Chapter 24

Chapter 24

The imposing edifice of the Theatre Royal rose above Lenora. This was not the first time she had attended a show there, but it was the first time she would be viewing a play where she knew the playwright. She felt a bit nervous and rather excited, anticipating the prospect of knowing someone who might become famous.

“It is nearly time,” Reuben said, taking her elbow and guiding her towards the entrance, following the rest of her family.

Everyone who was anyone was attending. Even her sisters and their husbands had come. Her father escorted her mother, just as if nothing untoward was happening at home. August slouched along after them, his movements stiff and somehow angry.

The theatre filled up rapidly. Across the way, Lenora recognized Dorian escorting Emma and her chaperone into the de Clare family box. For a moment, it seemed as if their eyes met across the space, even though she knew that he was too far away to make that possible.

Reuben tugged her arm, directing her attention down to the front of the stage. “Is that Mr Hooper down there beside the orchestra director?”

Lenora wanted to shout at him, but she schooled her face into an expression of civility and looked where he directed. “It might be,” she said. “But it is too far to tell.”

Reuben handed her something that seemed to be a large tube. “Here,” he directed. “Try my ship’s glass.”

Lenora took the tube and held it to her eye, twisting its central joint to bring the stage into focus. “Yes, that’s Charles Hooper,” she said, handing the glass back to Reuben.

He pointed the glass towards the stage, twisting it to focus it. Lenora thought his hands trembled a little, and she hoped he was not going to have one of his episodes. “Interesting,” Reuben commented, collapsing the glass and putting it away.

August gave him a side-eye glance. “Shush,” he said. “They are about to begin. If you two start nattering, we’ll not be able to hear a thing.”

Lenora wished she dared ask for the glass back. She would love to focus it on the box across the way. But she had already learned that Reuben was a bit possessive and more than a little jealous of her relationship with Dorian. While she might take him to task for it in private, this public location was not the place to cause a scene.

She longed for the carefree times when she had not cared what people thought. But after she discovered her father’s indiscretion and observed her mother’s quiet sadness, she had vowed to be more circumspect.

Still, Lenora could not help allowing her gaze to drift towards the de Clare box. Did Emma appreciate Dorian? Did she care about him at all? She had a treasure and perhaps did not even realize it.

The theatre slowly grew quiet. The orchestra director lifted his baton, and the musicians began to play beautiful music. With a shock, Lenora realized that she recognized the piece. It was more polished than it had been several weeks ago, and the orchestra gave it volume and tone, but it was her music; the music Dorian had said reminded him of her.

Looking towards the de Clare box, she saw Dorian rise and stride to the front of it. Even at this distance, she could tell that he was gripping the rail at the front of the enclosure. Emma also rose and drew near him, apparently placing a restraining hand on his arm. She could not see the chaperone, but she must have been somewhere behind them.

A dapper gentleman, clearly intended to be the playwright, stepped out on the stage. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” his voice rang out, “tonight, I present you with a tale of Bath. Every community has its hidden stories, its little secrets. Tonight, I bring you a comedy of errors, of human confusion, and the threads that run under doors … some of them are bedroom doors.”

There was a titter of nervous laughter as the audience seemed to attempt to figure out if this was a lance aimed at them.

From the wings, a lady dressed to the nines dashed to the centre stage. Putting out her arms, she spun in circles. “Where is my horse?” she called. “I am perishing for a good gallop.”

A strange figure that seemed to be a “horse” made up of two humans carrying a board between them dashed onto the stage. “There you are!” the lady exclaimed, marching up to the strange creature and patting the nose of its strange head. “Bend down here that I can climb aboard,” she commanded.

The front-end figure of the “horse” obligingly bent down, and the lady planted herself sidesaddle on the board. “Run!” she exclaimed. “Run like the wind! I need to feel it on my face and in my hair!”

The strange creature obediently trotted around the stage while the lady lolled across its back, apparently swooning with delight.

Suddenly, another actor burst onto the stage. This one was riding a hobby horse. “Sister,” he shouted, “we are going to be late for the wedding!”

That’s us! Lenora realized. This play is all about us. What horrible things is Charles Hooper going to reveal?

