Truth and Beauty

by Christina Britton Conroy

  “They have no reason to harm you, now. I’d be very surprised if Peg was still in England. From what you’ve said, Mick hasn’t the wit to act alone. It’s the middle of the night after the worst day of your life. Nothing looks good now. Give it a few days. Everything will look much brighter, I promise.”

  *

  The train arrived at 11:33 p.m., and four bedraggled gypsies gratefully boarded a first class carriage. At 11:45 the train pulled out and Isabelle sent Mary to the dining car. She managed to rouse the sleeping chef, and all four devoured a very good supper. Isabelle was pleased that Sam and Elly had appetites.

  Elly stayed close to Isabelle. Sitting across from them, Mary kept Sam propped up with blankets. The pained look on his face had softened. The ride was smooth, the sound of the wheels hypnotic, and all four fell asleep. As Elly’s eyelids began to close, she glanced out the window into the black night. Sir John Garingham’s face flashed in the glass and she jumped forward, her heart racing. She almost screamed, but stopped herself. Another nightmare might mean she was mad. They would send her to Bedlam. Isabelle, Sam, and Mary all slept soundly. Relieved, Elly smiled to herself and sat up straight. She tried to stay awake for the rest of the trip.

  Chapter Fifteen

  London, January 6, 1904

  They arrived in London shortly before 5:00 a.m. and caught a hansom to 140 Piccadilly on the corner of Hamilton Place. Isabelle had never been so glad to be home.

  Mary was dead on her feet. Isabelle turned her over to the housekeeper with orders she be treated kindly and given a bed in the servants’ quarters.

  Elly was put to bed and Isabelle brewed her Wild Opium Lettuce tea. The girl was soon in a deathlike sleep.

  Isabelle forced Sam to drink a strong tea of four parts Maidenhair to three parts Shrub Strawberry. His fever broke within the hour. At 5:30 Miss Blackwell, Lord Richfield’s typewriter, took Sam’s dictation.

  At 6:30 a.m. Lord Richfield’s footman rushed a copy to the London Times. Another copy was telegraphed to the New York Times.

  Despite his physical pain, Sam was ecstatic. He was finally put to bed in a room next to Elly. Isabelle brewed him Wild Opium Lettuce tea. He was still in pain and dozed fitfully.

  With both patients tucked away, Isabelle finally began to relax.

  At 7:30 a.m. Lord Richfield’s physician, Dr. Cummings, examined the two patients. He spoke to Isabelle while closing his medical case. “That country doctor’s skill is impressive. Couldn’t have fashioned a better plaster myself. Did it on a kitchen table, you say?” She smiled and he nodded with approval. “I’ll leave those rib bindings in place, for now. The girl should do well after a good rest. I’m prescribing laudanum…”

  Isabelle shook her head. “Thank you doctor, but you know I prefer my own remedies.” Dr. Cummings sighed and tried to sound stern. “Very well, Lady Richfield. I gave up arguing with you about medicines long ago. In all other areas you are a most reasonable woman. Of course, your family complains of fewer ailments than most, so...” he raised his hands and shrugged. “I shall look in on your patients this evening. In the meantime, you need rest as much they do.” He waved a warning finger. “‘Physician, heal thy self.’” He bowed, started to go, and turned back. “Oh, by the way, well done on the school for girls. We need more reformers, like you.” He smiled and left the house.

  At 8:30 a.m., Isabelle called Gildstein Gallery and told Robert Dennison what had happened. He was frantic to see Elly, but waiting for prospective clients to view his paintings. Isabelle assured him, “There’s no rush, Mr. Dennison. I’ve given Elly a strong opiate. She’ll sleep for hours. Please secure your commissions. That’s what she’d want. Anytime you wish to come here, day or night, you’re very welcome.”

  Relieved, but totally exhausted, Isabelle wandered between Sam and Elly. She taught servants how to apply cooling liniments of Lobelia, Black Cohosh, Calendula, and alcohol to both patients’ bruises. Dr. Vickers was right, and Elly’s pain was worsening. The purple bruise on her forehead had spread down her cheek and was turning chartreuse. Her ankle was pale-violet and horribly swollen. Her shoulder was an alarming deep-purple.

