Vintage Love (56 page)

“Hardly any news is leaking out to us now,” Susie explained, “and the trail of refugees has thinned dreadfully. We aren’t saving the numbers we did at the start. Gustav is very upset.”

“I can well understand that,” Enid sympathized. “Has he been harassed by enemy agents, as he was when Esmond was here?”

“Gustav has to be much more careful now,” Susie admitted. “They have at least half a dozen agents over here. And we think they are responsible for some of our best men being captured.”

“How long can it go on?”

“Too long, I’m afraid. At least for us. Tell me, have you had any success with your efforts to separate?”

“Andrew is still fighting it, after all this time.”

“Why? He hates you,” Susie said with annoyance.

Enid smiled ruefully. “I suppose that is why he refuses to grant me my freedom.”

Susie gave her a swift hug. “You must not worry! Worry brings wrinkles, and you want to look young and beautiful when Armand returns!”

“Yes,” Enid murmured wistfully. “When he returns.”

“We are giving a performance today, Enid, and I told Kemble you would come.”

“I’m a little weary. Do I really have to attend?”

“You must, or he’ll be terribly disappointed. You know how much he has missed you.”

“What about this new girl of his?” Enid asked.

“Jenny? Jenny Woods. She is attractive and he seems quite taken with her. Though I must say her talent is for comic roles rather than for tragic. Ophelia is a bit beyond her.”

“Is he in love with her?”

“Yes, but he keeps asking for you. And today he plans a welcome-back party for you onstage after the show. He is arranging for the publican next door to provide champagne, ale, and food! It will be an occasion! I’ve told Gustav to come if he gets back in time.”

Enid’s eyes widened. “A party for me?”

“Kemble thinks a great deal of you. He says your friendship did a lot for him.”

“I do like him,” Enid admitted.

“Then you must see him perform as Hamlet,” Susie said firmly. “He is very good in the role. He had me play Gertrude rather than Ophelia, as I wrote you, though I don’t have the stature for her character. But I try to suggest it.”

“I’m sure you’re quite perfect.”

Later they strolled over to Drury Lane. Enid was thrilled to be back in London, and for the moment she forgot her worries about Armand. London was the center of everything, she decided, as she mingled with the lively crowd in the streets. A hint of spring was in the air today. Wagons and carriages rolled by, and there was much bustle and shouting. This was the city of prizefights and bull and bear baiting, of cock fights, horse racing, theater, and gambling—and, she reminded herself, of the likes of Andrew Blair.

Kemble had reserved one of the dress boxes on the right for her sole use. As the theater began to fill, she sat there in regal splendor, hearing whispers as to her identity and feeling very much the focus of attention. At last the curtain rose and the play began.

When Kemble made his entrance as Hamlet, there was a loud ovation. He ignored the applause and continued in his role. But when he gave his soliloquies, Enid noticed that they seemed to be directed at her.

She enjoyed Polonius and the bearded Horatio, and Susie was more than adequate in the role of the Queen, though her small size unfortunately worked against her. But when Jenny Woods appeared as Ophelia, the play really went downhill. Jenny, like Susie, had auburn hair, limpid green eyes and a pretty, oval face. But, unhappily, her face was devoid of expression and she read her lines in a wooden fashion. The Drury Lane audience jeered at her several times but were kind enough not to boo her off the stage, as they sometimes did with players they didn’t like.

By the time the curtain fell, Enid was convinced that, despite the untalented Ophelia, this production of
Hamlet
was very good. The costumes and designs were a complete success. She made her way backstage to convey her impressions to John Philip Kemble.

He was waiting for her in the wings, still wearing his costume and stage makeup. He clasped her in his arms and kissed her soundly. “You’ve come back, dear Enid!” he cried, not hiding his joy at seeing her.

“The play was fine!” she exclaimed.

“That is high praise from you. I know you’re an excellent critic.”

“It is good to be back,” she told him.

“And to have you back,” the actor beamed. “We are going to indulge in a feast of celebration.”

“Susie told me. But you ought not to have bothered.”

“Why not? It is an occasion!” Kemble declared grandly.

She was vaguely aware of others in the background and then recognized Jenny Woods in her Ophelia dress, standing by rather timidly.

