Leading Lady (47 page)

We should never have hired Muriel
jumped into Jewel’s mind and stuck. And now, this rumor that she had inquired about purchasing an expensive violin. Not for one second did Jewel believe Muriel’s explanation that it was to go to Bernard’s church. But when a person so adamantly protests her innocence, as Muriel had done, what could one do? Accuse her of lying?

“I have to ask this, Mr. Whitmore,” she said. “Is this because of Lady Holt?”

He met her eyes, stared for a second, and said with voice a little softer. “What do you think?”

“We’ll let her go,” Grady said. “If your contract is void, so is hers. You’re an institution here.”

The actor shook his head. “I’ve signed a contract with Drury Lane, Mr. McGuire. I can only stay until
The Ticket-of-Leave Man
closes. As long as you don’t extend it again.”

There was a hesitation, during which he seemed to labor over whether or not to say something.

“What is it, Mr. Whitmore?” Jewel asked.

He sighed. “You might ask her to be more discreet.”

“Over what?” Grady asked.

“Mr. Graham and I spotted her with Miss Rayborn’s fiancé having lunch at the Savoy on Sunday.”

“He’s giving violin lessons to her maid,” Jewel said, grasping at straws even while knowing they were only straws.

Mr. Whitmore cocked an eyebrow at her. “I don’t wish to be crude, Mrs. McGuire, but it was obvious that
somebody’s
getting lessons in
something
other than the violin.”

****

“I’ll kill her,” Jewel muttered, pacing the floor.

“You can’t even mention this to her,” Grady said, taking her into his arms. “Not until we’ve drawn up a new contract and gotten her signature.”

She stepped back so she could see his face. “You can’t be serious.”

“I have to be.” His voice was calm, but the gray eyes were filled with the same emotions raging through Jewel. “We can’t have her walk out. It’s not just our jobs that would be affected.”

He was right, she realized. The Royal Court could ill afford to lose two leads. They may as well tender their resignations.

“What about Bethia?” Jewel asked. “She should know.”

He nodded somberly. “We have to consider that it may
have been bitterness speaking with Mr. Whitmore. Or that Mr. Russell will come to his senses, if there is something more. We could make a bigger mess of things if we jump in feetfirst. Wait until you’ve had the chance to talk this over with Muriel.
After
she signs her contract.”

“Then, when can we have it drawn?”

“I’ll see.”

He went to the telephone and rang the theatre solicitor, Mr. Kahn, while Jewel paced the floor and blamed herself for everything, beginning with making peace with Muriel when Lord Holt died.

“He’s visiting family in Lincolnshire and won’t return until late Tuesday,” Grady said, replacing the receiver.

Jewel’s rage expanded to include Mr. Kahn until she forced herself to see reason. The old contracts were drawn and signed. He had performed his duty as assigned to him.

Grady came over to hold her by the shoulders and leaned his head against hers. “I’m going to have to ask you to put this aside for now, love. As much as it hurts. We’ve lots to do and little time.”

****

“Ah, there you are, Mr. Carey,” said Mr. Birch when Noah stepped into the lobby. “Rehearsal is canceled today. But the McGuires would like to see you posthaste.”

“Thank you,” Noah said.
Mr. Hicks must be returning.
That meant he would lose his understudy job, for his contract still contained the clause that the position was as temporary fill-in. Would they keep him on just to play Clerk of Court? Or would Mr. Hicks be assigned that role as well?

Father, help me to bear whatever comes,
he prayed under his breath.

The door swung open. Mr. McGuire stood in the gap, as somber as a mortician.

“Come in, Mr. Carey.”

Mrs. McGuire sat at her desk. She had obviously been weeping.

Moved by her pity for him, Noah forced a smile, as Mr. McGuire closed the door. Forced himself to say, “Really, it’s quite all right, Mrs. McGuire. I was aware coming in that it was only temporary.”

Husband and wife gave each other looks Noah could not decipher. And then Mr. McGuire broke into chuckles that shook his stocky frame, so much so that he had to back up to his chair and sink into it.

