A Grave Inheritance (11 page)

“I’m afraid we shan’t be going to this play,” I said, keeping my gaze fixed on Nora. “Your mother will never allow it, and we’ve not enough time to create a cover. Why don’t we wait and see what is playing in a few weeks. By then we should be able to devise a credible excuse to go out unattended one night.”

“I am determined to see this show,” Nora said. “After I discovered the playbill, I told my mother that I had the beginnings of a headache and needed a remedy from the apothecary.” She withdrew a small bottle from the folds of her gown and handed it to me.

Removing the cork top, I immediately smelled laudanum. “We are not drugging your mother,” I said, handing it back.

Nora smiled like a fiend. “Oh, yes we are, and she will be sleeping like a babe long before the orchestra strikes the first note.”

James laughed. “You are a wicked young lady,” he said, looking at Nora with blatant admiration. “What say you Henry? Shall we aid and abet this aspiring criminal?”

I remained silent, expecting Henry to squash the scheme at once.

He sighed in defeat. “So be it.”

Chapter Six

A Pox to Thee

True to her word, Nora laced her mother’s tea with several drops of laudanum and enough milk and sugar to disguise the taste. By six sharp Lucy Goodwin was softly snoring in bed when Henry’s carriage arrived. Just outside the front door, a footman was busy lighting the oil lamps, not giving us a second glance as we rushed down the stone steps to meet the men. Another footman opened the carriage door, and we scrambled inside amidst a swish of crisp silk skirts. Even Nora wore silk tonight, choosing her best dove gray gown in place of the usual plain wool.

“The theater is not far,” James said once we were settled. “A ten minute ride at most. Did you speak to the maid as we discussed?”

“It’s all taken care of,” Nora said. “Beth has instructions to send word at once if my mother wakes before we return.”

“And what will you tell her if your absence is discovered?” James asked.

“The truth, of course,” Nora laughed, “that we went out walking in search of a Quaker meeting house.”

With the door closed, James and Nora became dark silhouettes on the opposite bench. They chatted between themselves, their amiable voices offering a sharp contrast to the palpable tension coming from Henry. He stirred beside me, taking my hand as he leaned over to whisper in my ear.

“How is your arm tonight?”

“About the same,” I lied, rather than confess the appearance of several small blisters this afternoon.

Since learning about the little wretch, Henry had taken to examining my burn whenever we were together. Without fail he would frown at the mark like a proper surgeon, and if we were alone, interrogate me further on my first impression of frostbite. Regardless of how many times I argued the impossibility of such a wound, his frown would inevitably darken. One time I even heard him mutter Mr. Chubais’s name, as though the two were somehow connected based solely on a chill.

After seeing the distress a single burn had caused him, I hadn’t yet shared what would happen if I failed to cross into the Otherworld. Even now I prepared myself for further inquiries when he squeezed my hand. “Very well.” Straightening, he turned and stared out the window deep in thought.

His silence persisted until the carriage came to a stop, and he leaned over again. “I love you,” he murmured. “Remember that no matter what else may happen tonight.”

What else may happen?
Did he mean the anticipated snubs from the other gentry attending the theater or a possible encounter with his former mistress? He left no time for me to respond to his cryptic words before brushing a kiss against my cheek and rapping on the door.

We stepped from the carriage into a boisterous crowd of theatergoers. Henry’s presence was noticed at once, and those nearest stepped aside to allow room for our small group to move. People stared openly, their conversations growing hushed as we walked by. Surprised by the attention, I felt suddenly awkward and offered a quick prayer to be spared the humiliation of tripping over my gown. Henry moved with his usual grace, seemingly oblivious to the bobbing heads and respectful chorus of “my lord” that followed in our path. It was quite a spectacle, and in truth, I felt more than a little awed that Henry’s presence warranted such behavior.

“Oh, good heavens,” Nora muttered from right behind me. “He’s just a man.”

Once inside, we entered a crowded corridor where Henry nodded to various acquaintances without stopping to engage in further conversation. My eyes jumped from face to face in an attempt to take them all in, and I felt a sense of relief when the masses thinned as we passed through an archway leading up to the first boxes. At the second floor, Henry ushered us into a small room that overlooked the theater. Directly at eyelevel, a circular line of gilded boxes ran along the outer wall. The main pit was located on the ground floor in front of the stage, the rows of green upholstered benches filled to capacity with spectators.