  As the opiate wore off, Elly’s sleep lightened and she began dreaming. Isabelle was with Sam when she heard Elly scream. She sped next door and found the girl tossing fitfully. It was too soon after the last treatment, but Isabelle brewed Elly another cup of tea. If the child didn’t sleep, no healing could begin.

  Shortly after 10:00 a.m., Isabelle called His Majesty’s Theatre. The secretary answered the telephone and went to fetch Katherine Stewart. He found her in the rehearsal hall, sitting behind the director’s table, smiling as she watched Jeremy O’Connell stage THE TEMPEST.

  Jeremy stood in the middle of the large empty space. He was taller than the other men, and held his long body taught. His dark eyes were focused on a faraway vision. He spoke in a whisper meant only for the ten actors immediately near him. They appeared to be mesmerized, concentrating to hear his every word. Jeremy stood perfectly still, staring into the distance. He raised one finger to his lips. Following the focus of his eyes, the finger gracefully lifted. His arm followed, pointing to the top of an imaginary hill. The movement seemed to pull his lithe body, willing it to take flight. The secretary was entranced. As wonderful as Jeremy O’Connell was on stage, he was magical, creating new worlds.

  The secretary tiptoed to Katherine and whispered that Lady Richfield was on the telephone. Katherine sprung up and hurried to the office.

  *

  After Isabelle told her the story, Katherine hung up the phone and took a few moments to gather her thoughts. It was horrifying. Elly could have been killed. Sam Smelling very nearly was killed. She shook her head. All’s Well That Ends Well. Thank God they were both safe. She hurried back to the rehearsal hall eager to tell the news. Jeremy was still in a dreamlike state. Very gently, she tapped him on the shoulder, then jumped back, before he could curse the interruption.

  She said, “Isabelle has Elly.” He stopped cold. The entire room of actors and crew rushed to hear the news. She retold the story. By the end she was trembling.

  Before Jeremy could speak, Rory was at his arm. “Jerry, I’ve got to see Elly, please let me go… Please!”

  “No.” Jeremy moved away.

  “Please?” Beads of sweat popped out on the young man’s brow. He blocked Jeremy’s way. “I’m going, Jerry. With or without your permission. I’d rather it was with.”

  Jeremy’s mouth fell open. His back arched and his eyes blazed. “Who the bloody hell do you think you are? No one leaves my rehearsal.” In the past, Rory had pleaded for favours, even begged and cried. This time he gave his master an ultimatum. Jeremy’s loss of control felt alarming. “How dare you?”

  “Please, Jerry. I won’t be gone long. Please?” Rory’s throat tightened. His sudden flash of courage evaporated. He looked up into Jeremy’s fierce dark eyes. “Please?”

  Rory was behaving like a boy again and Jeremy was relieved. “All right, be back in an hour.” He walked away.

  Rory gasped, “An hour? I can’t get there and back…”

  “ONE HOUR!”

  “Yes, sir. Thanks!”

  *

  Rory grabbed his coat and ran full speed out the door. He did not stop running until he found a hansom. The ride was short, and he was still breathless when he rang the bell at Hamilton Place.

  Smythe answered the door. “Good morning, Mr. Cook. Miss Fielding’s in her usual room and Mr. Smelling is down the hall. Her Ladyship…”

  “Thank you, Smythe.” Rory was already halfway up the stairs. Elly’s door was ajar and he pushed it open. The curtains were closed and it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light.

  A maid sat near the dark window. She curtsied, and whispered, “‘Mornin’ Mr. Cook. Shall I tell Her Ladyship you’re here?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She left the room, leaving the door open.

  Rory tossed his coat over a chair
and walked to the bed. Elly was asleep, her hair strewn wildly across the pillow. Her skin was chalk white and an ugly bruise spread from her forehead down her cheek. His throat tightened and he swallowed hard.

  “Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,

  And therefore I forbid my tears…”

  A teacup sat on the bedside table. There were only a few drops of liquid in the bottom, but he recognized the aroma. “Poor Elly. If you drank this, you won’t even know I’ve been here.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed. Elly did not stir. Her breathing was shallow. He stroked her cheek. She stayed still. He leaned over and gently kissed her lips. She moved very slightly, so he did it again. The third time, she opened her eyes. Her face broke into a sweet smile and she tried to put her arms around his neck. Her right shoulder was so sore she moaned and let her arm drop.

