Читать книгу Regency Improprieties - Diane Gaston - Страница 13

The message from Flynn arrived for Rose the following afternoon, delivered into her father’s hands. ‘Mary Rose, it is from that marquess’s fellow,’ he said.

Letty, interrupted from admiring how the emerald ring sparkled on her pudgy hand, ran to his side. ‘Well, what is it? What does he say?’

Letty snatched the letter from her father and walked over to read it by the light from the window. ‘He wants to meet her! Two days hence.’ She dropped the letter on the table. ‘Did I not say it would be so?’

Rose picked up the paper, reading that the selected meeting place was King’s Theatre, to see a performance of Don Giovanni. She pressed the paper against her beating heart. Flynn was giving her King’s Theatre. A real opera, too, with performers singing out the whole story. It was almost exciting enough to forget that he’d pushed her away, accusing her of acting like a harlot. Or that she must meet the man who wanted her to be his harlot.

Letty snatched the paper from Rose’s hand. ‘Let me read it again.’ Her lips moved as she went over the words. She handed it back to Rose. ‘He is saying that Miss Green must come with you.’

‘I asked that she be invited. She is one of the girls I lived with.’ Rose had never explained much to her father about living in Miss Hart’s house. She never explained anything to Letty.

‘Where do you meet the marquess?’ Her father took another sip of gin.

‘She will ruin it, I know she will,’ Letty grumbled, crossing the room to pour more gin for herself, drinking it alone in a sulk.

‘At King’s Theatre, Papa,’ Rose replied.

He smiled at her. ‘Your mother sang at King’s Theatre. Did you know that, Mary Rose?’

‘I did, Papa.’

He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Daughter, you are saying you want to sing. Here is your chance!’

She laughed. ‘Papa, I am to watch the opera. And the marquess will not be asking me to sing.’

‘I keep trying to tell you the way of things.’ He put his arm around her and sat her down in one of the chairs. He sat opposite, still holding her hand. ‘A woman in the theatre gets work by pleasing the right people, if you get my meaning. This is the life you chose.’ He reached over to pick up his glass of gin from the table. ‘The marquess has a lofty title and money. ‘Tis said he is very generous to his girls.’

‘Papa,’ she entreated. ‘I’m certain I can make money singing. The newspapers said nice things about me. I’m sure to get another job after the Vauxhall season is over.’

Her father took a sip, then shook his head. ‘You’ll be hired to sing if you have someone asking for you. Like I could ask Mr Hook for you, being in the orchestra and all. But in the theatres, you need a patron, Mary Rose. And if this marquess wants you to sing, you will be finding work.’ He took her hand again and made her look at him. ‘If you displease such a man, if you spurn him, you’ll never work again. All he has to do is say the word.’

Rose glanced away. Flynn had said as much. The marquess had the power to dash her dreams.

Her father squeezed her hand until she looked at him again. ‘Listen, your own darling mother might have risen to greatness. She had the voice, the prettiest voice you’d ever be wanting to hear, and she was as lovely—you favour her, Mary Rose.’ He smiled sadly. ‘She caught the eye of such a man as your marquess. An earl, I’m remembering he was. But she was wanting me, instead.’ He shook his head as if he could still not believe it. ‘The earl was mighty angry, as you can imagine. And then neither of us could find work anywhere. By then you were on the way, and I took her back to Ireland. It was a long time before the earl forgot, and I could return to Englad to earn good money again. And then, of course, your mother got sick.’ His voice faded.

Rose bowed her head, her emotions in a muddle. Her beautiful mother had been faced with such a choice? Her mother had chosen love. Had that not been right?

Her father’s eyes filled with tears. ‘She got sick, but I was here in London. Working. Never to see her again—’ He lowered his head, his shoulders shaking.

Tears poured down Rose’s cheeks as well. If she had not been born, perhaps her mother might have returned to the stage. Perhaps she would have become the darling of the London theatre. But her mother had chosen marriage and childbirth and poverty. If she had chosen that earl, perhaps she would have lived.

Rose put her arms around her father. ‘Well, I’m meeting the marquess, so there’s nothing to fear.’

He lifted his head again and gave her a watery smile.

Rose returned a fond look. She wanted to sing, not only for herself, but for her mother. Let her mother live again through her.

Letty called from her corner of the room. ‘What are you talking about, Alroy? I hope you are telling your daughter to get off her duff and take what this marquess wants to offer us.’

‘I have convinced her, I think.’ Her father sniffed and patted Rose’s hand again.

