The Countess flounced from the room and the rest of the impulsive children applied themselves feverishly to the fresh decanter of sherry which the unflappable Curzon had thoughtfully produced.
The Earl was helping Mrs. Blessop dry her tears. The theater outing was discussed and everyone agreed to go.
The heat in the drawing room had become intense, so they all drifted out to the garden. The great trees hung heavily over the lawns as though bowed down by the unexpected jungle heat.
Encased in the rigid formality of correct dress, the party stood about the lawns in their confines of stays and waistcoats, their faces turned searching for the breeze which never came.
Chapter Thirteen
By the time the theater evening arrived, nerves and tempers at the villa were frayed by the constant scenes between the Earl and Countess and the hot, unrelenting brassy weather.
The only person who seemed surprisingly calm and unmoved was Bertie. He had lost his earnest puppyish good humor, but he seemed more relaxed, and the Honorable Clive was able to report with awe that Bertie had been surprised in the library reading a book. For one dreadful moment all feared for his sanity and only breathed sighs of relief when the book turned out to be a Guide to the Turf.
Before the carriages were brought around, Daisy trailed down to the butler’s pantry to search for Curzon.
She found him enjoying a glass of port in the stuffy cubicle. He was sitting minus his collar and jacket and seemed at peace with the world. They chatted away like old friends. Curzon often seemed to Daisy like the only human being in an artificial world. Apart from the fact that he inexplicably refused to discuss her father, he was reassuring and helpful on all other subjects. Bertie, he assured her, would not die of love. It was well known that Mr. Burke had been and still was bullied by his father. His mother had died when he was very young and Bertie was apt to put any young woman he was attracted to on a very high pedestal.
“He’s the sort of young fellow who needs to marry out of his class,” said Curzon. “I’ve seen some of ’em like that settling down with the local barmaid and living pretty happily ever after.”
The rattle of the carriages outside interrupted their conversation and Daisy rose reluctantly to go. Mrs. Blessop was to be of the party and that promised another hideous evening of scenes between her host and hostess.
The air was suffocatingly close and hot and even at the end of the pier where the theater was housed in a wooden pentagon, no breath of air moved. It looked as if it was going to be a full house. The ladies languidly waved their fans to combat the heat and the gentlemen groaned in their prisons of stiff collars and evening jackets, tailored to fit as tightly as any of the ladies’ stays.
The theater smelled of perfume, greasepaint, and sweat. Daisy began to wish she had stayed quietly at home with a book. The plush seats were very small and she was jammed between the Duke and Bertie. Mrs. Blessop’s tinkling laugh—so like Angela’s—floated along the row toward her and the tension emitting from Angela was almost tangible.
When the shabby curtains parted Daisy sat forward in her chair and lost herself in Verona. From the moment that Mr. Bertram Dufresne strode on the stage in all the glory of a pair of pink tights and a sparkling silver doublet, Daisy was lost. He had a high, aquiline profile and a mop of black curly hair worn long on his shoulders. His accent was very slightly French. His Juliet was rather old and buxom for the part, but Daisy paid her not the slightest attention. Her eyes were all for Mr. Dufresne. When he spoke, he spoke for Daisy. When he died, he died for Daisy. She sat with the happy tears coursing down her cheeks as Shakespeare’s famous tragedy came to a close.
The curtains parted again and several excited young ladies ran to the front of the theater and showered the romantic Mr. Dufresne with flowers. Daisy stared at him with her heart in her eyes. All thoughts of running away to France had fled. She would sit at Mr. Dufresne’s feet for as long as she could.
Her party finally rose to leave with much shuffling and grumbling from the men and mutterings of “damned mountebank” from the Honorable Clive.
“I promised we would go backstage and meet the cast,” said the Earl, “but it’s just too damned hot.”
“Oh, please,” cried Daisy loudly, and then added shyly as the others turned to stare at her, “I’ve never been backstage in a theater before.”
