Innocence and Impropriety

by Diane Gaston

  ‘Used a whip!’ Rose exclaimed.

  Madame Bisou crossed her arms over her chest, squeezing out even more décolletage. ‘I ought to have told you girls of this, but, how could I?’

  ‘Told us what?’ Rose asked.

  Madame Bisou sat down, facing them. ‘Some men seek their pleasure not in the usual way.’ She paused. ‘Some get their senses aroused by inflicting pain.’

  Rose glanced to Katy. ‘Pain?’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Katy said. ‘Whips and things.’

  Rose looked to Madame Bisou. ‘Men get pleasure from using whips?’

  ‘Well, it’s a rare one that does—not that you don’t find plenty, mind you,’ Madame Bisou went on. ‘Most men, you know, are easily led if you make them think they are seducing you, but some…some get an arousal when they hurt a girl. It is their pleasure to inflict pain. Like a bully, n’est-ce pas?’

  Rose felt sick at the thought.

  ‘A Frenchman wrote a book about it,’ Madame Bisou added.

  Rose put her hand on her chest. ‘Oh, Katy, you must take care!’

  Katy waved a hand. ‘I can handle myself.’

  ‘Do you know who hurt the poor girl?’ Rose asked the madame.

  She shrugged. ‘Iris said he wore a mask.’ She patted Rose’s hand. ‘I assure you, we do not allow such men in this gaming hell. If we hear of such a man, or if one dares mistreat one of the girls, Cummings tosses him out.’

  Rose shook her head. ‘But Katy is out and about. At Vauxhall, where so many men wear masks.’

  Katy laughed. ‘Do you think I cannot spot a viper like that?’

  Madame Bisou cautioned her. ‘It is sometimes difficult. You cannot tell merely by looking at a man.’ She stood. ‘I must go.’ She took Rose’s hand briefly. ‘Katy has told me of your marquess. That is good for you, Rose. Tannerton is a good man.’

  Even Madame Bisou sang his praises.

  Katy settled back in her seat. ‘Tell of the marquess. That is what I wish to hear.’

  Rose could not help but think that Katy needed the marquess more than she did, no matter what her father said of the theatre. If Katy had enough money, she could abandon this dangerous life.

  ‘I hope you will like it,’ Rose said. ‘I am to meet with him in two days. His guest at King’s Theatre.’

  ‘At a theatre?’ Katy seemed unimpressed.

  Rose continued. ‘The best news is, you are to accompany me.’

  Katy’s mouth dropped open. ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes. I asked if you could come with me.’

  Her friend looked at her as if her wits had gone begging. ‘But why?’

  Rose hesitated before answering. ‘I was not wanting to go alone. Mr Flynn is to be there, too. If you do not come, I’ll be the only woman with two gentlemen.’

  Katy laughed. ‘You did not want two men all to yourself? If your marquess is half as handsome as your Mr Flynn, it would be heaven to have them all to yourself.’

  Rose felt her cheeks grow hot.

  Katy’s eyes filled with mischief. ‘Why not bring Letty Dawes with you?’

  Rose returned a withering glance. ‘You must be jesting.’

  Katy laughed. ‘Oh, I’ll go. I have a fancy to meet this marquess who pines for you so strongly. Wish I could play it cool like you do, Rose. Never could disguise wanting a man as much as he might want me.’

  Rose gave her a stern look. ‘Did not the madame always instruct you to dampen such liveliness? Do you not remember?’

  ‘That’s like asking a tiger not to have spots,’ Katy responded.

  Rose could not help but smile.

  When the night arrived to attend the opera at King’s Theatre, Rose went to Madame Bisou’s to dress. The madame had insisted on hiring a hairdresser to fix their hair, and Rose and Katy each wore Paris gowns Miss Hart had given them. Katy’s was a rich green silk gown that set off her red hair to perfection. Rose wore silk in a pale blush with white lace adorning the bodice and hem. The hairdresser threaded a strand of pearls through her hair, and Madame Bisou lent her pearls to wear around her neck and on her ears.