‘I’ll meet the marquess, Papa,’ she repeated.

He smiled again and raised his glass to his lips. Rose left her chair and went to her bedchamber to don her hat, gloves and shawl. When she returned to the parlour, Letty was busy talking with her father of where they might live when the marquess’s money was in their pockets.

‘Henrietta Street, I’m thinking,’ Letty was saying. ‘But a proper house, not three rooms—’

‘I’m going out, Papa,’ Rose broke in.

Her father looked up. ‘There’s a good girl, Mary Rose. Watch out for yourself.’

‘That’s right.’ Letty laughed. ‘We don’t want you damaged.’

Rose walked out the door and down to the street. It was a grey day, and she hoped it would not rain. She headed for Covent Garden to find a hackney carriage.

She had never visited Katy, who now lived at Madame Bisou’s gaming-house. Madame Bisou had invited Katy to live there after they left Miss Hart’s. The other girls had chosen love, Rose reminded herself.

Rose wanted success, now more than anything.

She found a carriage and told the coachman, ‘Bennet Street, please.

He let her off at the junction of Jermyn Street and Bennet Street and she walked to a sedate-looking house where anyone might have lived. A large footman answered her knock.

‘Good day to you,’ Rose said. ‘Would you please be telling Miss Green that Miss O’Keefe has come to call?’

The footman put a finger to his cheek. ‘Miss Green?’ His confusion suddenly cleared. ‘Oh. Katy. Just a moment.’ When he returned he said, ‘Follow me.’

He led her above stairs to a sitting room. Both Katy and Madame Bisou sprang to their feet when she entered.

‘Rose! How good to see you.’ The madame kissed Rose on both cheeks. ‘You’ve not been here since Katy moved in.’

‘Forgive me, Madame,’ Rose responded, only now realising how much she had missed this woman with her false French accent. The girls had quickly figured out Madame Bisou was not really French. The madame’s hair colour, an unnatural red, was false as well.

There was nothing false about her large breasts, pushed up to show to best advantage in her low-cut dress, nor about her generous, loving nature. Rose gave her a heartfelt hug.

Katy came over and Rose also hugged her. ‘Who’d have thought you would visit? Vauxhall’s newest flower doesn’t need a gaming hell.’

Madame Bisou stepped out of the room to arrange for tea and Katy pulled Rose on to a settee.

‘So why are you here?’ Katy asked. ‘Have you met up with the marquess? Have you come to tell us about it?’

‘Not exactly,’ Rose said. ‘But you are not far wrong.’

‘I knew it!’ said Katy.

Madame Bisou walked back in. ‘Tea will be coming, but I must not stay, Rose. I must get back to Iris.’

Katy turned to Rose. ‘Iris was badly hurt last night.’

Rose did not know the girl. ‘I am sorry to hear of it.’

‘She went with me to Vauxhall,’ Katy cried. ‘But I left her with some fellows when Sir Reginald showed up.’

‘It was not your fault, Katy,’ Madame Bisou said. ‘These things happen.’

‘What happened?’ Rose asked.

Katy’s eyes flashed. ‘She went with some man. A gentleman, she thought, because he had fine clothes, but he tied her up and used a whip on her—’

‘Used a whip!’ Rose exclaimed.

Madame Bisou crossed her arms over her chest, squeezing out even more décolletage. ‘I ought to have told you girls of this, but, how could I?’

‘Told us what?’ Rose asked.

Madame Bisou sat down, facing them. ‘Some men seek their pleasure not in the usual way.’ She paused. ‘Some get their senses aroused by inflicting pain.’

Rose glanced to Katy. ‘Pain?’

‘Oh, I see,’ Katy said. ‘Whips and things.’

Rose looked to Madame Bisou. ‘Men get pleasure from using whips?’

‘Well, it’s a rare one that does—not that you don’t find plenty, mind you,’ Madame Bisou went on. ‘Most men, you know, are easily led if you make them think they are seducing you, but some … some get an arousal when they hurt a girl. It is their pleasure to inflict pain. Like a bully, n’est-ce pas?’

Rose felt sick at the thought.

‘A Frenchman wrote a book about it,’ Madame Bisou added.

Rose put her hand on her chest. ‘Oh, Katy, you must take care!’

Katy waved a hand. ‘I can handle myself.’

‘Do you know who hurt the poor girl?’ Rose asked the madame.

She shrugged. ‘Iris said he wore a mask.’ She patted Rose’s hand. ‘I assure you, we do not allow such men in this gaming hell. If we hear of such a man, or if one dares mistreat one of the girls, Cummings tosses him out.’

