Truth and Beauty

by Christina Britton Conroy

  “I know.” Gasping for air, chest heaving, she forced herself to calm. “I know it was a joke. You didn’t mean anything.” She looked into his round face. His kind dark-eyes were frantic with worry. “Poor Lester, you’d never hurt me.” She took a few deep breaths. “You’ve always been so kind.” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose.

  Lester’s heart pounded. “You’re so sweet. I don’t know how anyone could ever have been unkind to you. I absolutely adore you. When you were poor, I thought, maybe… well someday, we might… you know… But, now you’re an heiress, so…” He hung his head.

  “No!” She violently shook her head. “I’m not, really. At least, I don’t feel any different. I didn’t earn my good fortune, and I don’t come into any money until I’m twenty-one. I’m just the same as I always was.”

  He chuckled kindly. “You’re not the same. We all read Sam Smelling, ‘The Man With The Nose For News.’ You might be related to Lady Richfield, and you’ve got money in your own right. I’m very happy for you. You deserve the best… it’s just… well, you’re not the only reason I’m going… It’s just time I moved on.” She looked confused, so he sighed sadly. “I’m leaving O’Connell’s company.”

  “What do mean, you’re leaving?” She felt weak.

  “I’ve been offered a tour.” Lester took his time. “You may not remember, but I’ve been an apprentice a full six months longer than Rory. Todd and I came at the same time.”

  “I do remember. You two should have been put on salary before Rory, and you’ve been overlooked. It’s very unfair. I’m happy for Rory, but I wish…”

  He sighed glumly, twisting his mouth. “…you also fancy Rory.”

  “I don’t. Really, I don’t. He can be sweet, of course…”

  Eddy called down the stairs. “Come on, you lot. Break’s over.”

  Lester helped Elly to her feet. She hugged him. “Will you write to me?”

  He held her tight. “You’re living in a mansion. Are you sure you want letters from a poor actor?”

  “Oh, yes, very much.”

  He sighed happily. “Then, I’ll write you every day.”

  When everyone was back inside the rehearsal hall, Eddy called, “Act One - Scene Two, please.”

  Elly was positioned on a precariously high, slanting platform. She was directed to stay perfectly still, and did her best to find a comfortable position. Jeremy’s understudy played the scene first, so Jeremy could watch. Elly listened to Prospero tell Miranda the terrible story of their abduction.

  The second time, Jeremy played the scene himself. This time, Shakespeare’s words erupted with life. Elly not only saw Prospero and little Miranda dragged from their home and forced into “…a rotten carcass of a boat…,” but her memory flashed to the “rotten carcass” of a freight train that had carried her to Yorkshire. She relived Mick grabbing her off the street and Tommy smothering her with chloroform.

  Prospero’s scene finally ended and she relaxed her pose. Her shoulder throbbed. She shook away frightening memories and fought back angry tears.

  As opening night drew near, Jeremy held all-day rehearsals, finishing just in time to prepare for evening performances. Between matinee and evening shows, he checked the progress of his set and costume designers. After evening performances, he called the actors back again, rehearsing them until dawn. Like a comical mantra, “Katie, fix it!” became a catchword when anything went wrong. If a prop was out of place someone shouted, “Katie, fix it!” If a set piece fell over, a call of, “Katie, fix it!” made everyone laugh and broke the tension.

  One night, the final curtain fell on the Scottish Play. The actors remained on stage waiting to be told what TEMPEST scenes Jeremy would rehearse. They all looked dog-tired, so he gave them an unexpected night off. Thrilled to have a full eleven hours rest before returning to the theatre, they raced away like children on a school holiday.

  Jeremy had still not given Katherine her diamond ring. Tonight would be the night. He took Katherine and Evan up to his flat, and asked Max to prepare omelets and toast. Evan scampered upstairs.

  Katherine slumped, exhausted, into the sofa. “That rascal’s gone to finish the trifle. He won’t be wanting any real food, after that.”

  Tired as he was, Jeremy paced in front of the fireplace, gathering courage. Finally ready, he perched next to Katherine. She reached a weary hand and stroked his cheek, prickly with a late day’s growth of beard.