“It will only take a minute, David,” said the Duke, surprisingly coming to her aid. “I suppose we just have to shake hands with them all and then we can leave.”
Trembling with excitement and with her heart in her mouth, Daisy followed the others around to the stage door. The cast was lined up on the stage as if for a royal visit. Mrs. Blessop was not of the party, explaining that she felt unaccountably faint.
Daisy, moving down the row, well aware that Romeo was getting nearer every minute, tried to control her shaking hands. At last she was facing him and he was smiling down at her through his makeup. He saw before him one of the most beautiful debutantes he had ever seen. Daisy’s soft brown hair was piled over her head, making her face seem very small and fragile. A white silk dress of deceptive simplicity clung to her hourglass figure and her large eyes were full of tremulous adoration.
He took a rose from the bouquet that Juliet was holding and presented it to Daisy with a magnificent bow. “Thank you,” she whispered shyly and then became aware that there were other people behind her waiting to be presented. She moved along the line, shaking hands, and staring up at the glistening greasepainted faces, without really noticing any of them.
Afterward, when they were seated in the carriages and trotting sedately along the shore road to join a party at one of the neighboring mansions, Daisy sat dreamily clutching her rose.
When the dancing started later she danced around the floor with her feet scarcely seeming to touch the ground. Every partner was Romeo and the ballroom was in Verona. The Duke of Oxenden was well aware of it and found to his surprise that he was getting very angry indeed.
He could not be jealous, of course. He had never been jealous in his life before and the mere idea was ridiculous. He was only angry because this stupid little girl was about to go and make a fool of herself over some cardboard actor. Perhaps she would be better off with her father. The man was a fraud and a cheat, but he was her father and daughters seemed to love the most impossible parents. A plan began to form in his head. He would supply her with her father’s address and then make sure she was suitably chaperoned. Daisy would find out that the generous allowance she was receiving through Curzon did not come from her father, but he would cope with that when the time came.
He drew her aside and had to repeat what he was saying several times in order to get through Daisy’s magic world. She grasped the piece of paper with the address on it, put it in her reticule, smiled a vague “thank you,” and moved off to dance with someone else.
With supreme irritation he noticed that she was wearing Romeo’s rose at her bosom.
Amy was horrified when Daisy poured out her tale of the theater, before going to bed.
“Actors!” cried Amy raising her hands in horror. “They’re not respectable, Daisy. Not respectable at all. A real riffraff bunch, if you ask me.”
“Well, I’m not all that respectable myself, it seems to me,” said Daisy.
“Now, then, Dais’, your auntie or whatever she was may have been a bit strict, but she brought you up proper. What on earth would Miss Sarah Jenkins say if she knew you was running after an actor.”
Both began to giggle as they knew exactly what Miss Jenkins would have said.
“Could you come with me tomorrow night to the theater, Amy?” pleaded Daisy, when they had stopped laughing.
“It’s my night off tomorrow,” said Amy. “I can’t. I’m seeing a fellow.”
“Oh, Amy,” cried Daisy, momentarily diverted. “Who is it? Is it that nice young footman with the curly hair?” But Amy refused to be drawn out. She promised to accompany Daisy any other night and
left it at that.
Daisy went happily to sleep with her precious rose beside her on her pillow.
In the morning, however, the idea of missing a whole evening without seeing her Romeo seemed impossible. In despair, she asked Bertie to escort her and, to her surprise, heard herself being firmly turned down. Bertie, it seemed, had other plans. In fact, he had lost his hangdog look and seemed indecently cheerful.
With some trepidation, Daisy approached the Duke. Almost waspishly, he reminded her that they were all going to a party at a nearby country house and added that he refused to waste his time viewing a pack of indifferent actors for the second time. Any glimpses of warmth or affection toward her had disappeared and Daisy felt unaccountably friendless. Curzon, when appealed to, turned out to hold the same strong views against actors as Amy.
