Break of Dawn (17 page)

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Why do you want to come here and work as a waitress?’

Sophy knew she had gone as red as a beetroot; she could feel her ears burning. ‘Are you the proprietor?’

That seemed to amuse him for some reason. He nodded. ‘Yep, I’m the proprietor, my dear.’ He emphasised the word
proprietor
. ‘And I repeat, why do you want to come and work for me? No, don’t tell me.’

She hadn’t been about to.

‘You want to go on the stage, and Mater and Pater have thrown you out in horror. Am I right? So you’ve decided to play at something else for a while.’

The strange feeling of aloneness which had been with Sophy all her life, even when she was in the midst of company, rose up at his aggressiveness, threatening to choke her. She wanted nothing more than to turn tail and leave, but she was blowed if she was going to give this nasty individual the satisfaction. Aware that everyone was listening, she glared at him, but her voice was crisp and without heat when she said, very clearly, ‘I am not surprised you are looking for a waitress. I can’t imagine anyone would suffer you for more than a day or two.’

‘Is that so?’

At least he had stopped smirking, Sophy thought, but it was a pity about the job.

‘Well, let me tell you I’ve seen plenty of your type, my girl. Born with a silver spoon in your mouth and—’

‘That’s enough, Horace.’ One of the customers who had been
sitting at a table by the window spoke, his voice deep and low as he stood up. ‘I fear you got what you asked for, old chap, and it’s really not the way to speak to a lady, is it? Let me explain, my dear,’ he added, looking straight at Sophy now. ‘Our friend here has been caught twice in the last six months by young ladies who take the wonderful job as a waitress in this prestigious establishment, only to leave without notice when they get the offer of work in the theatre. Can you imagine that? Leaving this oasis of delight and the engaging company of Horace? It’s hard to believe, I know.’

The other occupants of the restaurant were laughing openly now, and a man sitting a couple of tables away, called out, ‘You always were a miserable blighter, Horace. If it wasn’t for your wife’s superb cooking you’d close this place within the month just by the look on your face.’

Sophy was surprised to see that Horace himself was smiling, albeit sheepishly when she glanced at him, but then her attention was brought back to her rescuer, when he said quietly, ‘Please let me buy you a cup of coffee, my dear. It’s cold outside.’

The smell of the coffee was intoxicating but Sophy took a step backwards away from him, a thread of alarm in her voice when she said, exactly as Miss Bainbridge had taught her girls when it was necessary to refuse an invitation but without giving offence, ‘That’s most kind of you, but I have a prior engagement.’

Kane Gregory knew exactly what was going through this lovely – and plainly terrified – young woman’s mind, his voice quieter still when he said, ‘An engagement that won’t let you sit down for a few moments and warm yourself? You are quite safe, Miss . . .’

‘Hutton. Sophy Hutton.’

‘How do you do? My name is Kane Gregory.’

He was very smartly dressed, Sophy thought, hesitating. Obviously a gentleman. His frockcoat was of the best quality, and a gold watch gleamed on his waistcoat. And he had smiling eyes. They were smiling at her now as he murmured, ‘I hate to eat breakfast alone, Miss Hutton. You would be doing me a great favour if you joined me.’ He could see she was still on the verge of flying out of the
door, and throwing caution to the wind he took her arm, leading her over to the small table by the window. There was a slight resistance at first but then she allowed him to pull out a chair for her, but she still sat perched on the edge of it as though poised for flight.

‘I am about to indulge in one of Horace’s wife’s superb breakfasts. May I order two?’

The colour which had begun to subside flooded Sophy’s face again. This was the sort of thing Dolly had warned her about; only bad girls allowed themselves to be picked up by strange gentlemen who always expected payment for anything they gave.

‘Miss Hutton?’ He had leaned forward, his voice so low no one else could hear. ‘Please don’t be frightened of me. I am sure you have encountered gentlemen who tried to take advantage of you, but I can promise you I am not one of them. I would simply like to share a meal with you, that is all.’

That wasn’t quite true, Kane Gregory acknowledged to himself as he watched the slender shoulders relax slightly. He wanted to know how this enchanting girl came to be in Horace’s restaurant looking for work. She spoke well, she held herself well and her clothes, although quite severely plain, were not inexpensive. He agreed with Horace, she clearly was the product of a middle-class upbringing.