“And this is Jenny.” Enid moved toward her. “You are so attractive in your costume!”

“Thank you,” the girl replied shyly. She was very pretty and very young.

“Jenny is new to the stage, but she is coming along well,” Kemble said with a hint of embarrassment. “Now we must go to our dressing rooms and change. Do wait—we shall be back in a few minutes.”

As they left her, the bearded young man who had done so well as Horatio came up and bowed to her. “Your ladyship,” he said.

“Horatio!” she replied. “You are a very good actor.”

He smiled. “Thanks to you.”

“I know you,” she said suddenly, and then she gasped. “It is the beard! That is why I didn’t recognize you! You are Graham!”

“I am Graham,” he acknowledged with a small laugh. “And thanks to you, I am now an accredited member of the company.”

“How happy I am for you, Graham!”

“And I shall always owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“There are no such things as debts among friends,” she told him. “And I think we have earned the right to call ourselves friends.”

“Kemble has invited me to attend your party,” Graham said, “so I’ll go now and change my costume.” And with a smile he disappeared behind some stage props.

Enid turned around and headed for the empty stage. Suddenly she was startled to see a figure emerging from the shadows of the opposite wings. The figure was that of a man and he came toward her slowly. He wore a long black cape and his pale face was wreathed in a smile. His left eye was covered with a black patch, and his head was completely bald. Enid almost ceased breathing as she realized that the man approaching her was Louis Esmond.

He limped across the stage and greeted her suavely. “May I inquire if you are a visitor like myself or one of the company?”

Enid fought her sudden attack of nerves and strove to present a calm facade. “I am a visitor and a friend of Mr. Kemble’s,” she replied.

“Ah, Mr. Kemble,” Esmond sighed. “What a delightful actor! So fine as Hamlet!”

“I agree.”

The bald man was staring at her. “You know, I have the feeling we have met before.”

“I think not,” Enid lied, aware that her voice was trembling.

“I’m French, as you perhaps have noticed. Have you traveled in my country? It is possible we may have met there.”

“I know little of France, aside from Paris and Versailles.”

His single eye gleamed wickedly. “Versailles, once the site of the royal palace.”

“I understand the king and queen are no longer there.”

“No,” he said softly, staring at her as if he had secret thoughts. “You know, you are a remarkably pretty young woman. Are you an actress?”

“I fear not.”

“Too bad. You would do well, I should surmise. Ugly as I may seem to you now, I myself was once a leading man on the stage.”

“That does not surprise me,” Enid told him. “You possess great personal magnetism.”

“Thank you.” He flashed a broad smile. “That is most kind of you. I would still be in Paris and on the stage but for the grave injuries I suffered in the chaos which has overtaken my poor country.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, wondering what he was up to.

He shrugged. “I am of the nobility. You understand, I am sure. It would be worth my life to return there. So now I’m here in your London, a poor exile.”

Enid thought she was on to his game. He was shrewdly pretending to be his enemy. The agent of the revolutionists was posing as an exiled aristocrat so that he could mingle with the unsuspecting among the refugees and gain valuable information from them. No wonder he was called the revolution’s master spy!

He nodded, keeping his good eye fixed on her. She began to feel that he was boring into her mind with his probing stare.

“Are you also a friend of Kemble’s?” she asked.

“Only an acquaintance. I was introduced to him by another friend of mine, and we had a pleasant talk. I promised to see his play and he invited me here today. He is having a party for a Lady Blair.”

“I am Lady Blair,” Enid said.

“Ah!” Esmond seemed delighted. “Like myself, you are of the nobility.”

Just then Kemble appeared in his street clothes and shook hands with Esmond. “So you two have met?” he said.

“I find Lady Blair charming,” the Frenchman replied.

Kemble smiled at her. “The vicomte is a member of the French nobility, for which you have so much sympathy. I invited him to your party so you could exchange thoughts with him.”

“I’m afraid I have very little to offer,” she apologized.

“Nonsense,” the actor scoffed. “You have been interested in the refugee cause from the start.”