  As Rose and Katy stood next to each other, surveying their images in a full-length mirror, Rose thought they looked tasteful. She had no wish to look like a harlot, even if that was what everyone wished her to be, what Flynn had accused her of being. She looked pretty, but she was nothing compared to Katy. What man could resist Katy’s vibrant beauty? Perhaps, if Rose were very lucky, the marquess would transfer his interest to Katy. And Flynn would forgive her.

  Gentlemen were already arriving at the gaming-house at the time the marquess’s coach was to pick them up. Perhaps they would think her a new girl at this place, not much better than a bawdy house.

  She shook her head. She must accustom herself to men thinking of her in this carnal way. It was part of being in the theatre, her father would say. She glanced at Katy, whose excitement just enhanced her lively beauty. How could she not impress the marquess?

  Soon the footman came to tell them a gentleman waited for them in the hall.

  ‘Well, you are off, then,’ Madame Bisou said, nearly as excited as Katy. ‘I wish you good luck.’

  She squeezed both their hands, and the two young women descended the stairway. Some men in the doorway of the gaming room stopped to watch them, their sounds of approval reaching Rose’s ears. She felt herself blush.

  Rose purposely let Katy go first so Katy would make the first impression.

  ‘Why, if it isn’t Mr Flynn,’ declared Katy halfway down the stairs. She extended her hand so he could assist her on the last few steps. ‘Where is the marquess?’

  Flynn’s eyes followed Rose’s slower progress as he answered, ‘He will meet us at the theatre.’ When Rose reached Katy’s side, he said a curt, ‘Good evening, Rose.’

  ‘Flynn,’ she answered, fearing matters would never be easy between them again.

  ‘Well.’ He looked at Katy, but only fleetingly glanced at Rose. ‘You look very charming. I am indeed most fortunate to escort you.’

  Katy took his arm, holding on to him much too close. ‘Let us be off, then. We do not want to keep a marquess waiting.’

  Flynn offered his other arm to Rose. Her fingers trembled as they lighted on his sleeve.

  In the coach, Katy’s lively chatter filled the air, so Rose could excuse it that Flynn did not speak to her. He said a word here and there to encourage Katy to rattle on, but his attention to her friend only made Rose feel worse.

  Soon the coach pulled up to King’s Theatre. As Flynn escorted them in, Rose forgot everything, even the admiring stares of gentlemen, as she took in the beauty of its grand hall, all marble and gold gilt. Flynn led them up carpeted stairs and past doors to what must be the boxes. They did not go far before he stopped at one and, after making a quick knock, turned the knob.

  Katy nearly jumped up and down, but Rose held back, so it was Katy who first entered the darker interior of the box, where Rose could just make out the figure of a man.

  He spoke. ‘Good evening. You must be Miss Green.’

  Katy replied, ‘You are correct, sir. I presume you are Lord Tannerton?’

  ‘I am indeed.’

  When Rose’s eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, she realised the marquess was the tall man she had seen standing near Flynn that first night at Vauxhall, the one with the casual air and affable expression.

  ‘I’ve seen you at Vauxhall,’ Katy said, as if speaking Rose’s thoughts.

  The marquess smiled. ‘I have seen you too, Miss Green. Someone as lovely as yourself cannot be missed.’

  Katy laughed, but softly this time. ‘I thank you. But you must meet Miss O’Keefe.’

  She stepped aside, exposing Rose, and the marquess turned his eyes on her. ‘Miss O’Keefe, I am delighted you have come.’

  Flynn stepped forward. ‘Miss O’Keefe, may I present Lord Tannerton.’

  Rose dropped into a curtsy. ‘My lord.’

  Tannerton extended his hand to
her to help her rise. She had no choice but to accept it. ‘It is my pleasure to meet you,’ he said, holding her hand only a second longer than was comfortable.

  He stepped back so that they could come farther into the opera box. Katy moved to the back, as did Flynn.

  The Marquess spoke to Rose alone. ‘We shall have some refreshments at the intermission, but I have arranged for wine now. Would you care for a glass?’

  She needed something to calm her. ‘Yes, thank you,’ she said.

  Flynn immediately poured the wine, but Lord Tannerton handed Rose’s glass to her.

  ‘It is French champagne. Bottled before the conflict, but I managed to acquire a case very recently.’ He took his own glass. ‘May I propose a toast?’

