Chapter Eight

George

L ater that day, George and his parents traveled by carriage to the Theatre Royal in Beaufort Square and made haste to take their seats.

"Thank goodness—we have made it in time," Mrs. Fitzgerald said as they reached their box. "I began to fear we would not get through the crush."

"I have to apologize again," Doctor Fitzgerald said to his wife, "for 'tis my fault we are so late. George and I came across such an interesting case this afternoon that we quite forgot the time."

"Yes, sorry, Mama," George said.

In truth, George would much rather have stayed with the patient, learning what he could and helping the poor fellow who was inflicted with some sort of degenerative disease. But George's mother adored the theater, and so George and his father had reluctantly left the patient and hastened home to get ready to go out for the evening.

"What do you think was wrong with our last patient?" George said to his father.

"Hard to say, exactly," Doctor Fitzgerald said, "although I have seen cases like this before, when I was a young doctor in London, and I have a few theories. A most interesting case..."

"Hopefully the course of treatment you recommended will alleviate some of his suffering," George said. "Now, how can we prevent this sort of disease in others? Is there something the man could have done differently that meant he would not have caught the disease?"

"There's the question!" Doctor Fitzgerald said. "Possibly his occupation has not helped—for I have known others who work as he does who have been afflicted in a similar way. Then we must consider the mind, which can sometimes influence the body. The illness might stem from within."

"You mean he is ill because of his thoughts?"

"I think it is worth considering, yes. 'Tis possible the man has suffered some sort of disappointment and, years later, this has resulted in his incapacity. You are on the right track, George, with your most interesting question about how the man could have avoided the illness. We physicians are often so concerned with treating a disease that we do not always stop to consider how we could have prevented it."

"Yes, for educating the public properly about the workings of their own bodies and minds would surely help people to avoid disease."

"There is some talk in London circles that over indulgence in alcohol should be warned against," Doctor Fitzgerald said.

"What about tobacco?" George said. "Is that harmful?"

"It has not been proved to be," Doctor Fitzgerald said. "Personally, I do not recommend it to my patients."

"Are you two going to talk about your work all evening?" Mrs. Fitzgerald said.

Mrs. Fitzgerald was very proud of her husband's skill and popularity with his patients, and now she was even more proud that George was well on the way to becoming a doctor. However, George was aware she occasionally found it all a bit too much—and probably felt outnumbered by her husband and her only living child both being medical men.

"I beg your forgiveness, my dear," Doctor Fitzgerald said to his wife.

"Yes, Mama," George said. "We will endeavor to talk about much lighter subjects for the rest of the evening, I promise you. What is this play we have come to see?"

"My dear George!" Mrs. Fitzgerald said. "I cannot believe you do not know the name of the play. I have mentioned it many times in the last week. You have seemed rather distracted of late."

George mumbled another apology.

"We are here to see Romeo and Juliet ," Mrs. Fitzgerald said.

Doctor Fitzgerald inserted a couple of his fingers into the neck of his shirt and pulled. "The valet always ties my cravat too tight these days. It must be the latest fashion to be half strangled."

"There is no point in trying to be fashionable, in my experience," George said.

The image of his tight pantaloons would haunt him for some time to come. That and the grotesquely high collar which had jabbed into the side of his face every time he turned his head; but he had come to like his new hairstyle very much—mainly because it required virtually no maintenance. An occasional run through with his fingers seemed to do the trick.

Ah! If only Selina were to run her fingers through my hair again, as she did yesterday on the Crescent Fields—how happy I would be!

Doctor Fitzgerald sighed. "So! We are to see a tragedy."

"A romantic tragedy," George murmured.

I am to be subjected to a tale of star-crossed lovers—not what I am in the mood for, no, not at all, for 'tis too close to home. I wonder what will become of me and Selina? Everything depends on the wall of ice melting—and that cannot happen until Carter has defeated Lord Steyne.

"You will enjoy it, my dears," Mrs. Fitzgerald said to her husband and son. "Both leads are very well thought of—I heard many good things about them in a friend's drawing room a few days ago. And apparently the production is outstanding—superlative costumes."