She watched in horror as the fake Lenora barged in on her fake sisters’ wedding. In the next scene, the actors wandered about among make-believe ruins. This was awful! Lenora wanted to leave, but Reuben stopped her as the actor Dorian got down on one knee in front of actress Lenora as if to propose, but she turned away, reaching wistfully after someone in the wings.

More mature actors and actresses took the stage. The older actress lady took the actress Lenora to task for her rowdy ways. Meanwhile, at her back, her actor husband was making free with a succession of maidservants, including one who was better dressed, clearly a governess.

Lenora was glad she had eaten very little before they left the house;, for now, she felt as if every meal for the last week was forcing its way up her throat.

She glanced over at her mother. Lady Temple was staring fixedly at the stage, a false smile plastered on her face. How could she do that? It was almost as if her mother had expected something of the sort and was enjoying the travesty of the moment.

“Excuse me,” Lenora said. “Excuse me, I am feeling ill.”

She fled from the box and hurried down the stairs to the lobby, heedless of Reuben’s protesting voice calling after her.

At the base of the stairs, she paused, struggling to keep the contents of her stomach from splashing out. This could not be happening. It could not!

Lady Iris came out of a side door with her chaperone trailing after and hurried towards Lenora. “Oh, my dear,” she exclaimed. “I saw you leave the box. What you must be feeling, I cannot possibly imagine.”

“Did you know he was doing this?” Lenora asked her.

Iris shook her head. “No, although I suspected something was afoot. He was too coy about his writing, hinting at this or that. I think he believed I would be impressed.”

“Are you in it, too?” Lenora asked.

“Oh, yes. I am the faithless jade who fails to support the playwright in his genius. Did you not recognize me?” Iris asked.

“I confess I was a trifle preoccupied with the defamation he was busily smearing on my family,” Lenora said. “I cannot believe he would do this. He is supposed to be Dorian’s friend, yet he is unabashedly doing a masterful job of character assassination.”

“Oh, my dear,” Iris commiserated. “I should have warned you. But I thought I had him convinced that what he was doing was unkind and that it would destroy his career as a writer.”

Lenora laughed hysterically. “I fear it might make his reputation as a satirist and that he will continue writing such pieces and having them performed. I cannot believe this is happening. We shall be ruined!”

“Perhaps not,” Iris comforted her. “If your family ignores him and refuses to acknowledge his slight, then perhaps it will be a ninety-day wonder and blow over.”

“I don’t think I can endure this for ninety days,” Lenora protested, feeling tears begin to prickle behind her eyes. “How could he? I mean, really, Iris. How could he do this to everyone?”

Iris laid a hand on her friend’s sleeve. “Shhh, shhh, don’t cry now. People are starting to stare. Smile and laugh as if I have just told you the funniest joke in the universe. Stay strong; it’s the only way to get through it.”

“Ha, ha,” Lenora forced a laugh, “Ha, ha, ha, I guess the joke is on us. What a realistic parody of life.”

“Better,” Iris said softly, handing Lenora her handkerchief and pocket mirror. Then more loudly, she added, “You can use these to see if you can get that dust speck out of your eye. It is watering terribly.”

“Ha, ha.” Lenora laughed, this time a trifle more naturally, if edged with bitterness. “So it is. They both are. That hobby horse certainly stirred up a lot of dust in there.”

“So it did,” Iris said. “A terrible, horrible dust storm.”

“Perhaps some cool drinks?” the chaperone suggested helpfully. “They are selling ratafia in the lobby.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Lenora said. “I should hurl immediately upon drinking it. Ratafia never sets well on my stomach. And now . . . Oh, Iris! And he is using Dorian’s music! Is Dorian part of this? Was he privy to the contents of the script?”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Iris commiserated. “I did not even think of that. Surely not, Lenora. Surely, he would not do such a thing.”

“I can’t bear it,” Lenora sobbed, crumpling Iris’s delicate handkerchief in her hand. ‘I simply cannot bear it. The humiliation! We will never live it down. We . . .”

At that moment, she was nearly bowled over by a wild-eyed Dorian.