Mrs. McGuire’s expression softened somewhat. “Do sit down, Mr. Carey,” she said as her husband wiped his eyes. “We asked you in here because there may be a casting change for
The Bells.
”

“Yes, I understand.” Noah sat down and wondered if Mr. McGuire had possibly lost his faculties and why his wife did not seem alarmed. “Mr. Hicks is returning.”

That prompted another chuckle from Mr. McGuire. Grinning, he said, “This has nothing to do with Mr. Hicks. If we can’t muster up a proper lead actor for
The Bells
very soon, you’re it.”

Noah took a moment to cycle that last statement through his mind, and still he did not grasp it. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me. What about Mr. Whitmore?”

Mr. McGuire sobered. “He’ll be leaving when
The Ticket-of-Leave Man
closes to play Hamlet at Drury Lane. He recommended you, and that carries a lot of weight with us.”

“We would have to insist you use your title professionally,” Mrs. McGuire added. “You would have to be known as ‘Lord Danby.’ ”

“That’s all you think I have to offer?” Noah said with heart sinking. “My title?”

“We do not,” she said. “We know you have talent.”

“But the title will help draw an audience,” Mr. McGuire admitted. “We can’t stay open without audiences, Mr. Carey. After they’re in their seats, the rest is up to you and the others.”

Noah mulled this over. He had grown used to
Mr. Carey
from cast and crew. Might they think he was putting on airs if that were to change suddenly? “You wouldn’t insist the others address me by the title, would you?”

“Not if you’d prefer they didn’t,” said Mrs. McGuire after husband and wife exchanged bemused looks.

“Do you agree, Mr. Carey?” Mr. McGuire asked.

He smiled at the both of them. “There is another word in the Yorkshire vernacular.
Eejit.
That’s what I would have to be to turn this down.”

Once the office door closed behind him, he eased open the greenroom door. Empty. He stepped inside, eased the door shut again, and got down on his knees. It seemed fitting that this should be the place to send up his first prayer of thanks.

****

“You really thought you were to be sacked?” Jude asked Noah that evening as they sat over bowls of oxtail soup before returning to their respective theatres for evening performances.

Noah paused from blowing on a spoonful. “I was convinced of it once I got a look at their faces.”

“When will they let the others know?”

“At tomorrow’s rehearsal. Mind you, it’s not carved in stone.”

“They’ll never find someone on such short notice.” His friend shook his head in wonder. “Incredible!”

“Then, it’s all right with you?”

Jude cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why should I mind?”

“Well, you came down here before I did.”

“I’m overjoyed! In fact, I would plant a kiss on your ugly mug right now if it wouldn’t make Mrs. Savill throw us out.” He looked over his shoulder, lowered his voice. “I suppose you’ll be looking for a better place to live.”

“Hmm. I hadn’t thought of that.” Noah had grown used to near poverty. The fact that he would earn much higher wages, if this opportunity came to pass, had not sunk in. “It
would be nice to sleep on a mattress that doesn’t dip in the middle, wouldn’t it?”

“Absolutely.” His friend still smiled, but the light in his eyes had faded a bit.

“But I’ll not move unless you come with me,” Noah said.

Jude shook his head. “That’s very good of you. But I won’t do that until I can afford to carry my weight.”

“But—”

“
You
of all people should understand that.”

“Then I’ll wait until you can,” Noah said. “It’s only a matter of time. Besides, it would be wise to build up a nest egg for a while. There’s no guarantee that I won’t bomb.”

“As if!”

Noah raised a finger as if he were a schoolmaster making an essential point. “But you’ll indulge me in this one matter, or I’ll never give you a moment’s peace over it.”

“What matter?” Jude said, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“When my wages rise, I want to buy new beds for our rooms.”

He expected an argument, but Jude smiled. “Will you throw in sheets without holes?”

Noah smiled back. “That goes without saying.”

The landlord’s wife walked by the table. “Don’t talk so much. Eat your soup. Others will need the table.”

****

The other members of the cast were clearly stunned to hear Mr. McGuire’s announcement the following afternoon. A couple of the actresses wept. Lady Holt remained stone-faced.

Did they resent him? Noah couldn’t fault anyone who would. Here he was, the newest member, and an understudy at that, landing the plum role.
Possibly
landing the role, his mind amended.

