Chapter 4

Chapter Four

T he moment that the carriage stopped in front of Haymarket Theatre, affectionately known as the Little Theatre, Eva was determined to put the unpleasantness of the evening thus far behind her. She had been somewhat sequestered from society lately, and was missing its diversions. Of course, the moment that she stepped foot out of the carriage, there were a great many sidelong glances and whispers behind fans.

Let them gossip , Eva thought, lifting her head regally and following behind Tom and Patience to their box after their cloaks and hats had been dispensed with. No one could deny that Eva made a good showing that evening: She had indeed worn her dark blue silk gown, the dupioni shimmering becomingly in the candlelight. Her copious dark hair had been piled elegantly atop her head, ringlets falling artfully down the back of her neck and at her temples. She wore a simple gold bracelet over the white evening glove on her left arm, and a matching blue ribbon with a small gold sun pendant about her neck.

As the party wended their way up the stairs, it became harder and harder to ignore the whispers and the pointed way that conversation stopped when the group approached. Eva had hoped that their plan of appearing all together in public would put the ton's tongues to rest, but it seemed to be having the opposite effect. It would not be difficult to imagine what sort of story they may be spinning behind their backs.

Eva also could not help but feel a stab of concern for Patience; she knew that the new bride was a novice at this sort of thing, eschewing the ton and only recently entering society properly. Eva tried to catch a glimpse of her face as she walked ahead, her arm tucked into the crook of Tom's elbow. Patience turned her head slightly to gaze adoringly up at her husband once, and Eva was relieved—and impressed—by the serenity she saw there.

The relief Eva felt at the sight was somewhat hampered, however, by the endless stream of chatter that Lady Stanton kept up through the entire procession.

"Isn't it nice to be back among our friends? Oh look, there is Lady Featherstone, still looking down in the mouth over her young beau, no doubt. The Haymarket seems to have gone down in some estimation since I was a girl—I hear Nash has his eye on it for rebuilding. Eva, dear, look at Mr. Bywoode, you must greet him! Well, I say! Mrs. Fairfield has just trod upon my hem without so much as a ‘by-your-leave'! The nerve of these nouveau riche, completely lacking in an understanding of the peerage. Is this our box? It's rather small for the son of an earl, isn't it? Still, I suppose it is well-situated."

By the time they had attained their box, Eva could tell that everyone's nerves were on edge. Before Lady Stanton could contrive to have Tom sit next to Eva for some unknown scheme, the young ladies had been shuffled up to the front of the box. Tom sat just behind Patience, scooting his chair up closer to her so that he could speak into her ear.

Lady Stanton huffed briefly about being relegated to the back of the box, but Eva ignored her. It was quickly becoming one of her best talents. Eva instead gave her attention to scanning the crowd, as that was at least half of the reason that one came to the theatre. Those in the boxes used looking glasses and lorgnettes to view the box occupants opposite, while those in the pit openly craned their necks around. Some, much to the consternation of their neighbours, stood openly and surveyed those seated around them.

"Have you heard? The Lyceum is being fitted for gas lighting," Patience said, leaning slightly in Eva's direction. "They say that they will be able to raise and lower the lights at will, without needing to snuff them."

"Pah," Lady Stanton said, clearly overhearing. "I cannot imagine that would be safe or flattering for anyone. It seems quite improper, to light these dancers and actresses so garishly."

Eva merely clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to gnash her teeth openly. It seemed that the rest of the party felt the same way, determined to ignore Lady Stanton. That lady, however, did not seem to notice that no one responded to her whenever she spoke.

At last the lights dimmed, as did the conversation in the theatre. The first act was a young girl who walked balanced precariously on a rope suspended a little above the stage. It was not a particularly daring act, but she was pretty enough and her ankles flashed with every step, so the audience was inclined to applaud liberally.

Next, there was a fresh-faced young man who read out some poetry before a pastoral scene in the costume of an idyllic shepherd. As his shirt was quite loose at the neck and open to his chest, this caused a flurry of fluttering fans all through the theatre. It was impossible to say if he read with any competency, but he spoke with great enthusiasm, and was thus rewarded by the audience.

