A Scandalous Regency Christmas Read online

  “Of course,” she interrupted, slightly offended that he would doubt her literacy. “What language do you wish me to read in? I can manage three, at least.”

  “English will do,” he said, chastened. “And your memory. How is it?”

  “I can remember that you promised me dinner,” she said, glancing around her. There was a little space in the corner of the room that he seemed to treat as kitchen, but she saw no sign of a meal laid for company.

  He went to it and rummaged in a cupboard, removed an apple and a dry bit of cheese, and placed them on a plate along with a half loaf of bread and a boiled egg. “It is not much, but it will hold you until we can finish this discussion. Can you recite, from memory, if I give you the words?”

  She grabbed the plate and ripped off a bite of bread. “I can manage well enough,” she said, around a mouthful. It felt as though she’d not eaten in ages and was extraordinarily good for something so simple.

  “Do you dance? Sing? Juggle?” He was pouring her a glass of wine.

  She took the goblet and drank deeply. In her present condition, it would probably go right to her head. But the current situation was already quite mad. She doubted it would be any worse should she be foxed. She thought back to his question. “Yes. Yes. And no.”

  “You fit the costume.” Now he was grinning at her as though he had entirely forgotten what they had done in the alley, and who she might be. He reached out to her, and she tried not to flinch as his hand came up to her chin, tipping her face so that the firelight struck her profile. “And you are a comely thing. Indeed you are.”

  Was that meant as a compliment? It was raw and horrible, and she’d have slapped him for the presumption, had she her old life back, even for a moment. But it seemed that the rules of etiquette did not apply to her now. So she waited for an explanation.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, bowing as though to remind her that she was the one honored. “Danyl Fitzhugh, at your service, madam.” he waited, as though she was supposed to recognize the name.

  “How do you do,” she said, politely.

  “I am the proprietor of the theater below,” he prompted. “The director and lead actor as well.”

  She waited, still unsure of what she was expected to say.

  “You were almost blocking the doorway, just now.”

  And she had seen his name on the playbill, which was why he must think she would know it.

  “I could have run you off, you know,” he added. “It does not do to have girls hanging about the doors, accosting the patrons. The gentlemen do not mind it, of course. But it gives ladies the assumption that our entertainment is on the rough side. And above all else, we must fill the seats.”

  “I am sorry,” she said. “It will not happen again.” Of course, she doubted that her absence would improve the traffic. There had been but a thin stream of people entering the door she’d sheltered in. She had been there but one night and could hardly be blamed for that.

  He nodded, as though her assurance satisfied him. “I will not hold it against you. When all is said and done, everyone must eat. I understand that need sometimes drives one to extremes. Does this explain your current situation?”

  She finished the boiled egg in two bites and reflected for a moment on his question before nodding in agreement.

  “Would you be open to other employment, should it be offered to you?”

  She would be able to make the fresh start that she had hoped for and finally be free of her past. “Oh, yes. Anything honest,” she added, in case he meant something worse than walking the street. “Cooking, cleaning, anything at all, really.” not that she had any skills in those areas. It was quite possible that they would be more physically demanding than leaning back against a wall and giving up all hope. But it did not do to announce one’s weaknesses when one sought a position.

  He laughed. “Speaking as your last customer, it might be more diplomatic to be less enthusiastic in your desire to do something else. Men are funny creatures. I am likely to take your change of heart as a reflection on my performance.”

  “You were my first,” she said, not sure why she was moved to admit it. But it seemed important to be honest with him, as he seemed to be with her. “Well, not… I mean… not the very first,” she amended. “My first customer. And I hope you shall be the last. As you said, I was quite desperate.”

  He smiled as though it did not bother him one way or the other the depths to which she had been willing to sink. “Then let me explain my predicament. My lead actress has recently left the company. This limits us in the performances we might give. And I noticed, in the alley just now, that you seem to be of a similar size to her.”

  “You wish me to become an actress?” She took a bite of the apple, still a little surprised at the turn of events. But thus far her whole life had been a lie, hiding bruises and pretending that her husband did not terrify her when they were seen in public together. How difficult could acting be?

  “I am fully capable of training you in the craft.”

  He would have her up on the stage for all to see. Sconsbury would find her in a heartbeat, and it would all be over.

  Her expression must have turned grim at the thought, for he hurried to encourage her. “There would be payment, of course,” he said, smiling to coax her back into good humor. “The Earl of Spayne is our patron.”

  And no friend of her husband, thank God.

  “He has secured us the building and is responsible for the costumes, the sets, the space and so forth. But any profits are split equally amongst the company.”

  Perhaps she could try it for a time, and escape with her pay before she was discovered. There were no friends or family to appeal to, no one who would side with her against the earl. But neither were there many who would recognize her. She had been little more than a cipher in her marriage, recognized at functions for the husband at her side and the jewelry he gave her to wear. Without those, how much of her existed to be found?

  Mr. Fitzhugh was continuing his reassurances. “I would not expect you to exhibit any gratitude to me,” he assured her. “Nor make demands on you based on what has recently occurred between us. The past is in the past.”

