No Occupation for a Lady

by Gail Whitiker

  Yet another reason, Victoria reflected, for men like Alistair Devlin to avoid her.

  Still, the thought of him vying for the favours of an opera singer left her with a distinctly unsettled feeling. She preferred not to think of him as a man who took advantage of such women, yet everyone knew that well-born gentlemen chose mistresses from within the acting profession. She’d heard stories about his liaison with Celeste Fontaine and of their tumultuous parting, but she couldn’t recall there being whispers about any other woman having taken her place.

  Not that she cared, Victoria assured herself. What Alistair Devlin did with his personal life was certainly no interest to her.

  Pity, then, that he should be the first person she encountered upon entering the lobby.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Bretton,’ Alistair said. ‘Miss Bretton.’

  ‘Mr Devlin,’ Victoria said, striving for a casual tone. ‘Did you enjoy the performance?’

  ‘Mildly. I am not a great fan of opera, but I was persuaded to come by my sister and brother-in-law and prevailed upon to bring Cousin Isabelle as well.’ He turned to introduce the couple standing behind him.

  ‘A mediocre performance at best, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Bretton?’ the Archdeacon enquired.

  ‘The tenor’s performance, perhaps, but I thought Miss Corri was exceptional,’ Victoria said, grateful not for the first time for the anonymity of her name. In her last play, she had poked fun at the character of an archdeacon, and while she hadn’t had any particular archdeacon in mind, she suspected if Alistair’s brother-in-law had seen the play, he would have taken offence. ‘While she is not in the same league as Catalani, her voice is very fluid and her range is astonishing. I venture to say she has a promising future ahead of her.’

  Mrs Baltham’s left eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch. ‘You seem to know a great deal about such things, Miss Bretton. You are an aficionado, perhaps?’

  ‘Of course she is!’ Miss Wright said with all the

  naïveté of youth. ‘Miss Bretton’s uncle owns the Gryphon Theatre. I’m sure she knows everything there is to know about opera and the stage.’

  It was not a recommendation. Victoria knew it from the way Mrs Baltham’s nostrils suddenly dilated, as though finding herself in the presence of a vaguely unpleasant smell. ‘Really? I was not aware of the connection.’

  ‘It is not generally well known,’ Laurence remarked.

  ‘And I am sure you are happy it remain that way,’ the Archdeacon replied stiffly. ‘Come along, Isabelle.’

  The dismissal could not have been more obvious. The Archdeacon and his wife moved away, leaving poor Miss Wright to follow numbly in their wake.

  Victoria didn’t say a word. Quietly fuming, she kept her eyes on the floor, painfully aware of the snub she and her brother had just been dealt.

  ‘Well, I’ll just go and find the carriage,’ Laurence said, obviously feeling the awkwardness of the situation. ‘Coming, Victoria?’

  ‘A moment, Miss Bretton,’ Alistair said quietly. ‘Please.’

  Victoria glanced at her brother and nodded. ‘I’ll be along directly.’

  Laurence bowed and left them. As soon as they were alone, Alistair looked at Victoria with an expression she could only call pained and said, ‘I am truly sorry for what just happened. They had no right to speak to you like that.’

  ‘It is not for you to apologise, Mr Devlin,’ Victoria said, anger lending sharpness to her tone. ‘Clearly, your sister and brother-in-law are not as impressed with my connection to the theatre as Miss Wright so obviously is.’

  ‘I fear they share my father’s opinion in that regard.’

  ‘Then why did they come?’ Victoria was stung into replying. ‘Is opera not a form of theatre?’

  ‘I’ve always thought so, but the Archdeacon is of the opinion that the talent required to sing opera well puts those performers ahead of commonplace actors. It doesn’t make any sense, but it is beyond my power or interest to try to change his mind. But I am sorry that you and your brother had to suffer for his prejudices.’