Rose shook her head. ‘But Katy is out and about. At Vauxhall, where so many men wear masks.’

Katy laughed. ‘Do you think I cannot spot a viper like that?’

Madame Bisou cautioned her. ‘It is sometimes difficult. You cannot tell merely by looking at a man.’ She stood. ‘I must go.’ She took Rose’s hand briefly. ‘Katy has told me of your marquess. That is good for you, Rose. Tannerton is a good man.’

Even Madame Bisou sang his praises.

Katy settled back in her seat. ‘Tell of the marquess. That is what I wish to hear.’

Rose could not help but think that Katy needed the marquess more than she did, no matter what her father said of the theatre. If Katy had enough money, she could abandon this dangerous life.

‘I hope you will like it,’ Rose said. ‘I am to meet with him in two days. His guest at King’s Theatre.’

‘At a theatre?’ Katy seemed unimpressed.

Rose continued. ‘The best news is, you are to accompany me.’

Katy’s mouth dropped open. ‘Me?’

‘Yes. I asked if you could come with me.’

Her friend looked at her as if her wits had gone begging. ‘But why?’

Rose hesitated before answering. ‘I was not wanting to go alone. Mr Flynn is to be there, too. If you do not come, I’ll be the only woman with two gentlemen.’

Katy laughed. ‘You did not want two men all to yourself? If your marquess is half as handsome as your Mr Flynn, it would be heaven to have them all to yourself.’

Rose felt her cheeks grow hot.

Katy’s eyes filled with mischief. ‘Why not bring Letty Dawes with you?’

Rose returned a withering glance. ‘You must be jesting.’

Katy laughed. ‘Oh, I’ll go. I have a fancy to meet this marquess who pines for you so strongly. Wish I could play it cool like you do, Rose. Never could disguise wanting a man as much as he might want me.’

Rose gave her a stern look. ‘Did not the madame always instruct you to dampen such liveliness? Do you not remember?’

‘That’s like asking a tiger not to have spots,’ Katy responded.

Rose could not help but smile.

When the night arrived to attend the opera at King’s Theatre, Rose went to Madame Bisou’s to dress. The madame had insisted on hiring a hairdresser to fix their hair, and Rose and Katy each wore Paris gowns Miss Hart had given them. Katy’s was a rich green silk gown that set off her red hair to perfection. Rose wore silk in a pale blush with white lace adorning the bodice and hem. The hairdresser threaded a strand of pearls through her hair, and Madame Bisou lent her pearls to wear around her neck and on her ears.

As Rose and Katy stood next to each other, surveying their images in a full-length mirror, Rose thought they looked tasteful. She had no wish to look like a harlot, even if that was what everyone wished her to be, what Flynn had accused her of being. She looked pretty, but she was nothing compared to Katy. What man could resist Katy’s vibrant beauty? Perhaps, if Rose were very lucky, the marquess would transfer his interest to Katy. And Flynn would forgive her.

Gentlemen were already arriving at the gaming-house at the time the marquess’s coach was to pick them up. Perhaps they would think her a new girl at this place, not much better than a bawdy house.

She shook her head. She must accustom herself to men thinking of her in this carnal way. It was part of being in the theatre, her father would say. She glanced at Katy, whose excitement just enhanced her lively beauty. How could she not impress the marquess?

Soon the footman came to tell them a gentleman waited for them in the hall.

‘Well, you are off, then,’ Madame Bisou said, nearly as excited as Katy. ‘I wish you good luck.’

She squeezed both their hands, and the two young women descended the stairway. Some men in the doorway of the gaming room stopped to watch them, their sounds of approval reaching Rose’s ears. She felt herself blush.

Rose purposely let Katy go first so Katy would make the first impression.

‘Why, if it isn’t Mr Flynn,’ declared Katy halfway down the stairs. She extended her hand so he could assist her on the last few steps. ‘Where is the marquess?’

Flynn’s eyes followed Rose’s slower progress as he answered, ‘He will meet us at the theatre.’ When Rose reached Katy’s side, he said a curt, ‘Good evening, Rose.’

‘Flynn,’ she answered, fearing matters would never be easy between them again.

‘Well.’ He looked at Katy, but only fleetingly glanced at Rose. ‘You look very charming. I am indeed most fortunate to escort you.’

Katy took his arm, holding on to him much too close. ‘Let us be off, then. We do not want to keep a marquess waiting.’

Flynn offered his other arm to Rose. Her fingers trembled as they lighted on his sleeve.

