Wicked and Wonderful (7 page)

“Yes, Mrs. Marnhull.” Judy resumed her task and immediately plunged her hands back into the dough kneading strongly as Mrs. Marnhull had taught her so many years ago.
Judith knew she had grown quite strong, since joining the troupe, from all the bread she had made over the past eight years. She punched, folded, kneaded, and punched again. The problem with bread-making of the moment was that her mind was left to wander and very soon Kelthorne took up residence in her head.

What did he mean, for instance, by bringing venison to camp? Was he merely being a considerate neighbor or was it possible he had some other more sinister motive in mind, something that had more to do with the kiss they had shared in the orchard than with generosity of temperament? Was it possible this was his way of trying to put himself in her good graces or was he trying to ingratiate himself with all the ladies of the troupe by so doing? Betty had said he had treated her with great kindness, that he had been a real gentleman and escorted her back to camp but that she had not been able to tease even one kiss from him. Was he, therefore, working his wiles on all the ladies?

This thought made her hit the dough harder still. She knew her thoughts were ridiculous. No good could possibly come from such idle speculations. She did not truly know Kelthorne so how could she make a meaningful evaluation of his conduct? He had brought venison to the camp. He had shown kindness, therefore, to the troupe. Beyond that, she refused to make any other judgments. Time would prove his character. ‘The truth,’ as Shakespeare said, ‘will out.’

Several hours later, with the venison roasting on the spit and fresh-baked bread teasing the nostrils of all the hungry actors gathering about the savory meat, a castle servant arrived in camp with a wagon laden with properly chopped firewood. As though never before having seen such a sight, all fourteen members of the troupe gathered about the wagon and stared at the tall piles of wood.

“This be fer Mrs. Marnhull, with his lordship’s compliments,” the servant said.

Freddy slung his arm about Mrs. Marnhull’s ample waist. “I do believe Lord Kelthorne has taken a fancy to ye.”

“Aw, go on with ye.” But she was blushing and smiling, her expression joyful yet queer with three missing teeth.

Judith felt stunned once more, just as she had earlier. The image of being a rabbit caught in a cage came back to her. Her heart pounded in her chest. She felt like running, as hard and as fast as she could.

“He’s an excellent host,” Charles said, glancing at Judith. “Are ye not glad that we have decided to remain?”

Judith saw his expression of triumph, but she chose to smile. “I am very glad, Charles, as well you know.”

He was not well satisfied with such a pleasant response and merely glared at her.

Margaret drew Judith aside. “Wat think ye? First venison and now firewood. Kelthorne seems to be a good sort after all.” When Judith did not respond, she added, “Why so silent? Wat be ye thinking?”

“I do not know,” Judith admitted. “I feel very anxious. I do not trust these acts of kindness.”

“Ah,” Margaret murmured then laughed aloud. Drawing Judith further away from the ears of the troupe, she said, “‘Tis not as though he’s sent ye jewels or the like. Do ye really think he is trying to win yer affections with firewood?”

Judith laughed. “It sounds horribly vain of me, I know, but I cannot be easy. Had he not kissed me already and sought me out at the theater, I would think nothing of the matter. As it is, I do not trust his generosity.”

“And I might agree with ye had he sent flowers, but a haunch of deer meat ‘tisn’t precisely romantic-like.” She turned sharply away. “Shelly! Leave the biscuits, now, or I shall make ye feel it quite painfully.”

Shelly, who was a terrible if charming little sneak, withdrew her hand from the laden plate of macaroons, and instead nibbled on the end of her finger. She appeared like a little angel in that moment, her expression completely innocent.

“How are you ever able to discipline her?” Judith whispered.

“A thankless task when my heart swells so just by looking at her.”

Judith glanced at Margaret. The woman had never spoken of her life in the East End, and no one asked. But Judith had come to believe that in one sense she and Margaret were sisters, in that they had both left intolerable situations, having struck out into the unknown with nothing but their wits to guide them.

Perhaps it was for that reason they had become the dearest of friends. Judith had even been present at Shelly's birth.

As she looked at Margaret now, she suddenly slipped her arm about her waist. “How happy I am for you. I believe you have everything even the most privileged of ladies desire.”