Doctor Fitzgerald leaned back in his seat. "Let us hope 'tis not too depressing. I did so enjoy the production of A Midsummer Night's Dream we went to last season; comedy is more to my taste."

As Romeo and Juliet started on their journey from first blissful love to unforgettable loss, George looked around the theater at the audience. It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the low light, but he was determined to do everything he could to help defeat Lord Steyne. Why should Carter be left with all the responsibility? Granted, he worked for the government and seemed to have very special skills—but should not everyone be trying to help seek out Lord Steyne? For Selina's safety was at stake. George did not care that his own life might be threatened—his concern was only for his beloved Selina.

He scanned the audience with his opera glasses. Would Lord Steyne dare to show his face in the theater? Might he come in disguise?

"You're supposed to be watching the stage," Mrs. Fitzgerald whispered to her son.

George nodded, waited a while, and then resumed his search of the audience, hopefully with more discretion. What he discovered fair took his breath away, for seated in an opposite box were none other than Lady Templeton and Selina.

Why was Selina here? She should be safely cocooned at home. And she had not mentioned that she would be going to the theater. What was going on?

She scarce said two words to me when we met by chance on the Crescent Fields earlier today. How foolish I am to imagine she would tell me what her social engagements were for this evening.

George stared at Selina for quite a few minutes through his glasses, drinking in her beauty. She was wearing a low-cut evening gown with some jewels sparkling softly at the base of her throat, her hair threatening to escape confinement in the most charming and natural way. Her eyes were fixed on the stage—she seemed to be concentrating on every word that the young lovers were saying. Although there were many attractive ladies in the theater this evening, Selina shone as a diamond would amongst cut glass. No one could match her! Ye gods! What George would give to be beside her in her box right now. He would softly reach his hand towards hers under cover of darkness. Ah! The feel of her soft skin, her fingers in the palm of his hand...

This would not do! George must stop staring at Selina immediately. What if Lord Steyne or one of his spies was in the theater this evening? What would they think to see George behaving thus? Where was the wall of ice?

George resumed scanning the audience for any hint of Lord Steyne—and saw none. 'Twas a shame, for George would have liked to fight him.

In the interval, Doctor Fitzgerald said, "Shall we go and find a drink and further company?"

"Yes, my dear." Mrs. Fitzgerald looked into the auditorium and waved at a few friendly faces. "I can see many of our acquaintances—let us go and mingle."

George's parents stood up and looked at their son expectantly.

"Are you not coming, George dear?" Mrs. Fitzgerald said.

"I think I will stay in the box, for I am feeling a little fatigued."

George moved his chair to a shadowy corner at the back of the box and slumped down as low as his tall frame would allow. 'Twas best to keep out of sight. And best to feel the chill of the wall of ice.

"George, you have not been yourself for some while," Mrs. Fitzgerald said. "There is no need for you to isolate yourself in the interval."

"Yes, 'tis your duty to socialize," Doctor Fitzgerald said. "I do not see why you should be allowed to escape the chattering masses when I cannot."

Normally George would have found this remark of his father's mildly amusing and would doubtless have replied with some banter of his own. This evening, however, he felt indescribably weary and did not even have the energy for a half smile. It was very draining, having to act all the time—to pretend he did not adore Selina and want to be with her every waking minute.

"Do not tease our cherished boy," Mrs. Fitzgerald said to her husband. She put her hand on George's shoulder. "You must do as you wish, my dear—but do not forget we are always here if you wish to talk."

Damnation! For now George had worried his mama. She must think he had some secret sorrow that he needed to confide.

Although 'tis true, I do have a burden on my mind. Perhaps I should converse with someone. Maybe Henry ?

No, 'twould be better not to burden Henry, for he had enough on his mind at present with his family increasing. George should keep his own counsel. And although Carter would also be sympathetic, 'twould be unfair to distract him from his vital government work.

George shook his head. He had to be his own man and cope with whatever hand fate dealt him. The situation was hard—although hopefully would not last forever. The danger would lift one day, and then George would be able to continue his campaign to woo the most delightful young woman in the world.

I feel like a caged bird, stuck in this box. Damnation! Another five minutes of this tedium and I will have to escape to stretch my legs in the corridor.