  Victoria managed a thin smile. She hadn’t been sorry to see the Archdeacon leave. She hadn’t liked him any more than he had liked her. But she did regret that Alistair had been there to witness his disapproval, knowing it only served to reinforce what she had told him the night they had met. ‘It isn’t your fault, Mr Devlin. It is not the first time I have been criticised for my associations and I doubt it will be the last. With both an aunt and an uncle so heavily involved in the theatre, such snubs are hard to avoid.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you are not an actress, nor have you anything to do with the profession. You simply enjoy going to the theatre, as so many do, and there is nothing wrong with that.’

  Victoria glanced away, uncomfortable with the concern she saw in Alistair’s eyes. Every time she saw him now, the pretence of innocence grew harder to maintain. When Miss Wright had expressed admiration for Valentine Lawe, Victoria had been able to assuage her guilt by telling herself how disappointed Miss Wright would be if she were to learn that the object of her affection was actually a figment of Victoria’s imagination rather than a flesh-and-blood man. But standing here now, wilfully deceiving Alistair, left her with a decidedly hollow feeling, as though she was keeping secrets of a most immoral kind. ‘It is not for me to criticise your sister and brother-in-law’s beliefs, Mr Devlin,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But I hope you will not allow their prejudices to adversely affect Miss Wright’s enjoyment of the theatre. She should be allowed to form her own opinions.’

  ‘She will, but as long as she is a guest in my father’s house, she will be exposed to his beliefs,’ Alistair said slowly. ‘And I must tell you, they are not favourable.’

  ‘Yet she still goes to the theatre.’

  ‘Her parents indulge her and they have instructed that she be allowed to do as she wishes. My father doesn’t like it, but given that the final say is not his, he tends to ignore her. He finds her headstrong and opinionated.’

  ‘Yes.’ Victoria began to smile. ‘I liked that about her from the start. But I am grateful for the explanation. And for the apology.’

  ‘I would not wish you to think the Archdeacon’s feelings are in any way a reflection of my own,’ he said quietly. ‘Because they are not. I look at you...quite differently.’ He offered her a bow, then went to join the rest of his family.

  Seeing Laurence waiting for her at the door, Victoria started in that direction, but the memory of Alistair’s words lingered. ‘I look at you quite differently.’

  ‘As I do you, Mr Devlin,’ Victoria whispered under her breath. What a pity the gulf between them suddenly seemed wider than ever.

  Chapter Five

  There were only two cast members on stage when Victoria arrived at the Gryphon to speak to her uncle the following morning. Miss Catherine Jones, the young lady who had been engaged in the role of understudy to Signy Chermonde, and the actress playing Elizabeth Turcott’s mother. Why the great actress herself wasn’t on stage was anyone’s guess, though Victoria suspected it probably had something to do with Lord Collins.

  Fortunately, Miss Jones was giving a marvellous performance as Elizabeth, communicating the character’s emotional suffering in a quiet and thoroughly believable manner.

  ‘She has the makings of a fine actress,’ Uncle Theo said as he came and sat down next to Victoria. ‘I predict she will do very well.’

  ‘Where did you find her?’

  ‘At a small theatre outside Cardiff. She was playing Ophelia and caught my eye at once. After the performance, we talked for a while and I said if she was ever interested in coming to London, she should contact me. Much to my surprise, a year later, she sent me a letter, asking if the offer was still open.’

  ‘How fortunate for you,’ Victoria said. ‘She hasn’t Signy’s ex
otic looks or her flair for the dramatic, but there is an innocence about her that is highly engaging.’

  ‘I thought the same thing the first time I saw her. I’ll likely cast her in ingénue roles and ensemble pieces until I’ve had a chance to work with her. She’s already learned a lot from watching Signy.’

  ‘Dare I ask where the great lady is this morning?’

  ‘Still in bed, I suspect.’ Her uncle kept his eyes on the stage below. ‘The question is, whose?’

  Victoria knew she shouldn’t have laughed. Had she been more like her mother or sister, she would have been deeply embarrassed by the decidedly risqué comment. But her association with the theatre had long since stripped away those blinds of false modesty, allowing her to appreciate the humour in her uncle’s remark. ‘I did warn Lord Collins about the risks involved in doing anything that might adversely affect Signy’s performance,’ she said now.

