Authors: Lawana Blackwell
In spite of herself, she managed to feel a sliver of pity for Muriel. Mr. Gatcomb’s article had painted her as a conniving, vindictive opportunist. She was certainly that, but the tiny grain of guilt for her own part in Douglas’s death still existed in Bethia’s conscience, and she could not help but wonder how different things might be had she not sent a certain letter.
“If there are reporters, you just refer them to me,” her father said.
Bethia had to smile. “I’ll refer them to you.”
Indeed, four reporters with notebooks, two photographers with cameras, and apparently about a half dozen passersby were gathered around the steps of the Royal Court. None paid attention to Bethia and her parents, for on the top step, between Grady and Jewel, stood Charlotte Steel. She was as beautiful as ever, even in the ordinary brown poplin gown designed for Muriel in the role of Catherine, the burgomaster’s wife.
“ . . . yes, our little Michael is almost four months old,” the actress was saying while reporters scribbled into notebooks and photographers snapped cameras. “I agreed to return only for the run of
The Bells,
so after today there will be no morning rehearsals to compete with my time with my son.”
“What will you do for a lead actress when Mrs. Steel leaves, Mr. McGuire?” a reporter asked.
A smile softened Grady’s bulldog face. “We’ve time to plan for that. In the meantime, we appreciate Mrs. Steel coming to our rescue.”
“But she only has a day to learn her part,” Mother whispered.
“She’s played it here before.” Bethia sent a little wave toward Jewel, who was looking over tops of heads in their direction.
Jewel winked back.
That’s why they made the announcement out here, at this time,
Bethia realized. Any reporter interested in
her
part in Muriel’s drama would jump on the bigger story.
Thank God for family!
she thought. Frustrations and all.
Inside the theatre, sounds of instruments being tuned rose from the orchestra pit. The stage was set up as the residence of the village burgomaster, with table and chairs, sideboard with china, stove and kettle, candles and clock. Through a false window, snow was falling, or rather, Sunlight soap flakes were being shaken by a prop man on a hidden ladder. Mr. Webb was in his usual dress rehearsal frenzy.
“May I remind you that the morning is ticking away?” he was saying to propmen and carpenters.
As Bethia moved up the aisle with her parents, she noticed two people sitting in the sixth row: a young man and a woman with a gray chignon beneath the brim of a forest-green felt hat. The man looked over his shoulder, got to his feet, and moved out into the aisle.
“Miss Rayborn, I was hoping you would be here,” Jude Nicholls said.
“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Nicholls.” Bethia introduced her parents, and Mr. Nicholls introduced them all to the woman, Lady Danby.
Mr. Carey’s mother,
Bethia realized.
“Lady Danby is Noah’s mother,” Mr. Nicholls explained, as if Bethia were the only person in London who did not read newspapers.
“How do you do?” Lady Danby said, moving into the aisle as well. She was plump and matronly looking, with soft cheeks and warm green eyes, and said she had been staying in the Grand Hotel, Charing Cross Road since Monday.
“Noah has been showing me the city.”
“The tablecloth hangs longer on one side!” Mr. Webb’s voice boomed. “If you’ll but take a few steps back you’ll
notice
such things!”
Before Bethia could remind her parents exactly who
Noah
was, Mother stepped closer to take the hand Lady Danby offered and said, “Your son is the one who went from understudy to lead. Bethia told us all about him.”
At this, Mr. Nicholls sent Bethia a smile that apparently was supposed to convey some deeper meaning.
Bethia gave him an odd look.
What is it?
she said with her eyes, but he just continued smiling.
“How proud you must be,” Father was saying to Lady Danby.
“I am.” She offered her hand to him. “But I’m sure you know how it is with mothers. I was proud when he no longer had to wear nappies. But speaking of proud . . .”
She turned to Bethia and did not offer her hand but stepped closer and squeezed her shoulders gently. “You must be terribly proud of your daughter. Wool intolerance! Who would have imagined?”
“It was just something I read,” Bethia said, but not minding the embrace, for it seemed only natural to extend the fondness she had for Mr. Carey toward his mother.
“Well, you gave my son a new lease on life. I’ve heard your name many times this week.”
Mr. Nicholls flashed Bethia another loaded smile.
Strange man,
she thought.
“Curtains!” Mr. Webb barked.