*

Selina

George's behavior is outrageous! Not content with allowing his eyes to sweep over every young woman in the theater during the performance, he is now hiding at the back of his box like a criminal, slumped unattractively in his chair. Not that I am at all interested in how he behaves or looks—because I never wish to see him again in my life.

What cruel fate had resulted in George pitching up at the theater at exactly the same time as Selina? The man was a monster; he had even used his opera glasses to study the faces and maybe other parts of the ladies in the audience. There should be a law against it.

How could Selina have been so wrong about George? She had been totally fooled by his kind manner—which she now knew had been an act. Selina blushed as she remembered how unwisely she had pursued George after Henry and Kitty's dinner party, first to the stables and then along the Gravel Walk. Why, she had even asked him if he had thought she was a lady of the night. How amused he must have been at her naivety! How angry she felt about this.

I suspect Mr. George Fitzgerald is a man of the world, of the sort that Mama has often warned me about.

And yet they had kissed but yesterday under the tree, and it had seemed so sweet. Oh, how was it possible that Selina longed for a man who had proved himself to be worthless? What sort of person did that make her?

There was a gentle knock on the door of the box, and a footman appeared with a tray of drinks and sandwiches.

"I thought we would stay here for the interval," Lady Templeton said to Selina. "'Tis easier when there are no men in our party. Besides, my dear, I wanted to have a talk with you. Call it a mother's instinct—but I fear all is not right with my lovely daughter."

Lady Templeton patted Selina's hand.

I do not want to talk to Mama, but instead desperately need to be on my own for a few minutes to compose myself.

Selina cleared her throat. "'Tis a wonderful idea to stay in the box for the interval. However, I need to visit the ladies' retiring room and will be back shortly."

Before Lady Templeton could suggest that she should escort her daughter, Selina had slipped away and fled down the corridor. She ran past groups of people going to have a drink and socialize—on and on she raced, not quite knowing where her feet were taking her, until at last she found herself in a distant corridor and leaned against the wall to draw breath. The chatter from other theatergoers subsided as everyone moved towards the main meeting rooms and the bars.

If I could have but a few minutes alone, I think my heart would stop pounding.

After a while, Selina began to feel a little better and set off to rejoin her mama. Eyes down, she walked briskly back along the corridors, when all of a sudden she collided with... no! It could not be. George?

"Miss Templeton! Should you be alone in the corridor? Where is Lady Templeton?"

How dare he ask these questions! What business was it of his if Selina was alone or not? And why did he keep looking behind him all the time? Whom did he expect to see? Perhaps he had planned an assignation with some other young lady. That would be it—of course! Any minute now some misguided young woman would appear, expecting George to embrace her.

As he embraced—and kissed me—but yesterday.

Or maybe a married lady would appear, one who was searching for amusement. Married women sometimes met up with rakes—or so Selina had heard. She did not want to think what sort of betrayal this meant—or what the married lady and George might do together. Or maybe—horrors!—George had arranged an assignation with a lady of the night. Actresses, it was whispered, sometimes...

Selina felt thoroughly confused and completely out of her depth. She still could not fully believe that George could be so deceitful—one minute tenderly embracing her and the next denying he had any feelings whatsoever for her. Not for one minute did she doubt that what the servant girl, Martha, had told her was true. George had definitely denied there was any affection between them. Why did he say it? Why blurt out something like that in front of Selina's papa, her brother, and Carter? Something so private?

Selina would never understand men. If women were allowed to stay at the dining table when the bottle of port went round after dinner, none of this muddle would have happened.

"I must leave you," George said. "Goodbye, Miss Templeton. I know not when we shall meet again."

Why did George seem nervous? This did not fit with the picture of him as a confident young man about town able to trifle with the affections of any young lady he wanted. George's character truly was an enigma.

In a flash, Selina decided to have it out with him—she would ask George why he was behaving in this bizarre fashion. Why had he led her on by kissing her, only to deny any feeling for her in front of members of her own family on the same day? And then this morning, on the Crescent Fields, why display such indifference towards her?

Selina took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She was going to tell him what a blot on the face of the earth he was—but first, she needed to dig deep to find the courage...