  Rose inclined her head, wondering why a marquess would ask her permission.

  ‘To new friends,’ he said, turning to include Katy, but letting his gaze linger a bit longer on Rose.

  ‘To new friends,’ repeated Katy.

  Rose did not speak, but she took a sip.

  ‘Come now,’ Tannerton gestured to two front chairs. ‘Sit and be comfortable. The performance should start at any moment.’

  Rose turned towards Katy. ‘Perhaps Katy—Miss Green—would like to sit up front as well?’

  Katy ignored Rose’s silent plea. ‘I’ll sit behind you. Keep Mr Flynn company.’ For emphasis she laced her arm through Flynn’s.

  ‘Come,’ Tannerton repeated.

  He settled Rose in an elegant brocade chair and sat beside her. For the first time she looked out into the opera house.

  ‘Oh, my!’ she exclaimed.

  The theatre curtains were rich red with a gold fringe as long as she was tall, with the King’s crest, also in gold. The curtains spanned nearly the whole distance from ceiling to floor, a space high enough for several tiers of boxes all around. Light blazed from huge chandeliers close to the stage and from candles all around the edges of the boxes. The orchestra floor was busy with people talking and laughing and moving around. Several of the boxes were empty, but in those that were not, elegant gentlemen were seated with ladies dressed in beautiful gowns. Some were looking straight into their box, pointing and whispering to their companions.

  ‘It is rather thin of company.’ Lord Tannerton smiled at her. ‘But I hope you like it.’

  ‘It is lovely,’ she responded, trying not to think of what the other theatre-goers might be saying about her. ‘Much larger than I even could have imagined.’ She’d only read of theatres like this one. The closest she’d been to seeing one was when Miss Hart had taken them to Astley’s Amphitheatre, but that was an entirely different sort of place. This was the best of theatres.

  ‘I am pleased to be the first to show it to you. Flynn said you had a wish to see it.’

  Flynn.

  Flynn had made this happen for her. He alone knew how much she desired it. He must have forgiven her wanton behaviour, to give her such a gift. ‘I did indeed.’

  It had seemed natural to Rose to tell Flynn all about her mother singing in King’s Theatre, about her mother’s dashed dreams and shortened life. She had no such impulse to tell the marquess.

  The musicians entered and took their seats, the violinists tuning their strings, horn players testing their instruments’ sound. Though none played at full volume, the notes filled the huge room, and Rose found she was eager to hear the performance, especially the singing.

  ‘Do you fancy yourself singing in this theatre some day?’ Tannerton asked her.

  Rose shot a glance at him. Had Flynn told him this as well? It seemed a betrayal of confidences. ‘Why do you think so?’

  He shrugged. ‘King’s Theatre is the pinnacle, is it not, for singers? At least others have told me so.’

  Perhaps Flynn had not told him all her secrets, after all. She heard Flynn behind her talking quietly to Katy and wished he would speak loud enough so she could hear what he said.

  Katy disappointed Rose, acting so subdued Tannerton would never notice her. In fact, Katy seemed more determined to have Flynn’s company.

  Tannerton handed her a paper. ‘Here is the programme telling who sings tonight. I will get you a candle if you cannot read it.’

  She took the paper and stared at it even though she could read but little in the dim light. It gave her an excuse not to talk to him.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said belatedly, briefly glancing at him.

  Tanner smiled at her. He had a boyish handsomeness, she had to admit. An open countenance. He was tall and athletic and looked out of place in this elegant theatre, as if he would prefer hunting or whatever gentlemen did in the out of doors. By appearance, and so far by manner, he did not threaten, but Rose could not forget her father’s warning. This was a man who possessed the power to ruin her ambitions. She turned back to staring at the programme.

  ‘I think it is about to begin,’ Tannerton said.

  She glanced at the stage. The conductor of the orchestra took his place. The musicians quieted, but the audience seemed as noisy as ever. The music began. Rose could make out that the opera was one of Mozart’s, but she had never heard the music before. Her school had not owned these sheets of music. She poised herself to listen and watch, not wishing to miss a bit of it.