Margaret glanced at her husband who was holding Shelly and kissing her forehead. “I would only wish the same fer ye.”

That evening at the theater, Judith took her turn looking through the peephole in the curtain and saw that Kelthorne was sitting as he had the night before, in the front row on the left. Was he playing at a deep game or was it possible he was merely a kind and generous man? Somehow she believed he was the former, only what was he about?

After the performance, she lingered longer than usual at her sewing. She kept waiting for Henry or Freddy to bring her Kelthorne’s card, but no such event occurred. She wished she could feel gladdened by the circumstance instead she found she was oddly piqued.

Early the following morning, while she had been closeted in her tent and bathing in privacy, she heard rather than saw Kelthorne’s arrival. He was greeted warmly by several of the actors and a moment later by Mrs. Marnhull who exclaimed over several brace of pheasant, thanking him profusely.

“Horace,” she called loudly. “We’ll be needing several spits this time. Thank ye, m’lord. Ye are a good man.”

Worse followed when, as she was washing her neck and arms, she heard John actually invite him to dine with them.

“With pleasure,” Kelthorne responded warmly.

“And Mr. Doulting, too, o’ course,” John added.

“He will be much gratified. And if it pleases you, Mr. Ash, I shall bring a keg of beer.”

The actors who had followed him to Mrs. Marnhull’s wagon, all cheered him with several rousing, “Huzzas!”

“Ye have yer answer, m’lord?”

Judith was horrified. Had he now so insinuated himself into the troupe that she must endure his presence at nuncheon? So it would seem.

The real question, however, she could not yet answer— was this by design?

Judith sat down on her bed, only this time a little too hard for the corner gave way and she landed with a bounce on the canvas floor.

“What was that?” she heard Kelthorne ask.

“Judy, did yer bed fall again?” John called to her.

In this moment, her tent was far too close to Mrs. Marnhull’s wagon for her to be in the least content. She wore only her shift and her corset and even though she could not be seen, she felt quite exposed. “Aye,” she responded “But, tis no matter.”

“Miss Lovington’s bed has a weak post,” she heard John explain.

She felt her cheeks grow warm. How could he be speaking to Kelthorne about the state of her bed?

“How unfortunate,” Kelthorne said. “Perhaps someone should tell her to stop jumping about on it.”

The men laughed at his joke. She rolled her eyes and pulled a face, an expression no one could see, of course, but which afforded her some consolation.

“I must go,” Kelthorne said. “But I shall return with Mr. Doulting. At what hour?”

“Nuncheon be served at one,” Mrs. Marnhull stated firmly.

“We shall not be late.”

Judith spent the next several hours wishing some evil would befall Kelthorne to prevent his coming. No such misfortune, however, occurred, for five minutes before the hour, both gentlemen arrived, dashing in their riding clothes and top boots and astride two very fine horses, which Horace immediately took charge of.

As it was, nuncheon set her nerves on fire. With Lord Kelthorne sitting at her table she felt more vulnerable than she had in a very long time, though given his conduct, she did not feel particularly justified in her feelings. He held a pheasant drumstick and complimented Mrs. Marnhull on her culinary skills. He slipped peas into his mouth and flirted audaciously with Betty who in turn had taken to chewing her mint leaves more frequently than was usual for her. He ate the potato and cheese dish that was a favorite with the troupe but only once deigned to look at her. He did not even smile. Instead, he asked Bobby to pass the small beer and winked wickedly at Angelique who trilled her laughter so delightfully that Judith had the strongest urge to pull hard on long, curly locks.

Fortunately, Judith sat beside Mr. Doulting who proved to be a very good sort of man and an excellent companion at table. He kept a flow of conversation going throughout the meal and in the end she realized he had learned quite a lot about her: that the red rose was her favorite flower, that she favored pearls over diamonds and that Byron did not hold so much pleasure for her as Wordsworth.

A wonderful discussion of poetry followed and very soon she culled from him the information that he was a hopeful poet himself.

“Perhaps not
hopeful
,” Mr. Doulting said, taking a long pull on his tankard. “I have no expectation of finding my efforts in print, but I am excessively fond of scribbling.”