  “Rory…” Her voice was a slurred whisper. “I’m so glad you’ve come.”

  “I can only stay a few minutes. I have to get back to rehearsal.”

  She forced her eyes open.

  “Go back to sleep, darling. Don’t try to stay awake.”

  She closed her eyes and was instantly asleep.

  He heard the swish of a skirt as Isabelle shuffled toward the bed. She rubbed her eyes and dragged her feet. Rory sat up and wrapped his arms around her waist. She hugged his shoulder and kissed the top of his head. He pulled her down beside him and she collapsed like a rag doll. The bed swayed, but Elly did not stir.

  He whispered, “You’ve given her Wild Opium Lettuce tea.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “And you’ve covered her with a liniment of Lobelia, Black Cohosh, and alcohol.”

  “You forgot the Calendula.”

  “No, I didn’t know about that one. That’s an extra. I always loved the smell of that liniment. It’s powerful. I had a nanny who preferred the old ways, like you, Priestess.”

  She laughed wearily. “My, but you flatter me.”

  They were silent for a few minutes. He watched Elly sleep. “She looks awful. So do you.”

  “Thank you.” Isabelle stood up, walked away, and collapsed into an easy chair.

  “I’ve got to get back to rehearsal. Jerry only gave me an hour.”

  “I’m surprised he gave you that.”

  “I had to grovel for it.”

  She laughed and her head fell back.

  Rory looked at Elly. “She’s all right, isn’t she?”

  Isabelle closed her eyes. “Two doctors say she’ll be fine. I’m worried about her mind.”

  He spun around. “Why?”

  “She refuses to talk about what happened, except the broadest details. Since she won’t talk, she’s having terrible nightmares.”

  “But it’s too soon to tell.” He was short of breath. “You can’t know… Surely, after she’s had a good sleep, some healing, some time…”

  “I hope so.”

  “She’s sleeping peacefully now.”

  “I’ve given her enough opium tea to dope an elephant.”

  His vision blurred and he wiped his eyes with the palm of his hand. “She’s got to be all right; after all she’s gone through… How’s Sam?”

  “Physically a wreck, but so ecstatic about his story he’ll probably be up and about before she will.”

  Rory looked at the clock. “I wish I could stay. Can I come back?”

  “Of course you can. Don’t be stupid.”

  He laughed. “My but you’re cranky when you’re tired. Why don’t you go to bed? You’ll be ill yourself. They’ll be all right now. The servants can look after them.”

  “I will, soon. You’d better go.”

  He looked back at Elly. “It’s the Scottish Play tonight. I won’t be able to come back before tomorrow.”

  “I don’t expect any changes before then.”

  Common sense screamed he should go, but he felt glued to Elly’s bedside. He swallowed back a lump in his throat. “The day Elly arrived was like a dream. When she walked on stage for her audition, I thought the world had spun in a different direction. She was so beautiful. She opened her mouth and it spun back a bit.” He laughed. “She was terrible. Jerry saw something I didn’t. He thinks he can teach her to act. I don’t care what she does.” Tears filled his eyes. He whispered, “Damn it! Why can’t she love me?”

  Half asleep, Isabelle sighed, “She does. Oh my, men are so daft. She adores you.”

  “She’s afraid of me.”

  “Yes… and for good reason.”

  “Why, what’s there to be afraid of?”

  Isabelle started laughing and continued for longer than Rory liked.

  “What the bloody hell’s so funny?”

  “Come here.” She opened her arms.

  He knelt beside her and laid his head in her lap. “Isabelle, that night -- your Christmas Eve ball, you looked like the most fantastically beautiful witch.”

  “Did I really?” She chuckled. “Well, you looked absolutely adorable, in white tie and tails. Your golden hair was shiny-clean and smartly cut.” She ran her fingers through his now overlong, messy hair. “I wanted to eat you with a spoon. Actually, I wanted -- you -- badly. I didn’t think I’d ever get you. Later, when we met in the hall, you were so angry. By then I was determined to have you, but the only way was to make you angrier still. You made me pay for my… witchcraft.”

  He looked up. “What do you mean, I made you pay?” The colour drained from his face. “Did I hurt you?”

  “You came close.”

  He whispered, “I pulled out, didn’t I?”

  “You did. You were very considerate,” she chuckled.