“Would you care to sit with us?” Lady Danby asked as the green curtain floated downward.
“We would be delighted,” Mother replied. They filed into the row: Mr. Nicholls, Lady Danby, Mother, Bethia, and Father. Jewel and Grady entered, sent waves, and hurried to the second row.
The orchestra began playing Clara Schumann’s “Drei Romanzen”. Presently the curtain opened upon Mrs. Steel, seated at a spinning wheel. The play was essentially a study in remorse, of a burgomaster who sees nightmarish visions of a Polish Jew he murdered for his gold. Mr. Carey’s role as
Mathias the Burgomaster was therefore pivotal to the success of the production; he would have to be convincing as a man hiding inner torment behind a cheerful exterior.
Mr. Graham stepped out onto the stage in his role as Hans, a tenant of the burgomaster, with his wife. “More snow, Madame Mathias, more snow!” he exclaimed, taking off his hat and brushing away soap flakes.
“Still in the village, Hans?” said Mrs. Steel as Catherine.
Bethia thought,
If only Mr. Whitmore were here!
It would be like old times.
Still, she leaned forward a bit when Mr. Carey passed behind the fake window, then came through the door. Over his shirt and trousers he wore the long cloak of Strasburg cloth she had hemmed herself. Completing his costume were an otter’s skin cap Mrs. Hamby had found at a secondhand shop, gaiters, spurs, and riding whip.
“It is I,” he said warmly.
She sent up a quick prayer that he would be able to fill Mr. Whitmore’s formidable shoes. Somewhere before the second act, she forgot to evaluate Mr. Carey’s every movement, every syllable, and began simply enjoying the performance. He had ceased being Mr. Carey or Lord Danby and became Burgomaster Mathias. She caught the smiles Jewel and Grady were giving each other.
During intermission, while the orchestra played, Mother and Lady Danby chatted quietly. Soon the rehearsal began again and moved along wonderfully. The final scene was horrific and yet moving, for driven mad by his own guilt, the burgomaster imagines a rope about his neck and strangles to death in the presence of his loved ones. As the curtain lowered, Mother was holding Lady Danby’s hand, and both sets of eyes glistened. Beyond Lady Danby, even Mr. Nicholls was wiping his eyes.
“Excellent!” came Mr. Webb’s voice through the curtain. “Mr. Robbs, I must remind you to watch your timing, and
Thomas, the snow needs to fall at a more consistent rate, but all in all it was excellent!”
Jewel and Grady came over, drank in the compliments, then apologized for having to hurry backstage to speak with the cast. There was no reason for Bethia and her parents to linger, so they bade Lady Danby and Mr. Nicholls good-day.
“Oh, but won’t you please allow me to repay you, in a small measure, for your kindness to my son?” Lady Danby said. “Noah and Jude want me to try some new Italian dish at a restaurant nearby. Do say you’ll join us.”
Both sets of parental eyes went toward Bethia. The message in both was clearly
Are you up to this?
After almost two weeks of brooding about the house, Bethia was beginning to feel like a tortoise out of its shell. She would never have come had her parents not coaxed her.
But then, had she not enjoyed herself?
Why not?
she thought. They had already informed Trudy they would take lunch somewhere in town and arranged for Hiram to return for them at the theatre at two. What did she have to lose but some brood time, which she would probably make up for in the wee hours tonight?
Forty
It was impossible to descend into another blue mood while watching people have pizza pie for the first time. Not only was Lady Danby a novice, but the dish was new to Bethia’s parents as well.
“You may just have to give up and use your fingers, Mrs. Rayborn,” Mr. Carey advised as Bethia’s mother attempted to fork away a small piece she had sawed apart with a knife only to have the cheese stay attached to both pieces like elastic.
“Like this.” Corrie Walters demonstrated, piling strings of cheese atop a slice, then biting off the end. Mr. Nicholls beamed at her as if she had invented electricity.
They all praised Mr. Carey’s dress rehearsal performance, as did members of the company who stopped by the table. He was quick to deflect some of those compliments toward Miss Walters’ performance as well as to Bethia’s costume designs. When Mother asked if Mr. Carey was nervous over sharing the stage with Mrs. Steel, he admitted that his hands where shaking during the earliest scenes.
“Well, you certainly hid it well,” Father said.