  That was too bad, really. It had been the one nice moment in recent days. She had felt young and desirable again, though she did not wish to admit it. She waved her hands again, as though denying the thought. “I thank you for your assurances, and I will take you at your word. But the thought of going onstage is… well… it is very public. And I do not wish my family to know what has become of me. I doubt they would approve.” It was an understatement, but it would have to do. “You mentioned costumes?”

  “And makeup, wigs, all manner of disguises,” he encouraged. “Once you are prepared for a role, I doubt your own mother would recognize you. Or father, or bailiff, or whatever it is that you are running from.” He looked steadily into her eye. “I do not care to hear of it, nor will I question you, as long as you do not mean to go running back to it as soon as there is gold in your pocket. As I said before, the past is the past.”

  Above all else, that was what she wanted. If the past could be forgotten, then maybe it would be possible to be free. The idea was more warming than a fire, and more satisfying than a Christmas dinner. It was the only present she wanted, this year. Her heart longed for it. But her mind could not let go of its fear so easily. “This payment you speak of? When would it occur? Because—” she bit her lip nervously “—I have nothing but the clothes on my back and the pound note you gave me.”

  The facts did not seem to bother him. He had an answer for everything. “I will see to it that you have an advance sufficient to outfit yourself for the job required. There is a rooming house nearby where other members of the company stay. Tonight you may remain here, out of the cold. And tomorrow, I will see that you are situated.”

  “Remain here?” Suddenly, despite what they had done in the alley, she felt shy.

  He made an
expansive gesture, as though deeding her the space. “As my guest. Take my bed, and I will take the couch you are sitting on. It will all be quite innocent.”

  It was a bit late to claim that their relationship was innocent. But perhaps he wished to prove to her that his intentions were just as he claimed, and that he needed a performer, not a mistress. “Thank you. You are most kind.”

  “You accept my offer, then, Miss… ”

  She could not very well be herself in this. She grasped for the first name that came mind. “Sarah… Simmons.”

  He snorted in derision. “Actresses frequently take stage names. You can be whoever you wish, and I will not inquire further. But you must come up with something more original than that, with Sarah Siddons performing just down the street at the Royal.”

  “Anything will do, then,” she said, not wanting to blunder again. “Who do you wish me to be?”

  He looked at her again, as though appraising her worth and announced, “I would take you for a Sally. It is rather like Sarah, but saucy and impertinent. Sally. Sally. Sally.” He was thinking, and then snapped his fingers. “Miss Sally Howe. It is easy to remember, and will fit on the playbill. Fewer letters will mean larger type. Someday you will thank me for that. But for now? Off to bed with you, Sally. Rest tonight. And tomorrow, the real work shall begin.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  HER BELLY WAS full and it was the first time she had been warm in days. But more than that, Sarah woke from a deep sleep in a strange bed with an optimism that had not been present since the first days of her marriage nearly three years before.

  Just as he had promised, Mr. Fitzhugh took her to a rooming house and introduced her to the other members of the company, fifteen in number. They ranged in age from a boy of ten, who could pass for a girl in gown and bonnet, to an old man who played fathers, grandfathers, ghosts and kings, as they were needed. It did not take long to settle her. How much time was needed, to be shown her empty room? She had nothing to put in it; nor would she until such time as she had received her pay and the time to spend it.

  Payment. How strange was that, after having had servants, and not even an allowance to manage? Her husband had provided all things for her. At first, it had seemed like a privilege to be so cared for. But she had come to view it as a trap, once she realized how dependant she had become.

  And now, she had a job. When they returned to the theater, Mr. Fitzhugh handed her a text and hastily marked the bits that she was to read, then put her through the paces of the performance, which he called blocking. She stumbled about on the raked stage, feeling ready to pitch forward into the audience with every step. She always seemed to be in the wrong place with the wrong words, looking in the wrong direction for the people who spoke to her. And all the while Mr. Fitzhugh was shouting that she must keep her face pointed downstage, which was the same as downhill, but to speak her lines up and not down into the boards.

  By evening, she was in another woman’s dress, painted, wigged, and reciting hurriedly memorized lines before a houseful of people. She dared not look too closely at the faces in the boxes on either side of the stage. If she did, she might know some of them. The game would be up in a flash of recognition.

  And at the end of it, there had been applause. She returned to the tiring-rooms with the other actresses who shared her space: an older woman called Kate, and a stout, young girl named Maggie.

  A moment later, Mr. Fitzhugh stuck his head through the curtains that served as a door, oblivious to the fact that they were wearing nothing but stays and shifts, and announced gruffly that her performance had been “Fair. For a first attempt.” Then he disappeared again.

  The other two women shared a glance and a laugh and went back to removing their rouge.

  “Did I do something to displease him?” Sarah looked at the velvet drape still swinging from his abrupt exit. “He seemed quite angry, just now. And he shouted at me much of the afternoon.” He had been much friendlier the night before. But then, they had…

  She scrubbed carefully at her cheeks, hoping that the friction would account for the scarlet blush. They had been intimate. But he had not spoken of it again, and so neither would she.

  “Angry?” Kate laughed again. “He is overjoyed. He just does not want to show as much. Especially not to you.”