  “I’m sorry. I…”

  “I invited it, don’t reproach yourself. I knew exactly what I was doing.” She ran a finger down his cheek and smiled seductively. “And… You more than made up for it later… but… my virile angel, Elly hasn’t invited it. She’s a child, a wounded one at that. With all my experience, I could barely handle you. She’s very smart to be afraid of you.”

  “She’s going back to that bastard who raped her.”

  “No!” She clutched his shoulder. “It wasn’t rape. We don’t know this man, and we don’t know who she is when she’s with him. Whatever they had together, it will never be what it was, and he’s a terribly important part of her life. If you really love her, you’ll be there to help her through whatever comes of it.”

  “Even if it means letting her go?”

  “Even then.”

  Tears sprung into his eyes. “What if I lose her?”

  “Then she was never yours to begin with.” Her eyes were closing.

  He sighed, stood up, and very lightly kissed her lips. “Get some sleep.” He grabbed his coat and flew out the door.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was noon when Sir William Richfield arrived home from his trip. When Smythe explained the events of the past thirty hours, he bellowed, “Why the bloody hell wasn’t I notified?”

  Smythe trembled. “Forgive me sir, but everything happened so quickly, Lady Richfield handled all the details herself. Mr. Smelling telephoned the night before and said that Miss Fielding was in danger. I left the note where Her Ladyship was sure to see it, but…”

  A harried nanny raced down the stairs. “Please, Sir William, it’s my fault. Please don’t blame Mr. Smythe. The children painted pictures for Her Ladyship. I didn’t see the note and let the children cover it up. Her Ladyship didn’t see the note until the next day, forgive me…” Hysterically weeping, she fell at Sir William’s feet.

  Sir William stomped past her, up the stairs, “Yes, yes, you’re both forgiven. Now, where’s my wife? Pig-headed woman!”

  He found Isabelle asleep in the chair in Elly’s room. He gently touched her shoulder. She opened her eyes and smiled.

  “Good God, Isabelle! What’s happened to you?”

  She looked ten years older than when he had left. Her startling blue eyes were tiny, red, sore, and sunken into deep bla
ck circles. Her complexion was chalky and her skin was taut. Even her hair seemed to have lost its sheen. She stood up, gratefully reaching her arms around his neck. His comforting arms closed protectively around her, as he kissed her eager mouth. A few feet away, Elly slept soundly. He looked with horror at Elly’s bruised face. Isabelle took him next door where Sam Smelling lay, beaten and battered. He was finally sound asleep.

  Sir William took Isabelle’s hand. “You’re coming to my room so I can keep my eye on you.” He rang for Charleston, and ordered her to put her mistress to bed.

  While the women were busy, he summoned Smythe and the housekeeper. “No one is to disturb Her Ladyship. No one. Do you understand?”

  Smythe answered for both. “We do, Sir William. Lady Richfield’s already trained some of the servants to nurse the invalids.”

  “Good. Now bring us some food, and leave us alone. I want someone stationed outside this door so no one gets in or out.”

  Isabelle was served lunch on a bed tray, and Sir William on a small table by her side. He dismissed the servants, looked at the two meals and laughed. “I can’t remember the last time we had a picnic.” Isabelle toyed with her food, then began eating and devoured everything. She finished quickly and started telling him the story. Listening silently, his appetite shrunk with each horrid detail.

  Comforted by the food and the soft bed, Isabelle sank back and closed her eyes. “Elly was so looking forward to her first rehearsal and her young man coming to town.”

  “He arrived, I assume.”

  “Yes,” she yawned. “He’s coming over this evening.”

  “What’s he like? I should be concerned, shouldn’t I, now that the girl’s our responsibility?”

  Isabelle laughed. “I’ve only spoken to him on the telephone, but he sounds charming.” She held out her hand. “Come here, darling.”

  He moved her bed tray to the floor, slipped off his boots and jacket and cuddled next to her.

  “Elly’s going to be our ward, but she’s not our child. It’s going to be a tricky balance, finding her a place between society and the theatre, but that’s my job. Save your fatherly concerns for Lucy.” She kissed him. “She’ll be giving us grey hairs soon enough.” He laughed and kissed her deeply. She clung to him. “Bill darling, I love you so much. Have you any idea what a remarkable husband you are?”