Afterward, Hunter and Sophie threaded their way through the chattering crowds and walked across the Great Piazza in silence. Once inside Sophie’s chambers, he turned to her and said morosely, “Covent Garden has been put to shame.”
***
Several days afterward, Sophie entered The Nag’s Head before Hunter’s nightly performance at the appointed hour. As she slipped into the bench opposite him, she saw from the scowl on his face that something was very wrong.
“I’ve been sacked,” he announced without preliminaries, taking a deep draught from a tankard of ale. “Colman has accused me of telling Garrick—through you—the precise details of what we were planning so that Drury Lane could counter him with its own version of
The Jubilee.”
“But that’s preposterous!” Sophie declared. “Garrick came up with the notion of spoofing the event during the return coach trip from Stratford!”
“Preposterous or not,” Hunter replied, tight-lipped, “Colman blames me for having to close down his version of the
Jubilee.
”
Sophie reached across the table to clasp his hand.
“Oh, Hunter, I’m so sorry—” she began.
“Well,
did
you inform David Garrick what we’d spoken about?” he demanded. “Did you tell him I was to play George Garrick, for instance?”
“Of course not! I never repeated a word to Garrick of anything you ever said to me regarding Colman’s
Jubilee!
” she exclaimed. “I was very precise in what I said both to you and to Garrick and Lacy that I would only repeat to each of you what was publicly known about the rival productions and I never wavered from that, Hunter,” she added reproachfully.
Sacked! In the middle of the season! ’Twas the worst fate that could befall an actor. Sophie squeezed Hunter’s hand sympathetically.
“I am
so
sorry you’ve taken the brunt of this,” she continued, truly upset in Hunter’s behalf. “That’s a terribly unjust accusation for Colman to make. I’m certain, if I went and assured him that neither of us did any such thing—”
“It seems to me, the less you are involved in my professional life, the better!” he interrupted, anger clearly underscoring his retort.
Sophie felt as if she’d been slapped. She stared at him, her empathy dissolving with his bitter words.
“Hunter,” she said in a low voice, “you know as well as I do that there are theatrical spies at both playhouses. But I assure you, I wasn’t one of them! You can’t blame
me
for what has happened?” Hunter merely cast her a measured glance, but remained silent. “That Colman’s a spiteful wretch! He should look to his own deficiencies of talent for the reason his
Jubilee
has failed!” she exclaimed. “Garrick also knows you and I have become lovers, but has he sacked me from my job printing placards? Of course not! Colman is a perfect beast!”
“Why should Garrick care if anything you knew got back to Colman?” Hunter retorted. “His
Jubilee
is the big success.”
“Right! And that’s because it was more amusing and better produced!” Sophie blurted. “The fact is, Hunter, I didn’t tell people at Drury Lane that you were playing George Garrick… but, what if I had mentioned to
you
something about Drury Lane’s production… merely in passing,” Sophie pressed, her eyes blazing. “Would you have then informed
Colman
of the details?” Hunter’s expression wavered, and he toyed with the handle of his pewter tankard.
“Probably not,” he answered finally.
“‘Probably not,’” Sophie echoed sarcastically. “Probably not is not a comforting answer!”
Hunter leaned against the high-sided booth and gazed across the table, his face expressionless.
“Well, my dear Sophie, perhaps your standards of conduct are simply too high for a mere mortal like me.”
“’Tis simply a standard of loyalty and decency,” Sophie replied wearily.
Hunter was silenced by the finality in her voice. He breathed deeply and gazed at the tavern’s low-beamed ceiling, as if to collect his thoughts.
“’Tis
you and I
who concern me… not Colman or Garrick,” he said in a more conciliatory tone. “I wish
us
to succeed, and now I don’t have a place at Covent Garden.” He banged his fist on the table. “Jesu! To be a mere wandering player again…”
Sophie suddenly felt a renewed sense of sympathy. Hunter had ambitions far beyond acting, and she understood his frustration and humiliation at losing his job as assistant manager at Covent Garden. She reached for his hand once more.
“Perhaps…” she began hesitantly, “…perhaps you could speak to Garrick to see if he’d take you on. After all, he selected you especially for the Parade of Characters in Stratford—”
“That was more a favor to you than an endorsement of my performing talents,” he responded harshly.
“’Tisn’t so!” Sophie protested. “He did us both a kindness, but he truly admires your work, Hunter. He’s told me so. Let me ask him.”
“No!” Hunter thundered, and several diners turned from their conversations to stare at them. The muscles in his jaw line grew taut and he took a moment to compose himself. “Thomas Arne will be staging the musical portions at Drury Lane forever. I’d have no future there, and I
won’t
have a woman playing the pimp for me.”
Sophie felt a flush of anger infuse her cheeks.
“Have you never let a woman procure for you, Hunter?” she asked icily. “What about the employment secured by your dear friend Mavis Piggott at the Orchard Theater in Bath? I don’t recall your spurning that offer… and didn’t she arrange a position for you at Smock Alley that year?”
Sophie’s barb hit its mark. Hunter rose to his feet and flung several coins on the table.
“You’re a clever, quick-witted woman, Sophie McGann,” he said testily. “Clever enough, I’m sure, to see yourself home.” And with that, he stalked out of the Nag’s Head and marched down the road.
***
Sophie fully expected Hunter’s temper to cool and for him to get in touch with her—but he did not. After a week of silence, she finally summoned the courage to visit his lodgings. There she discovered that Colman had required Hunter to give up his quarters above the theater as a result of having been discharged.
“He’s departed without a word!” Sophie wailed to Lorna who shook her head helplessly. “When there are problems, he simply decamps for another bloody playhouse in the kingdom!”
