The Captain's Daughter (London Beginnings Book #1)

by Jennifer Delamere

  Nate shook his head. “How can you irritate me and make me want to laugh at the same time?”

  “It’s my personal specialty.” Patrick eyed his brother. “Will you at least consider what I said?”

  Nate sighed. “Yes, I will.”

  But even as Nate continued on alone to the stable, he knew his answer couldn’t change. He was a soldier, and that was the crux of the problem. He had a greater responsibility to fulfill that had to come first. Even if he might wish otherwise.

  For the Boxing Day performance, the house had been full to bursting, and the audience had been loud and appreciative. Four curtain calls, an indication that the Christmas revels were at their peak.

  Pleasantly exhausted, Rosalyn sat on a crate near the stage door after the show, waiting for Patrick. She was absently petting Miss Bella, who had jumped into her lap, but she was thinking of Nate.

  Yesterday had been a Christmas unlike any she could remember. To spend the holiday with a close-knit family like the Morans was a dream Rosalyn had nurtured since she was a child. She’d spent the whole day immensely thankful for the love and laughter.

  But the music had made it most special of all.

  There was something in the way Nate played his violin that stirred her soul. She could think of no better way to describe it. Every night at the theater she was surrounded by first-rate singers and musicians, but none had touched her as deeply as Nate had. He had an innate gift, that was sure. Over the past few weeks, he’d seemed distant in his interactions with her, as though keeping her at arm’s length, but yesterday, as she had sung to his accompaniment, she felt so close to him. She would treasure that feeling.

  A hand lightly touched her shoulder. “Still here?”

  She looked up to see Tony. Although she returned his smile, she felt perturbed at having her reverie interrupted.

  “Need an escort home? I’ll happily go your way.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before taking a seat next to her on the crate. His knee bumped hers as he sat down, causing Miss Bella to jump from her lap and stroll off into the shadows.

  “Thank you, but I’m waiting for Patrick.”

  “Ah, of course. One brother is gone, but the other is here. It’s like the changing of the guard. Why don’t I wait with you until he gets here?” He slipped an arm through hers. “Are you excited about the rehearsal?”

  “Yes!” Rosalyn answered. Tony’s reminder pushed aside her other thoughts. Tomorrow they would have their first run-through of The Pirates of Penzance. Rosalyn still could hardly believe she would be among the first singers ever to hear the new show.

  “Shall we meet here early? I’ll run you through some warm-ups so you can be at your best.”

  “That would be lovely!” Rosalyn answered.

  “Excellent!” He gave her an exuberant kiss on the cheek. “I feel like you are my very own protégé, and this is your big moment. You will outshine all of the others.”

  Rosalyn was about to admonish him for being too flattering, but seeing Patrick coming toward them, she stood up instead. Tony rose with her, his arm still looped through hers.

  “My apologies for keeping you waiting,” Patrick said, putting on his coat as he talked. “Everyone wanted to welcome me back to work. I think I may have gotten a few too many slaps on the back tonight.” He spoke casually enough, but his expression was grave as his gaze took in Tony and Rosalyn’s intertwined arms. “Are you ready to go?”

  She gently worked her arm free. “We were just talking about the rehearsal tomorrow for Penzance. Tony has been helping me so much.”

  Tony lifted her hand and kissed it. “My dear, the pleasure of your company makes all my efforts worthwhile.”

  As he released her hand, she saw Tony’s and Patrick’s eyes meet. Neither one looked particularly happy with the other. It seemed Patrick was as wary of Tony as Nate was.

  They all walked out the stage door together, and Tony bid them good-night, placing another kiss on Rosalyn’s cheek before sauntering off.

  Patrick watched him go. “Hayes seems very friendly toward you.”

  Hearing the concern in his words, Rosalyn said, “That’s just how theater people are—as you know.”

  “Hmm, yes,” he said. But he didn’t sound entirely convinced.

