Beauty’s Doom
Book four
of
His Majesty’s Theatre
Christina Britton Conroy
© Christina Britton Conroy 2017
Christina Britton Conroy has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published by Endeavour Press Ltd in 2017.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
About the author
Chapter One
London, England – Monday, February 15, 1904
Oblivious to the chilly wind, actor-manager Jeremy O’Connell strolled happily through Hyde Park. An open carriage passed, and he tipped his hat to fur-draped ladies wearing enormous bonnets. One woman gleefully pointed, and her friends strained to see him before their carriage turned a corner.
He watched them roll away and mused to himself. “I am almost forty-one and could still have any woman in London. Silly ninnies.” He knew he cut a dashing figure: aquiline profile, perfectly tailored coat draping his tall slender frame, brushed top hat, and silver-handled cane.
A crowd of upper-form schoolboys raced across the grass. Jeremy watched but kept walking. “How old must they be? Sixteen? What a marvelous age.” He felt the gold wedding ring on his kid-gloved finger, smiled to himself and continued through Green Park. He exchanged pleasantries with fashionably dressed strangers, then stopped as a clump of giggling adolescent girls blocked the path.
One girl stepped forward. “Pardon me … Mr O’Connell … Sir,” she took a deep breath. “We all saw Macbeth. You were excellent.” Biting her lip, she looked to her companions for courage. “Please, sir.” Her breath came in short spurts. “My friends and I … We were wondering about …” She flushed with embarrassment.
Amused, he prompted, “You were wondering …?”
Another girl urged, “Go on, Alice.”
“I can’t.” Alice ran back to the pack, wiping embarrassed tears from her eyes.
A bolder girl stepped forward. “Please, sir. It’s … that is … where’s your long hair?”
Jeremy raised his head and laughed. “That, my dear young lady, was a wig.” He removed his hat and bowed low, showing off his beautifully cut, short dark hair. “Remember, the theatre is a place of illusion.” He looked each girl in the eye. “A very good afternoon, young ladies.” He returned his hat and continued down the path. He was delighted to hear an explosion of giggles behind him.
He reached his flat in time for an informal production meeting with theatre-manager, Eric Bates. Actress Katherine Stewart, Jeremy’s long-time companion and new bride, smiled as he came in. “Just in time, Jerry. Let’s have our tea.” She gave him a kiss. “Sit down, Eric.” All three settled at the table while Max, Jeremy’s fastidious valet, set out finger sandwiches, scones and cakes.
Eric smiled at the beautifully displayed food. “We need to talk about Elly Fielding. I want to capitalise on all her publicity. She was mentioned in several of The Tempest reviews.” He smothered a scone with jam and clotted cream. “Love these things. Hilda won’t allow them in the house. Says they make me fat.”
Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “Frankly, Eric, it’s good we’re retiring The Magistrate. Your costume coat barely closes.”
“For God’s sake, Jerry, not you too. I’m forty-three years old and nearly bald. I was never a matinee idol, like you. I’m thinking of retiring from the stage completely. Then, no one will care what I look like.”
“I hope you’re not retiring too soon. I have you slated for Peter Quince.”
Eric beamed. “The Dream, eh? My, that would be fun. Very well.” He looked at the scone. “There’s nothing to say Peter Quince can’t be portly.” He crammed the scone into his mouth. “Is Evan still thirsting to play Puck?”
Jeremy sighed. “He is. A bit more than the boy can chew, I think.”
Katherine poured her husband a cup of tea. “Wasn’t Ellen Terry nine when she played Puck?”
Jeremy nibbled a cucumber sandwich. “Something like that … and she almost lost her foot in a trap door.”
Eric crammed another scone into his mouth. “I’m still waiting for word from Tree. If he doesn’t extend his tour, we’ll be evicted.”
Jeremy shrugged. “The public will follow us, whatever theatre we’re in.”
Eric yawned. “I know, but moving is such an ordeal. Wherever we are next season, I want to feature Elly Fielding.”
Max nearly dropped a plate of cakes. Righting it in time, he placed it in the centre of the table.
Eric stared at him. “What’s the matter with that? Don’t you think she’s up to it?”
Embarrassed, the valet shrugged and smiled. “I’m sure I couldn’t say, sir.”
Katherine was quick to rescue him. “Of course she’s not ‘up to it’. Even Max knows better that that. She’s green as grass.”
Jeremy grimaced. “She’s never even spoken lines on the stage. She might fall apart, for all we know.”
Eric gulped his tea. “She’s been covering Beaty, hasn’t she?”
Jeremy shrugged, “Yes, I’ve been coaching her myself. She’s all right with that.”
“So, we’ll let her go on as Beaty, and see how she does.”
Katherine sighed. “I hate to see the child thrown to the wolves so soon. She didn’t grow up on the stage as I did. She’s only eighteen.”
Jeremy put a finger over his lips. “We won’t tell anyone ahead of time. At least not Elly – not until the day. I know the girl. She’ll be frightened to death.”
Eric yawned. “Has she ever done it with Michael Burns, or only in understudy rehearsals, with Rory Cook?”
