Authors: Julia Tagan
“Sorry, ma'am.” She moved to take the tray away.
“Leave it. It'll have to do.”
“You seem displeased,” said Mr. Harris once the girl had left.
“I'm working with amateurs. I expected more from you, Mr. Harris.”
“Then why don't you leave?”
The room fell silent and Harriet's father shifted uneasily.
“You wouldn't dare. We have a contract.” Mrs. Mudie raised her upper lip, as if she were about to bite.
“We're worried about your health. Perhaps you should take some time to rest your voice.”
“Who's going on instead? Her?” she nodded toward Harriet.
“Your services are no longer required.”
They'd set her up.
“Wait,” interjected Harriet. Her father was still up to his old tricks. While she'd waited outside of the office, they'd agreed to fire the lead and use her instead. “I said I'd help in other ways, not onstage. I don't want to play Rosalind.”
Her father nodded his head slowly up and down. “Of course you do. Don't be ridiculous. Play the part. Once the run is over, you can sew costumes or sweep or whatever else you fancy. Tonight you'll go on stage.”
“You're talking as if I'm not in the room,” thundered Mrs. Mudie. “I'm still here, you know. It's my part to play.”
“Not anymore,” said Mr. Harris. “This was to be your swan song, and I'm afraid the swan has drowned prematurely. Per your contract, I have the ability to let you go at a moment's notice. Thank you, Mrs. Mudie.”
“You can't treat me this way. I'll spread word of what you've done and no one will work for you anymore. I promise you that.”
She stood and called for her lady's maid, then clomped out of the room.
Harriet's fury matched Mrs. Mudie's. Once again, her father was using her for his own purposes. And she'd walked right into his trap.
“I'm leaving.” She turned but her father grabbed her arm.
“I know you're angry. Think of the cast. The production will be so much better with you as Rosalind. If you don't go on, they don't go on.”
“That's your own fault for firing your leading lady at the eleventh hour.”
Mr. Harris leaned back on the dressing table and crossed his arms in front of him. He looked like a man who had all the time in the world. He knew, as Harriet and her father knew, she didn't have a choice. She could never return to the duchess and Marianne, and the minute she left Covent Garden she'd be destitute and on the streets. Like it or not, this world was her home now. And this was her family, no matter how self-serving or deceitful they might be.
And she couldn't deny a small part of her wanted to perform at Covent Garden. Her father knew the urge was in her blood, because he'd experienced the same proclivities. It no longer mattered what William thought, or what the duchess would say. The decision was hers. By stepping onto the stage tonight, she'd bring scandal upon both their houses.
“Please, Harry. We need you.”
She took a deep breath.
“I'll do it.”
Her father grabbed her and spun her around.
“As long as I get a tenth of a share,” she said.
Mr. Harris nodded, all business. “I'll send someone from wardrobe to find you costumes that fit. We open the doors in an hour or so. The prologue begins an hour after that, followed by
As You Like It
. That give you enough time to prepare?”
Her father answered for her. “Of course. She's a Farley. This is what we do.”
Once they'd left, Harriet took stock of the makeup and wigs and sat where Mrs. Mudie had just been. Her heart was heavy, having pushed the woman out of a job. One small consolation was the fact that, at least artistically, it was for the best. From the little she'd watched from the box, Mrs. Mudie would have made a farce of the part and ruined the Farley Players' debut.
Harriet stared at herself in the mirror. Her face had changed from the girl she'd been a few weeks ago. Her mouth was more firmly set and her eyes looked tired. Before she went out and reunited with the rest of the cast, she needed a minute to herself. The lines of the play were etched in her memory, she wasn't worried about that. But everything was happening so quickly.
Her throat was dry and although Mrs. Mudie's tea was cold, it would have to do. She took a few sips and began pinning back her hair. A slight rumble in her stomach made her wonder if a lack of stage fright had finally caught up with her. In two hours, she'd be performing in front of over a thousand people with no rehearsal, so the reaction didn't surprise her. She ran through her lines in a soft voice, playing out the scenes in her mind, and imagining the thunderous applause.
* * * *
“This turbot is extraordinary,” said Marianne loudly. “Don't you agree, my lord?”
William looked up from his plate. All eyes were upon him, as if his opinion of the fish were the most urgent of matters. The evening at Lady Bancroft's dinner party had started out well enough, as one of the other guests expressed an interest in science and they'd discussed the latest innovations in the drawing room while waiting for the other guests to arrive. But once they were seated at dinner, William lost interest in following the conversation, which touched mostly on affairs and gossip. Marianne, however, listened with a great degree of effort. As a wife, she'd be a valuable asset in that regard. Her sociability would offset his irritability.
“The fish is delicious, yes,” he said finally, and the conversation resumed. Lady Bancroft, seated to his left, nodded at him.