  “Why ever not?” An encouraging word would have been helpful. Since she had nothing to compare it to, she had no idea if she had succeeded.

  Maggie giggled. “He’s afraid you’ll run off, like the others.”

  She had run off. But if she was to run from here as well, where would she go? “He said that the last woman in this part was no longer with the company. But there were others?”

  “Marie is off to Grimaldi’s troupe to do a Christmas pantomime,” Maggie said, her face growing dark. “And the one before that, Caroline, is touring with Kean. Danyl trains ‘em up right. But once they are good, they leave for fame or money.”

  “Or love,” Kate reminded her. “The one before that, I hardly remember her name, is a mistress to a gentleman. Does her best work flat on her back.”

  Maggie laughed again. “She had more looks than talent, bless her. But now?” Maggie pounded the table and moaned in the throes of feigned passion. “Oh, milord. You are a stallion. I am overcome.” She stopped suddenly and winked. “I hope her acting has improved. She’ll need all of her talents to keep up that ruse. The old goat who took her was as limp as a noodle.”

  “And not half the man of Danyl Fitzhugh,” Kate added, loud enough to be heard in half the theater.

  “And still not man enough for you, Katie!” he shouted back from somewhere down the hall, as though women openly discussing his sexual prowess was a common occurrence.

  Sarah thought of the way she had groaned the previous evening, as Danyl Fitzhugh had moved in her. Did he think she was acting? Did he care?

  Maggie nudged her companion. “We’ve made her blush. You are new to this, aren’t you, dearie.” Then she added, more quietly. “Do not worry. Danyl Fitzhugh might be black as treacle, but he’s twice as sweet. The blustering means nothing. And he won’t trouble you about other things, if you don’t wish him to. He is a perfect gentleman. And I suspect he’s sweet on you already.”

  “We will know when he decides to do Othello again,” Kate added. “Not one of them survived the first rehearsal as Desdemona without giving up to him. Not that they complained,” she added. “But no hearts were broken, when they left.”

  “It is the bedroom scene, I am sure,” Maggie said with a sigh. “And a pity it is that I always play the maid, in that.”

  There was a heavy step in the hall, and the two fell silent as Mr. Fitzhugh parted the curtains again. He barely looked at Sarah, but thrust a package in her direction. “It begins.”

  She stared at it in confusion.

  “You have an admirer already.” Kate nudged her arm.

  When she did not reach for it. Maggie snatched it from Danyl’s hand. “Sometimes it’s flowers. Sometimes it’s sweets. But this young buck wants to get a jump on the competition.” She tore at the paper and displayed the contents. “A gold bracelet. Very nice.”

  “What am I to do with that?” Sarah said. She did not wish an admirer. Especially not after yesterday. That had been an aberration. But she would not have Mr. Fitzhugh thinking that she was willing to go away with any man who asked.

  “Do not look to me for an answer,” Danyl said roughly. “Whether you meet the man or no, it is no concern of mine. Time that is not rehearsal or performance is totally your own.”

  She thrust the bracelet back at Fitzhugh. “Send him away. Please. I am not interested.”

  Kate snatched the bracelet back. “Dearie, you have much to learn, as does the young man who gives such tokens without a guarantee of affection.” She glared at Danyl. “Miss Howe is not at home to visitors. But she thanks the gentleman for the lovely gift.”

  Danyl laughed, his white teeth showing bright in the dark face. “
Very well, then. I will relay the message.”

  Strange. Was that relief she’d seen, when she had tried to refuse the bracelet? Had he actually thought she would consider leaving so soon? Of course she had been nothing more than a whore when he had found her. Why should he expect loyalty from her?

  Because she wanted him to. If this first performance was an indication, she would enjoy her new life and her new companions. She was grateful to the man who had given it to her. That he would ask no more of her after what had occurred in the darkness was a source of both relief and confusion. She did not want to be a whore. She certainly did not want to be his whore.

  But she could not seem to stop thinking of him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE APPLAUSE WAS deafening.

  Sarah picked up the rose that struck the toe of her slipper, raised it with a flourish and blew a kiss in the direction of the thrower. She was rewarded with a loud cheer from the audience, and a mutter of disgust from the man at her side.

  It was professional jealousy. Nothing more than that. On the previous evening, Mr. Fitzhugh had remarked that, though she had been with the company but a week, she had already learned to upstage him. He had been frowning, as he always seemed to be, and remarked that she would most likely be gone as the last girl had, once she found a tempting enough offer amongst the many that she received.

  But she sensed a kind of grudging admiration beneath it, as though he was proud of what he’d accomplished with her in such a short time. He had every right to be. Though it felt quite natural to put on paint and pretend, she would not have had any idea on how to go about it if it hadn’t been for Danyl Fitzhugh. It was his direction that made the plays the successes they were.

  It had been his idea to add a kiss at a climactic moment when they’d played Beatrice and Benedict. And she had silently cheered. The audience would love it, of course. But more importantly, it would be an excuse to kiss him. Not often, of course. They did not do the play every night. And he’d seemed to think that a rehearsal was hardly necessary, rushing through the scene each time they practiced.