‘Th-thank you.’ She had to swallow before she could speak, the smell of food was making her mouth water. Terrified at the way her money had drained away and desperate to keep a little by so she knew she could pay the rent, she had only eaten bread and dripping for the last week, and not much of that, filling up on hot water when the gnawing hunger pains became too uncomfortable. ‘You are very kind.’

When Horace appeared at their table in the next moment, Sophy didn’t dare to raise her eyes, sure she would read condemnation in the proprietor’s face. She could imagine what the other customers were thinking too. And then the spirit which had carried her out of her aunt’s house rose up. It didn’t matter what they thought.
She
knew she wasn’t bad. She listened to Mr Gregory ordering
the food and when he said, ‘I trust that is to your liking?’ before Horace moved away, she looked at him and said politely. ‘It sounds lovely, thank you.’

Horace had poured them two coffees, and when they were alone again, Kane gestured at the milk and sugar. ‘I take mine black, but please help yourself.’

Again Sophy murmured, ‘Thank you.’

‘So . . .’ Kane settled back in his chair. ‘May I ask why you want to work as a waitress, Miss Hutton?’

For a moment she wondered if he was laughing at her, but the somewhat rugged male face gave no sign of it. He had the sort of face which made it impossible to determine how old he was, but she thought around the middle thirties. He was tall and well-built, and his hair was thick and dark, almost black, but his eyes were a bright blue. His complexion was severely pock-marked, but for that, he might have been considered good-looking. Aware that she was staring, she said quickly and with transparent honesty, ‘I don’t
want
to work as a waitress, I need to.’

‘Ah.’

She poured milk into her coffee, adding two teaspoonfuls of sugar – a luxury – before she added, ‘The proprietor was partly right, as it happens.’

‘Call him Horace. Everyone does.’

‘I – I do want to be an actress but I don’t have wealthy parents as he suggested.’

‘No?’

Her tongue was running away with her. It was the warmth and smell of food and not least the easy way Mr Gregory had with him. But he was a man, a stranger, and she shouldn’t be talking so freely. She bowed her head, sipping at her coffee which tasted wonderful, and feeling uneasy again.

It was a moment or two before Kane went on, ‘What have you done about furthering your desire to work in the theatre, Miss Hutton?’

Feeling this was safer ground, she told him of her efforts over the last weeks without mentioning when she had arrived in London
or anything more about her personal circumstances. Their meal came, two large plates of ham, devilled kidneys, steak and eggs with a side plate of warm rolls and small slabs of butter. Sophy had to restrain herself from falling on the food, but somehow she managed to pick up her knife and fork and eat in a manner Miss Bainbridge would have approved of.

Nevertheless, as Kane watched her while appearing to concentrate only on his own breakfast, he thought, She’s hungry. Damn it all, the girl was ravenous. What the dickens was going on?

It was towards the end of the meal, when Sophy had all but cleared her plate, that he spoke again. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m being impertinent, Miss Hutton, but you mentioned that your parents are not wealthy. Do they know you are here today?’

The question took her by surprise. Now her stomach was full for the first time in weeks, she was wondering how on earth she could have been so foolish as to put herself in this position. She should have walked straight out of the restaurant after the altercation with Horace, but it was too late now. Panic made her throat dry, and she took a sip of coffee. ‘My parents died not long after I was born,’ she said carefully. It was the story she had decided to tell if anyone asked. ‘My aunt and uncle – my mother’s brother – brought me up. They weren’t in favour of my becoming an actress so I am at present in lodgings.’

‘I see.’ Not as much as he wanted to, but it was a start. He would guess she was roughly seventeen or eighteen, maybe a trifle younger, but the mantle of innocence that sat on her made him wonder how she had survived thus far. He could think of a handful of men on the fringe of the entertainment business who would snap her up if they got the chance, and for purposes other than putting her on the stage. She was tailor-made for one of the high-class brothels. Such men were like leeches, hanging round the theatres hoping to snare ingénues like this one, their naivety and freshness their downfall. And this girl was extraordinarily lovely.