Soon afterward, Sophie noticed in a billboard in
The Public Advertiser
that a certain H. Roberto was dancing the
allemande
in a production of
Il
Padre E Il Figlio
at the King’s Opera House. She begged Lorna to accompany her to a performance on an evening when her friend was not scheduled to dance at Drury Lane. They soon spotted a tall, distinctly non-Italian player carrying a spear and dancing briefly in the elaborate musical production.
“’Tis a total waste of his talents!” Sophie exclaimed as they hailed a hackney to return to Half Moon Passage. “Why would Hunter prefer this to an honored place at Drury Lane?”
“’Tis his pride,” Lorna shrugged. “And your stubbornness. Why don’t you seek him out?”
Sophie merely shook her head angrily, silently recalling the hurt she’d felt when she discovered Hunter had moved lodgings without saying a word.
***
Roderick Darnly strode into the foyer of his magnificent dwelling on St. James’s Street as soon as his butler had opened the door and stood on the parquet floor awaiting the visitor at his door.
“Thank you for responding so promptly to my pleas,” he welcomed Sophie, raising her hand to his lips in greeting. He gestured at the scaffolding encasing the grand staircase behind him. “I found the entire house in a shambles when I arrived from Wales last week. Please forgive our disarray.”
“I expect these refurbishments always take twice as long as one intends.” Sophie smiled, allowing her host to guide her into his mahogany-paneled study where a bountiful tea was laid out. The viscount’s silent parlor maid poured them cups of the steaming brew and departed discreetly. “How are things with your family?” she asked quietly.
“You mean what’s left of it?” he responded grimly. “My mother keeps to her suite, mostly. We secured a wheeled chair for Father, so he can still make everyone miserable when he leaves his sick chamber. But, in truth, his health is frail and his speech is quite impaired.”
“He suffers from paralysis?” she asked sympathetically.
“On one side, only. ’Tis most peculiar. But even when he slurs his words, he lets everyone know he is still the Earl of Llewelyn.”
“And Evansmor?” Sophie asked tentatively.
“Shut up tight, as he ordered,” Darnly disclosed. “I’ve taken a wing of Glynmorgan Castle so far removed from the family quarters, I might as well be living in Bath,” he joked grimly. “But, it makes supervising the estates less taxing.”
“So, the earl has allowed you to shoulder the burden of running his affairs?”
“He won’t admit it, but he hasn’t much of a choice. No matter how much bad blood exists between us, it
is
thicker than water.”
“But, here you are in London, pulling your house apart.”
“I must have some reward for all my hard work this year,” he said with a shrug. “Father’s factor and the mine and ironworks stewards are perfectly capable of keeping things going, now we’ve made the adjustment since the… accident. This house has needed attending to since I first purchased it.”
“And Trevor Bedloe?” Sophie asked cautiously, surmising that a viscount’s coffers must be far more ample than those of a mere ‘Honorable.’ “What of him?”
Meeting Sophie’s query with a level glance, he replied, “I’ve employed him to supervise the refurbishments here. In fact, would you like to see what we’ve managed to accomplish thus far? I’d
like your advice about some things that need a woman’s touch.”
As Sophie sipped her tea and nibbled on a morsel of cake, the tumultuous events she had witnessed in Wales almost seemed to have happened in another life. Could she possibly have stumbled upon a slumbering Roderick entwined in the naked arms of Trevor and the parlor maid, Glynnis? And then there was her memory of her host in a monk’s cowl, participating in the horrifying rituals at the beech grove, and later, the new viscount emerging from the Darnly Mines carrying the broken body of his twin brother. Sophie’s hands trembled slightly as she conjured up such unlikely recollections.
A few minutes later, Roderick commenced a tour of the redecorated ballroom upstairs where workers on tall ladders were installing two impressive crystal chandeliers. She and Darnly then ambled down a long corridor, glancing through open doorways at a series of bedrooms in various stages of renewal. Descending several flights of stairs, Roderick halted at a door at the end of a hallway and gazed gravely at Sophie.
“’Tis not the gardener’s cottage, but my idea for these rooms was rather on that order.”
He opened the door to a suite with its own entrance featuring a beautifully appointed sitting room. Pushed against one wall was the handsome carved desk Roderick had provided for Sophie’s use while in Wales. Through an adjoining door she glimpsed Trevor Bedloe conferring with a carpenter who was in the process of attaching ornate moldings to the walls. Trevor turned at the sound of their entrance and inclined his head in greeting.
“Good afternoon, m’lady,” he murmured. “Sir,” he added, acknowledging his employer.
“Mr. Bedloe,” Sophie replied softly, doing her best to retain her composure.
Roderick casually pointed out the improvements he had ordered for the elegant bedroom, including an indoor water closet. Sophie found herself nervously chirping effusive compliments as they retraced their steps to the foyer.
“’Tis reserved for you, whenever you desire a quiet, secluded place for your writing,” he announced, gazing at her steadily. “The selection of curtains, bed hangings, and counterpane has yet to be made.… I rather hoped you’d have some notion of what would suit in the way of color.” Sophie was speechless and attempted to appear occupied with fastening her cloak. What did this generosity truly signify, she wondered? “You were a marvelous companion in Wales,” he continued, as if talking about the weather. “’Tis been a lonely time for me, as you can imagine. I thought, with your own entrance leading out to the mews, you could come and go here as you liked. But we could enjoy each other’s company on occasion, as we did at Evansmor.”
“Roderick I… I—” she stammered.
“’Twill be weeks before the house will be finished,” he interjected smoothly. “No need to make up your mind just yet,” he added. “Simply say you’ll think on it.”
Without waiting for Sophie to summon a sensible reply, Lord Darnly called for his coach to transport her back to her own lodgings.
***