But he should have remembered how theatre people were used to rolling with punches, for there were handshakes and claps on the back when Mr. McGuire left the stage.

“Congratulations, Mr. Carey,” Miss Rayborn said in the
corridor after rehearsal. She looked as fetching as ever, even with the simple lines of her gown—gray, with burgundy pinstripes and burgundy ruffle down the bodice.

Knowing he should not ask, but unable to resist, he said, “If this
does
come to pass, will you come watch?”

She smiled. “I missed the last time. But I’ll not miss this one.”

The way she said it warmed his heart, but she could affect him the same way by commenting upon the weather, he supposed. “Thank you, Miss Rayborn.”

Again she smiled. “What are friends for?”

He was surprised in that he was not crushed by this. Later, he realized why. Just because a deeper relationship was not possible did not mean he should sulk and miss out on the gift she was offering. Friendship with a good person was still a marvelous thing.

Thirty-Five

When Guy had not appeared in Hampstead by four o’clock on Sunday the sixteenth, Bethia rang the Russells’ flat.

Lottie answered the telephone, and after an exchange of greetings said, “He said he was going to your house.”

“When did he leave?” Bethia asked.

“About noon.” A pause, then, “Is John there?”

“He
was.
Sarah and William are taking him back to school.”

“Lottie?” sounded in the background. Mrs. Russell’s voice.

“Are you quite sure Guy said he was coming here?” Bethia asked.

“I’ll ask Mother.”

She heard murmuring, then Mrs. Russell’s voice again, this time more clearly. “Bethia? Isn’t Guy over there? That’s where he said he was heading.”

“He isn’t here.” Bethia shrugged at her parents, gave them a smile that conveyed nothing was wrong, apparently just a misunderstanding.

“Perhaps he decided to run an errand first and got detained.”

“Yes, that’s probably what happened,” Bethia said into the mouthpiece. “Shall I have him ring you?”

“Yes, please.” A half second passed, then, “No, never mind. He doesn’t like being treated as a child. Do give our love to your family.”

“It’s not like Guy to be thoughtless,” Mother said at the supper table three hours later.

“Perhaps you should ring over there again,” Father said.

Bethia shook her head, wishing she had waited until the family was clear of the parlour before ringing the Russells. She had caused them to worry over what was probably nothing. Any minute now she would be summoned to the telephone, would hear his voice.

After supper she settled on the sofa with a copy of Grossmith’s
The Diary of a Nobody.
Light reading, but it would be useless to attempt anything that would require strenuous concentration. Even so, her eyes wandered through many a paragraph that her mind did not absorb. The longer the telephone sat mute, the more she could not help but wonder. Did what was beginning to seem like evasive behavior on Guy’s part have anything to do with Muriel Holt?

****

The following morning she stepped from Sloan Square Station into daylight, groggy from lack of sleep.

“Bethia.”

“Guy!” she exclaimed, hand to her heart, then smiled. “You almost gave me—”

The smile died when she noticed the gravity in his expression. “What’s wrong?”

He looked away for a second, again at her. “Will you come with me?”

“Where?”

“I hired a coach,” he said with a nod toward the vehicle, team and driver waiting, just a few feet away. Bethia had paid it no mind, for traffic was simply part of the topography of London.

“Very well,” she said. He stood as rigid as a sleepwalker while holding the door. No supporting hand upon her back as she stepped up into the coach or even companionable touch upon her coat sleeve.

“Where are we going?” she asked when he was seated in the seat facing hers and the coach jolted slightly into movement. She wondered why he did not smile. If he would but smile, everything would return to normal.

He turned his face toward the window. “Just across the Square.”

Automatically looking through the same window, Bethia spotted Mrs. Hamby and Miss Lidstone nearing the doors
to the Royal Court, probably commenting to each other on the pleasantness of the mid-October morning.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Guy said, still not looking at her.

Bethia had never considered herself a genius, but she read books, even had earned a college certificate. And she had known Guy from her earliest memories. He would not waste money on a coach just for privacy if he did not have a serious discussion in mind. The lack of any intimacy in his demeanor could mean only one thing.

“So it’s true,” she said dully, as ice spread through her stomach. “Muriel.”