His mind made up, he said, ‘Forgive me for saying this, Miss Hutton, but I am assuming you are now outside the protection of your family and therefore in something of a delicate position.’ As
Sophy went to speak, he held up his hand. ‘I’m sure you are quite capable of looking after yourself in the normal way of things, but if – as I surmise – you are all alone in a strange city with limited funds, I think we could both agree that is not ideal.’

Her cheeks fiery, Sophy said stiffly, ‘I have no intention of allowing myself to be’ – she had been about to say ‘used’ but substituted it for the words he had spoken earlier – ‘taken advantage of by men, I do assure you.’

Whether that was a warning to him or a statement of fact Kane didn’t know, but his face expressionless, he went on, ‘Unfortunately, there are occasionally circumstances when a young lady has little choice in the matter. But regarding your wish to become an actress, may I ask where your ambition lies? Do you intend to play fashionable dramas, ones where women who look like you do enjoy a heyday of popular success by exhibiting themselves in pretty frocks and playing gentle, virtuous wives and mothers? Or does your taste lie more in “new drama”? Plays like
Candida
or
The Master Builder
, for instance?’

Sophy stared at him. She had no idea what he was talking about, never having heard of these plays or the term ‘new drama’. For a moment she thought about prevaricating. But only a moment. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Gregory. I don’t know what you mean.’

Inwardly Kane smiled. He’d thought as much. An innocent in every term of the word, and yet . . . There was something about this young woman that was different to the dozens of fashionable middle- and upper-class would-be actresses he’d seen over the last decade. Her face was undeniably beautiful but there was a depth in her eyes that spoke of . . . What
did
it speak of? he asked himself. Tragedy? Heartache? Desperation? If she could project that when on the stage, she’d bring the house down.

Putting his thoughts aside, he cleared his throat. ‘My line of work is in the theatre, Miss Hutton.’ He didn’t go on to say he had a financial interest in several theatres and music halls and a touring company. ‘One theatre is putting on a new play next week and the actor-manager is a personal friend of mine. I can arrange an introduction but the rest will be up to you.’

Again he stopped her with a raised hand as she went to speak. ‘A word of caution. The theatre is a world within the world, and far from a glamorous world at that. For every Marie Tempest and Eva Moore, there are a hundred other girls who never make it beyond the chorus and struggle to support themselves all their working lives, often leaving the boards when they are too discouraged to continue, only to find that real life has passed them by. You will work hard and be paid little, and the touring side is harsh, but necessary if you want to learn your craft. Provincial theatres are ill-equipped and draughty, you will have to adapt fast to a nomadic existence in lodgings not fit for a dog, and the stage-door gallants will assume that because you are an actress you are fair game. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but that is how it is.’

Sophy’s eyes were shining, she had barely heard anything beyond the magic words ‘I can arrange an introduction’. ‘I want to be an actress, Mr Gregory. It’s the only thing I want.’

He smiled. ‘That’s what they all say, but time will tell.’ He brought out his pocket-watch and glanced at it before standing up and throwing some money on the table, calling across to Horace, ‘Tell Vicky that was even better than usual this morning,’ and then adding in an aside to Sophy who had also risen, ‘unless it’s the company.’

Sophy was conscious of two things as she left the restaurant; one, Mr Gregory was even taller than she had realised, and two, her feet had only just got warm and now they were going to freeze again. Once in the street, Mr Gregory took her elbow, saying, ‘Be careful, the pavements are icy under this latest snow and it would be a shame to break your ankle now, don’t you think? The theatre is only a short distance away on the other side of the Strand, it’s not worth taking a cab.’

‘We’re going there
now
?’

He looked down at her quizzically. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘No, no.’ It was a massive problem. Huge. A sick agitation about the unknown was filling her as they walked on, and this wasn’t helped when she saw that the theatre was none other than the Lincoln. It wasn’t the largest theatre in the area – few could hope to compete
with the Theatre Royal or the West End theatres surrounded by a host of supper clubs which stayed open until after midnight – but since being in London she had learned that the Lincoln was a cut above the other smaller theatres it competed with.