by Nancy Carson
‘Did you mean what you said in court about not regretting our affair, and the fact that you had Christina as a result?’ he asked.
‘Of course I meant it.’ She looked him squarely in the eye. ‘So how would you have answered the same question?’
‘The same,’ he said softly. Their eyes held, her hand was still in his. ‘I don’t regret it. None of it. You were the world to me, Aurelia. In a different way you were my saviour. And because of it, I now have Marigold and our Rose…and they take precedence.’
‘Of course they do,’ she agreed with a sigh.
A waitress delivered a tray, on which lay knives and forks, and two plates containing Welsh rarebit, to their table.
* * *
After they had eaten, they strolled back towards Anderton’s Hotel along the Strand, her arm linked through his, almost in silence. It occurred privately to Algie as they walked that it would be a calamity if they happened across Benjamin Sampson. He would feel entirely vindicated, and no doubt be quick enough to blab to anybody who would listen, that after his decree nisi was granted he actually saw his wife and her despicable co-respondent behaving like young lovers while away from home in London. For all they knew Benjamin was still in London. For all they knew he had not returned to Brierley Hill, in the same way that they had not returned to Brierley Hill, because the court had been delayed and their case not heard until today.
On the corner of the Strand and Catherine Street, Algie noticed the Gaiety Theatre. He pointed it out to Aurelia and she looked at him questioningly.
‘That’s the theatre our Kate plays in,’ he said. ‘Let’s have a look.’
Dodging hansoms and horse-drawn omnibuses they crossed the street. According to the billboards, a musical comedy called In Town was playing.
‘There! Kate Stokes!’ exclaimed Algie, pointing to her name in large letters. ‘Hang me, but I knew she’d have her name up here somewhere. And that photograph…’
‘Well, it’s not as if she hasn’t done well for herself,’ Aurelia remarked. ‘She’s quite well known as an actress in this sort of thing, isn’t she? And she caught herself some aristocrat in the process.’
‘It’s how she got there that bothers me.’
‘There’s a matinee on, Algie. Shall we go in? She might be on stage?’
‘God, no. I don’t want to see her. Ever. And I’m sure as anything she wouldn’t want to see me. I was just curious, that’s all.’
‘Don’t you even fancy going to see the show she’s in while you’re in London? I wouldn’t mind seeing her. I’m curious. I’d love to know if she’s anything like she looks in that photograph.’
‘You can rest assured she’ll be just as gorgeous. She always was, even though it pains me to admit it.’
‘Well, good looks run in your family,’ she remarked.
He laughed. ‘Pity they missed me out then.’
She took his hand and squeezed it. ‘Oh, you’re not so bad. I still fancy you anyway.’
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’d best get our stuff from the hotel and pay. We’ve a train home to catch…’
* * *
Chapter 17
Benjamin Sampson recalled a conversation he’d had concerning Kate Stokes at Clarence and Harriet’s wedding, where he learned that the girl was an actress on the London stage. Marigold Stokes had described her as ‘absolutely gorgeous’, a description that had stuck in his mind and invoked some fanciful mental images of the girl. His short stay in London had finally afforded him the opportunity to discover more about her and satisfy his curiosity.
Benjamin was staying at the Savoy Hotel, which had opened four years earlier, and the concierge, after receiving a two-shilling coin, made enquiries on his behalf. A Miss Kate Stokes, he reported, was appearing at the Gaiety Theatre, in a musical comedy called In Town, which had recently been transferred from the Prince of Wales Theatre. Benjamin was alone in London, and it was a perfect opportunity to get a look at Kate.
He walked from the Savoy to the Gaiety, a short distance, loitering outside self-consciously in the brilliance of the electric lights that spilled from its portals and canopy. Posters shouted the name of Kate Stokes, and photographs confirmed her as remarkably glamorous. He entered the lobby and found himself sharing it with groups of fashionable young mashers, icons of boisterous, youthful exuberance, who were just as eager to get a look at the lovely girls who were due to appear in the show. An attendant with a great many silver buttons on his tunic said he would find out for Benjamin what seats, if any, were available. There were just a handful, he reported, so Benjamin bought the one remaining ticket for the circle and was grateful for the assurance that he would have a good view of the stage. The attendant received sixpence for his trouble, and Benjamin, having deposited his winter coat with a cloakroom attendant, jostled and clambered his way towards his seat amid the racket of excited voices and laughter.
