Truth and Beauty

by Christina Britton Conroy

  He smiled with a clenched jaw. “Ladies and gentlemen, please, before we begin: just listen to each other and say the words. The cleaner we can begin, the sooner my concept can be created, and little or no bloodshed need occur.”

  There were slight smiles, but no laughter. He expected Katherine to grimace and was surprised when she calmly opened her script. “As you know, Miss Stewart has declined the role of Miranda in deference of a younger member of our ensemble.” He nodded at Sandra and she smiled back. “But, I am privileged that Miss Stewart is sharing her venerable gifts as production assistant, acting coach, and calming influence for the star.”

  Katherine’s composure broke. She laughed and everyone joined in.

  The actors opened their scripts. Eddy read the stage directions as the actors read their lines. Every time an actor displeased Jeremy, he marked his script. All-in-all, the actors did well. The lines were read and the story simply told. Jeremy was satisfied with this first read-through.

  The set designer showed them a model of the set, explaining his storm at sea and some magical effects. The costume designer spread her magnificent watercolour sketches along three tables. Eddy called a break, and Jeremy went to Eric Bates’s office for a conference with dour financial manager, Hilda Bates.

  The meeting took longer than expected. Jeremy returned to his director’s table frustrated, hungry, and thirsty. He was ready to battle through the scenes he had marked in his script, and was startled to see no script. In its place were a chicken salad sandwich, sweet lemon tea, and vanilla biscuits. Katherine appeared, smiling calmly, holding his script. She sat next to him as he devoured the delicious lunch. He left a few crusts, which Evan snatched for the theatre cats.

  Finally, Jeremy opened his script, found his first set of black marks, and called the actors involved. He expected to tediously rehearse the scene, over-and-over, until they got it right. When they listened to his instructions and read the scene exactly as he wished, he was astounded. He scratched a note to himself, broke a pencil point, and cursed. Much to his surprise, a delicate female hand gently removed the broken pencil and handed him a sharp one. The next scene correction was equally painless. As his tea cup emptied, the same lovely hand refilled it.

  The third scene was not as easy to fix. His mouth became dry and a sliced orange appeared beside his script. The second read-through was nearly flawless and the third, wonderful. Stupidly unaware of the reason, he smiled naively and thanked everyone for their sensational work.

  With one voice the actors shouted, “Thank you, Kathy,” pointed to Katherine and applauded her. She sat back, happily laughing, accepting their praise.

  Jeremy stared at her. “You took my script and coached them, during the break.”

  She calmly nodded. “I did.”

  “You made them understand what I wanted.”

  She nodded again. “I did.” When Jeremy stared in admiration, she burst out laughing.

  “Your actors are very intelligent, Jerry. It wasn’t difficult. I explained simply and slowly, that’s all.” Her china-blue eyes shone with amusement.

  *

  Lady Richfield’s maid came to her mistress’s bedroom carrying a tray of tea and toast. “It’s eleven o’clock, M’ Lady. You’ve got the Suffragist luncheon at one.”

  Isabelle opened one very sore eye. “Oh dear, Charleston. Is it time already? I didn’t get to bed until six.” She rolled over and buried her head in a pillow. “Do I have to go? Those women don’t need me.”

  The maid giggled. “Y’ don’t have to, M’ Lady, but I know you’ll feel badly later on, if y’ don’t go.”

  “You’re right, Charleston.” Isabelle turned over and stretched. “You’re always right.”

  “Was the dinner a success, M’ Lady?”

  “It was,” Isabelle sat up and held her suddenly aching head. “There’s going to be a whole wing built on the free school, just for girls. It turned out better than I ever could have hoped.”

  “That’s wonderful, M’ Lady.”

  “The evening started terribly. A pompous ass took the podium, insisting all our resources should go to the boys’ school. Then Chief-Inspector Hayes spoke and, thank God, turned everything around. He talked about being a young officer patrolling the slums, and watching little girls become prostitutes because they were starving and had no place to go. Our school will house twenty girls, give them free room and board, and a comprehensive education until they reach fourteen. After that we will try to place them in suitable positions. I hope we can expand every year.”

  Charleston stood proudly. “I was fourteen when I went into service for your mother, Lady Hereford. I’ve come all the way from chambermaid to lady’s maid.”