“Ah, yes. That’s another thing.” Jeremy rubbed his eyes. “She’s always rehearsed with Cook. She’s fond of Burns, but it would be strange for her. Also, Elly and Michael Burns look like brother and sister. That would be terrible casting, too confusing for the audience.”
Eric stretched. “Then put her on with Cook. Midweek matinee. All right?”
Katherine and Jeremy looked at each other and shrugged.
“At least we’ll know where to begin. The girl can make us a bloody fortune. Too bad she’s not still an orphan. She was totally under our control, before. Now I’ll have to deal with that blasted Richfield woman.” Katherine glared daggers and Eric raised a hand. “Sorry. No offence intended. I know she’s your friend.”
Katherine stared into her teacup. “You meant to be offensive. But you needn’t worry. Isabelle Richfield won’t keep Elly from anything that will do her good. Just remember, when you learned she was a runaway, you wanted her sent home. Jerry had the wit to stop you.”
Eric chuckled. “You are absolutely correct on that front. Thank you, Jerry.”
Jeremy nodded. “My pleasure. Sandwich, Eric?”
“Thanks.” He took one and chewed without tasting. “Where’s Evan.”
Jeremy helped himself to a slice of cake. “Upstairs, studying an animal book. He and I are joinin
g Isabelle’s girls at the zoo. Last time we did that, young Lucy knew far more about the animals than Evan, and he was very put out. This time, he’s determined to keep up.”
Katherine shook her head. “That’s hardly fair. Lucy’s twelve – three years older than Evan. The little girls are only four and seven.”
Jeremy patted her hand. “Not to worry, little mother. If Lucy one-ups Evan too badly, I always whisper some obscure bit of knowledge he can boast.”
Eric sat back and rubbed his eyes. “Damn but you’re a good father … to my boy.” He whispered, “Evan knows, doesn’t he? That I’m his father?”
“Of course.” Katherine sat back. “He’s always known.”
****
At 7:30, twenty-year-old actor Rory Cook checked in to cover a role in The Magistrate. He was handed a note:
Rory,
Mr Bates needs you to stay after the show to rehearse Cis and Beaty on the set. Eddy
“Bloody hell!” Rory charged down the hall. “Eddy?” he waved the note.
The stage-manager pushed shaggy hair away from his large nose. “Sorry, Rory. Not my idea. I’d rather not stay late, myself.”
Rory hissed through clenched teeth. “I have an appointment tonight with a very lovely young lady.”
“Can you go and come back?”
“It’s not a coming back sort of appointment.”
“What if you had to go on?”
“That would be different.”
“O’Connell and Stewart are staying, too.”
“What?”
Eddy shrugged and went back to work.
Rory crumpled the note and tossed it in a dustbin.
“Fifteen minutes! Oi, you all righ’?”
Rory patted the call-boy’s shoulder. “Yes, Matt. I’m fine.” He stormed back across the stage and found Elly Fielding sitting on the backstage stairs. Her lap was filled with letters. Rory glared at her. “More fan mail?”
She giggled. “Isn’t it silly? When do you suppose it’s going to stop?”
“You’d better pray it never stops.” Rory turned on his heel, marched through the backstage curtain, through the stalls packed with elegantly dressed theatre patrons, and up to an empty box.
Elly bundled her letters, chased after him, and was breathless when she finally caught up. “Did I do something wrong?”
“It doesn’t seem you’re capable of doing anything wrong.”
“Then why has Mr Bates called this special rehearsal, tonight? Mr O’Connell said I was doing fine. He wouldn’t say it, if it wasn’t true. Would he?”
“No.” Rory turned a chair to the wall and slumped down.
“Then why did he call this rehearsal?” She sank to the floor. The letters fell around her like wilted petals.
Rory scowled. “Why do you suppose you’re getting so much mail?”
“Everyone gets fan mail. Miss Stewart and Mr O’Connell have a secretary to answer all of theirs. You get letters.”
“Rarely.”
She whispered, “I get letters because of Sam’s newspaper story and because I’ve got practically no clothes on in The Tempest. Any girl who wore those costumes would get letters.” She sat in a crumpled heap. One foot was turned in and the other out. Her head leaned sideways against the wall and copper hair fell gracefully around her porcelain skin. Her mouth turned down in a sad little pout. Her green eyes looked very sad.
Rory’s eyes softened. His lips formed a crooked smile. “You look like a rag doll some little girl dropped on the floor.” He shook his head. “Do you really think any girl would be the same in those costumes?”
“Of course. I wasn’t chosen because I had talent.”
“No you weren’t, but thanks to O’Connell’s coaching, your talent explodes off that stage. You don’t have to say anything.”
“But, I don’t do anything.”
“Exactly. You don’t ‘do’. You become.” He sighed and sat up. “I watch your last scene every performance. Did you know that?”
She bit her lip. “It’s Mr O’Connell’s last scene, not mine.”
“It’s you I watch. You’re amazing. You’re heartbreaking.”
Her eyes were huge. She whispered, “But … I don’t do anything. I watch him leave and wish I could follow, that’s all.”
