She nodded, smiling back through the frisson of disquiet that shivered down her spine. She had just realised what was missing from the moment she’d dreamed about for so long. Toby hadn’t said he loved her.
The wedding took place in what would have been considered indecent haste to anyone outside the acting community. However, marriage was seen as both protection and respectability for young
actresses, especially those like Sophy whose star was on the rise and who attracted a plethora of admirers with each passing week. Just three months to the day Toby had proposed, on a bitterly cold morning at the end of March, Sophy and Toby became man and wife. The service was held at a small parish church in Holborn, and afterwards the wedding breakfast for a small group of friends was a merry affair. Toby’s parents had died years before and he had lost touch with his only sibling, a sister, so no family was present, although Sophy insisted that Dolly and Jim were invited. Otherwise the guests were all members of the theatre fraternity.
Sophy wore a long cream dress with tiny seed pearls sewn on the bodice and a large picture hat, and carried a small posy of cream and pink rosebuds, and as Dolly beheld her at the Savoy Hotel where the breakfast was being held, she said what everyone was thinking: ‘You’re the most beautiful bride I’ve seen in many a long day, lovey. And this place! I’ve passed it many times, of course, but never thought I’d set foot in it.’
Sophy smiled. ‘We wouldn’t be here but for Mr Gregory. He’s given us the wedding breakfast as his present.’
‘Which one’s he?’ Dolly glanced round the assembled company who were enjoying cocktails before they sat down to eat.
‘He’s not here.’ A shadow passed over Sophy’s face for a moment. ‘He’s away on business.’ It had greatly disappointed her when Mr Gregory had said he couldn’t come, and she had been upset he hadn’t manoeuvred whatever business it was so he could join them. But it had been kind to give them such a generous wedding present, especially as she had just accepted a wonderful role in one of the West End theatres and would be leaving the Lincoln shortly. Instead of one of the sentimental dramas or the type of musical comedy Toby was playing in, the play –
The Choice
– was the story of a young upper-class woman’s refusal to marry the man her parents had selected and her fight to make her own way in the world when she starts a drapery business with an inheritance her grandmother left her. She falls in love with a working-class man, and he with her, but on learning of her beginnings he rejects her, only to return to her at the end of the play when he has made his
fortune, stating that now they can begin their life together as equals.
The play was going to be controversial, challenging not only the class issue but that of women in business, and not least the idea of equality of the sexes which brought in a hint of Women’s Suffrage with some of the lines Sophy got to say. She was excited but nervous. Toby had warned her not to do it, saying it was doomed to failure and she would be branded as an actress of the ‘new drama’ which would ruin her career. It was the first time one of the big commercial theatres had taken on such a contentious play; normally they were left to the independents like the Lincoln, but she had liked the role of Alice and felt she could do it justice. Surprisingly, in view of the fact it was taking her away from the Lincoln, Mr Gregory had agreed with her.
‘The part is tailor-made for you and you’ll be superb.’ He’d smiled at her, his cornflower-blue eyes crinkling. ‘And you can’t always play it safe. It might fail, the press might be up in arms, especially as the Vote for Women is becoming more of a hot potato, but if you pull it off the world will be your oyster.’
She had smiled back at him, while thinking she didn’t know if she wanted the world as her oyster. In fact, she didn’t know
what
she wanted these days. Life had suddenly become very complicated and she wasn’t sure why.
‘Where’s my wife?’ Toby was calling from the head of the table where the guests were gradually being seated, and as she made her way over to him she thought he had never looked more handsome. He smiled at her as she joined him, his eyes soft and warm, and suddenly she felt better. Everyone was on edge before they got married; it was only natural – it was a huge step to take. But this was Toby, her Toby, and she loved him.
‘We make a stunning pair, have you considered that, Mrs Shawe?’ he whispered in her ear as she sat down beside him. ‘The Golden Couple, that’s what a couple of our friends have said – and who am I to disagree with them?’
He had already had two or three glasses of the champagne cocktails Kane had provided and his speech was slightly slurred. Sophy forced a smile and then, as Toby’s best man – a fellow actor
playing at the same theatre – stood up to make a toast, she took a deep breath.