  He kissed her palm. “Dearest Katie, you are remarkable, do you know that? I never expected you to be so marvellous at everything.” He pressed her hand against his heart. “I almost feel superfluous. You could be mounting this entire production without me.”

  “Don’t even think it. Whatever skills I have, I learned from you.”

  “Sometimes the student surpasses the teacher.”

  “Not in this case, darling. Not at all.”

  He kissed her passionately, drawing strength from her warm, shapely body. Gently holding his cheek against hers, he inhaled the subtle perfume in her hair. “Marry me, Katie. Our life is already so good. If we were married…”

  “If we were married, I would still have to share you.”

  “You have never shared my affections. There is no one else I care for. You and Evan are everything to me.”

  Sighing, she gently pushed him away. “Not quite ‘everything.’”

  Starting to deny her words, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the diamond ring. He held her left hand and tried to slip the ring onto her finger.

  Smiling with surprise, she took it from him, squinted, and studied the elegant design. “How simply marvellous, a genuine engagement ring.” Chuckling happily, she ran it between her fingers, but did not put it on.

  “Look what else I found.” He held out a worn piece of paper.

  She opened it and laughed. “How funny! This is our fake marriage license. I’d forgotten…” She read aloud, “On this third day of December, in the year of our Lord eighteen- hundred-and-eighty…” She squinted. “I can’t read the year.”

  Jeremy nodded. “I had smeared it, intentionally.”

  “That’s right, I remember.” She read further, “…at Christ Church, Bitby.” She thought for a moment. “Where was Bitby?”

  “It was where I lived in The Bachelor’s…”

  “The Bachelor’s Dilemma. How could I have forgotten that silly play?” She chuckled and read further. “…Service presided over by the Reverend Henry Plantagenet. Witnessed by Sir John Falstaff and Robin Hood...” They both laughed until the upstairs’ doorbell rang.

  Jeremy scowled. “Who the devil is that, at this hour?”

  “Clara’s off. I better get it.” Katherine started to stand.

  Evan’s nimble footsteps sounded overhead. Moments later Simon Camden’s voice boomed down the stairs, “Hello, Evan. How’s my boy?”

  Jeremy shouted, “He’s not your bloody boy.” He whispered to Katherine, “You said he was in Edinburgh.”

  She whispered back, “I thought he was.”

  “Then, what is he doing here? He uses our flat as a free hotel, and your bed as the tryst de’ jour.” He folded the fake marriage license and slipped it in his pocket.

  “Stop it, Jerry. Simon’s not the Lothario he was in his youth.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  She paused. “Well, he couldn’t be. Could he? At his age? He’s spent nearly every night with me.”

  Jeremy half-closed his eyes. “‘Nearly every night,’ and what about the days? In case you have forgotten, the male organ is on call twenty-four-hours running. Its appetites are equally strong at noon as at night. Do you actually think he wasn’t with some hot-blooded Scots lassie last night?”

  They turned as Simon’s footsteps sounded on the stairs. Beaming with good humour, he marched into the room. “You won’t believe my good luck. I’ve got the entire…” Seeing their gloomy expressions, he stopped short. “Is this a bad time?”<
br />
  Jeremy glared. “Yes.”

  Katherine squeezed Jeremy’s hand. “No, Simon dear. It’s never a bad time. You know you’re always welcome.”

  “What’s your good luck, Uncle Simon?” Evan raced down the stairs. His face was smeared with jam and cream.

  Since Evan was the only one smiling, Simon turned to him. “Well, I had planned on spending a full two weeks in Scotland, raising the final money for my tour, but one rich, kilted nobleman has found all the money at once, so I caught the first train back. You’d like to go to India, wouldn’t you, Evan?”

  Jeremy sprang up “No! He would not.”

  Frightened by the flash of anger, Evan backed away from Simon.

  Katherine rubbed her eyes. “Jerry - Simon – Please! We’re all very tired.”

  “Supper’s ready.” Max stood in the doorway. Behind him, on the elegantly set dinner table, three steaming omelets, a rack of toast and a pot of tea, gave off appetizing aromas.