  A cold breeze blew up the street, sending a chill down Rosalyn’s neck.

  Patrick turned up his collar to ward against the cold. “Let’s get home, shall we? I wonder if my son is keeping everyone awake.”

  As they made their way home, Rosalyn was struck by how different this was from all the nights she’d walked with Nate. Patrick walked briskly, intent on getting home as swiftly as possible. Nate had moved at a slower pace, taking time to enjoy the sights and sounds along the way. Being outside late was something Rosalyn had done little of before coming to London, but Nate had taught her to appreciate the intriguing character of the city at night.

  Patrick kept up the chatter to match his stride. His stories were entertaining, but once or twice Rosalyn thought of the times she and Nate had walked for blocks in companionable silence.

  When they entered the house, all was quiet. Rosalyn half-hoped to find Nate waiting for them in the parlor, as she hadn’t seen him today. He’d gone to the stables before dawn and had not returned before she and Patrick left for the theater.

  The parlor was dark and empty, the banked coals providing only the faintest light. The room seemed lonely. Rosalyn supposed this was how things would be from now on. The thought carried a breath of sadness with it.

  “How strange,” Patrick murmured.

  “What do you mean?”

  He shook his head, replacing his frown with a little smile. “Even Tommy seems to be asleep.”

  But Rosalyn had the feeling Patrick had been thinking about something else.

  Nate sat by the window in his darkened room, watching until Rosalyn and Patrick rounded the corner and came into view. They were well illuminated by the street lamps and the full moon, and he drank in the sight of her. He loved how confidently she moved, her manner alert, but not with fear. She took in her surroundings for the enjoyment of it, a change he’d seen happen gradually during the nights they’d walked home together.

  He moved away from the window, lest either of them should look up and see him watching. He padded to his door, opening it a crack. His room was nearest the staircase, so he could hear them as they came inside even though they were being careful to move as quietly as possible.

  He’d been sorely tempted to wait up for them in the parlor, but he had deliberately come up to bed instead. The fact that he wanted so badly to see Rosalyn was precisely why he’d argued with himself until reason prevailed. He would be leaving England soon, and it would be better to get used to the separation now. He was certain that the more time he spent with her, the more it would hurt when he left.

  He could hear Rosalyn and Patrick murmuring softly, and before long they were coming up the stairs. When they reached the second floor, where Nate’s room was, he fancied he heard a slight pause before they continued on. Patrick and Hannah’s room was one flight up, and Rosalyn’s was above that. As he gently closed his door, Nate pictured her taking that last set of stairs, candle in hand, moving through the shadows. He returned to his bed.

  As he lay there, he heard footsteps coming back down the stairs. It had to be Patrick, for although he was walking softly, the tread was unmistakably a man’s. The footsteps paused outside Nate’s door. Did his brother expect to talk to him? Nate fervently hoped not. At the moment, he didn’t even have the strength to try to fool his brother.

  He held his breath, waiting. Long moments passed. But then, the steps moved away. Patrick was going upstairs.

  Nate sighed and stared up at the darkness.

  CHAPTER

  19

  MR. CELLIER WALKED into the rehearsal room with his assistant, Mr. Benson, following and carrying a large sheaf of papers. The energy of expectation in the room was palpable. Everyon
e wanted to know what Mr. Sullivan and Mr. Gilbert had come up with this time.

  Mr. Cellier clapped his hands. “All right, everyone! Let’s get to it. We’ve only had time to copy out the parts relevant to each role, as the music arrived on the ship yesterday. When we are done, you will return each and every sheet to Mr. Benson. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir!” they said in unison. No one was going to argue with the terms of the agreement.

  Mr. Benson began distributing the papers, starting with the men. “You will play Frederic tonight,” he told Tony, who looked immensely pleased with himself and not the least bit surprised to be given the lead tenor role.

  He approached Rosalyn and the other ladies from the chorus standing with her. As he handed them their music, he said, “You will play the daughters of the major general.”