Daisy was in despair. She could not go unescorted to a public theater. She was interrupted in her dismal thoughts by the Earl who asked her if she would like to take a turn around the garden.
“I gather you are quite stagestruck,” he said in a fatherly voice that sounded odd, coming as it did from his young and handsome face. Daisy nodded dumbly and then burst out about how much she wanted to visit the theater again, but that she had no one to escort her.
The Earl poked a flower bed with his cane and keeping his face turned away from her, he said in a muffled voice, “I know what it means to you, Daisy. I used to be a bit stagestruck myself. I tell you what, I’ll take you along tonight,” and interrupting her cry of gratitude, “but I ain’t sitting through the whole thing again. I’ll see you to your seat and when the show starts I’ll nip outside for a cigar. And then I’ll come back again just before it finishes. That way no one will know you’re alone.”
“What about the party?” asked Daisy.
“We can drive on afterward,” he said cheerfully.
“Angela won’t mind. She ain’t speaking to me.”
Their proposed visit to the theater was received indifferently by the rest of the house party, with the exception of the Duke who felt he would like to punch the Earl and then shake Miss Daisy Chatterton till her teeth rattled.
Daisy sailed through the day on a pink cloud. As she was dressing with unusual care for the evening, Angela appeared at the doorway of her room carrying a long leather box.
“You’re in love with Mr. Dufresne,” she said boldly. Daisy blushed and shook her head, but Angela only laughed. “Well, my dear, I know you will want to look your dazzling best, so I thought you might like to borrow these.” She flicked back the lid of the box and Daisy stared down at one of the most beautiful diamond necklaces she had ever seen.
“I—I couldn’t possibly wear them,” she stammered. “I should be terrified…”
“Nonsense, this is a very law-abiding community and Davy will be with you. I don’t mind him going, by the way, he’s just trying to annoy me.”
Again Daisy shook her head. Angela moved closer and held the box under Daisy’s eyes. “Think of it, Daisy,” she whispered. “You can’t really see faces across the footlights, but his eyes will be caught by these and then he will see you. Look how they shine.” She tilted the box backward and forward in the gaslight and the myriad colors flashed before Daisy’s hypnotized eyes. “See,” said Angela gently, “I’ll just leave them on your dressing table. Enjoy your evening, my dear.”
Daisy longed to wear the diamonds, but suspected a trap. Perhaps Angela was jealous of her for going out with her husband and wished Daisy somehow to lose the jewels so that she could be disgraced. She consulted Amy and Amy consulted Curzon. The butler said the jewels were not a family heirloom, although they were magnificent, and that they were heavily insured. He suspected that the Countess was simply being as nice as possible to make the Earl feel guilty.
The diamonds seemed to hypnotize Amy as well. “Put them on, Dais’,” she urged. “It’s just for one evening after all. Hurry, there’s a dear. I’ve got to run to meet my young man.”
Daisy put the six strands of heavy, cold diamonds around her neck where they blazed on her bosom like fire. She was wearing a dress of scarlet chiffon and the jewels picked out the color and flashed little red sparks around the room.
The Earl did not seem surprised when he saw the necklace. “Angela has these generous outbursts from time to time,” he explained. “She’s too lazy to plot.”
Back again in the dark, dusty warmth of the theater, Daisy and the Earl sat in the front row, oblivious of the attention the diamonds caused, the Earl because he was used to being noticed and Daisy, because her heart was already in Verona. When the Earl rose to leave Daisy did not even notice him going. She did not notice him returning at the end of the performance, either, for Romeo had noticed her! He looked across the footlights into her eyes—really looked at her when he took his curtain call. A note was pressed into her hands by a messenger. As the houselights went up, she opened it and read Please come to the Green Room. I must see you. Your Romeo.
Daisy’s heart beat fast. Would the Earl allow her to go? But the Earl, who was reeking of port and good humor, said that of course she could go and he would accompany her.
“What is the Green Room?” asked Daisy as they moved out into the warm, heavy night air.