  Evan shuffled his feet. “I’m not very hungry, Mummy.”

  “I know. You’ve finished the trifle. Why don’t you get ready for bed? I’ll be up in a little while.”

  Evan glanced at the three adults positioned in an uneasy triangle. “Goodnight, Daddy.” He hugged Jeremy, then his mother. “Good night, Uncle Simon.” He took a few steps backwards, then sped up the stairs.

  Simon watched them for another moment, gracefully spread his arms, pointed one foot, and bowed. “I shall be on my way, then.”

  Katherine stopped him. “No Simon, it’s very late.”

  Jeremy huffed. “It is late. Why don’t you stay upstairs? Clara’s got the night off, but you can find everything you need. Katie will stay down here, with me.”

  Simon’s eyes opened wide as Katherine muffled a smile and looked at the table. “There’s an extra omelet.”

  “N’ No, thanks, I… well, actually, I’m famished. Thanks.” He went into the dining room.

  Katherine started wearily after him and Jeremy took her in his arms. “Katie, please give me an answer.” She stiffened, but he held her tight.

  Relenting, she softened, hanging limp in his arms. “I’m hungry, Jerry. I can’t think when I’m hungry.”

  “Oh, very well.” Sighing deeply, he let her go and followed her into the dining room.

  She sat at the table. She calmly slid the ring onto her finger, then placed a serviette in her lap, picked up her fork, and started to eat.

  Chapter Nineteen

  By now, most of England had read Sam Smelling’s frightening newspaper report of Elly’s abduction and the murder of Father Folen. The publicity was fantastic and advanced ticket sales for THE TEMPEST were astounding. Elly thought she might not get the sack, after all.

  The next week, Isabelle allowed Elly to move back to Darry House. Elly was thrilled until she opened the door to her tiny room. She had forgotten it was so small. After the opulent rooms at the Hamilton Place mansion, it seemed almost shabby. There was just enough room for her to slide between the wardrobe and narrow bed with its cherry-red spread. The table and chair seemed child sized.

  She pushed back the matching cherry-red drape, opened the window, and looked down onto the dark tree-lined street. A branch from a large tree reached toward the glass. She reached out and could almost touch it. If this were her old home, she might have tried to jump onto that limb. Sighing happily, she remembered she would never have to run away from anything, ever again. A frigid breeze blew in, so she quickly closed the window and the drape.

  Exhausted after the day's rehearsal, she found a nightdress, blew out her candle, and sleepily crawled into bed. It was hard and small, nothing like her luxurious bed at Hamilton Place. Dim light from a street lamp shone through the thin red window curtain. She fluffed her small lumpy pillow and fell asleep.

  She woke up hearing a strange noise. After a moment, she decided it was the tree branch scratching against her window. It hadn’t done that before. The wind must have picked up. She turned over and closed her eyes. The scratching became louder. Wood creaked. The window opened. Her heart banged in her chest as the curtain moved aside.

  A man crawled through. She opened her mouth to scream, and Mick whispered, “No’ a word Autumn Lydy.” A knife glimmered in his belt. She drew up her knees and pulled the covers tight around her. “You been ‘avin’ a righ’ good time a’ ‘amilton Place. Couldn’t get near y’ there. Knew you’d be back ‘ere sometime. I just ‘ad to wait.” He started toward her. She screamed as he fell on top of her. His weight was tremendous as he pulled off her bedclothes.

  “Elly! Elly, wake up. My God!”

  A match hissed. A candle lit. Lester stood next to her, his tattered nightshirt hanging off one shoulder. His black curly hair was mussed to one side.

  Elly dripped with sweat. Her heart pounded. She leapt to the window and pulled back the curtain. The window was closed. Outside, the tree branch was perfectly still and nowhere near the glass. She put her hand over her mouth, forcing back tears. Lester put his candlestick on the table and took her in his arms. She clung to him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “You had an awful dream.”

  “Yes. It was just another dream.”

  “Another? Do you have these often?”

  “Just since… you know.”