Relax, relax,
she told herself. This was her wedding day and she was sitting in the most beautiful surroundings with the man she loved. She had been so incredibly fortunate since arriving in London, and she would always be grateful to Mr Gregory for giving her her chance. She wished he was here today so she could tell him so.
The meal was superb. Six courses, beginning with soup and finishing with a choice of desserts, half of which Sophy had never heard of before. She laughed and chattered, and, having had two further glasses of champagne after the champagne cocktail before the dinner, felt light-headed and giggly, but in a nice way. And then, as coffee and liqueurs were served and the party began to circulate once more, she saw Rosalind glide to Toby’s side and take his arm in a proprietorial gesture that caused Sophy to become instantly sober. She watched as his face came down to that of Rosalind’s, and after the woman whispered something in his ear, he threw back his head and laughed before saying something to her that caused Rosalind to smile in reply.
There was nothing to the exchange in one respect; in another it spoke of intimacy and the fact that the couple were extremely comfortable with each other. She found her eyes were riveted on them. It was Cat, appearing at her side and standing directly in front of her, blocking her vision, who caused Sophy to blink when she said, ‘Don’t look like that. It’s nothing. She’s nothing. He’s married you, hasn’t he?’
Sophy didn’t try to pretend. ‘You don’t think they . . .’
‘No, I don’t,’ Cat lied stoutly. ‘Rosalind Robins is getting on, Sophy. She must be all of thirty-five. She knows the parts are going to start drying up soon and she likes to think every young man of her acquaintance is dancing to her tune. And Toby’s not daft. He humours her. That’s all.’
Sophy felt a sickness in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t been happy about inviting Rosalind and her husband to the wedding but had felt unable to say so. But she didn’t like her. And in spite of the actress’s gushing comments about her appearance today, she
felt Rosalind didn’t like her either. Was it because Toby wouldn’t become the latest conquest in what was undeniably a long line, or – she swallowed deeply – because he had? But no, she wouldn’t think that. And if she told Cat what she was thinking, her friend would say that Rosalind didn’t like any woman unless they were in their dotage. That she was that kind of woman. Which was true enough.
Giving herself a mental shake, she hugged her friend, forcing lightness into her tone when she said, ‘You’re right as always, wise woman, but one thing’s for sure. Whenever I thought about my wedding night as a young girl, I didn’t imagine I’d spend it on stage.’ Owing to their contracts, neither she nor Toby could take time off for something as unimportant as getting married, but they had promised themselves a proper honeymoon some time in the future.
Cat grinned. ‘Only part of it, surely, darling, unless you’re thinking of shocking the audience out of their tiny minds.’
Sophy laughed as she was meant to, but in truth she was more than a little nervous about the night ahead. Thanks to Dolly, she had a pretty good idea of the rudiments of what went on, and she wanted to belong to Toby, more than anything, but still . . .
They had rented a smart little flat in a house in Margaret Street close to Oxford Circus where the flower-sellers sold their blooms beneath their red umbrellas. Toby had wanted them to live in the West End and although Sophy had felt a huge wrench at leaving her little attic room up among the rooftops she’d known the two of them couldn’t live there. And the West End
was
a fascinating place, from the massive shops in Oxford Street, such as Marshall & Snelgrove and Swears & Wells, to the colourful and slightly disreputable area of Soho, which drew artisans and artistes of all kinds, unlike the seedy Seven Dials rookery across the Charing Cross Road.
It was the area around Leicester Square which most bustled with life, however, especially since the building of Shaftesbury Avenue in the 1880s had removed some of the more dire slums. New theatres were being erected, small five- or six-hundred seaters
which were already gaining a reputation as places where ‘the play was the thing’, rather than the conceit of being seen in one of the more splendid venues. Not that the new theatres could match ones like the Alhambra and Empire in most people’s eyes – two great variety theatres which were essentially male resorts. Here young bloods descended in droves from the universities, Boat Race nights being legendary, and many was the ruse employed to regain admittance after being expelled for being too rowdy or offensive. As many of the young men were more than a little intoxicated, they weren’t aware of the top-hatted bouncers who politely but firmly escorted them from the premises, patting them in a fatherly manner on the back, leaving a white chalk-mark as a signal that they weren’t to be readmitted that evening.