In the coach, Katy’s lively chatter filled the air, so Rose could excuse it that Flynn did not speak to her. He said a word here and there to encourage Katy to rattle on, but his attention to her friend only made Rose feel worse.

Soon the coach pulled up to King’s Theatre. As Flynn escorted them in, Rose forgot everything, even the admiring stares of gentlemen, as she took in the beauty of its grand hall, all marble and gold gilt. Flynn led them up carpeted stairs and past doors to what must be the boxes. They did not go far before he stopped at one and, after making a quick knock, turned the knob.

Katy nearly jumped up and down, but Rose held back, so it was Katy who first entered the darker interior of the box, where Rose could just make out the figure of a man.

He spoke. ‘Good evening. You must be Miss Green.’

Katy replied, ‘You are correct, sir. I presume you are Lord Tannerton?’

‘I am indeed.’

When Rose’s eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, she realised the marquess was the tall man she had seen standing near Flynn that first night at Vauxhall, the one with the casual air and affable expression.

‘I’ve seen you at Vauxhall,’ Katy said, as if speaking Rose’s thoughts.

The marquess smiled. ‘I have seen you too, Miss Green. Someone as lovely as yourself cannot be missed.’

Katy laughed, but softly this time. ‘I thank you. But you must meet Miss O’Keefe.’

She stepped aside, exposing Rose, and the marquess turned his eyes on her. ‘Miss O’Keefe, I am delighted you have come.’

Flynn stepped forward. ‘Miss O’Keefe, may I present Lord Tannerton.’

Rose dropped into a curtsy. ‘My lord.’

Tannerton extended his hand to her to help her rise. She had no choice but to accept it. ‘It is my pleasure to meet you,’ he said, holding her hand only a second longer than was comfortable.

He stepped back so that they could come farther into the opera box. Katy moved to the back, as did Flynn.

The Marquess spoke to Rose alone. ‘We shall have some refreshments at the intermission, but I have arranged for wine now. Would you care for a glass?’

She needed something to calm her. ‘Yes, thank you,’ she said.

Flynn immediately poured the wine, but Lord Tannerton handed Rose’s glass to her.

‘It is French champagne. Bottled before the conflict, but I managed to acquire a case very recently.’ He took his own glass. ‘May I propose a toast?’

Rose inclined her head, wondering why a marquess would ask her permission.

‘To new friends,’ he said, turning to include Katy, but letting his gaze linger a bit longer on Rose.

‘To new friends,’ repeated Katy.

Rose did not speak, but she took a sip.

‘Come now,’ Tannerton gestured to two front chairs. ‘Sit and be comfortable. The performance should start at any moment.’

Rose turned towards Katy. ‘Perhaps Katy—Miss Green—would like to sit up front as well?’

Katy ignored Rose’s silent plea. ‘I’ll sit behind you. Keep Mr Flynn company.’ For emphasis she laced her arm through Flynn’s.

‘Come,’ Tannerton repeated.

He settled Rose in an elegant brocade chair and sat beside her. For the first time she looked out into the opera house.

‘Oh, my!’ she exclaimed.

The theatre curtains were rich red with a gold fringe as long as she was tall, with the King’s crest, also in gold. The curtains spanned nearly the whole distance from ceiling to floor, a space high enough for several tiers of boxes all around. Light blazed from huge chandeliers close to the stage and from candles all around the edges of the boxes. The orchestra floor was busy with people talking and laughing and moving around. Several of the boxes were empty, but in those that were not, elegant gentlemen were seated with ladies dressed in beautiful gowns. Some were looking straight into their box, pointing and whispering to their companions.

‘It is rather thin of company.’ Lord Tannerton smiled at her. ‘But I hope you like it.’

‘It is lovely,’ she responded, trying not to think of what the other theatre-goers might be saying about her. ‘Much larger than I even could have imagined.’ She’d only read of theatres like this one. The closest she’d been to seeing one was when Miss Hart had taken them to Astley’s Amphitheatre, but that was an entirely different sort of place. This was the best of theatres.

‘I am pleased to be the first to show it to you. Flynn said you had a wish to see it.’

Flynn.

Flynn had made this happen for her. He alone knew how much she desired it. He must have forgiven her wanton behaviour, to give her such a gift. ‘I did indeed.’

It had seemed natural to Rose to tell Flynn all about her mother singing in King’s Theatre, about her mother’s dashed dreams and shortened life. She had no such impulse to tell the marquess.