  “That’s awful. Does anyone know?”

  “I used to have them a lot. Please don’t tell anyone. Lady Richfield won’t let me sleep here if she knows, and I want to stay, at least until the play opens.” Her door was open. She looked out and was relieved to see the empty hall. She closed the door and sat on the bed. “I hope I didn’t wake anyone else.”

  Lester sat next to her and put his arm around her. “I won’t tell anyone, but this is terrible. Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “Are you?”

  “You scared me half to death.” He kissed her cheek. They were quiet for a few minutes. “Are you going to be able to get back to sleep?”

  “Sure, but not just yet. I’ll stay up a bit.”

  “I’ll stay with you.” He yawned and shook himself awake.

  “You’re a dear, but you need your rest.”

  “So do you. Are you afraid to go back to sleep?”

  “Yes.” It came out with a sob.

  “Will you have another dream?”

  She shrugged.

  He looked at the clock. “It’s 3:00 o’clock. You can’t stay awake all night. How’s this, you get into bed and I’ll sing you a lullaby?”

  She giggled, “A lullaby?”

  “Sure. Why are you laughing? Don’t you think I know one, or don’t you think I can sing?”

  “You are so sweet.”

  “You just noticed? Come on, into bed.” He held the covers and she crawled in. He tucked the covers around her and sat on the floor.

  “Aren’t you cold?”

  “Freezing, so you’d better fall asleep fast. Lullaby and good night, la, la ,la, la--, la, la, la!”

  She burst out laughing, “I thought you knew a lullaby.”

  His lower lip stuck out in a mock pout, then broke into a smile.

  Elly rumpled his fuzzy hair. “You’re so wonderful. Your smile could light up the planet. I loved my lullaby.”

  “Good. Now go to sleep.” He kissed her forehead. “Promise you’ll call, or knock, if you need anything? I’m right next door.”

  “I’ll be fine, but yes, I promise.”

  He took his candle, left her room, and closed the door behind him.

  Alone in the dark, she clenched her fists and beat her pillow.

  *

  The next afternoon, Elly knocked on Jeremy O’Connell’s dressing-room door. He looked up, closed his book, and put down his pipe. Before she was properly inside, her words rushed out in a frightened whisper. “Will you help me? Please, can you help me? I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I hate myself.”

  “Tell me what has…”

  “I’m afraid of everything. I cry all the
time. I have horrid dreams. I don’t think this has anything to do with acting, but can you help me?”

  “Yes, I think I can. You have already helped me.”

  Her eyes widened. “What you mean? How can I possibly have helped you?”

  He guided her into a chair, closed the door, and sat near her. “The intensity of your feelings taught me about Prospero’s feelings, when he was abducted, especially with a small child to protect. I had been concentrating on the anger and the loss: Loss of control, position, comfort, companionship. I had given no consideration to the horror of the abduction itself. You brought that home to me, and I thank you.”

  “But you’re not happy with my work. Please tell me what to do. I want to do well, but I don’t know how.”

  “Everything you’re doing is lovely. Why do you think I am not pleased? The only thing wrong is that you look frightened some of the time, and Prospero’s Nymph is never frightened.”

  She clenched her fists. “I’m so sorry. I’ll try harder.”

  “You are trying too hard as it is. You need to relax and trust that you are safe.” She stared at him. He leaned in closer. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “I understand the words, but I don’t know how…” She shook her head.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course, sir, with my very life.”

  He caught his breath. “Well, I’m flattered. I also think that I deserve your trust. I think I’ve earned it. Can you trust that, whatever happens between now and the night this play opens… no matter if I howl like a banshee, or scold you, or insult you, or tear the scenery, or do any mad thing, that I respect you and care for you? If I am not pleased, I shall say so. If I say nothing, can you trust that you are doing well?”

  She shrugged. “Yes, sir.” Her palms were moist, her breathing fast and irregular.

  Jeremy’s eyes narrowed. “Katie told me about your abduction with many more details than Sam Smelling wrote in the paper. It was despicable. Beyond anything I can imagine. Being a journalist, Sam was interested in the facts, not your feelings.”