  When the curtain opened, she even forgot who sat beside her. The set was magical, looking so real she could barely believe she was not looking through some window. She heard singing voices like she’d never heard before, big voices, bigger than her own, big enough to fill this huge theatre. When the soprano sang, Rose held her breath. She wanted to open her mouth and mimic each note, to try to make her voice bigger, like this one.

  She could understand none of the words. She was not even sure what language they were singing. It did not matter, however. The performers showed her the story, a shocking one, really. Don Giovanni was a seducer of women, a man who made conquests and who cared little of what havoc he wreaked in people’s lives. When the character Elvira sang, Rose could hear her heartache and her rage. Elvira loved and hated Don Giovanni. Rose wanted to weep for her. How thrilling it would be to sing one’s emotions like that.

  When the intermission came, Rose felt bereft. She wanted to go on listening. She wanted to step on to the stage and be a part of it, to raise her voice with the others in the beautiful music they created.

  Instead, a footman brought in some cakes and fruit and other delicacies.

  ‘At intermission one often calls upon others in other boxes,’ Tannerton told her. ‘But I have asked the footman to stand outside and explain we do not wish to be disturbed.’

  That was kind of him. The last thing she wanted was to have the magic of the performance interrupted by curious people come to see who sat next to the marquess. She was desperately trying to hold on to the music, replaying it in her head, silently singing, wishing she could sound like those wonderful performers.

  They took refreshment around a small table. Flynn, sitting directly opposite Rose, poured more champagne.

  ‘How do you like the performance, Miss Green?’ Tannerton asked.

  Katy grinned. ‘It is fun, is it not? Don Giovanni is a clever rogue. I hope he escapes.’

  ‘We shall see,’ said Tanner, eyes crinkling into a smile.

  Tanner turned to Rose. ‘And you, Miss O’Keefe. What do you think of it?’

  Rose looked up to see Flynn watching her. He quickly averted his eyes. She could barely speak. Words were not enough to convey what she felt. ‘I have never heard such singing,’ she said reverently. ‘I like it very much.’

  ‘Then I am happy.’ Tannerton grinned boyishly. ‘I have pleased you both.’

  The second half of the opera was every bit as magical. Rose felt the music inside her. She was transported by its beauty, affected by its emotion, and invigorated by possibilities she had not known existed. To sing with such power and feeling. She could hardly wait to try to mimic their sound.

  Too soon it was over, the music making its last crescendo. Rose felt
as if her soul had been dropped from a great height back into her own body. She applauded with all the energy she possessed.

  When the performers took their final bow, the only sounds that could be heard were the scuffling feet and muffled voices of people leaving the theatre.

  Lord Tannerton put his hand on her arm. She had forgotten him, forgotten her purpose for being there.

  ‘Time to go, Miss O’Keefe,’ he said.

  Chapter Seven

  Flynn watched Tanner touch Rose’s arm. His own hand tingled, as if it were he, not Tanner, who touched her. He stretched and flexed his fingers, trying to dispel the illusion, but it did no good, because Tanner touched her again, escorting her out of the box on his arm. He had known it would be difficult to see her with Tanner. He had just not anticipated how difficult.

  There was no doubt in Flynn’s mind that he’d chosen well when he’d picked King’s Theatre as the place for Tanner to meet Rose. Tanner had grumbled—the man hated opera—but Flynn knew that this place would be more precious to Rose than a whole cask of emerald rings. She would never forget the man who gave her King’s Theatre.

  Flynn ought to be congratulating himself all round.

  But every time Tanner had looked at Rose or leaned towards her or spoke to her it was like daggers were being thrust into Flynn’s flesh. He was surprised that the champagne he’d consumed had not spurted out of him like from a water skin poked with holes.

  They found Tanner’s carriage among the line of vehicles outside. Tanner lifted Rose into it, holding her by the waist. He assisted Katy in the same manner. Flynn was the last inside, taking his seat next to Katy. His gaze met Rose’s, and she smiled, gratitude shining in her eyes.

  He would not regret giving her this evening, no matter that it signified the loss of a brief, fanciful, mad dream.

  The carriage made the short trip to Bennet Street in good time. As it pulled up in front of the gaming-house, Katy said, ‘You must all come up for some supper. Madame Bisou has arranged a nice treat.’