Movement caught my eye from the far side of our box. A gentleman and lady walked toward us so similar in feature, they had to be brother and sister. Fair hair framed their long faces that showed every appearance of affability and pleasant natures.

“Miss Kilbrid, Nora Goodwin,” Henry said, “may I introduce my friends, Lord Andrew Saxby and his sister Lady Jane Saxby. They heard we were coming to the theater tonight and asked to join our party.”

I fought the urge to throw James a smug look.
No one of the first rank indeed!
“Insisted, more like it,” Lord Saxby said. “My sister and I have been most eager to make your acquaintances once we heard you were sailing from the Colonies. Isn’t that so, Jane?”

“Very true,” Lady Saxby agreed.

“You are most gracious,” I said, offering a small curtsey while Nora simply nodded her agreement.

“In our estimation,” Lord Saxby continued, “Henry returned home much improved, and we wanted to meet those responsible for hewing his rougher edges. I dare say, only steady hands and stoic hearts could have accomplished so tremendous a feat.”

Nora looked at Lord Saxby and smiled. “You are indeed right. I for one frequently recommended the hammer and chisel, but Henry would have no part of it. He was rather particular when it came to his edges.”

Henry gave Nora a wry smile. “Servitude was chisel enough for my needs.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Nora said, “you are not the first man to benefit from a hard day’s work.”

Lady Saxby laughed. “I must agree, Henry benefited a great deal, though Miss Kilbrid hardly seems a difficult master.”

“I worked from dawn till dusk under Miss Kilbrid’s employ,” Henry said, a smile threatening at the corners of his mouth. “Do not be fooled by that sweet face of hers. Behind it resides the most merciless taskmaster.”

“Be fair!” I protested. “You worked no more than any of the other farmers. And far less than many.”

“From what I can see, the recompense was well worth the effort,” Lord Saxby said. “A summer spent farming in exchange for two Colonial beauties. To be sure, I would consider going myself for such a reward.” While he spoke, Lord Saxby fixed his eyes on Nora. I glanced at her, realizing for the first time just how different she looked tonight. Her hair had been put up in a softer style instead of the usual tight bun and the sheen of her silk gown brought out the playful sparkle in her eyes.

“What about self-improvement?” Nora asked, in no way cowed by his overt flirtation. “I’ve heard it’s a man’s best reward.”

Lord Saxby shook his head, the warmth in his eyes growing stronger. “I would accept nothing less than a beauty for my labors.”

James moved to Nora’s side and placed a hand on her arm. “Would you care to sit?” he asked. “The performance is beginning.”

Two men had appeared on the stage while we were talking, one dressed as an ordinary actor, the other in beggar’s rags. We moved to the chairs as the beggar stepped forward to speak.

If Poverty be a Title to Poetry, I am sure no-body can dispute mine. I own myself of the Company of Beggars; and I make one at their Weekly Festivals at St. Giles’s. I have a small Yearly Salary for my Catches, and am welcome to a Dinner there whenever I please, which is more than most Poets can say...

The two actors continued their introduction, their voices booming out over the noisy audience. The chairs were decided and I found myself seated in between Henry and Lady Saxby. Nora sat two chairs away, her face aglow with excitement. Lord Saxby placed a hand on her arm and leaned close to speak into her ear. She laughed, rewarding him with a warm smile. James sat sullenly on her other side, his mood quite altered from earlier. I hoped the little troll was experiencing some sort of remorse for his part in my being here tonight. It was a pleasant thought, though highly unlikely as a conscience—something James most certainly lacked— was required for guilt.

But I see it is time for us to withdraw; the Actors are preparing to begin. Play away the Overture...

The men bowed and left the stage, accompanied by music from the orchestra. Any ease Henry had shown when we first entered the box had vanished, and he now sat motionless, with his arms crossed over his chest. The hard line returned to his jaw. Tension rolled off of him, and I braced myself for a long uncomfortable evening.