  ‘So far, other than make her late for rehearsal, he has heeded your advice. If anything, Signy’s performances have become even richer and more compelling since she became his mistress. God knows what will happen when he discards her.’

  ‘Do you believe he will?’

  Her uncle shrugged. ‘He did it to Sarah Littlewood last year. Completely devastated the poor girl. Couldn’t remember any of her lines and spent most of her time crying. It was the reason I had to let her go.’

  ‘But Signy is far more beautiful.’

  ‘Yes, but men like Collins don’t take relationships like that seriously. Once they tire of their mistresses, they move on. When that happens, I predict an emotional storm of such staggering proportions it will leave Signy incapable of performing in any but the most

  pathetic of tragedies. I shall have to have a play in hand for just such an occasion.’ Her uncle grinned. ‘In the meantime, I am well pleased with Miss Jones. She makes a very appealing Elizabeth.’

  ‘She does indeed,’ Victoria said. Then she sighed—and her uncle picked up on it at once.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Yes, there is. You only sigh like that when you’ve something on your mind. Has your mother been complaining about us again?’

  Victoria managed a weak smile. ‘No. This has nothing to do with you or Aunt Tandy.’

  ‘Then what?’

  Victoria stared down at the stage, listening to Miss Jones recite the lines she had written. Lines that had come so easily to her in the past, but that didn’t any more. Not since Alistair Devlin had walked into her life. ‘You said something the morning after the play, about there being...very little chance of Mr Devlin pursuing a relationship with me,’ Victoria said slowly. ‘Why did you say that?’

  ‘Are you asking because you like Mr Devlin and have some hopes in that direction?’

  ‘No,’ Victoria said, feeling her face burn. How ironic that where talk of mistresses didn’t make her uncomfortable, the mention of a romantic association with Alistair did. ‘I am well aware that he is far above my touch. But he is...an interesting man. Witty, clever. Exceedingly charming.’

  ‘Charm runs in the family. His grandfather was one of the most charming men I ever met,’ Uncle Theo said, ‘though he was also one of the most boring. His son follows in his footsteps.’ He leaned back in his seat and rested his arm along the back of the chair next to him. ‘Have you seen much of Devlin since the night the two of you met?’

  ‘Not really. I spoke to him at the Holcombes’ soirée, then again whilst riding in the Park. The last time I saw him was at the King’s Theatre. Laurence and I had gone to see a performance of Tancredi. Mr Devlin was there with his sister and brother-in-law, who, I must say, were not in the least charming.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the Archdeacon and his wife,’ her uncle said with a sigh. ‘I’ve run into them more than once and it’s never been a pleasure. You would think the Archdeacon’s position in life would make him more tolerant, yet I find he condemns rather than commends, and as far as he is concerned, the theatre is a virtual pit of human frailty.’

  ‘Yes, he made that quite clear the night I spoke to him,’ Victoria said. ‘I made the mistake of expressing an opinion as to the calibre of the performers, whereupon Miss Wright told him I knew everything there was to know about opera and the theatre because I was related to you. Once the Archdeacon heard that, neither he nor his wife had any particular interest in furthering the acquaintance.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. The theatrical world isn’t well thought of by anyone in that family.’ Her uncle hesitated before saying, ‘Has anyone told you the story about Devlin’s older brother, Hugh?’

  Victoria didn’t have to pretend surprise. ‘I wasn’t even aware he had an older brother.’

  ‘He doesn’t any more. Hugh died some years ago. Tragic set of circumstances,’ her uncle said. ‘Hugh Devlin was a fine man. Handsome, charismatic, even more charming than his father and brother. But he fell passionately in love with an actress and when his father refused to let them marry, they eloped to Scotland and married there.’

  ‘Gracious! Who was she?’

  ‘Her name was Sally Tamblin. I doubt you would have heard of her. She wasn’t in the theatre long. But she was an extremely beautiful young woman who more than one young buck fancied himself in love with. But there was only ever one man for Sally.’

  ‘Hugh Devlin,’ Victoria whispered.