Above the din, a bell rang and the surge for seats increased in fervour. After disturbing several people already seated, Benjamin shuffled along the row until he arrived at his allocated place. The attendant had done him proud; he had a good view of the stage.
The sound of the orchestra tuning up rose above the thrum of a thousand conversations and the last-minute commotion for seats. Jewellery glinted, and fashionable women unintentionally crushed the skirts of others in the melee, and unavoidably trod on hems. As the audience began to settle, Benjamin consulted his programme: In Town was a musical comedy about romancing the chorus girls of the fictional Ambiguity Theatre. A penniless Captain Coddington, played by Arthur Roberts, wooed and won the prima donna, played by Florence St John.
At eight-fifteen the house lights dimmed, and the electric footlights lit up the heavy blood-red curtain. The orchestra struck up, and when the curtain rose the dispersed army of men young and old, now seated, held up their opera glasses to better appreciate the feast of beauty about to be served up. Arthur Roberts had the audience in a continuous uproar from the outset with glib, spicy jokes. Meanwhile, to a round of enthusiastic applause, Kate Stokes appeared as a dizzy chorus girl. As soon as Benjamin cast eyes on her in the flesh, he acknowledged the truth of Marigold’s description that had so fired his imagination. The girl truly was deliciously gorgeous and so utterly desirable. She was dressed in one of the latest Bond Street creations, which highlighted her perfect figure. Every time she reappeared, she was wearing a different creation, each rendering her more ravishing than the one before.
Benjamin was using opera glasses and his eyes never left Kate the whole time she was on stage. Her clear brown eyes seemed to reflect the arc lights with vivid sensuality, her slender legs, frequently exposed, were womanly perfection, and her body movements mesmerising. It was easy to appreciate how her dazzling looks and figure had captivated some aristocrat. Her voice when she spoke and when she sang was feminine and appealing. Was this vision really the sister of Algie Stokes? It seemed hardly feasible.
Too soon, the performance was ending and the cast took two curtain calls. When the curtain fell for the last time, everybody rose to their feet and began the scramble for the exits, though less manic than for the entrance. Exhilarated by what he had seen, Benjamin shuffled his way out, carried along with the slow parade of people headed for the cold outdoors.
Should he try his luck, and see whether he could actually meet her? Why not? He had nothing to lose and might even succeed. He decided to seek the stage door, resolved now to try and speak to Kate. Cloakroom attendants were striving to sort out the confusing clamour for coats and hats and scarves. He jostled his way forward, and was jostled in turn, before he retrieved his. Outside, it was also chaotic with the commotion, and men vying for carriages. Benjamin made his way down the side of the theatre and realised that his target must be sited where a collection of stage-door Johnnies were noisily loitering. A doorkeeper, a bearded, gruff-voiced individual, was tending to their pleas with well-controlled but amused patience.
‘I’d like to meet Miss
Kate Stokes,’ Benjamin said when he finally caught his attention.
‘Do you have an appointment?’ was the sardonic reply. This man had seen and heard it all before.
‘She’s not expecting me, if that’s what you mean.’
‘You ain’t the only one who’d like to meet Miss Kate Stokes, I can tell you. And we take a dim view of you stage-door Johnnies pestering the girls willy-nilly.’
‘Look, I’m not one of your regular stage-door Johnnies,’ said Benjamin impatiently. ‘Do I look like a stage-door Johnny? It peeves me to be hanging round here with such foppish dandies.’
‘I declare, you look a bit different to the usual lot. We call ’em the crutch and toothpick brigade,’ the doorkeeper admitted with a grin. ‘’Cause that’s what they look like.’
‘Well, I’m not one of your crutch and toothpick brigade. So here’s a half sovereign.’ Benjamin held out his hand containing the coin.