But it was after the shows that the West End really came into its own. The supper clubs stayed open until well past midnight, but it was the less sophisticated cock-and-hen clubs such as the Red Beer Club, whose weekly dances frequently ended in high jinks in Soho Square as dawn broke, which catered for the university crowd. Some of these Hooray Henrys, used to a bevy of servants from babyhood and with more money than sense, could be dangerous to a young girl on her own, especially when showing off to their peers. Toby had already warned Sophy never to venture out alone but she wouldn’t have done so anyway. She knew full well by this time that, due to the career she had chosen, many of these young men considered all actresses unconventional at best, and little more than high-class whores at worst. Cat had already been the victim of a series of obscene postcards from an ‘admirer’, and an actress they knew had been accosted by a man who had followed her home from the theatre. When she had refused to kiss him, he had accused her of being ‘a female cad’ who needed to be taught a lesson. It was only the girl’s landlady, on hearing her screams, who had prevented the man from forcing himself upon her. And Sophy knew from Augustus, who still inspected any letters care of the theatre which the actresses received, that some of her mail was too ‘passionate’ to be considered suitable for her to read.
She did find this alarming when she thought about it, but had
always felt safe both at the Lincoln and when on tour with Mr Gregory’s touring company, due to the safeguards he had put in place for his female employees. But now she would have Toby to protect her. She was a respectable married woman.
He had left Rosalind and was making his way towards her, smiling the smile that turned the blue-grey eyes liquid. ‘Happy?’ he murmured.
She nodded. In this moment, when he looked at her like that, she was the happiest woman alive, she told herself, sending up a swift prayer of thankfulness for all that was hers. ‘Are you?’
‘Of course.’ He gathered her into his arms, careless of onlookers, whispering in her ear, ‘And I’ll be happier still when it’s just the two of us tonight.’
She blushed, and he laughed, hugging her again. ‘My beautiful, innocent, radiant wife. I adore you, do you know that? From the top of your head to the soles of your dainty feet, I adore you. We’re going to take the theatre world by storm, you and I. Mr Toby Shawe and the beautiful Mrs Shawe. We can’t fail.’ Glancing at his watch, he added, ‘But for now it’s work for both of us, my sweet. I’ll come and pick you up from the Lincoln tonight, so wait for me. It’s a pity you’re not closer to home but it won’t be long.’
Home. Sophy smiled although as yet she couldn’t quite think of their modern little flat as home. It was very nice, possessing a small kitchen, a large sitting room and a lovely light bedroom amply big enough for a double bed, wardrobe and chest of drawers, and it also boasted that most newfangled of features, a bathroom complete with its own water closet. Each of the three flats in the terraced house had one, which was why the rent was so expensive, Sophy supposed. At seven shillings a week she could have rented a positive mansion up north, but when she had said this to Toby he had told her she couldn’t compare the two. This was London, he’d declared, not some provincial little backwater, and if he had his way they would soon be moving to something much grander than Margaret Street. And the flats were smart and newly renovated; he didn’t intend to start their married life in a couple of shabby rooms somewhere.
She hadn’t argued, although she still felt slightly overwhelmed at the amount they would be paying out each month. But they could afford it, as Toby said. He was earning five guineas a week and she would be bringing home three guineas when she began her new part, although if the play failed that might be short-lived. Toby’s play was due to end in the next little while but he was quite confident he would be offered something else before that happened.
Once outside the hotel, they went their separate ways. The Lincoln was only a stone’s throw away so Sophy and Cat and a small group of other actors, including Augustus, went in one direction on foot, and Toby and his crowd hailed a couple of cabs. Dolly and Jim had already left a little earlier.
Cat slipped her arm through Sophy’s as they walked, the two of them a little tiddly after the champagne. ‘I shall miss you when you go, and I won’t even have our evenings in Dolly’s kitchen any more,’ Cat said with a little sniff. ‘Dolly will be sad too, you know that, don’t you?’