  Her uncle nodded. ‘The pair were madly in love. And they did run away and get married, but it didn’t turn out well. Within a few years, Hugh contracted a fever and died, leaving Sally to raise their daughter alone. And though he wrote a letter to his father asking him to take care of his wife and daughter, Kempton refused, saying he wanted nothing to do with either of them.’

  ‘How cruel!’

  ‘Kempton’s a proud man,’ her uncle said. ‘He disowned Hugh the day he ran off, and when Sally and her daughter turned up at his door asking for his help, Kempton turned them away, saying they were no relations of his. He blamed Sally for the disgrace his son had brought upon the family, and, not surprisingly, his anger grew to encompass the entire acting profession. It’s the reason he won’t set foot in a theatre to this day.’ Her uncle sighed. ‘It is also the reason he would never condone a relationship between his son and a woman known to have close ties to the theatre.’

  ‘Close ties,’ Victoria said softly. ‘Like mine to you and Aunt Tandy.’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  Victoria stared at the edge of the box where a loop of golden braid had come undone. Absently, she reached out and tied the pieces together. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘There’s no reason why you would. No one talks about it any more. But because you asked, I thought it best to tell you the truth. I would hate to see you get hurt.’

  ‘I doubt it would have come to that,’ Victoria said, trying for a convincing smile. ‘Even without his father’s sentiments, I knew there was very little chance of anything developing between Mr Devlin and myself. He is a man who demands honesty above all, and I have told him nothing but lies since the night we met.’

  Her uncle’s dark brows drew together. ‘Why would you say that?’

  ‘Because he doesn’t know I’m Valentine Lawe. And I can’t tell him because I gave Mama my promise I would not.’ Victoria stared down at the stage, though it was Alistair’s face she saw. ‘I don’t need anyone to tell me there is no future for a woman like me, with a man like that.’

  * * *

  There were few enough reasons for a gentleman to be in the vicinity of the Gryphon Theatre at half past ten on a Tuesday morning. There were even less for a lady, and Alistair had to admit to a moment of surprise when he saw Victoria Bretton emerge from the building unaccompanied by either her brother or a maid. ‘Miss Bretton,’ he said, drawing his phaeton to a halt. ‘Good morning.’

  She had b
een looking to the left, but turned upon hearing his voice. ‘Mr Devlin!’ Her dismay, momentarily obvious, was quickly concealed. ‘This is a surprise.’

  ‘It is indeed,’ Alistair said, aware that while her appearance was as correct as that of any lady strolling on Bond Street, the fact that they were nowhere near Bond Street was bound to raise questions. ‘Might I ask where you are bound?’

  ‘Home. I was about to hail a hackney.’

  ‘Then perhaps you would allow me to convey you in that direction.’

  ‘I would not wish to inconvenience you.’

  ‘It is no inconvenience,’ Alistair said truthfully. ‘I have a stop to make on the way, but if you do not mind waiting, I would be happy to see you home immediately thereafter.’

  She hesitated for a moment, but obviously seeing no reason to hire a public carriage when a private one was offered, walked down the steps towards him. ‘Thank you. That would be most kind.’

  He climbed down to assist her and within moments they set off again. Alistair kept his attention on the road, though he was conscious of the warmth of her thigh brushing against his, and the scent of her perfume sweetening the air around him. Something innocent, yet unknowingly provocative. ‘I was surprised to see you coming out of the Gryphon at this time of the day,’ he said, forcing his mind to more practical matters. ‘Have you been to see your uncle?’

  ‘Yes. I needed to speak to him.’ She glanced down at her hands. ‘About...a costume.’

  ‘A costume?’

  ‘Yes. For Lord and Lady Drake’s masquerade.’ Her eyes finally lifted to his. ‘You must have been invited.’

  ‘Of course. As was the rest of my family.’

  ‘You sound as though you would rather not go.’

  ‘In all honesty, I don’t enjoy dressing up and pretending to be someone else,’ Alistair admitted. ‘I have none of the actor’s spirit in me. However, as it is Isabelle’s first masked ball, I have agreed to take her along. More to the point, I have been asked to effect an introduction to Lord Drake’s youngest son, Lord Robert.’