“Please,” she said as she pressed the money into the woman’s hand. “It’s not much, but it might help, and maybe your husband will escape.”
“He’ll not escape, ma’am. No one does.” Hard living and deprivation had etched gray lines into a face that must once have smiled with love for a man likely chained in the reeking hold of a ship at anchor in the harbor. “But I thank ye for your kindness.” A child cried and she turned away, her shoulders slumped with the weight of an unknown future.
Grace wanted to follow her, but knew she had no more help to give. Her father had often railed against the cruel work of the press-gangs.
“They kidnap Englishmen!”
“Does that mean they should not be taken?” Grace asked. She was ten years old and had already noticed that her father’s blustering softened when she asked questions. He might not have been a fond father, but he rarely neglected an opportunity to instruct her.
“Indeed, it does, my dear. An Englishman has rights. He is not a slave.”
Grace walked on to the coach yard. She remembered her mother telling her that Mrs. Siddons had incited the ire even of her admirers when she revealed that she watched people in despair so she could mimic their misery when she was onstage. Grace thought of the poor woman in the street. She had never seen such anguish. Could it ever be right to counterfeit it? And would she ever again get the chance? Grace answered her own question with the expected no. Her future stretched before her with numbing predictability—empty days and lonely nights with only her memories for comfort.
Just as Grace reached the coach yard, a fresh gust of wind roared in from the Bristol Channel, making the horses stamp nervously. An old man—the spitting image of Mr. Harrison—clutched at his soiled wig. Grace stopped walking so suddenly that her heels sank into a steaming pile of manure. She jumped back and steadied herself against a post.
“Careful there, miss,” called the man. “Ye’ve got to watch your step in here.”
“Yes, thank you,” she called back. The answer to her troubles, the chance she needed, was within her grasp. Why had she not seen it earlier? Well, no matter. She saw it now. All she had to do was reach out and take it, grasp hold with both hands, and shake it into submission. She would not be like the poor young wife bewailing the loss of her Robert, powerless to change her fate.
Grace would not face defeat without a fight.
Chapter 10
Get thee a good husband,
and use him as he uses thee.
All’s Well That Ends Well (1.1.200–01)
Mr. Kemble walked with Ned through the dark wings to the stage at the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden. All around them, men and boys hammered and sawed, getting the flies and props and machinery ready for the new season.
“He dismissed her?”
“Yes, sir. I tried to tell him not to. Grace, Miss Green? She weren’t that bad.”
“Quite right. Renfrew had no business telling her to go. I don’t care how poorly she performed. I am not in the habit of turning my actresses out to the street. Can you get her back, Ned?”
“I can try, sir. Olympia’s her friend. She’ll have an address.”
“Good. When I said I thought the girl had potential, I meant it. Mr. Renfrew should learn not to cross me.”
Ned couldn’t help feeling gratified and hoped a time would come when Mr. Kemble found a reason to dismiss Renfrew. The man was nothing but trouble.
“I hear poor Louisa is still laid up,” Mr. Kemble said. “I gather she’ll not be ready for the start of the season?”
“No, sir. She’s gone back to her mother’s house in Kent.”
“We’re still short an actress and only a fortnight left to find one.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Miss Green deserves another chance. See to it that she’s brought back. I’ll deal with Renfrew. He needs to remember that he is in my theater on my sufferance.”
“Sir!”
* * *
Grace was surprised that her aunt’s house in London was not as grand as she expected. A door scarred with peeling paint rose from a dusty stoop. Most of the other houses in the square were well maintained, which made her aunt’s house look even shabbier. Grace checked the number again, and then took a deep breath and started up the stairs. Exhausted after the long journey up from Bristol, she caught her foot on the top stair. The door opened while she was still gripping the bannister with both hands to regain her balance.
“Yes?” The young woman regarded Grace with curious insolence. “You want to see the mistress?”
Grace nodded. “Tell her that her niece is here.”
“She’s in the front room. You can go in yourself. The footman’s off today, so ain’t no one to announce folk.”
Grace followed the girl into a damp hallway.
“She’s in there. Go on.”
The cramped parlor smelled hot and stale with an underlying sweetness—lavender, Grace thought. Her aunt was sitting on an upholstered chair facing the fireplace.
“Aunt Augusta?”
The woman swiveled her head to peer up at Grace. An involuntary spasm of grief shook Grace as she regarded features so closely resembling the face she’d last seen lying lifeless on a bed in Clevedon. With a composure worthy of Mrs. Siddons, Augusta replaced a flicker of alarm with a slight curl of her upper lip. “I lost hope of ever seeing you again.”
Grace sat uninvited in the chair opposite her aunt and removed her gloves and bonnet. “You are well?”
“I am alive. What do you want?”
“I need to come live with you, Aunt, here—in London.”
“You don’t waste time, do you?”
“No.”
“Your father’s house in Clevedon isn’t good enough for you? Hardly surprising. My sister loathed it there.”
“She was not always unhappy, Aunt.”
Augusta stared at Grace, her eyes red-veined bulges in a face that had once been beautiful. The ends of the pink ribbons dangling from her lace-trimmed cap had faded to the color of thin gruel. “Are you going to tell me why I should take you in?”