Enid was relieved to see the publican arrive with his helpers, their arms laden with food. They set the delicious-smelling dishes on the long table that had been placed in the center of the stage. The members of the theater company began trickling in, Graham and Susie among them.

Susie came up to her. “Any sign of Gustav?” she asked.

Enid took her aside and said in a low voice, “It will be lucky if he stays away.”

“Why do you say that?”

Enid nodded toward Esmond as he stood chatting with John Philip Kemble. “That is the archfiend, the agent of the mob, Louis Esmond!”

“Esmond!” Susie gasped.

“Yes. He somehow contrived to meet Kemble and get an invitation here.”

“How can I warn Gustav off?” his wife worried. “He could arrive here any minute!”

“Just pray that he doesn’t. Esmond is already trying to place me.”

“Oh, no! What shall I do?”

“There’s nothing to be done for the moment,” Enid told her. “Just pretend to be calm.”

“I can’t when I’m terrified,” Susie said. “You don’t seem to be afraid at all!”

“I’m trembling inside.”

Kemble stepped to the middle of the stage and called out for silence. Everyone was given a glass of champagne. “We are here today to welcome the return of my dear friend Lady Blair,” he said. “I’m sure all of you will happily join me in this toast to her!”

He raised his glass, as did the others. Enid found herself pushed forward to make a reply.

“I’m overcome!” she protested. “You have been too kind!” She was not pretending when she claimed to be overwhelmed by the moment. The presence of the cruel Esmond had done that much for her.

Susie edged her way over to Enid. “Perhaps we should get away from here,” she suggested.

“I can’t just yet. Kemble would think me ungrateful.”

“But it is no longer safe for you here!” Susie objected.

“Esmond can’t recall where we met. I’m safe until he does.”

The party continued happily, and Enid noticed that Louis Esmond was spending much of his time in the company of Kemble. The two chatted earnestly over glasses of champagne. Then she saw Gustav enter and look about for Susie. She decided to try to send him away before Esmond recognized him. But before she could reach him across the crowded stage, he had spotted Susie and gone straight over to her.

Enid saw a worried Susie give him the warning message, and he turned at once and started out. He hadn’t taken more than a few steps, however, when Kemble called out to him.

“Don’t run off, Gustav. As Susie’s husband, you are one of us and are entitled to be here!”

All eyes were now focused on Gustav, so he could do little but turn back to face Kemble. “I wasn’t intending to leave,” he said awkwardly.

“Then come and have some champagne,” the actor insisted.

Gustav crossed slowly to the table and accepted a glass from him. Then Kemble said, “We are drinking to the return of Lady Blair. I’m sure you’d like to join in.”

Gustav raised his glass and bowed to Enid, saying, “I have the highest regard for Lady Blair!” And in one long swallow he downed his champagne.

Louis Esmond had been staring at Gustav, and now he moved toward him and said softly, “We have met before.”

“I think not,” Gustav replied, ready to turn away.

“I insist that we have,” Esmond went on in that soft tone. “And now I remember where.”

“Do you?” Gustav said, attempting to meet the uncomfortable moment.

The agent now wore a smile of triumph. “Our last meeting was much more exciting. I shall not soon forget it.”

“You are making a mistake, I am sure.” Gustav’s handsome face was drained of all color. He put down his empty glass as if he were about to flee.

Once more it was Kemble who halted him from leaving by saying, “Gustav is married to one of our finest actresses, the lady who plays the Queen.”

Louis Esmond continued to smile. “I’m not at all surprised to find that he is a Royalist. My own tastes, however, lie in other directions.”

Several people came up to the table just then to refill their glasses, and Esmond moved away. Susie and Gustav, looking thoroughly unhappy, remained where they were as the crowd swirled around them. The party was a great success.

Enid was about to suggest that it was time for them to go when she heard a voice at her elbow. “Now I know where we met before!”

She turned quickly and saw Esmond standing beside her. She stared at him blankly and said, “I do not understand.”

“Don’t tell me your memory is failing you,” he mocked.

Angered, she lashed out at him. “Sir, I have an excellent memory!”

“Then you must surely remember a warehouse and a villainous crew who attacked it and set it on fire two years ago.” Louis Esmond purred, his one good eye burning with hatred.