Enslaved (8 page)

“In future, should you wish to temper your running commentary with a modicum of courtesy, I won’t take it amiss. Pretend I’m someone
important,
if that helps you.”

She answered with a mock pout, a look he found at once sultry and adorable. “My, my, aren’t we touchy today.”

“That would be because
we
have been up and about since dawn unlike some persons who apparently prefer to spend the morning lying abed.” The latter was a veiled reference to her insistence she couldn’t possibly call on him before noon.

“I’m sure I’m up and about the same amount of time a day as you are only I keep theater hours.”

“We’re not in the theater at present.”

She grinned, the smile unearthing the matching pair of pretty dimples on either side of her softly pointed chin. “Aren’t we, now? Haven’t you heard, ducks, all the world’s a stage?”

“Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I;
when I was at home, I was in a better place:
but travelers must be content.”
—W
ILLIAM
S
HAKESPEARE
, Touchstone,
As You Like It

L
ater that day, Daisy stood in the center of her rented rooms, the contents of her closet spread out upon the floor at her feet. She’d paid the month’s rent in advance and there was no reason not to keep the place until that time. If things with Gavin didn’t work out, she would have an escape route, a haven, though at the moment she was very much looking forward to leaving behind the ever present smell of baking.

Packing the rest of the things she meant to bring with her should be easily accomplished. Had Freddie and the Lakes accompanied her, the move across town would have been a far more complicated affair. No matter how many times they’d moved or how short the stay planned, Flora always insisted the trunks be unloaded, the china and furnishings and sundry accoutrements of civilized life all unwrapped and laid out, the clothing unpacked and hung in closets or folded neatly in drawers. By the end of the first day, there wouldn’t have been a single storage box or traveling trunk in sight. Dear Flora, she was in so many ways a remarkable woman.

Traveling alone for the first time in her life, Daisy hadn’t brought much with her in the way of personal possessions. Beyond her gowns and costumes and cosmetics, all of which counted as tools of the trade, there was the cherished framed photograph of Freddie, an old rag doll she’d had with her forever and had always called Lucille though she couldn’t recall why, and the stuffed animal cat Gavin had given her long ago but likely forgot all about by now.

Looking back over her afternoon, she had to admit it had been an extraordinary day. Funny how in life one often went for long patches of time without experiencing any appreciable shift and then all at once something occurred to set the wheel of change in motion and a lifetime might be lived in a single, solitary day.

After the tense tea, Gavin had taken her on the promised tour of his flat. She’d been amazed and, in spite of her resolve not to soften toward him, touched. He’d given up his private study and made it into a library of plays and other theatrical texts. That someone, a man, had gone to so much trouble for her both humbled and astonished her. For the span of several minutes all she’d been capable of was to stare about her like an idiot, mumbling “Fine, how very fine” when he pointed out the newly stocked bookshelves with their leather bound library of plays.

That he didn’t seem to expect to sleep with her both puzzled and offended her. A man refusing sex on the basis of satisfying his scruples was as foreign to her as riding on the backs of elephants rather than horses or choosing chocolate-covered ants over tea biscuits. Barring one or two lovers who from time to time fancied a good whack, she wasn’t used to being the sexual aggressor. Men had been chasing after her since she’d put on her first pair of high heels. The oddity of the situation struck her as enormous, but if she were honest with herself, she had to admit the strange circumstances titillated her, too.

Were it in her nature to be content, rather than planning his seduction, she would be counting her blessings that he wanted her in any capacity at all. If not exactly in dire financial straits, she certainly skirted the edge. The jewelry she’d amassed from her more well-heeled lovers had all been sold, the funds used to pay for Bob Lake’s medical expenses. Consumption, or tuberculosis as it was coming to be known, was a cruel disease and battling its ravages a costly proposition. Treatment included periodic sojourns at sanatoria where the mountain air was believed to be of great benefit. As a result, she had little enough money to convert into English pounds and even that was nearly gone.

Even so, the move to England was meant to be, she could feel it. Had she remained in Paris, eventually she might have become one of myriad English expatriate artists who stayed past their prime, whiling away her free hours in cafes and pouring her pittance of a salary into absinthe and opium. Now that she was once more on English soil, her fourteen years in Paris lent her considerable cachet. In addition to The Palace, there were innumerable clubs and variety saloons she might have played. It was a lot to give up—but there was much to be gained.

She hadn’t exaggerated when she told Gavin a dancer had a short-lived career. Knees ruined and spirits broken, retired dancers might turn to teaching but more often than not they turned to drink. On the other hand, a woman might find employment in the theater the whole of her life. There were always parts such as Lady Macbeth which called for more mature actresses.

Practicality aside, treading the boards in London had been Daisy’s dream for as long as she could remember. Even with so many years and so much hurt between them, she couldn’t help feeling a wellspring of gratitude whenever she thought of how Gavin had turned his flat, and his life, inside out to please her. Perhaps he was acting out of guilt more so than friendship. Regardless of his motive in helping her, she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. She remembered how he encouraged her when they’d put on their little plays in the attic of Roxbury House and felt a tear dampen her eye.

Good show, sweetheart … What a brilliant little actress you are, isn’t that so, lads?
Gavin’s voice, or rather the younger version of it, echoed inside her head, a ghost of a long ago time and place.

Daisy scraped a hand through her hair, forcing her thoughts back to the present. She couldn’t go back in time and change the course of events, no one could, but she was determined to make the most of the future.