“You remind me of my late husband.”
“I hope in an agreeable way, my lady.”
“Very much so.” She lowered her voice. “But he never liked dinner parties. Much preferred to be in the country, hunting, riding, that sort of thing.”
“I have no doubt he made an effort for you, I'm sure. This evening is a delight.”
Her face broke into a smile. “Thank you.”
“We missed you at White's, Abingdon.” The man seated beside Marianne was an insufferable bore with whom William had attended school. They'd played rugby together and the brute enjoyed charging the smaller boys and scaring them. “I hear you've been up north?”
“Yes, Birmingham,” answered William.
“Birmingham?” The hostess put down her wine glass and placed both hands on the table. “That's where Mrs. Ivey passed away. Such a terrible loss.”
William swallowed with difficulty and kept his eyes on his plate.
“A real loss. The production's in London now,” answered another guest.
The rest of the table seized upon the topic. William, the duchess, and Marianne stayed quiet as the conversation churned around them. So far no one suspected the duchess's ward had been briefly associated with the theater company. Most probably didn't even remember Harriet's name, and if they did, wouldn't imagine the shy young ward was the same Harriet Farley.
“They open tonight. With that awful Mrs. Mudie.”
“She's not so bad. Loved her Volumnia a few seasons ago.”
“Not sure I want to see her tripping around the forest of Arden, though.”
“It's not Mrs. Mudie that's going on tonight,” William's school acquaintance announced. “I passed by the theater on my way here and the placards say Miss Farley's taken over the role. There were boys on the street, handing out flyers as well. The lines to get inside were already rather long.”
William froze.
“She's the one who played in Birmingham,” said Lady Bancroft. “I'd like to see her. They say she's a pleasure to watch.”
The duchess, who was seated to William's right, dabbed at her mouth with her napkin.
“Miss Farley. Isn't that the same name as the girl you took in?” asked Lady Bancroft, turning to her.
“Must be a different girl.” Marianne broke in quickly. “The name's quite common.”
The servants cleared the course. Amid the clatter, the duchess placed a hand on William's arm. “You can't allow this to happen, William,” she whispered. “I had no idea she'd run off again.”
Lady Bancroft observed them closely. William affected a grin, as if he and the duchess were bantering in fun.
“Why would she do such a thing?” the duchess continued. “Right as we're announcing the engagement.”
His heart raced. Harriet would betray them all with this act. Marianne and he would be tainted by association. And the duchess would be mocked for having raised a common actress in her household.
William leaned in and spoke quietly. “Don't worry. She won't go on. Not if I can help it.”
Chapter 16
With help from the wardrobe assistants, Harriet was ready a good half-hour before the curtain was set to rise. She had been costumed in a celestial blue satin slip, trimmed around the bottom with beading, which shimmered underneath a long polonaise robe of white gossamer net. Her feet nestled in blue satin slippers, trimmed with silver, and on her head she wore a luxurious wig secured with dozens of pins. The backstage crew at Covent Garden was helpful in every way, and it was a relief to have someone to turn to when a hem came undone or a shoe was too large. The pleasures of the London stage.
She made her way to the right wing, careful not to wrinkle or step on her costume, and peered out. The crowd was lively, with young men mingling in the pit and couples gossiping in the boxes. Most of the noise came from the spectators assembled in the upper gallery, who were likely to toss down orange peels if they weren't entertained.
She couldn't help but scan the box seats for William, as she'd done in Birmingham. The effort was futile, as of course he wasn't there and probably wouldn't venture within a mile of the theater. Familiar faces filled several of the boxes, members of the
ton
who'd visited the duchess at one time or another. They might not realize who Harriet was at first, but the papers would seize upon her connection soon. The news that a ward of the Duchess of Dorset was working as an actress would ripple across London with lightning speed, and by tomorrow afternoon her former guardian would be receiving mournful glances instead of warm greetings from her friends.
William and Marianne would recover quickly, she hoped. Their wedding would soon overshadow her misadventures and they'd carry on with their lives. But the duchess would be left alone in shame.
But there was no going back. Ahead of her were three hours of Shakespeare, with its intricate rhythms and poetry, and her concentration had to be keen. Her insides gave a little twist. Nerves, again. She grasped the curtain to steady herself.
Adam came beside her and placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “I can't tell you how pleased we are to have you back. Are you feeling all right?”
She straightened up. “Fine. You look grand.”
He pulled on the lapels of his frock coat, decorated with bright buttons and gold trim. “I have half a mind to take this particular item with me when the run is finished.”
“I feel the same way about my gown.”
She listened carefully as Adam filled her in on the changes in staging they'd adopted since Birmingham.