  Mr. Cellier’s gaze focused on Rosalyn. “Aren’t you the dresser?”

  “Yes, sir. But Miss Lenoir has asked me to fill one of the chorus roles.”

  He looked at her silently for a few moments—was he perhaps recalling the time he had heard her and Tony singing together in this very room? At that time, he’d said her singing was “passable.”

  He gave a curt nod. “We’ll give you the part of Isabel. She doesn’t sing any solo parts. However, she does speak a few lines of dialogue. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Yes, sir!” she replied, feeling almost as bold as her tone implied.

  He moved to the other end of the room and held a hand to his ear. “What’s that?”

  Rosalyn took a deep breath. “Yes, sir, I surely can!” She spoke loudly and distinctly, proving she could be heard, even in the back rows.

  He nodded, then returned to her. “No chance of le trac?”

  Rosalyn looked at him blankly.

  “He means stage fright,” Helen whispered. More loudly, she said, “Sir, if you saw the way she orders us around in the ladies’ dressing room, you’d know she is well able to handle a rowdy audience.”

  He laughed. “Fine, fine. All right, let’s get started. It opens with the pirates all gathered on the shore by their ship. . . .”

  What followed over the next few hours was more fascinating, intense, and thrilling than Rosalyn ever could have imagined. Many times she was rendered breathless, and it wasn’t just from the singing. It was from the wonderful, sprightly music and the clever lyrics that never failed to amuse and enthrall.

  When Helen, who for rehearsal purposes was singing Mabel, began “Poor, Wandering One,” Rosalyn got a little misty-eyed. But it was the parting duet when Mabel and her beloved Frederic were forced apart by circumstances that captivated her most of all. The main words in the chorus were simple enough: “He loves you . . . he is gone . . .” And yet they were rendered with such intense yearning and sorrow that Rosalyn could feel her heart break for the pair. She sighed, thinking of Nate.

  Mabel and Frederic did ultimately get their happy-ever-after, thanks to a few clever plot twists. Rosalyn wished the same could be true of real life.

  “I wonder why they’re putting on the performance in Paignton instead of Penzance. That would have been even more amusing, don’t you think?”

  Helen made this remark as she settled into the seat next to Rosalyn. They had all boarded the train together. Mr. Gunn had met them at the station with tickets in hand for everyone.

  Another of the chorus ladies in the seat in front of them turned around. “Maybe it would have frightened the audience members into keeping a close watch on their daughters as they left the theater. They could get attacked by pirates at any moment!”

  Elsie said, “Thank goodness we’re not going to Penzance. It’s far enough just to get to Paignton.”

  “How long will the journey take?” Rosalyn asked.

  “Four or five hours, I should think. I heard Mr. Gunn say we have to change trains at Exeter. There might be a bit of a wait there.”

  “We’re going through Exeter?” Rosalyn said with a touch of excitement, thinking of her sister Cara.

  Elsie looked at her like she was daft. “You haven’t traveled much in the west, have you?”

  “I haven’t traveled much at all,” Rosalyn admitted.

  “You’d better get used to it, if you want to be a singer. I’ve spent half my life in railway stations, it seems.”

  Several of the others expressed similar opinions of the drudgeries of touring. But to Rosalyn the idea sounded exciting. She would enjoy seeing new places.

  The train was still traveling through the outskirts of the city, passing houses, shops, and factories. But soon they would be in the country, and Rosalyn looked forward to this. Two months in the crowded streets of London had made her long to see open fields again. The freedom she felt, being on this train with these people, was an experience she would welcome many times over. As the vista outside the window changed, Rosalyn thought she could understand at least one reason Nate wanted to return to the army. The few times he’d spoken of it, he’d always emphasized that the frequent change of location required in foreign service suited him. Perhaps he would never be truly happy doing the same work in the same place year after year. She couldn’t deny him that. She only wished he wasn’t compelled to leave the country to find such a life.