  “You’ve done marvellously well, Charleston. I would have been lost without you, all these years.”

  Isabelle was not moving, so the maid pulled off her warm bedclothes. “I’ve a bath ready, M’ Lady, if you’d like one now.”

  Isabelle shivered. “Good idea.” She hurried into the comfort of warm sudsy water.

  While her mistress luxuriated, sipping milky tea, Charleston gently sponged her back. “You know, M’ Lady, I remember the Chief-Inspector. He came here Christmas night. He looked just like the Scotland Yard men in the novels: tall with gray hair and a beautiful, large moustache.”

  Isabelle sighed, “That was the worst night of my life. It had been an absolutely perfect Christmas day. Then Smythe raced in, saying two gentlemen from Scotland Yard were at the door. Bill was furious. A moment later, Chief-Inspector Hayes and his sergeant marched in.” Isabelle held the sides of the bathtub and carefully stood up.

  Charleston dried her with a soft towel. “All of us servants snuck looks, but we could just see the gentlemen come, and go again.”

  Isabelle chuckled. “Well, as you say, Chief-Inspector Hayes is indeed a good-looking man, and his manners are beautiful. That night, he gave me his card. I called him yesterday. Blessedly, he was able to convince that wretched school board to educate girls.”

  Isabelle was nearly dressed when she noticed the pile of paintings her young daughters had left her. She chuckled fondly, studying each elaborate effort. A slip of paper fell out, onto the floor. “What’s that, Charleston?”

  The maid handed Isabelle the note from Smythe. She read the few lines,

  Your Ladyship,

  Sam Smelling called from Grassington 9 - 8, at 6:00 this evening. He

  wants you to know that Elly Fielding is in danger and needs protection immediately.

  Smythe

  Isabelle caught her breath, raced downstairs, and telephoned His Majesty’s Theatre. She asked for Katherine Stewart, saying it was urgent. While she waited, she closed her eyes trying to control her racing heart.

  “Isabelle?”

  “Kathy, is Elly there?”

  “No, and Jerry’s furious. He…”

  “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know?”

  “Does anyone know?”

  "Why, what's happened?"

  "Sam called from Yorkshire last night. He said that Elly's in danger and needs protection immediately. Does anyone know where she is?"

  *

  Katherine’s heart was in her mouth as she ran back to the rehearsal hall. Interrupting the actors, she asked, “Has anyone seen Elly Fielding?”

  Jeremy was annoyed. “Why, what’s happened?”

  Katherine blinked back frightened tears, “Who saw her last?”

  Michael said, “She spent the night at our flat, but I saw her slip out early this morning. Last night she said she’d get breakfast at Darry House, and go to rehearsal from there.”

  “Well?” Katherine looked to the other apprentices.

  Lester said, “She wasn’t there this morning.”

  Rory looked pale. “Isn’t she at the art gallery?”

  Katherine raced back to the phone. “Isabelle?”

  “Yes Kathy, where is she?”

  “She spent the night with Denni
son, but left the flat very early this morning. She was headed back to the boardinghouse, but apparently never got there.”

  “Could she have played truant, and spent the day with Dennison?”

  “She’d never have done that.”

  *

  Isabelle took a deep breath. “Try not to worry, Kathy. I have phone numbers for Sam. He should be in Settle by now. If she’s on her way there, he’ll be waiting for her. My solicitor called late yesterday. He’s had a telegram from Egypt, affirming that Charles Roundtree was probably murdered, but definitely alive when Anthony Roundtree married Elly’s mother. Papers are being drawn up, turning Elly’s guardianship over to Bill and me. I’ll notify a friend at Scotland Yard and we’ll be on a train to Settle within a couple of hours. I’ll call as soon as I have any news. Go back to work, darling. That’s what she’d want. Bye, now.”

  Isabelle hung up, counted to ten, and jiggled the phone handle. She telephoned Gildstein Gallery and spoke to Robert Dennison.

  “Yes, Lady Richfield. That’s exactly right. Elly left me shortly after seven this morning. She’d slept in her frock, and wanted to change into a fresh one before rehearsal. She was going to Darry House. What can I do? Shall I come over?”

  “There’s nothing you can do, Mr. Dennison. Please stay where you are. I’ll get back to you as soon as there’s any news.”