Eva turned at one point to see Patience's reaction to all of this, as she had not been to the theatre much before. Patience was watching it all with rapt attention, her eyes full of wonder. Her innocent enjoyment made Eva smile. Her eyes flicked back to Tom, who was leaned forward in his seat. His own gaze was trained on Patience, and he looked upon her enjoyment with contented happiness. Feeling Eva's eyes upon him, he glanced to her, and they shared a small smile of old friends.

There was a moment of interlude before the next act, which was to be the main event of the evening. Eva had not paid any attention to the programme, but there was an excited, murmuring energy washing over the audience. The musicians straightened and prepared to play. Silence, heavy with expectation and anticipation, filled the theatre. When they at last began to play, it was with a raucous, rapturous enthusiasm.

The curtain lifted onto a scene of Grecian ruins, with broken columns and statues painted onto a scene of a night sky with a shining moon and glittering stars. Painted clouds seemed to float across the sky languidly. Eva turned to Tom again, prepared to make a flippant remark (this was their habit when they went to the theatre together, refusing to take anything seriously) when there was a flash of silver from the stage.

A figure stepped forward, pale and shining in the stage light; what they had all assumed was simply another piece of the scenery, a marble statue, was in fact a living man. He was dressed as a Greek of old, in pure silver and white. His hair, so light that it, too, shone nearly silver, was long and flowed to his shoulders. It was as if a bit of quicksilver had come to life, for he flowed across the stage with a grace that defied explanation.

Eva had the strangest feeling that Time was playing games with her. All around her, everything had halted; there was nothing but the stage, and the dancer on it. He leapt with ease, falling back to the stage so softly that Eva was not sure he had landed at all. Eva had seen dancing, of course, and had even received instruction when she was young. This, however, this… it was something entirely new and different.

A great flash of light made the audience gasp, and suddenly there was another dancer, a woman, dressed all in metallic gold and bronze. She wore a shining diadem, and her own draped tunic was made to resemble wings when she lifted her arms. She beckoned to the other dancer, and their meeting was one of such profound feeling that many in the audience sighed.

"Ah, Adonis and Aphrodite," Patience murmured, but her voice sounded far away to Eva.

They cavorted on stage, leaping, hands touching, pressing their cheeks together, all with surpassing lightness and grace. At last, the vital Adonis was slain by a boar, his spear missing its mark. This was no ordinary stage death: What had once been a body full of tension and life was suddenly a crumpled heap. It was as if all of the strings holding him had simply been cut. The musicians, too, halted their playing mid-note. The effect was so shocking that there was a chorus of gasps and cries.

Aphrodite, her crown slipping a little, cradled the lifeless body of the man she loved. One arm lifted, as if to demand how Selene, the moon, could allow such a tragedy. The entire theatre was silent, as if everyone present was holding their collective breath. The silence persisted, as there was no answer to Aphrodite's mute demand to know how such a beautiful thing could be killed so carelessly. The curtain, startlingly red and final, was lowered slowly.

Eva continued merely to stare, her vision oddly blurred. The theatre was silent, as if under a kind of spell. Slowly, the audience began to applaud. Time released Eva from whatever hold it had over her, and things began to transpire in their correct manner again. The audience showed their appreciation with thunderous applause, those in the pit even stamping their feet. Dumbly, Eva could feel her hands lift as if lifted by someone else, and she, too, applauded automatically. It seemed wrong somehow, as if it were insufficient thanks for what she had just seen.

To the consternation of the audience, the dancers did not reappear, nor did they take any bows. It was nearly unheard of, and the audience, thinking it an act of supreme snobbery, approved whole-heartedly. They were all left wanting more, which was the greatest victory that any performer could wish for.

Lady Stanton was speaking again, but Eva paid her absolutely no mind. It was easy to ignore her; Eva was still riveted by what she had just witnessed. She did not know what had touched her so, but something within Eva had shifted, changed. It was as if she had just been introduced to the concept of possibility ; she had assumed that her life would follow the same roads that it always had, but this beautiful, modern performance had shaken her.

Whatever the rest of her life held, Eva knew that she would always be grateful for this moment of perfect, transcendental beauty.