“For my mother’s sake.” Grace sat up straighter, determined not to let her aunt see that her words were capable of hurting her.
“Your mother would not have done the same for my Percival.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
Grace bit back a sigh. “I know that you and my mother were not friends, Aunt, but she is at peace now, and I cannot go back to my father’s house.”
“Percival has told me all about it. You are disinherited, and now you expect me to take you in. You presume a great deal.”
“It will be a temporary arrangement.”
“Until when?”
“Until I find another position at the theater.”
Augusta threw back her head and laughed so hard that her cap slipped over one eye, giving her a rakish look. She pushed it back into place. “You are still set on the theater? You know it is not respectable.”
“The status of an actress is much improved, and I’m sure you agree I must do something to earn my keep.”
“You could get married or, failing that, go to work as a governess. At least then you’d have some chance of falling into good society. It is not unknown for a governess to snag herself a respectable husband. Some members of the clergy are not fastidious, and there are always second sons.”
“I have no training or inclination to be a governess.”
“You don’t know what you are wishing for, Grace,” Augusta said, sitting forward, her usual smirk replaced with an expression almost like concern. “An actor’s life is one of great anxiety. One moment he—or she—is idolized and fawned over, showered with enough flattery to turn any head. But when the charm of novelty wears off, the actor sinks into cold and silent neglect.”
“I don’t believe that,” Grace said. “Look at Mrs. Siddons. She is loved everywhere she goes.”
“Sarah is an exce
ption, I will grant you.”
“Sarah? Do you know Mrs. Siddons?”
Augusta snapped open her fan and rang the bell to summon the maid. “I do not wish to talk further on the subject. You may stay with me until you find an alternative. Now, where is your trunk?”
* * *
“You’re off to do Mr. Kemble’s bidding again, are ye?” Alec sat on his bed in the same clothes he’d worn the night before—and countless more nights before that.
“It’s me job, Alec. Besides, I’m that pleased that he wants Grace back.” Ned pulled on his boots. “You got in late.”
“Stop changin’ the subject. You’re right stuck on her, ain’t you? I’ve said before that she’ll cause you grief.”
“And I’ve said before that it ain’t like that with Grace. She’s just a friend, like.”
“Since when are women friends?” Alec grinned. “You’ll get yourself in trouble one of these days being so friendly and all.”
Ned gazed around the cheerless room and sighed. He was glad to be back in London after slogging around the country, feeling at times more like a pack mule than a stage manager, but sometimes he wished he had more to look forward to after work than bunking in with Alec.
“So what is it like? You know she’ll not have someone like you.”
“I’m just fond of her, is all.” He wasn’t about to tell Alec how he felt about Olympia. He’d never let him hear the end of it. “Anyways, Grace didn’t deserve Renfrew letting her go. He’s a proper arse, that one.”
“How will you find out where she’s gone? You were that lucky she came back last time, but who’s to say it will happen again?”
“I know,” Ned said glumly. “She’s gone off to the West Country to stay with her father. He’s a right bastard.”
“You can’t be interferin’, Ned. Remember your place and all.”
“Ain’t much chance of me forgettin’ that.”
“Mr. Kemble can’t hardly expect you to go fetch Grace from so far away. Haven’t you been saying that you’re done with travelin’?”
Ned sat down heavily on the bed. “I reckon.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Ask Olympia to write to her, I guess. If anyone can get Grace back, it’s Olympia.”
“Mr. Kemble won’t like it if you come up empty-handed.”
“I thought you didn’t want me to find her.”
Alec shrugged his skinny shoulders. “I don’t, but I also don’t want you in hot water with Mr. K. You’ve done well for yourself at the theater, and I ain’t one to like seeing you lose your place.”
“You’re gettin’ proper soft, Alec,” Ned said, grinning.
“Shut yer mouth.” Alec climbed out of bed and pulled on his boots. “I got me a spot of work over at the market today. Don’t pay much, not as much as takin’ tickets at the theater, but it’s somethin’. Damn good thing the theater’s starting up soon. I’m getting skint and all.”
“We’re opening in two weeks. I’m as eager as you to get back at it. Mr. Kemble is too, so far as I can tell. I don’t think Ireland was to his liking.”
* * *
The sharp tang of shriveling leaves freshened the late-August air in Hyde Park. Grace had not expected to enjoy a walk through the shady paths with Percival. His appearance at her aunt’s house a few hours earlier had been a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. After a week of sitting through excruciatingly dull evening parties with her aunt, Grace longed for diversion. Percival wasn’t quite what she had in mind, but a walk in the park with him was preferable to another afternoon watching her aunt doze in her chair by the fire, rousing only occasionally to find fault with the room temperature, the tea, Grace’s hair, the slovenliness of her maid—anything and everything.
Grace had been dismayed to find Olympia more difficult to contact than she had anticipated. The letters she’d sent to Olympia in care of the theater had not been answered, and she didn’t dare approach Mr. Kemble directly—not after Mr. Renfrew had so summarily dismissed her. And as for Ned, Grace didn’t think it right to involve him. She didn’t want to get him into trouble with Mr. Renfrew.