  The next call was to her solicitor.

  “Yes, Lady Richfield. The papers should be ready in an hour. I have a copy of the will Charles Roundtree drew up before he left for Suez. It stipulates that his estate was to pass to his wife and remain her sole property, even if she were to marry a second time. Upon her death, the estate was to go to their child. Since the child was a girl, she will inherit when she turns twenty-one or marries, in which case the estate will be considered a dowry, in the usual sense.”

  Isabelle gasped. “If Elly dies before her husband, the estate goes to him.”

  “Naturally… but you don’t think…”

  “I don’t know what to think. I’m calling Scotland Yard.”

  She called Scotland Yard and was told, “Sorry ma’am, Chief-Inspector Hayes is out on assignment. He’s expected back shortly, can I give him a message?”

  “Tell him Lady Richfield needs him on a matter of life and death.”

  She hung up, phoned Yorkshire, and left messages with Father Tim, and Dr. Vickers.

  Isabelle’s secretary cancelled all appointments, purchased four first class rail tickets to Bradford, connecting to Skipton, connecting to Settle, and wired for a carriage to be waiting at Settle station and take them to Roundtree’s estate. Isabelle checked her watch. It was 12:00. The journey would take about five hours. We have got to get there in time!

  Chapter Ten

  Farmland, North of London, January 5, 1904

  “Cor! She finally woke up!”

  Elly blinked her eyes. All she could see were shadows. “Who’s there? How long have I been asleep?” She heard the click-clack of iron wheels, smelled putrid animal waste, and felt the smooth rhythm of a train speeding along even tracks.

  “Gi’ me that stuff.”

  The putrid cloth was on her face again. “No, please, no!” Everything went black.

  The train bounced violently and she woke with a start. How long had she been asleep? Where was she? Her empty stomach heaved bitter bile into her mouth and she swallowed it back. Her neck and shoulder screamed with pain. Struggling to find a comfortable position, she realized her wrists were tied behind her back. Thick twine cut into her flesh. Her fingers were numb with cold. She stretched her legs, but her ankles were also bound together. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she picked up tiny spots of light shining through cracks in the train carriage walls. The stench of animal waste hung in the stale air.

  Tommy Quinn dozed with his back against a wall.

  Mick peered down at Elly. “Tommy, she’s awake again.”

  “Bloody hell!” Tommy took the bottle from his pocket and shook it. “It’s almost empty. How much did you use on her?” He pushed the soiled cloth and the bottle of chloroform toward Mick.

  Elly could already smell the nauseating fumes. “No! Please no! I shall die.”

  Mick took the bottle and laughed. “I dan’ think so Autumn Lydy.”

  Tommy grabbed Mick’s arm. “Wait a minute. If she dies, we don’t get paid.”

  “She ain’t gonna die, Tommy, an this’ll shut ‘er up.”

  “I’ll be quiet as a mouse,” Elly spoke softly but distinctly. “See, not a sound.” Trembling, she pursed her lips.

  The train hit a bump, jerking everyone sideways. The bottle smashed to the floor and Mick screamed, “Bloody ‘ell! Tommy, open the bloomin’ door, or we’ll all get knocked out.” Tommy pushed open the wide side door and a fierce, cold wind flooded the train carriage. Elly blinked her eyes against the bright light and loud click-clacking of the wheels. She gulped cold fresh air.

  Mick kicked broken glass out the door and shook his head at Tommy. Elly saw a third man sleeping in a far corner. He looked up, and went back to sleep.

  Mick held the shaky walls for balance, wobbled to Elly, and leaned his face close to hers. “Mind y’ stay nice n’ quiet, like y’ said, Autumn Lydy, or big Mick’s gonna have t’ do somfink more t’ keep y’quiet.” He laughed, “ ‘ow abou’ a kiss for old Mick, for bein’ so nice to y’?”

  Staring up with terrified eyes, she smelled his foul body odour and turned her face away.

  Mick sat down, laughing. The train bounced on.