By this time, it was obvious that no one felt inclined to mention the reason for the abrupt change in casting, so Bethia was able to let down her guard and relax. Sincerely, she said, “I agree. You should have seen the smiles Jewel and Grady were giving each other.”
Mr. Carey blushed but looked appreciative. “Thank you. I’ll remind myself you said that when I’m onstage tomorrow evening.”
From the way he was looking at her, it seemed he wished to say something else. But then the moment passed. Mother asked Lady Danby when she planned to return to Yorkshire.
“Monday morning.” She sighed. “I had forgotten how big
London is. We’ve visited but a third of the places circled in my guidebook.”
“And what were those places?” Father asked.
“Let’s see. Westminster Abbey, of course, and the British Museum. The Guildhall and Saint Paul’s.” She smiled across the table at Mr. Nicholls. “We especially enjoyed watching Jude in
East Lynne
at Daly’s.”
“It’s just a small part,” he said modestly.
“You’ll not have small parts for long,” Lady Danby predicted. “You were simply wonderful.”
“Wonderful,” Miss Walters echoed.
Noticing Mr. Nicholls’s eyes glistening again, Bethia wondered why he made no mention of his own family visiting him.
“Don’t go encouraging him,” Mr. Carey teased, as if aware of the melancholy coming over his friend. “He’s vain enough.”
His friend smirked at him, but with a lighter countenance.
Mr. Carey ground some pepper over his remaining slice of pizza pie. “I’m trying to convince Mother to stay longer. I can still show her about in the mornings, after the show opens.”
“I’m afraid when you’re my age, your joints start longing for their own bed again after a week,” Lady Danby said. “And
you
need to be able to concentrate upon the show, no matter what you say. I’ll simply have to save the rest for future visits.”
“Next time, you must stay with us, Lady Danby,” Mother said. “We’ve plenty of room.”
Father nodded. “Hampstead is quite lovely. We’re a stone’s throw from the Heath.”
“Why, how kind of you to offer.” Lady Danby looked surprised and pleased. “We have a Constable painting of the Heath in our sitting room. It’s actually one of the places I circled in my guidebook.”
“Then, come for lunch tomorrow,” Mother said.
“Oh, but you mustn’t feel obliged. . . .”
“Not at all,” Father said. “It would be our pleasure. Let’s lunch at eleven so we’ll have a little time to explore.”
Mr. Nicholls made a polite little clearing of his throat.
When Mother looked at him, he lifted his eyebrows and gave her a hopeful smile.
Mother smiled back. “We would love to have
all
of you, of course.”
Definitely a strange man,
Bethia thought. But he was growing on her now that she had been allowed that brief glimpse beyond the glib facade. She glanced at Corrie Walters’s radiant face and smiled to herself.
Not only on me.
****
“You don’t mind, do you?” Mother asked her in the coach. “They were quite pleasant, and after all, they
did
treat us today.”
“I don’t mind.”
“You seemed to enjoy yourself,” Father said.
“I did.” No information of monumental importance had passed back and forth. But that was just what she needed. An outing with people with whom she could relax, even laugh. And, she realized, Guy had visited her thoughts only three or four times. On those occasions, the pull of regret was noticeably lighter.
I’m going to be happy again,
she realized, incredibly. Just days ago, no one could have convinced her of that.
****
Lady Danby and Mr. Carey, Mr. Nicholls and Miss Walters arrived early enough for a tour of the house. Trudy, always delighted to justify her huge kitchen, prepared thick grouse soup, roast sirloin of beef, and fillets of turbot
à la crème,
along with assorted vegetables and a baked plum pudding.
After lunch everyone—Sarah, William, and John as well—shrugged into coats and hats and strolled some of the footpaths of the Heath. Their visitors asked questions of Bethia’s family, such as what were William’s responsibilities at the Hassall Commission and Sarah’s at Blake Shipping, about John’s studies, and whether they missed Danny terribly. They covered but a fraction of the whole 480 acres, since Mr. Carey, Mr. Nicholls, and Miss Walters needed to be at Royal Court
and Daly’s by five, but they saved enough time for hot chocolate in the parlour.
“Where will you take your mother tomorrow?” Sarah asked Mr. Carey.
“Church, and then the Tower of London,” he replied. “And hopefully a boat ride down the Thames, if there is enough daylight left over.”