When Selina opened her eyes, George had disappeared. How typical of the man to behave like a rat in the street running from danger! He must have guessed she was about to tackle him about his atrocious behavior and taken the coward's way out. Such a pity women could not challenge men to fight in a duel.

For I wish to meet George at dawn in a remote place and shoot him.

A vision of a lifeless George lying on the ground with a bullet hole between his eyes appeared, and Selina began to sob. She would tell George what she thought of him. She would, she would...

What do I think of him? I must face the truth, which is that I love him with my whole heart and soul. I hate him as well, for what he has put me through—leading me on, trifling with my affections—although if things were different, how happy I would be to become his wife, to be joined with him...

Selina ran round the corridors looking for George, even though she knew she would never have the courage to speak to him. For it was against nature for a woman to declare her passion, was it not?

And besides, I do not wish to declare my passion to George. I want to tell him how much I hate him and that I won't have anything to do with him ever again. I wish to condemn his behavior and make him squirm as I list all the ways he has misbehaved. He should be in a court of law—in the dock. I could be the chief prosecuting counsel.

Any judge in the land would condemn George for how he had behaved. He should be transported to Australia for the rest of his natural life—or at least clapped in irons for a reasonable length of time. He could be sent to Bath City Gaol, and then Selina could visit him with a food basket—he might then repent of his actions and declare that she was his one true love after all.

Selina eventually found herself back on the corridor where her mother would doubtless be waiting a little anxiously in their box. The sandwiches were a tempting thought—for hatred could be a hungry business. Selina put her shoulders back and marched the few remaining steps like a soldier going into battle. She had her feelings firmly under control now.

But before Selina reached the door to her box, she saw George again, looming in the corridor. What was he doing hanging round here? His box was right over on the other side of the theater. Before Selina could say anything, George turned abruptly, muttering as he came towards her,

"A thousand apologies, Miss Templeton. I mistook the route—and definitely did not mean to be on your side. Perish the thought! 'Twas a slight confusion, that is all, and now, I am going straight back to my box. Immediately!"

George brushed past Selina in his haste to get away, causing her to stumble in surprise. His arms went out to steady her, her own arms went onto his shoulders, then he reached round her waist to help her balance. Their faces were so close! Selina lifted her head and gazed into George's icy green eyes which suddenly did not seem cold, but instead meltingly attractive. Two pairs of lips moved closer together, and after an agonizing wait of a handful of seconds, the pair began to kiss with passionate abandon. Selina's breath came in short, ragged gasps as she felt George's muscular strength against her.

What bliss! George's sweet lips upon mine! And I can feel his heart beating fiercely. Nothing else matters...

But reality soon kicked in—there was a lot else that mattered, and mattered intensely. Selina struggled free from George's grasp and stood before him, eyes flashing.

"I hate you, George Fitzgerald. I hate you more than I've ever hated anyone in my whole life."

*

George

Ye gods! Selina had obviously felt the same magnetic pull that George had felt when they'd stumbled into each other. Some feelings were so strong that one had to give in to them without thought. But now Selina had come to her senses. How impressive that she'd had the self control to stand back and tell George that she hated him—for the benefit of anyone who might be listening or watching.

George looked around the corridor. There was no one else there. However, Selina was right—one could not be too careful. He would take his lead from her.

"I care nothing for you," he said in a very loud voice, for he heard footsteps approaching. The interval must be over—people were returning to their seats.

"There is nothing between us," George shouted, before striding off in the direction of his box.

Selina let out a heart-rending sob as he walked away. This seemed a little at odds with the scene they were both endeavoring to act out. Could she be genuinely upset—about something else?

George shook his head and wished once more that he had sisters so that he could understand the fairer sex better. Perhaps Selina had felt overcome after their unexpected encounter and had somehow become a little hysterical? Although George's father had once told him that the notion that women were hysterical creatures was, in his opinion, very much mistaken.

"They are the stronger sex in many ways," George's father had told him. "They approach childbirth courageously."

George had seen babies being born as part of his work with his father, and he had already found the whole experience quite awe inspiring. He crushed the thought that appeared in his mind—of what it would be like if he married Selina, if they had a family together. Time enough for all that. Lord Steyne must be defeated first, and then George must work out a way to woo Selina properly.