“You are staying in town?” Grace asked. They had so far kept the conversation light, avoiding any mention of Grace’s father and his estate, or the theater.
“I keep a house in Bedford Square,” he said. “You must visit.”
“That would hardly be proper, Percy,” Grace said.
He stiffened. “Could you not use that odious diminutive?”
“Percy? It’s a perfectly suitable nickname.”
“I loathe it.”
“Then you have my apologies. I will try to remember to call you Percival.” He really was a prig, she thought, stealing a look at his finely chiseled profile. His top hat almost brushed the low-hanging foliage shading the path. She amused herself by imagining his hat speared on the tip of a particularly aggressive branch.
“Yes, thank you,” he said. “I did not mean to offend.”
“You did not.” They lapsed back into silence. Grace decided to enjoy the outing with or without amiable conversation from Percival. To be outdoors in nature was soothing to nerves rubbed raw by the noises of the city. A pair of fine horses carrying elegantly attired ladies, hat plumes swaying, trotted past on a nearby bridle path.
“Do you miss riding?” Percival asked when the horses had passed.
When she did not reply, he stopped walking so suddenly that Grace almost lost her balance. “Forgive me! I had forgotten.” His blue eyes clouded with concern. “What must you think of me?”
“I think very little of you, Percy, ah, Percival,” she said, her voice strangled by the sudden, sharp memory of a horse’s anguished squeals. “Perhaps we should turn for home. I am fatigued.”
“Yes.” They walked on in silence, her hand still wrapped around his arm. Another pair of horses trotted past. The clinking of harnesses and the crunch of hooves on gravel filled her senses, gave her time to think. Percival could not be blamed for the past. There was so much he didn’t know.
“I do not hold you responsible for my father’s decision,” she said after a long pause.
“I’m relieved to hear it. I did try very hard to dissuade him.”
“You did?”
“Yes, but to little purpose. He was determined to have the will changed, and no argument that I put forward had any effect on him. He is unjust to you, Grace.”
“He believes he has reason.”
“The theater?”
“That—and other reasons.” Why had she said that? He’d want to know what she meant.
“Do you wish to tell me?”
“No.”
They walked on, their feet rustling through the dry leaves pockmarking the gravel. They were almost to the edge of the park when Percival stopped again and this time drew her around to face him. He was handsome, there was no doubt about that—a head taller than she was, with a broad forehead and elegant manners. He would make a dashing figure onstage—more like stately Mr. Kemble than conceited little Mr. Renfrew.
“If we were to marry, you would not lose the benefit of your father’s estate. After your father’s death, we can live at Clevedon for part of the year, or sell it. I am willing to go along with whatever you decide on that score.”
“Are you proposing to me?” The surprise in Grace’s voice caught him off guard.
He blushed. “I, ah, yes.” His haughty mask slipped, and Grace glimpsed another man—a man who kept himself well hidden from the world. She thought she might be able to like that man.
She disengaged her arm from his and stepped backward. “Why?”
“I wish to make amends for your father’s actions,” he said, quickly recovering his dignity. “And I feel that we may get along well. I must marry, and I have always thought you would be a suitable choice.”
“You have rarely seen me since I was twelve years old.”
“It is a fair offer,” he said. “And considering the circumstanc
es, you may not expect a better.”
Grace set off down the path, too agitated to reply. She had not gone more than a few yards before she tripped over a stone. Percival came up behind her and caught her before she lost her balance and tumbled into the dead leaves.
“You do have a propensity for clumsiness, my dear,” he said.
“I am not your dear.” Grace turned away from him. “I am going back to my aunt’s, and I’ll thank you not to follow me.”
“I will see you home.”
She had no choice but to let him accompany her, although she walked several paces ahead, so that by the time they reached Grosvenor Square, she was out of breath and longing for the quiet of her room where she could cry in peace.
My bounty is as boundless as the sea.
The line from Romeo and Juliet looped through her head. He’d not mentioned love or even regard. And as for her own feelings—she did not exactly dislike Percival—but marriage?
She’d go to work as a governess in some dismal northern estate before she’d consent to become Mrs. Percival Knowlton.
* * *
“Ned!”
He was standing in front of her aunt’s place, cloth cap in hand. Grace ran toward him. “How did you find me? Oh, Ned! I’m so glad to see you!” She wanted to throw her arms around him—big, solid Ned, who had taken care of her when there was no one else. Kind Ned, who asked for nothing from her. She stopped a few feet from him and acknowledged his awkward head bob with a curtsy. Percival came up behind her, panting slightly.
“Is this the fellow from the theater with whom I spoke in Bath?”
“Yes, Percival,” she said without turning around. “This is Mr.—what is your surname, Ned? I don’t believe I ever heard anyone use it.”
“Plantagenet,” Ned said.
“How very royal,” Percival said with a sneer.
“I ain’t got nothing to do with it. They gave it me at the Foundling Hospital.” Ned thrust his chin out. He was as tall as Percival, but with broader shoulders and the air of a man able and willing to fight. Grace doubted that Percival had ever done more than engage in a bit of light fencing when he was at school.
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