“It’s just a room where the actors gather to meet people at the back of the stage,” said the Earl. “Don’t be long, Daisy. We’re expected to join the others soon.”
The Green Room was actually furnished in several shades of dingy red and brown. Still in his costume, Romeo sat on a sofa, looking a dramatic and renaissance figure by the light of one small candle.
“Don’t you have gaslight here?” asked Daisy, moving forward nervously.
“I’m afraid they reserve the luxuries for the front of the house,” said Mr. Dufresne in his slight French accent. The Earl wandered around in the shadows, examining pieces of costume.
“I wished to see you again, Miss Chatterton. Ah, you see! I remember your name. Can he hear us?” He pointed to the Earl. Daisy whispered, “I don’t think so. Why?”
“Because I wish to tell you that I love you,” he said in a low voice. “I hope you do not think it forward of me.”
There was a rustling in the darkness and a faint giggle. “Clowns,” he said bitterly. “I had hoped we would be alone but, in my profession, there are always jealous actors about.”
He took her hand and she felt a thrill go through her body like an electric shock.
“Come tomorrow night. Come alone,” he whispered. Daisy gazed at the silver figure of Romeo and felt enchanted. They seemed to be locked away together in the circle of candlelight, from the petty world around.
“I will come tomorrow,” she said softly, moving toward the door. He bent over and kissed her hand and then gazed into her eyes. “I have never loved any woman the way I love you,” he said simply.
“I—I—l—love you too,” said Daisy in a choked whisper.
The Earl, joined them and said a few pleasant commonplaces to Mr. Dufresne and then led Daisy from the theater.
When Daisy and the Earl arrived at the party the guests were already playing charades and the room was in darkness. The only person to notice Daisy’s shining face and shining jewels was the Duke, who felt suddenly liverish and decided to go home.
That night Amy listened sympathetically enough to Daisy’s love story, but seemed to be thinking of something else. “I can’t go with you tomorrow, Daisy,” said Amy. “I need another evening off.”
“Your young man?” asked Daisy.
Amy nodded, her face shining.
Daisy hugged her. “Then of course you can have time off, Amy. I’ll manage somehow.”
But by next morning Daisy was not sure that she would manage. She was relieved and surprised when the Earl again offered his services as an escort. “I’ll give you a little time with him, Daisy, but not alone,” said the Earl firmly and Daisy had to be content with that.
The Earl and Daisy seemed to be the only two souls in Brint
on unaffected by the heat, as they strolled arm in arm into the theater. Everyone else seemed to be wilting. The air was even more suffocating than ever and dark purplish clouds were building up on the twilight horizon and great oily waves were sucking at the pier.
Again the Earl left unnoticed, but at the first interval Daisy decided to go to the dressing room and powder her nose. She must look her very best and she knew that her face was wet with perspiration from the heat of the theater. She spent a long time in front of the dressing table in the small ladies’ room and as she rose to return to the theater, she realized that there had been no warning bell and no sound of returning feet. Thunder was crashing overhead so perhaps the sound had drowned out any sound of the theatergoers returning from the pub at the end of the pier for the second act.
She walked into the auditorium and stood still in dismay. Water was pouring in a steady stream through the ceiling of the theater and apart from an old man who was just putting a large bucket under it, the place was deserted.
“Had to close the show, miss,” he told her. “I warned ’em the roof wasn’t sound, but they wouldn’t listen to me. Ho, no! Not goin’ to rain this summer, they says.”
“I have an appointment with Mr. Dufresne backstage,” said Daisy. “But if I go round to the stage door, I shall be soaked.”
“Climb up on the stage then, miss,” said the old man obligingly. “Just follow the sound of their voices.”
Daisy walked through the small orchestra pit. The noise of the thunder above the theater and the waves pounding beneath was deafening. A gust of wind shook the painted city of Verona so that it rippled and shuddered.
Under the noise of the thunder she was faintly able to make out the sound of voices and walked behind the scenery toward the noise.
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