Heart hammering, George slipped back into his seat. Damnation! His parents had already returned, and now there would be an inquisition to find out where he had been.

"I thought you were going to stay in the box," Mrs. Fitzgerald said. "And where exactly..."

"Leave the poor boy alone," Doctor Fitzgerald said. "If he changed his mind and wanted to go and socialize, 'tis no business of ours. He is an adult, after all."

Mrs. Fitzgerald opened her mouth as if to speak, then her husband reminded her that the production was about to start again.

"Ah yes, how delightful!" Mrs. Fitzgerald said as the curtain went up. "This play is always fresh, however many times I watch it."

A strange harrumphing issued from Doctor Fitzgerald. 'Twas obvious George's papa did not hold Romeo and Juliet in quite the same high esteem that his wife did.

As the tragic love story unfolded, George became exasperated with the impending sense of doom. Why must some stories end badly? Why did Shakespeare think that people would be entertained by such an aggravating twist of fate? Could not Romeo have only pretended to die—as Juliet had done? For then when Juliet awoke, Romeo could also awaken, and there could be a happy ending.

Or perhaps even if Romeo did manage to kill himself and Juliet awoke to find his corpse, instead of killing herself, why could she not mourn him for a time and then try to make a new life for herself? Would it not be possible for her to build a different future? One heard of people making a happy second marriage after the death of their partner. So why all this unrelenting gloom?

George shook his head. His alternative ending to the play would be unlikely to be quite as popular as Shakespeare's, for George was no creative genius. The truth was that George was far too tender-hearted to enjoy watching people in torment.

He did not like to see animals suffering either. There had been a time a few months past when Trigger had been afflicted with an infection caused by a vicious thorn embedding itself into the side of the horse's leg. George had stayed by Trigger's side night and day until the danger had passed.

"You undoubtedly saved his life," Doctor Fitzgerald had told George. "Your thorough cleansing of the wound and exemplary nursing of the animal were first-rate. I am proud of you, my son."

Trigger was George's best friend in the world. He had known him since he had been a tiny foal. In fact, George had seen Trigger being born in his father's stables at Newton St. Loe. And since then, there were many times that George had whispered the details of something that had been troubling him into the horse's ear. Trigger was an excellent listener, for he never contradicted or offered advice, but instead gave George the space to work things out for himself—in the comforting presence of a friend.

Trigger accepts me for who I am; that is all I ask.

Was it possible that Trigger would be able to help George in the next phase of his campaign to win Selina's heart? The children yesterday seemed very taken with George's horse and would all benefit from riding lessons—particularly the young boy who had trouble walking. Could helping the children be phase four?

Or had phase four already occurred in the form of the unexpected passion George and Selina had experienced in the corridor? The scene was right at the front of George's mind—and yet somehow he was finding it difficult to face, instead musing about alternative endings to Romeo and Juliet, and riding lessons.

However, think about it he should! George had just kissed Selina passionately. And she had matched his hunger. How wild she was—abandoned. The attraction between the pair had been impossible to resist. What would it be like to be married to such a woman? George thanked God the lights in the theater were dim, for his cheeks flamed so much they could practically be considered a fire risk. He looked up into the shadows of the magnificent paintings on the ceiling above. 'Twould be a crying shame if such fine works of art were to be consumed in a fireball.

George lowered his eyelids and peered through his long lashes across the auditorium at his dearest love. Hopefully, this meant no one would see exactly where his vision was directed.

A slight movement caught his attention—someone was entering Selina's box! George leapt to his feet, eager to rush round in case a lowlife ruffian was planning to abduct Selina—ah, but no need. 'Twas Lord Templeton. How pleasant that he had managed to join his party, even at such a late hour.

George reached for his opera glasses. Lord Templeton was not alone, instead accompanied by Carter. And a conversation was going on. Selina was smiling and looking so dashed pretty that George had trouble restraining himself from climbing onto the edge of his box and yelling out his affection and admiration. Here, in the theater! In front of everyone. But that would never do. He must not draw attention to any communication between himself and his heart's desire, on account of the danger which might even now be lurking in the shadows.