“Yes – and the anguish of that wish screams through the entire theatre. You’re so vulnerable, I want to rush up and take you in my arms.” He swallowed and sat back. “That’s why you get those letters, and all the gifts, and the invitations Lady Richfield makes you refuse. You’re getting a special rehearsal because Eric Bates thinks he’s King Midas and you’re the golden touch. He thinks you can make him money. He’ll be putting you on as Beaty, one day soon, and he needs you to be good.”
Her mouth fell open. “I want to be good, but not for him. I don’t like him. He’s never even given me the time of day.”
Rory chuckled grimly, “You may see a drastic change in him, very soon.”
The house lights began to dim. “Do you want to know why I was so angry?”
She looked up hesitantly.
“After the show, I have an appointment with a young lady.”
“Oh,” she gasped, “I’m so sorry.”
He smiled and shook his head. “I’m not sorry. Not any more. I’ve waited for you so long it’s become a habit.” He laughed sadly. “I’ll just keep waiting.”
****
An hour after the final curtain, Eric Bates sat grinning in the stalls. The rehearsal was wonderful. Elly Fielding performed with the grace and ease of a seasoned actress. Not only had she learned her lines and blocking flawlessly, but she radiated charm and vulnerability. Even without makeup, her physical beauty was astounding.
The next day, Rory rushed Elly from their boarding house. She sulked and buttoned her coat. “It’s only 12.30, Rory. Why do we have to go so early? There’s nothing to do but wait for the half-hour call, and be sent home again. It’s a sunny day for once, let’s walk in the park.”
Rory checked the time. “Please Elly, just … let’s go.” He was out the door and halfway down the street.
She raced to catch up. “Is something wrong?” They practically ran to the theatre.
Rory raced upstairs, but the stage-doorkeeper stopped Elly. “Miss Fielding.”
“Yes, Mr Adams?”
“Mr O’Connell wants to see you as soon as you come in.”
“He does?”
She found Jeremy O’Connell in his dressing room. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Come in, Miss Fielding.” He smiled brightly. “You had a good rehearsal last night, and Eric wants to see how you’ll do in front of an audience. This afternoon, you’re going to play Beaty.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“To make it as comfortable as possible, Rory is going on as Cis. Michael and Sarah have been given time off and look forward to watching the play.” Her shocked expression made him laugh. “Connie’s waiting to fit your costume, so go up to her, now.” She started trembling and he squeezed her shoulders. “I have no doubt you will do fine. Just breathe.” He gently pushed her out the door.
She looked into his smiling brown eyes. A lump formed in her throat. “You’ve been so kind to me, all these weeks, listening to my prattle. After the abduction, I thought I’d go mad. Without your help, I would have gone mad, I’m—”
“This is not the time—”
“I won’t let you down, I promise.” She raced across the stage and upstairs to wardrobe.
A half-hour later, Matt knocked on Katherine’s dressing room door. “Fifteen minutes, Miss Stewart.” He watched Elly walk downstairs. “Oi, dan you look fine.”
Elly glared at him. “I look ridiculous. Sara’s twenty-five playing sixteen. This little girl dress looks good on her. It makes me look twelve.”
Katherine called, “Thank you, Matt.” She saw Elly and trilled a laugh. “You’re adorable. Wait till Robert Dennison sees you.”
“Is h
e here? How does he know I’m going on?”
Katherine chuckled. “Everyone knew but you. Isabelle and Robert will both be in a box, so don’t be surprised if you see them.” Katherine looked exquisite in heavy makeup, a rose-coloured gown and beautiful jewelry. Her honey-blonde hair was tied up in a stylish twist.
Elly glanced at her own costume. “I look like a child.”
“You do, but since you’re tall and thin, it works. You look perfect.” She straightened a large bow at the back of Elly’s head, then studied her face. “Come here a minute.” She picked up a charcoal pencil and darkened Elly’s eyebrows. “That’s better.” She took a rag and wiped off a smudge. “You were a little off-centre.”
“I’m terrible at makeup.”
“You’re learning quickly. At your age, you don’t need to do much.” She put a hand under Elly’s chin and outlined her lips. “Once you get to be my age, you have to be a genius.”
“That’s absurd. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Chuckling, she lightly powered Elly’s nose and forehead.
“Five minutes, Miss Stewart – and Miss Fielding.”
Elly giggled, “Thank you, Matt.”
Chapter Two
The entire acting company watched Elly Fielding recite her first lines.
“Cis dear, dinner isn’t over, surely?” Her voice was shrill and her body tense.
Jeremy stood in the wings, whispering, “Concentrate, Elly, concentrate.”
Rory looked her in the eye. “Not quite. I had one of my convenient headaches and cleared out.”
Jeremy nodded, “Good boy. Rein her in, keep her focused.”
As rehearsed, Rory took an apple and some nuts from his pocket, and gave them to her.
“These are for you, dear, with my love.” He put a practised arm around her waist and kissed her.
“I sneaked ’em off the sideboard as I came out.”
The kiss brought her to attention and her next lines were clear. Her voice dropped to a pleasing pitch and her posture relaxed.
Beauty's Doom: The final instalment of the romantic Victorian mystery (His Majesty's Theatre Book 4) Page 1