What followed was a production unlike anything I expected. Despite its title,
The Beggar’s Opera
had little in common with real opera, offering instead a ribald mockery of its formal Italian namesake. The first act opened with the corrupt thief-catcher, Mr. Peachum seated at a large table, studying a leather-bound ledger. His wife and servant came out next and I felt my tension match Henry’s in anticipation of the infamous Justine.

Lady Saxby tilted her head toward me. “The gentry turned out in force tonight,” she said, so only I could hear. “Your presence is garnering equal attention to the actors.”

Her observation startled me. “What do you mean?”

“I have been watching the other boxes, and without doubt you are the topic du jour. Look straight across. Do you see those two old hens? That’s Mrs. Bradshaw and Lady Osbourne. They’ve been speaking behind their fans since the overture. To their right in the next box are Mr. Thornton, his sister Miss Thornton and his fiancée Miss Upton. They aren’t even pretending to watch the stage.”

As Lady Saxby spoke, I glanced across the pit. The three young people quickly looked away. The two old ladies raised their fans a little higher and continued talking.

“And then there is Lord Stroud in the next box,” Lady Saxby continued. “I swear, the man hasn’t taken his eyes from you for a single moment.”

I looked to the right of the Thornton’s box and saw Julian watching me just as Lady Saxby had described. He met my eyes and smiled. I returned his smile without a second thought.

Loud clapping and cheers erupted from the pit below. “My, my,” Lady Saxby said, “the diva has finally appeared. Polly Peachum never fails to draw a hearty applause.”

Snapping my head toward the stage, I nearly groaned aloud. Without doubt, Justine Rose was one of the most beguiling creatures I had ever seen. Thick copper locks framed a near perfect porcelain face. Her full mouth had been stained the color of red wine, and seemed to beckon every gentleman in attendance for a kiss. Loose curls fell down her back, a few slipping over the front of a bodice that was cut to emphasize the deep cleavage of her ample bosom.

While waiting for the applause to die down, she stared out at the main audience, her radiant smile befitting an angel. After several long seconds, her almond shaped eyes moved up to the boxes for a subtle survey of her more affluent admirers. Moving from right to left, the graceful turn of her neck followed the circular line of the outer wall, coming to a stop when she saw Henry. Her composure never faltered. Nor did her smile, which took on a seductive quality akin to a fallen angel.

Only when the crowd had quieted down, did she move her gaze from Henry to the stage where Mr. Peachum waited expectantly. Placing her hands on her hips, she sauntered over to her father and started speaking.

I know as well as any of the fine Ladies how to make the most of myself and of my Man too. A Woman knows how to be mercenary, though she hath never been in a Court or at an Assembly. We have it in our Natures, Papa. If I allow Captain Macheath some trifling Liberties, I have this Watch and other visible Marks of his Favour to shew for it. A Girl who cannot grant some Things, and refuse what is most material, will make but a poor hand of her Beauty, and soon be thrown upon the Common.

During the last sentence, Justine let her eyes wander unabashedly back to Henry. Much like her character, she was making the most of herself tonight. By the looks of it, she welcomed Henry to come hither to partake of those trifling Liberties and possibly even that most material.

Jealously flared inside me. How dare she look at him that way! As though they were still lovers and shared some intimate secret. My first inclination was to plead a headache and ask to be taken home at once. But Nora would insist on accompanying me and her night would be ruined. So I stayed and watched Justine flaunt her goods from one end of the stage to the other, throwing seductive looks toward Henry at every opportunity.

As the play progressed, I grew even more disheartened to learn that it was a cleverly written satire that not only mocked Italian opera, but also poked fun at politicians and social injustice. Neither was there anything in Justine’s portrayal of Polly Peachum to give me reason to gloat. Her acting was above reproach. By the time the second act ended, I grudgingly agreed with James that she was a rare specimen, indeed. No wonder Henry had chosen her to be his mistress. Any man in his right mind would have done the same if given the opportunity.

The three acts stretched on for what felt like an eternity. I sulked in silence, growing increasingly moody from the relentless cheers for Miss Peachum. The woman had only to deliver a witty phrase or sing a few lines to receive praise. Even Nora became caught up in the spectacle, laughing and clapping with the rest of them.