“I should love to read your work some day.”

Only then did Kelthorne address her. “He will never permit you to do so, Miss Lovington,” he said. “No one is allowed to read his poems.”

“Have we a poet among us?” John asked.

Mr. Doulting was obviously embarrassed and said, “A poor amateur at best.”

Judith knew that a score of questions would follow, so she said hastily, “I have been noticing your waistcoat. Do you perchance have your clothes fashioned by Weston? I am in the habit of making use of a needle, as most of the troupe is, and cannot help but admire the stitchery. Quite perfection.”

She watched him breathe a sigh of relief as he said, “Weston, absolutely. He is the very best tailor in London.”

“Henry, you should look at the embroidery work,” Judith said. “I think it might suit the Richard II cape you have been working on.” She turned back to Mr. Doulting, “Henry, if you must know, designs the costumes but we all share in the labor of fashioning them.”

Mr. Doulting was indeed very impressed and so followed a lively discussion of the various costumes he had already seen on stage and after nuncheon requested a tour of the designs for forthcoming performances.

Judith removed herself from the lively group clustered about the earl and his friend choosing to help Mrs. Marnhull clear the table. She had an opportunity, therefore, to watch Kelthorne among his inferiors.

He seemed quite comfortable with them, perfectly at ease. He had a congenial manner that thwarted defensiveness from those around him. Nor was his language bawdy in the presence of the ladies and he turned every such comment aside as lightly as though he were fencing with great skill. She found, much to her dismay, that she actually approved of him.

And yet, particularly after having lived in such a wild, insecure manner for eight years, her instincts had been carefully honed. Therefore, she sensed rather than saw that he had begun a determined, careful assault on her innocence.

“I think him a good man,” Margaret whispered, as the pair of them began preparing to wash the dishes. “He is my idea of wat a gentleman ought to be.”

“He does appear to have some rather fine qualities,” she agreed, glancing at him over her shoulder. He met her gaze briefly and nodded to her. The smile reached her lips before she could stop it. His smile broadened in a manner she could only think bespoke a sense of triumph.

With a lift of her chin, she turned back to the duty at hand. Thus she and Margaret worked quietly side by side for several minutes. Her friend glanced back more than once but Judith refused to do so, not after such a smile as Kelthorne had given her, at least not until Margaret said, “Do look, Judy. La, but has he just won me heart.”

At such a warm statement, Judith could not help but turn around. She saw a sight that melted her heart as much as it had Margaret’s. Shelly was sitting on Kelthorne's lap and he had his arm protectively about her waist as the child fed him a biscuit.

Judith quickly averted her gaze from the tender scene and concentrated instead on scrubbing the plates, sinking her hands once more into the hot water. Unexpected tears bit at her eyes. How wretched of Kelthorne to do something so sweet for now the deepest longings of her heart rose up like a fiery dragon from the hidden places of her soul. She felt as though her heart was being burned within her chest.

She rarely thought of what she had left behind in Sussex, the day she had run away from home. Yet somehow, seeing Kelthorne holding little Shelly, brought a dozen memories swelling in her mind all at once, of her invalid father whom she had adored, of a beloved uncle and cousins, of all her girlhood hopes and dreams that one day she would have a family of her own. She had been a proper Miss Pensbury and her father a respected baronet, Sir Christopher Pensbury. On the heels of these precious reveries, however, came the awful reasons for her escape.

The memory returned to her sharply in this moment, of the vile attentions of the Marquess of Stolford. He had been introduced to her in a bookshop in Brighton by her stepmother during the summer of 1810. He was afterwards a frequent visitor, by her stepmother’s invitation, to her home. She had not understood why she had been so often summoned to the drawing room, always, of course, when her father was resting in his bedchamber. She had been so young, just fourteen, and it was highly unusual to be in company, nonetheless with a Peer of the Realm.

When the marquess took to kissing her hand upon his departure, she grew uneasy, though she could not say why for he was always kind in his attentions. Her governess, Miss Holywell, however, had understood precisely what was going forward but had said nothing until she overheard Stolford suggesting to Lady Pensbury that they take Judith on a tour of the West Country, perhaps spending the autumn at his country house.