Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
1
“I
They were side by side in the red plush box in the theater in the semidarkness. It was late autumn and since there was no heating the air was cold. By the end of the first act the press of the crowd had warmed the stalls, but up here in the first tier of boxes it was different. The movement of applause and the stamping of feet then had helped, but now the drama was tense again, and the buzz of excitement shivery.
The stage was brilliant, the actors vivid figures against the romantic, plyboard scenery. One in particular commanded Caroline’s attention: a man of just over average height, slender, with a sensitive, aquiline face full of humor and imagination, yet haunted with all the possibilities of tragedy. He was Joshua Fielding, principal actor of the company, and Charlotte was now quite certain he was the reason her mother had chosen this particular performance.
Apparently Caroline was waiting for a reply. Her face was quick and intelligent, but touched with an odd kind of vulnerability, as though Charlotte’s answer might matter to her. She had been widowed a little while now. After the first grief had come a kind of euphoria, a sense of freedom as she realized how much she might do without restraint, since she was her own mistress. She read whatever she pleased, political, contentious, even scandalous. She joined societies and discussed all manner of subjects previously forbidden, and listened to lectures from reformers, travelers and scientists, many accompanied by photographs or slides.
But perhaps now a little of the pleasure of it was wearing thin and now and again a shadow of loneliness crossed her thoughts.
“Yes, indeed, Mama,” Charlotte agreed sincerely. “He has a voice I could listen to for hours.”
Caroline smiled and returned her attention to the stage, for the time being satisfied.
Charlotte looked sideways at her husband, but Pitt’s eyes were on the occupants of a box some twenty yards away around the same tier of the balcony. One was a man in his early sixties with thinning hair, a broad brow, and at the present moment a fixed expression. He was staring at the stage. The other was a handsome, dark-haired woman, at least twelve or fourteen years younger. Her glittering jewelry caught the light as she fidgeted, turning her head, touching her hair and leaning slightly forward in her seat.
“Who are they?” Charlotte whispered.
“What?” Pitt was caught by surprise.
“Who are they?” she repeated quietly, looking past him to the other box.
“Oh—” He was a little uncomfortable. The visit to the theater was a gift from Caroline, and he did not wish to appear less than wholly involved in the play in spite of the fact it did not hold him. “A judge at the court of appeal,” he whispered back. “Mr. Justice Stafford.”
“Is she his wife?” Charlotte asked, seeking the reason for Pitt’s interest.
He smiled very slightly. “I think so—why?”
Charlotte glanced towards the box again, only moderately discreetly.
“Then why are you looking at them?” she asked him, still in a hushed voice. “Who is that in the box just beyond them?”
“It looks like Mr. Justice Livesey.”
“Isn’t he young to be a judge? He’s rather handsome, don’t you think? Mrs. Stafford seems to think so too!”
Pitt turned a little in his seat. Caroline was too absorbed in the stage to notice. He followed Charlotte’s gaze.
“Not the man with the black hair!” he said under his breath. “The one nearer. The young one is Adolphus Pryce. He is a Queen’s Counsel. Livesey is the big man with white hair.”
“Oh—well, why are you looking at them anyway?”
“I was just surprised he was so absorbed in the play,” Pitt replied with a slight shrug. “It’s rather romantic. I wouldn’t have thought it of him. But his eyes haven’t left the stage for ten minutes or more. In fact I haven’t seen him blink!”
“Perhaps he’s enamored of Tamar Macaulay?” Charlotte said with a little giggle.
“Who?” Pitt’s face creased with confusion.
“The actress!” Charlotte was exasperated and for a moment her voice rose. “Really, Thomas! Do pay attention! She is the heroine!”
“Oh—of course. I forgot her name. I’m sorry,” he apologized contritely. “Be quiet and watch the play.”
They both faced the front and were silent for nearly a quarter of an hour until a small cry from the Staffords’ box and a hasty, half-muffled activity drew their attention. Even Caroline was caused to look away from the stage.