After Daisy left to finish packing up her flat, Gavin took his first opportunity to sit down with Sir Augustus. By prior appointment, he met the manager of Drury Lane in the smoking room of The Garrick.

They settled in at a window table with glasses of whiskey. Sipping their drinks, they chatted desultorily for a few minutes about politics as well as the difficulties of keeping a theater such as Drury Lane financially afloat. According to Sir Augustus, the emergence of so many supper clubs and music halls was cutting into his trade.

Hoping to sidestep that dicey subject, Gavin said, “You must be wondering why I asked you here.”

“I must admit to some curiosity on that score,” the older man allowed.

Gavin girded himself to begin. He’d never been terribly good at asking for favors, but he reminded himself that this boon was for Daisy, not him. “A dear friend of mine would very much like to audition for your production of
As You Like It.”
Reading his companion’s pained look, he hastened to add, “She has considerable experience in the entertainment field in Paris and most recently in London.”

Sir Augustus frowned. “Tell me her name. Perhaps I’ve heard of her.”

Gavin hesitated. He bloody detested her stage name and had vowed to himself he would never address her as such. “Her name is Daisy Lake but she goes by the stage name of Delilah du Lac.”

“You don’t say? I’ve heard of her to be sure, who hasn’t?” he added, and the slight smirk to his smile had Gavin thinking he wasn’t only referring to Daisy’s reputation for a nightingale’s voice and high can-can kicks. “I heard she was playing The Palace before it closed down.”

“Quite,” Gavin replied. “But she has considerable stage experience beyond that. She was a regular player at the Moulin Rouge.” The latter, he hoped, would afford some cachet.

Sir Augustus shook his head. “Be that as it may, in my experience these showgirls are all cut from the same cloth, plenty of dash but thin on substance. I need a seasoned actress for Rosalind, not simply one who looks well in breeches, though that surely doesn’t hurt.”

Gavin hadn’t been thinking of the role of Rosalind for Daisy but rather one of the play’s lesser parts. “I assure you, we’re not reaching so high as Rosalind for a first play. Even a small speaking role such as that of Hymen would be a start.” He stopped himself when he realized he skirted the edge of begging.

“Very well, I’ll see she’s put on the list. The audition is a fortnight from today. I’ll have my secretary send the information ‘round to your office. She’ll be called upon to recite a monologue from memory. But our casting schedule is tight. We’ve no time to waste, so mind she comes prepared, Mr. Carmichael.”

“She will, Sir Augustus. She really is quite good, and in two weeks from now she’ll be even better. I trust you will find yourself pleasantly surprised.”

Sir Augustus sent him a skeptical look and held up his empty glass, beckoning the waiter to bring a fresh drink. “I hope so, Mr. Carmichael. I doubt it, but I hope so.”

The next morning at breakfast, Daisy tossed the detested elocution manual across the table. “What rubbish this is. I should be reading plays, not stuffy grammar books. How much longer before I can read for a real part?”

The retired actress who answered Gavin’s advertisement came with a strong set of credentials, both regional and London-based. Gavin had asked around at the Garrick and confirmed she’d been quite a name in her day. The only drawback was that she was coming from Surrey and it would take another several days to close up her cottage and otherwise settle her affairs. In the interim, he didn’t intend for Daisy to be idle. Time was, after all, of the essence.

At tea the other day, he couldn’t help noticing her diction wasn’t quite all it could be. She tended to swallow her
h’s
and murder her
r’s
albeit only in certain words. Perhaps it came from being raised abroad or perhaps she’d always spoken thus and he never noticed before because at the time he, too, had spoken a similar dialect. His grandfather had beaten the Cockney coarseness out of him with a cane and occasionally a strap, but in Daisy’s case a softer approach was warranted.

Unfortunately, she detested the elocution manuals he brought home so much that at times he almost thought she might prefer a good flogging. In the course of their afternoon lessons, three so far, Gavin gathered Daisy shared the common human failing of doggedly pursuing perfection in those areas in which she already excelled and skipping over those in which improvement was most needed. She would practice a libretto again and again until she struck each note just so, and yet when it came to smoothing out the cadence of her Cockney-accented English interspersed with the occasional French phrase she was all too willing to throw up her hands and be done with it.

“Have patience, Daisy. Your audition is in two weeks.”

“And what of you, Gavin? Are you always patient?” He caught the gleam in her eye yet found himself seriously considering the question.

Was he patient? Most of his colleagues and acquaintances said he had the patience of a saint and yet he took care only his nearest and dearest friends knew of the restlessness roiling beneath that seemingly placid façade.

He still hadn’t told her about having hired the detective, and at this point he wasn’t sure if he ever would. Really, what was the point? For Daisy, the past seemed to be just that, in the past. She made it clear she’d come to London to pursue acting, not him. That he spent such a large portion of his life wrapped up in finding someone who apparently hadn’t wanted to be found made him feel foolish enough as it was.

And yet he couldn’t find it in him to be sorry he’d found her again. Who knew but perhaps The Powers That Be had arranged matters so once he saw her settled he might finally move forward with his life. His grandfather had been pestering him for some time to take a wife. As much as he delighted in thwarting the old man in ways large and small, he had to admit he was warming to the idea of having someone to come home to at night, someone with whom he could discuss the day, share supper and, afterward, a bed. Until now he’d been too preoccupied—very well,
obsessed
—with finding Daisy to give any of the pretty young society misses more than a passing glance, but after the agreed-upon month concluded, who knew. However, now that the object of his obsession had resurfaced to demonstrate just how well she’d managed without him, it was time to think to the future, not only Daisy’s but his.