Selina was staring across the auditorium and waving at George now, grinning broadly. She looked so happy! What in heaven's name was going on? Lady Templeton had her finger to her lips—she seemed to be telling the other occupants of the box to quiet down.

Faces in the stalls looked up towards the source of the commotion, and then all became magically calm again as the drama of Romeo and Juliet moved inexorably to its devastating conclusion.

As George and his parents walked through the crowded corridors, they were surrounded by excited chatter.

"Brilliant performance!"

"Perfectly cast."

"And the costumes! So authentic!"

"I was affected deeply by the ending . . ."

"Yes! When he drinks the poison . . ."

"And she stabs herself . . ."

Huge lanterns lit up the outside of the theater, giving the panelled pilasters and carved garlands a fairytale appearance. George looked around surreptitiously for Selina—but no sign of her. He urgently needed to know why she had waved at him so exuberantly.

Doctor and Mrs. Fitzgerald stepped into their carriage which was waiting at the edge of Beaufort Square, and then as George was about to follow, Carter appeared.

"Mr. Fitzgerald. A quick word, if I may?"

"Of course," George said. "I noticed you arrive during the production. Is everything all right? There seemed to be quite a commotion breaking out in the Templetons' box."

"More than all right," Carter said. "To cut the story short, Lord Steyne is in custody. I managed to track him down today to his house in the Cottage Crescent. He was hiding out in a stable, just as you had suggested after dinner last night. I had a few friends with me, so we arrested him and took him to the Constable."

"Excellent news!" George said. "What will he be charged with?"

"For the moment, he is accused of threatening Signor Allegretto, but I feel sure there will be other crimes that will stick. Do not worry about that now. Concentrate on the wall of ice, which is redundant now Lord Steyne is languishing in the City Gaol."

"I don't know how to thank you."

"There is no need. Oh, and before I forget, Miss Templeton has a particular invitation for you. She asks that you attend the Templetons' musical soirée tomorrow evening."

"So that was why she was looking happy," George said. "I did notice from my side of the auditorium. She must be as pleased as I am that the wall of ice has come down."

"That's what I thought too," Carter said, "although when I mentioned it, she said she didn't know anything about the wall. Of course, that particular scenario was hatched by us after dinner when the ladies had withdrawn. She hasn't seen Henry today, and Lord Templeton rose very late and obviously did not tell Lady Templeton about it. Miss Templeton was very pleased when I explained all about it just now, though. She said it explained a lot."

George frowned. "I do not fully understand how..."

Carter slapped George on the back. "Avoid overthinking! There is no more wall of ice, so you and Miss Templeton are free to make eyes at each other as much as you want. Accept your good fortune. 'Tis the perfect opportunity to get on with your courting."

"Good advice—which I will follow. Thank you again."

George watched Carter melt through the crowd and then got into the carriage.

"Are you feeling better?" Mrs. Fitzgerald said to her son. "I heard Miss Templeton's name mentioned and I wondered..."

"I've been invited to a musical soirée at the Templetons' tomorrow evening," George said. "I am greatly looking forward to it—you know how much I love Bach and Mozart."

Doctor and Mrs. Fitzgerald exchanged a look whose meaning George could only guess at. However, they seemed pleased.

Later, alone in his bed, George stared up at the ceiling, totally unable to sleep. Joy should have been suffusing his being—yet he was troubled by what Carter had said about the wall of ice—namely, that Selina had known nothing about it. George put his hands over his head and stretched out. What was it exactly that was bothering him?

If Selina did not know about the wall, did not know that we should keep our distance and act as if we did not like each other—why then was she so unfriendly this morning on the Crescent Fields?

Perhaps with her quick intelligence, Selina had taken her lead from George? For he had been remarkably abrupt and unfriendly. Yes, that must be it—she would have realized very quickly that George's behavior was mere playacting and that she should also dissemble. In short, she must have known that the pair must show no fondness for one another when in the company of others—until Lord Steyne was under lock and key.

However, the niggle in George's mind remained stubborn—and persistent.

Selina told me this evening that she hated me. We were totally alone at the time, so there was no need to act: there were no others.

What if she really does hate me?