Her stomach gurgled again and she excused herself to go back to her dressing room and sit for a moment before curtain. She paused by the open door to catch her breath.
“She's a handsome girl, don't you think?”
Harriet peered inside her dressing room. Two of the wardrobe assistants were gathering up Miss Mudie's costumes, their backs to the door.
“Seems nice enough. They say she's quite good.”
“They all are at this age. Mind you don't mess the crinoline.”
“Yes, ma'am. What do you mean?”
“They all start out as brilliant young things. But it's not an easy way to live, and either they find a doddering duke who'll marry them or they end up like Mrs. Mudie. Shoved out the door without a thank you.”
Harriet stepped inside and both women jumped.
“Are you ready then, Miss Farley?”
“Not yet. Do you mind if I have a moment alone?”
“Of course. We can finish this up later. Do you need anything before you go on?”
“No, thanks.”
“We'll leave you be then.”
After the door clicked shut, Harriet placed both elbows on the dressing room table and hung her head. Was this what she wanted to do? The woman was right, acting was a difficult life requiring a level of showmanship Harriet wasn't sure she possessed. But there was no other recourse. She closed her eyes. She missed William so much it made her ache inside. If only she'd known how little time they'd ever have together, she would have relished every minute, every word he spoke. He was lost to her now.
An unexpected stabbing pain in her stomach made her gasp. This was more than stage fright. The burning was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. Something was wrong. She picked up the teacup and stared at the murky liquid.
The tea.
Mrs. Ivey.
It couldn't be. Freddie had run away, according to her father. No one had seen him since the night of Mrs. Ivey's murder.
She called for help, but the words refused to form in her mouth and she doubled over, clutching her abdomen. She placed one hand on the back of the chair and tried to stand, but it tipped over and she fell hard on the floor, clenching her teeth. It was as if she'd swallowed acid, acid that was now burning its way out of her. She tried to stay conscious, to cry out, but the waves of agony increased until she had no choice but to surrender to the darkness.
* * * *
Leaving the dinner party so abruptly had been a great embarrassment, no matter how many times William apologized to Lady Bancroft. He was so angry he almost broke down the stage door once he arrived at Covent Garden. A tiny old man opened the door and blinked at him, but didn't stand in his way as he barged through.
“Where's Miss Farley's dressing room?”
“Second floor, to the right. They called five minutes, so she may be in the wings already.”
William bounded up the narrow staircase, taking three steps at a time while muttering under his breath like a madman. He'd tell her she was a terrible, headstrong person who only thought of herself. Perhaps he'd mention that the duchess's face had taken on a sickly cast as he'd made excuses and left the dinner party, and that, in polite society, of which she knew little, he'd been forced to commit an awful affront to the hostess and the other guests. He must stop Harriet from causing any further damage.
If she planted one foot on that stage, everything would be ruined. There were no good outcomes. If her performance was a success, she'd continue working in London, and every notice would contain snide mentions of her guardian. If Harriet failed, the gossip would be as nasty. The duchess and Marianne would be made laughing stocks, as would he by association. After everything he'd confided to her about his family's misfortunes, how could she do this to him?
Three sconces threw a dim light along the second floor hallway. He opened the doors to each dressing room, but all were empty.
“Where's Miss Farley's room?” he inquired of a mousy woman carrying some costumes.
She pointed across the hall. “But she's probably downstairs. Everyone's already gathered.”
He turned the doorknob, hoping he wasn't too late. At first glance, the room appeared empty.
He heard a small moan.
Harriet lay on the floor, one hand clutching her stomach. Relief washed over him, he'd found her. But one look at her face, pale as death, made him realize something was terribly wrong.
He ran to her and carefully lifted her head. “Harriet?”
She opened her eyes and stared at him a moment before her body went slack.
Frantic, William called out for help and the mousy woman popped her head in.
“She's ill, we'll need some help!”
She yelped and disappeared.
Harriet's pulse was weak. She coughed once, then began retching, though nothing came up. He turned her onto her side and whispered in her ear. “Please, Harriet, it's me.”
The door to the room opened and shut, and to William's surprise, a dark bearded man stood a few feet away, staring intently but not lifting a finger. His stillness was peculiar.
“We need help, she's ill,” William said.
The man knelt down beside him, his hands clutched in front of his chest. “I didn't mean for her to get ill.”
William looked up in astonishment. “Freddie?”
“It's not my fault.”
He followed Freddie's gaze to a teacup sitting on the dressing table. “You poisoned her?”
“I didn't mean to.” Freddie sat back on his heels, as if there were nothing to be done, which infuriated William. He couldn't let Harriet die.
“Tell me what you've done, Freddie.”