  Physical pain, freezing winds, and mortal fear, pulled Elly in and out of nightmarish sleep. A chariot from hell was dragging her further and further away from people who cared about her. A collage of faces streamed through her tormented dreams: Jeremy O’Connell, Sir John Garingham, Rory Cook, Katherine Stewart, her father, Robert. Where was Robert? Did anyone know she had gone? Surely Isabelle will send someone to look for her. Sam? Where was Sam? He had gone to Settle. Was he already there? Will he find her? Did he know she wasn’t in London? Did anyone know? Did anyone care? Writhing in pain, she heard herself cry out.

  Mick yelled, “Shut yer gob, y’ stupid cow.”

  “It hurts.” She almost longed for the foul smelling cloth. When she was asleep, there had been no pain. “Please untie my hands. It hurts so much.” She sobbed uncontrollably. “Please! I can’t get away. Please!” Tommy crawled over and untied her hands. She pulled her arms free and lay flat on her back, gasping for breath. Her muscles twitched and her shoulder was on fire. The train car rocked from side-to-side, as huge wheels rolled along the tracks.

  Mick sat back laughing. “You’re a soddin’ milksop, Tommy Quinn. Can’t stand t’ ‘ear a woman cry.”

  Elly’s eyes flew open. Was this the actor Tommy Quinn who owned the brothel -- who ran away with Peg McCarthy on Christmas night?

  Mick’s gravelly voice droned on. “Me old lady cries reg’lar. Dan’ feel right, if I miss a night o’ knockin’ ‘er about. Likes i’, she does. Miss ‘er I do.” He looked at Elly and rubbed himself between the legs. “Ever shagged a woman, Tommy?” He sniggered, “Dan know what yer missin’. I never shagged a real lydy.” He stared at Elly’s long slender body, stretched across the rough floorboards. “Think they’re the same, under their skirts, as regular cows? Or d’ they got sonthin’ extra?” Still rubbing himself, his body tensed with anticipation. “Wha’ say we ‘ave a look?”

  Heart pounding, Elly curled into a ball. She was suddenly grateful her legs were tied together.

  Tommy shivered. “If she’s damaged, we won’t get paid the balance.”

  “I di’n’ say nothin’ bawt damagin’. I just said, ‘look.’” As Mick slid toward her, a woman’s voice rang out.

  “Leave her alone, Mick!”

  “Aw, bloody ‘ell!” Mick pouted and sat back.

  Startled by the strange voice, Elly sat up and leaned against the side of the car. Sickness from a strong narcotic, hunger, thirst, emotional torment,
plus an overpowering need to empty her bladder, left her feeling like death would be a blessing.

  Suddenly the train jarred and slowed. She braced herself with both hands. Mick looked out the open door. “I see the station.” The train slowed, then stopped.

  “Go’ a take a piss.” Mick started to jump out, and Tommy grabbed his arm.

  “Me too, but don’t let anyone see you, and be quick.” The men looked in both directions. The nearly deserted station was on the opposite side of the train.

  The men jumped out and Elly yelled, “Me too.”

  “All right.” Tommy came back, untied her ankles, and helped her from the car. “Don’t try anything.” She saw an enormous tree, miles of railroad tracks, and nothing else but open fields.

  Her legs were so weak; she struggled just to stand up. “What could I try?” She staggered toward the tree.

  Mick waved his cock, laughing as she wobbled past.

  Hiding behind the tree, she relieved herself, then slumped down against the rough bark. She started to rub her burning eyes, caught sight of her filthy gloves, and yanked them off.

  The third man stood in the huge open door. As the train whistle blew, his long black hair blew in the wind. Elly gasped. It wasn’t a man. It was Peg McCarthy. Elly slumped back, behind the tree. Peg hissed, her enormous dark eyes staring down at Elly. “Come on, you lot, time’s a waistin’.” Tommy and Mick hurried back to the train. When Elly stayed where she was, Peg shrieked, “Move yer arse!”

  Elly jumped with fright. Mick grabbed her and tossed her inside. Tommy closed the huge side door as the train wheels began turning, first slowly, then very fast. Elly crawled into a far corner and curled into a ball. The ride was smooth. They rode in silence. The rhythmic sounds of great iron wheels lulled Elly into a light sleep.

  Peg sneered, “You look like ‘ell.”

  Elly’s face was chalk-white, under a layer of filth. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her beautiful hair was a tangled mess. Her stockings were ripped and her coat a collage of putrid smears. She glared up. “Do you care?” Her words crackled through parched lips. Her throat constricted painfully.