‘You do realise Miss Stokes is a married lady, don’t you, sir?’
‘Yes, I do. Lady something or other.’
‘Chesterton, sir. Lady Chesterton.’
‘Yes, Lady Chesterton,’ Benjamin agreed. ‘And if I were Lord Chesterton I’d have something to say about her continuing to work on the stage. Wouldn’t you?’
The doorkeeper, by a tilt of his head and raising of an eyebrow, seemed to agree.
‘Well, man, can you fix it? There’s this half sovereign in it for you. If you succeed there’ll be another.’
The doorkeeper held out his hand and took the bribe. ‘Thank you, sir. If you’d like to wait here I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise anything. Who shall I say wants to see her?’
‘Just tell her it’s a well-wisher from her home town of Brierley Hill come to pay his respects.’
‘Brierley Hill?’ the man repeated.
Benjamin nodded. ‘Brierley Hill.’
‘Your name, sir?’
‘My name wouldn’t mean a thing.’ Almost certainly it would; she would remember him as Algie’s former employer, Benjamin thought, but that might just put her off.
A few minutes later the doorkeeper returned, smiling. ‘I’ve managed to see Miss Stokes, sir, and she has agreed to see you in about fifteen minutes. She prefers to exit by way of the auditorium these days to avoid these dandies hereabouts, so if you’d like to go back inside and sit towards the front of the stalls, she’ll be along presently. If anybody challenges you, tell ’em Tierney sent you.’
Benjamin smiled delightedly. ‘Thank you very much indeed, Tierney. I appreciate your efforts.’ He dug in his pocket, fished out the other half sovereign he’d promised and handed it over.
He returned to the auditorium by a different entrance this time. The crowds had all but cleared, the last few stragglers making their way to the exits. He was in the stalls, and headed directly for the front seat. The house lights were on, the footlights were off, and the blood-red curtain was in shadow. The seats the orchestra had used were deserted. He scanned again the sumptuous interior of the playhouse, mentally rehearsing what he would say to Kate Stokes, and how he might introduce himself, if she kept her promise and materialised.
The pledged fifteen minutes passed, and no Kate. Instead, a swarm of chars had appeared with brushes, dustpans and sacks, ready to sweep up and collect the debris of nearly two thousand patrons.
Twenty minutes, still no Kate.
Had she decided to ignore his request? After all, she was a woman of some celebrity, married to an aristocrat. Why would she deign to see some nameless provincial from Brierley Hill? However, after nearly twenty-five minutes a door from backstage opened and the silhouette of a shapely young woman appeared wearing a wide-brimmed hat. It had to be her. He stood up, ready to introduce himself.
‘Miss Stokes?’ he uttered as she approached him.
‘That’s me,’ she replied sweetly. ‘Are you the gentleman from Brierley Hill who’s asked to see me?’
‘Yes.’ He could smell her delightful perfume. Intoxicating.
‘Do I know you?’
‘I think not.’ He smiled affably.
‘Is it about my family?’
‘No, no,’ he exclaimed emphatically. ‘Nothing to do with your family whatsoever. I’m here on my own account. My name is Benjamin Sampson…’
‘Benjamin Sampson?’ she mused, tilting her head appealingly. ‘I know that name. A Benjamin Sampson owned the factory where my brother worked. Are you the same Benjamin Sampson?’
He smiled. ‘I am.’ He offered his hand and they shook – it would be too presumptuous to kiss her hand, too continental; if he did, she would very likely think him a brass-necked bumpkin. ‘Thank you for taking the time to see me,’ he said suavely. ‘I’m delighted to meet you at last.’
‘Is my brother all right?’
‘Yes, he’s all right.’
‘He hasn’t sent you to see me, has he?’
‘No, not at all. To be frank, your brother and me are not the closest of chums. Mind you, through him, I’m very much aware of you and your fame in London, and since I’m here in the city – alone – I decided to see your show. Now I’m an admirer, so itching to meet you as well. I do hope you don’t mind.’ Unrebuffed so far, Benjamin was warming up to be the essence of charm.