The musicians entered and took their seats, the violinists tuning their strings, horn players testing their instruments’ sound. Though none played at full volume, the notes filled the huge room, and Rose found she was eager to hear the performance, especially the singing.

‘Do you fancy yourself singing in this theatre some day?’ Tannerton asked her.

Rose shot a glance at him. Had Flynn told him this as well? It seemed a betrayal of confidences. ‘Why do you think so?’

He shrugged. ‘King’s Theatre is the pinnacle, is it not, for singers? At least others have told me so.’

Perhaps Flynn had not told him all her secrets, after all. She heard Flynn behind her talking quietly to Katy and wished he would speak loud enough so she could hear what he said.

Katy disappointed Rose, acting so subdued Tannerton would never notice her. In fact, Katy seemed more determined to have Flynn’s company.

Tannerton handed her a paper. ‘Here is the programme telling who sings tonight. I will get you a candle if you cannot read it.’

She took the paper and stared at it even though she could read but little in the dim light. It gave her an excuse not to talk to him.

‘Thank you,’ she said belatedly, briefly glancing at him.

Tanner smiled at her. He had a boyish handsomeness, she had to admit. An open countenance. He was tall and athletic and looked out of place in this elegant theatre, as if he would prefer hunting or whatever gentlemen did in the out of doors. By appearance, and so far by manner, he did not threaten, but Rose could not forget her father’s warning. This was a man who possessed the power to ruin her ambitions. She turned back to staring at the programme.

‘I think it is about to begin,’ Tannerton said.

She glanced at the stage. The conductor of the orchestra took his place. The musicians quieted, but the audience seemed as noisy as ever. The music began. Rose could make out that the opera was one of Mozart’s, but she had never heard the music before. Her school had not owned these sheets of music. She poised herself to listen and watch, not wishing to miss a bit of it.

When the curtain opened, she even forgot who sat beside her. The set was magical, looking so real she could barely believe she was not looking through some window. She heard singing voices like she’d never heard before, big voices, bigger than her own, big enough to fill this huge theatre. When the soprano sang, Rose held her breath. She wanted to open her mouth and mimic each note, to try to make her voice bigger, like this one.

She could understand none of the words. She was not even sure what language they were singing. It did not matter, however. The performers showed her the story, a shocking one, really. Don Giovanni was a seducer of women, a man who made conquests and who cared little of what havoc he wreaked in people’s lives. When the character Elvira sang, Rose could hear her heartache and her rage. Elvira loved and hated Don Giovanni. Rose wanted to weep for her. How thrilling it would be to sing one’s emotions like that.

When the intermission came, Rose felt bereft. She wanted to go on listening. She wanted to step on to the stage and be a part of it, to raise her voice with the others in the beautiful music they created.

Instead, a footman brought in some cakes and fruit and other delicacies.

‘At intermission one often calls upon others in other boxes,’ Tannerton told her. ‘But I have asked the footman to stand outside and explain we do not wish to be disturbed.’

That was kind of him. The last thing she wanted was to have the magic of the performance interrupted by curious people come to see who sat next to the marquess. She was desperately trying to hold on to the music, replaying it in her head, silently singing, wishing she could sound like those wonderful performers.

They took refreshment around a small table. Flynn, sitting directly opposite Rose, poured more champagne.

‘How do you like the performance, Miss Green?’ Tannerton asked.

Katy grinned. ‘It is fun, is it not? Don Giovanni is a clever rogue. I hope he escapes.’

‘We shall see,’ said Tanner, eyes crinkling into a smile.

Tanner turned to Rose. ‘And you, Miss O’Keefe. What do you think of it?’

Rose looked up to see Flynn watching her. He quickly averted his eyes. She could barely speak. Words were not enough to convey what she felt. ‘I have never heard such singing,’ she said reverently. ‘I like it very much.’

‘Then I am happy.’ Tannerton grinned boyishly. ‘I have pleased you both.’

The second half of the opera was every bit as magical. Rose felt the music inside her. She was transported by its beauty, affected by its emotion, and invigorated by possibilities she had not known existed. To sing with such power and feeling. She could hardly wait to try to mimic their sound.

Too soon it was over, the music making its last crescendo. Rose felt as if her soul had been dropped from a great height back into her own body. She applauded with all the energy she possessed.

When the performers took their final bow, the only sounds that could be heard were the scuffling feet and muffled voices of people leaving the theatre.

Lord Tannerton put his hand on her arm. She had forgotten him, forgotten her purpose for being there.

‘Time to go, Miss O’Keefe,’ he said.