He nervously stroked his beard with one hand. “Bibby's men told me I had to stop the show or they'd kill me.” He held up a bandaged finger. “They'd already broken my finger. I meant for Mrs. Mudie to drink the tea. I thought Harriet was back with her guardian. You have to believe me, I had no other choice.”
The man was insane and clearly oblivious to the seriousness of his statement. He only meant to kill Mrs. Mudie? William kept his voice even. “We must save your sister.”
“When I saw Harriet was going on instead, I came back to stop her.” His voice had a strange edge to it William had never heard before. “I figured if I told her what was going to happen to me, that I'd be dead by tomorrow if the show went forward, she'd step down. I didn't think she'd drink the tea. It wasn't meant for her.”
“And now look what you've done.” William stared him square in the eye. “I need to bring on vomiting or she'll die.”
Freddie sprang up but instead of calling out for help as William expected, he locked the door. “I can't do that. I'm sorry, but it's too late.”
“It's not too late, not if we help her right away. Stop talking nonsense. She's suffering.”
“You know too much now. If you'd never come by, this would have worked itself out.”
“If I hadn't come by your sister would be dead. And she still may die. Is that what you want?”
“She shouldn't have drunk the tea.”
The man's sense of logic was skewed. William slowly rose. “What do you want, Freddie?”
“I want this to be over and done with. I need the show stopped.”
“It won't go on, obviously. You've succeeded there.”
“And I have to escape out of here and not get caught.”
No matter how much he hated the man for the havoc he'd wrought, William loved Harriet more. “Go. I'll attend to Harriet. Lose yourself somewhere and I won't tell a soul.”
“But you know what I've done.” Freddie's hand drifted to his coat pocket. He reached inside and slowly drew out a knife.
William glanced about him for any kind of weapon. A couple of wigs were laid out on the dressing table but there was nothing sharp or heavy within reach. He held up his hands and took a step back.
“You don't have to do anything rash, Freddie. I won't say a word to anyone.”
“I don't believe you. You're one of those righteous sorts who's always doing the correct thing. I could tell by the way my sister spoke of you.”
He needed to keep Freddie talking, to distract him while he came up with some kind of a plan. “Your sister spoke highly of you too, Freddie. She thinks the world of you.”
“She knows nothing about me. She left us and joined you lot long ago.”
“That's not true. She loves you.”
Freddie wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “No. She's like my father. Only cares about herself.”
“Did you set the fire in Chipping Norton?”
Freddie nodded slowly. “I did. I figured I'd burn the sets and costumes, the Farley Players would disband, and Bibby would forgive me my debts. But then I found out there were people sleeping in the barn and I went and got them out. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. You could say I'm a hero.”
“You were heroic. You saved my life.” He didn't point out Freddie had also endangered it. “As now you have a chance to save your sister's life.”
Harriet cried out something intelligible. Her eyes were shut and she rocked her head back and forth, as if she were having a bad dream. If William could take on her pain at this moment, he would. Watching her suffer was intolerable.
Freddie paced back and forth in front of the door. “I don't want to see her die. But I can't let her live. Or you.”
“You can come clean. If Bibby put you up to this, he'll be the one who's punished, not you.”
Freddie sneered. “Bibby will deny it. He's wealthy and connected. I'm a pawn in this game, and he'll sacrifice me without a moment's notice. I'm not stupid.”
“Of course you're not. You arranged the robbery in the forest as well, right?”
“No. I had nothing to do with that. By then Bibby was fed up with me, with my fruitless efforts. Those men surprised me as much as they did you.”
“And there again, you spoke up for your sister.”
“I did. I'm a good brother. But it's not done me any good. She's stepped in and saved the day too many times now. Everyone treats her as if she's the Queen, slumming with us and ordering us around. Can't a man make one mistake?” His expression was quizzical, his eyes searched for approval, like a child's.
William reached out, grabbed one of the wigs, and flung it in Freddie's face. Freddie batted it across the room but not before William threw his entire body weight at him, shoving him against the door and grabbing the wrist that held the knife. The door gave way with their combined momentum and they crashed into the hallway.
William landed hard on top of Freddie, losing grip of his arm. He rolled sideways in an effort to pin Freddie's arm to the floor with his body. Freddie grunted and flailed with his free hand, trying to land a punch. The tight space of the hallway allowed no room for error, and although William was stronger and taller than Freddie, it made no difference with the two of them lying on the ground.
A woman screamed. “Freddie!”
“Emmaline, help me, I'm being attacked,” yelled Freddie.
That was how he'd gotten access to Mrs. Mudie. William didn't have much time to consider the revelation before the mousy woman threw herself on top of him, pounding him with her small fists.
William forced himself upright and spilled the girl onto the floor, but not before Freddie got a good swipe at his leg. He looked down to see a red stain seeping through his breeches. The vastus lateralis muscle, he noted with unexpected detachment.