‘Well, here I am, Mr Sampson,’ she said pleasantly, happy to be flattered by this young man who seemed inordinately polite and not unattractive. ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you, and thank you for taking the trouble. But I really must be going. They’ll be wanting to shut the theatre for the night…’ She turned to go, flashing him a pleasant smile. ‘Goodbye, Mr Sampson.’
His heart sank. She must be used to dealing endlessly with admirers, and dispatching them with that polite disparagement. He needed to redeem the situation quickly.
‘Look, Miss Stokes, if you’re free for a while, perhaps I could offer you some refreshment, some supper perhaps. Unless your husband is waiting for you, of course.’
She stopped and turned to face him again, as if waiting for a more specific proposal.
‘I’d dearly love to chat with you,’ he went on. ‘I’m staying at the Savoy, you know. Would you like to join me there for supper? Naturally, I can arrange for a hansom to return you afterwards to wherever it is you’re staying.’ His appeal was earnest and beguiling.
‘The Savoy?’ She was impressed; after all, if he was staying at the Savoy…‘As for supper, I couldn’t eat a thing right now,’ she hesitated demurely, prepared to be persuaded.
‘A nightcap then,’ he suggested. ‘You must surely fancy something to drink after all that singing and dancing.’
‘A nightcap,’ she mused, still seeming to waver.
‘I’m not Jack the Ripper.’ He smiled reassuringly.
She laughed at that. ‘Mmm…I don’t suppose you would be, coming from Brierley Hill. Very well, I suppose I could. For half an hour. All right, Mr Sampson, I’ll join you for a nightcap, since you’re from my home town. I daresay you can entertain me with some local gossip.’ She smiled graciously.
‘Excellent,’ he replied, gesturing for her to lead him out of the theatre.
‘It’ll be a change to get some news from Brierley Hill,’ she said, turning her head as she went. ‘It’s been ages…’
He was mesmerised watching how she walked. She seemed so elegant, so confident of herself, and so sophisticated with her fine, stylish coat, her hat brimming with flowers and her soft fur stole. Yet she seemed affable enough, unspoilt by fame, almost content to see him, a stranger. She certainly seemed content enough for a stranger to whisk her away. Benjamin did not know Kate, however. Kate was one who cherished adventure, she was reckless and loved taking chances, especially with men, teasing them, for she was wily enough to be able to look after herself.
They passed through the front entrance and on to the Strand. The last of the waiting hansoms drew up at Benjamin’s beckoning, and he called ‘Savoy’ to the driver, who touched his hat in acknowledgement.
‘Do we have to take a hansom?’ she asked. ‘It’s no distance to the Savoy.’
‘Of course,’ he said magnanimously. ‘It’s cold, and I don’t want to be held responsible for you getting chilled.’
She liked this chivalry, this affability, and warmed to him. This was an interesting man. She could have some fun with him.
‘So how long have you worked in the theatre?’ he asked conversationally when they had settled themselves in the hansom.
Boring question, she thought, as the hansom started moving. ‘As an admirer, I’d have thought you could tell me that.’ She spoke clearly, with no trace of an accent; not a bit like most of the girls from Brierley Hill.
‘I’m afraid I don’t know enough about you,’ he responded with a smile. ‘Just that you are Algie Stokes’s sister.’
‘I haven’t met you before though, have I?’
He shook his head. ‘Not that I know of.’
‘Did you ever go in Mills’s cake shop?’
‘Not that I recall.’
‘I used to work there,’ she said unpretentiously. ‘Did you ever see any of the plays put on by the Brierley Hill Amateur Dramatics Society?’
‘No, I confess I never did, although I understand you were their star performer before you decided to try the London stage.’
‘I don’t know about star performer,’ she laughed self-effacingly, which he thought was rather charming, ‘but at least it gave me the chance to act, and I loved it. From then on, all I wanted was to be in front of an audience and hear applause for me.’
‘Well, you get that in abundance now, if tonight is anything to go by,’ he said.
‘I can’t complain.’
‘And of course, it brought you to the attention of your husband, Lord Chesterton.’