girl who didn’t know anything about boys, let alone men who slept with actresses and planned on marrying them while being so very nice to stupid young girls.
In time, Miss McElroy came out of the café. She had to say Dahlia’s name twice to interrupt her mental conversation with herself. Dahlia looked up as if she forgot where she was and why.
“Come. In the carriage. We’ll have a little chat. In private.”
Dahlia stepped into the carriage and sat down. She took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry, Miss McElroy. That was very rude of me to walk out like that. I’m…very sorry.”
Miss McElroy seemed unfazed. “Dahlia, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times. You must call me Josephine,” she sighed. “Especially given the intimate conversation we are about to have.”
Dahlia looked at her. She had expected the woman to be angry with her, or to berate her for her very poor behavior, but she did not.“Yes, ma’am,” was all she could manage in response.
“Now. When you walked off, you obviously called attention to yourself. So I told a little fib and said you had overheard some of their conversation and it sounded too much like a situation of your own and it had upset you. Like most women troubled by men, they sympathized immediately. I took the opportunity to inquire as to the young man of whom they spoke, and they did confirm they were talking of James Kent.” She let that sink in. Dahlia looked out the window. Nothing the girl hadn’t already guessed.
“It is time you were acquainted with the world – one additional corner of it at least. You know, of course, that men and women have…” she hesitated, picking her words carefully. “Relations. Intimate relations.”
Dahlia’s brow furrowed. “You mean marital relations.”
“Well, yes, that is one way to put it. But marital relations happen without the “marital” part.”
“But that’s a sin!” said Dahlia.
“Well, I suppose there is some wiggle room in the ecclesiastical sense if both parties are unmarried. By society standards, yes, it is definitely considered a sin. But half the city is a frequent sinner in this respect.” She waved her hand in a dismissive manner. “It happens, and frequently. Part of nature, if you ask me.”
“And this makes it alright for Mr. Kent to marry that actress?”
“Mr. Kent is not going to marry that actress”
“But…”
“Dahlia. Men do not satisfy their many, many urges between puberty and marriage with their future wives.”
“But…”
“Now, you cannot blame a young man for…indulging…when you have no understanding with him, no commitment from him, and are years from being of an age when you could expect either.”
She let this sink into her young friend’s head. She glanced out the window, then back at Dahlia.
“So,” Dahlia began. “I shouldn’t be upset by Mr. Kent’s association with that woman?”
“Do you think you have a right to be? Think about where you are in your life, where Mr. Kent is in his life, and exactly where your lives intersect.”
Dahlia thought about this for a moment. “How would you…I mean, if it were you, what would you do?”
Josephine laughed. “Well, you must understand that my answer is colored by decades of wisdom that cannot be bought – only earned, like laugh lines and gray hair. I certainly would not have viewed this situation with such a practical eye when I was your age. The way I see it, Mr. Kent may be biding his time with an actress while he is waiting for you to grow up, but that actress openly admitted that he is dreaming of you. You are in his head, even if she is in his bed.
“Men have the ability to make love with their bodies to one woman, but save the love in their hearts for another. I daresay there will be many actresses in Mr. Kent’s life,” she continued. “If I were you, I’d be glad to be the woman he loves with his heart.”
Chapter 23
William Standford slammed the front door, making his sister Alyce jump. She turned immediately on the spot and went in the opposite direction of the foyer. His disagreeable moods flared with ever increasing frequency, and God help her, she was not going to bear the brunt of his anger this time. She hurried into the drawing room and, back to the wall by the entrance way, listened for his footsteps. To her relief, their sound faded. He was not coming this way. Another door slammed and she jumped again. She stood there with her hand to her heart and her eyes closed in silent prayer. He was in his study, and if his habits held, would be in there for some time. He had taken to spending hours in his study, alone. She knew he had ordered the decanter and some glasses to be maintained there and he therefore had everything he seemed to want in one room: whiskey, his ledgers, a fire, and a comfortable chair where he could collapse in a drunken stupor.
Alyce let out her breath slowly, tried to compose herself, and turned to walk back to the foyer where the main staircase led to the bedrooms upstairs. She wasn’t halfway there when the study door opened and William stomped out and to the base of the staircase. Alyce stopped dead in her tracks, hoping she was completely hidden to his sightline by the stairwell.
“Edward!” he bellowed. Alyce’s hands shook. She didn’t know how much more her nerves could take. “EDWARD!” he shouted again.
She heard footsteps above her. From the second story landing she heard her nephew’s voice. “Yes, Father?”
“Pack your bags. We’re going to London tomorrow.”
Edward knew better than to ask his father why. “Yes, Father,” was his only reply as he turned back towards his room, shutting the door behind him.
The study door slammed shut, encasing William in it. Alyce counted to ten before mustering the courage to scurry into the foyer and up the stairs. She made it to her own room without seeing anyone – without being seen by anyone. She closed the door quietly and leaned against it, her eyes closed, her breathing rapid.
She made her way to the bed and lay down, curling into the fetal position. She shut her eyes as tightly as she could, thinking this would ward off the tears, but they came anyway. They escaped and dampened her cheeks, hair, pillow, and hands. Rocking slowly back and forth, she wondered how she had come to live in this nightmare.<
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Growing up, William had been just like Edward – a spoiled bully who made himself feel bigger by making others feel small. He used to pick on her constantly. The picking became hitting and shoving and hair pulling and pinching. When she would start to cry, he would run to their mother or father and tell lies like “Alyce fell down,” or “Alyce is crying again, for no reason.” He was so charming when he wanted to be, and so convincing, that he parents soon started to tell her she was lying when she tried to defend herself. William would stand behind them as they berated her – her! And he would smile, triumphant.
Alyce stopped trying to defend herself to her parents. Since she couldn’t defend herself against her brother’s bullying, she started to avoid him as much as she could. She also started locking her bedroom door to have a refuge where he could not get at her. Thirty years later, she was still avoiding him and locking her bedroom door.
William used his good looks to his advantage, and could be as charming as he was ruthless. He was always popular at school either because of this convincing charm or his bullying that made people acquiesce to his wishes. Alyce knew his son had inherited William’s sadistic streak, but Edward had neither inherited nor learned his charm.
Alyce remembered Edward’s mother before she married William. Regina had been the most popular girl in her class. She was pretty and vivacious. Even more important in Alyce’s eyes, she had been kind, even to William’s timid little sister. Alyce thought perhaps it was this good-heartedness that led Regina to believe herself in love with William. She didn’t seem capable of seeing the bad side of anyone and if she caught a glimpse of one, she dismissed it due to circumstance. Alyce had tried to tell Regina of her brother’s cruel nature, but she hadn’t been very successful. Granted, she had not explicitly told Regina he was a cruel bully, but she had hinted at it. To this day she didn’t know why she just didn’t blurt out, “Run! He will ruin your kind soul and your life, Regina. Don’t trust him and don’t marry him!” She knew she was a coward, but had never worked out if that cowardice was because she hoped William getting married – to anyone – would remove him from her life, or if it was because Regina’s heart and intentions were so pure that she couldn’t bear to prove her wrong on his account. Regardless of the reason, she had failed. In the end, the marriage did not even remove her brother from her life. Within three months of William’s marriage, their parents were killed by highway bandits on a trip to the coast. The family estate was left to William, who sold it and used the money to invest. Left alone and homeless, Alyce went to live with her brother and his new wife.
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