  Nate stood in the shipping office at the railway station, still unable to accept what the goods manager on the other side of the counter was telling him.

  “All of the goods wagons are booked until Thursday,” the man repeated. “Do you want to schedule the shipment then?”

  “So there’s absolutely no way to get it on the train today?”

  “Well, that’s what I’ve been telling you, ain’t it?” the man said impatiently. “Do you want to schedule for Thursday or not?”

  “That’s too late. I must get this to Paignton by end of day.”

  “You might have thought of that before this morning, then.”

  “What other options are available?” Nate pressed. “Are there other railway lines I can use?”

  The man’s look hardened. “My job is the Great Western, sir. We run a busy operation here, and our trains are always booked well in advance. It’s all I can do to look after our own scheduling. I haven’t time to do other people’s work for them.”

  Seeing it was futile to try to get anything more from this man, Nate stepped away from the counter as the goods manager motioned another customer forward. He considered what other options might be available to transport the scenery and boxes of supplies for the show in Paignton. Moving everything by wagon would be far too slow, and sifting through the complications of getting it all onto a steamer would likely take even more time.

  It wasn’t surprising that he should run into these obstacles, given the last-minute nature of the task. But surely there had to be some way. While overseas in the army, he had successfully moved plenty of supplies with far fewer options available to him. He wasn’t going to allow a surly clerk at a railway station to keep him from his objective. But where was he going to find more comprehensive information on his options?

  While he stood there, thinking, a woman came out of the door that accessed the area behind the counters. She approached Nate. “Excuse me, sir, I might be able to help you.”

  He looked at her in surprise. “Yes?”

  She was tall and wore a crisp white shirtwaist and plain brown skirt. Nate would have placed her at about twenty-five years old. “I’m a clerk here at the Great Western. I overheard your conversation with our goods manager.”

  It was odd to see a woman in that role, but times were changing. He had noticed her at a small desk set back from the counters but hadn’t considered what she was doing there.

  “Any help you can give me would be greatly appreciated.”

  “He didn’t want to tell you about the London and South Western Railway because they are our competitors. However, it seems to me that if we’re full, we can’t lose any money by referring you to someone else.”

  “Thank you. That’s a
very commonsense approach.”

  “Their terminal for freight trains is at Nine Elms, near Waterloo station. If you want to telegraph them, here is the name of their goods manager.” She handed Nate a piece of paper with a name written in a neat, legible hand.

  Nate took the paper. “I see you take some pride in extending your knowledge beyond the immediate scope of this company. And in working a little harder to give your employer a helpful reputation.”

  “I have to work harder, sir.” She gave a brief motion toward herself, and Nate understood what she meant. It would undoubtedly be more difficult for a woman to make her way in this occupation. She would have to put forth extra effort. “Just don’t tell our goods manager that I sent you to our competition.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Nate said. “In fact, the next time I have goods to ship, I’ll be sure to seek out this railway company—provided you can be the person I work with, Miss . . . er. . . .”

  She gave a little smile and pushed her glasses up on her nose. “Jones. Annabelle Jones.”

  Nate didn’t know why he was saying such a thing. This was a one-time event. But he wanted to give her the compliment and let her know how much he appreciated her help. With her prim clothes and wire-framed glasses, she reminded him very much of Mary. It wasn’t difficult to visualize her in the same occupation someday. The salary was likely to be small, but surely it was more than Mary earned taking in laundry. It was something to think about—but for now, he had to get the goods on a train.

  After thanking Miss Jones again, he went across the street to the telegraph office. Within fifteen minutes he had his answer: there was room on a goods car if he could get everything there in two hours. Nine Elms was on the opposite side of the city, but Nate accepted the challenge. If there was one thing he knew from his work at the ostler’s, it was how to quickly find wagons and horses to move cargo through London.

  When the train pulled into Paignton, the cast was met by a Mrs. Boyle, who informed them she worked for the theater and would also be their guide to the hotel.