Stages of Desire (12 page)

So perhaps he wasn't an arrogant ass after all. Even Lord Abingdon suffered like the rest of them. All of his money couldn't bring back his dead brother, or cure his sister. In fact, in her eyes, he was a hero. If she could only make him see it.

“It's a small setback, one you'll figure out eventually. And look what you've created with your donation. The dispensary is a remarkable place.”

“It's easy enough to throw money at a good cause. I'd like to
do
good as well. To make some kind of tangible contribution.”

He pushed the teacup away and stood, making it clear he was finished with the conversation. Her sympathy and encouragement had embarrassed him, her tone was all wrong.

“I'd like to take a look at the medicinal garden,” he said.

“Of course.”

He ventured outside and she followed, not sure whether or not he wanted her company. The plantings seemed unruly and in need of pruning, a far cry from the deliberate patterns in the garden beds of Hyde Park.

William pointed out the various species. “Urswick's got quite a good collection. Here you have woolly foxglove, which strengthens the heart, and over here's meadowsweet, which relieves pain.”

Harriet nodded as the beauty, and utility, of the flora revealed itself.

“And comfrey, here, which will help our patient's broken leg heal quickly.”

“Your knowledge is astounding.”

William shook his head. “I wish I knew more.”

Harriet knelt down and fingered a bright yellow flower.

“Calendula,” he said. “It's edible and good for wounds.”

She popped it in her mouth and a tangy, peppery sensation spread across her tongue. “Not bad.”

“You're quite daft.”

At least she'd made him smile.

He looked back at the dispensary. “We should be getting on. There's nothing more I can accomplish here with Urswick in terms of the ague treatment.” He sighed. “It does feel as if calamity follows us wherever we go.”

She couldn't help but warm at his use of the word “us.” As if they were a team. She wagged a finger at him. “It's the curse. I warned you.”

“You're not going to go on quoting Shakespeare at me, are you?”

“No. I'm through quoting Shakespeare.”

“Wait a moment.” He froze. “That's it. Quote Shakespeare.”

“What?” Harriet wasn't sure if he'd taken ill again.

He put his hands on her shoulders. His touch was firm and he stared into her eyes with an unexpected fierceness. “Tell me exactly what you said before, when I was working with Urswick.”

“I asked about the burner.”

“No, after that. You recited something from Shakespeare.”

“Right. From
Merchant of Venice
. ‘And other of such vinegar aspect that they'll not show their teeth in way of a smile.'
If I remember, you were being rather peevish at the time.”

“Thank you!” He placed his hands on either side of Harriet's face. Was he about to kiss her?

No. Instead, he ran into the dispensary, Harriet following close on his heels. She didn't know what he was talking about, but he seemed awfully excited.

“Mr. Urswick,” he shouted.

The man came running.

“What is it?”

“We need to try again. I think I know what will work for the extraction. We've been going at it all wrong.”

As they returned to the table, they bandied around unfamiliar phrases like alcohol extractions, weak washes and hydrochloric acid but she couldn't follow their conversation or make out what their hands were doing. She kept out of their way, happy to see William re-energized.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Urswick held up a glass vial and peered at it intently. He passed it to William, who examined it and let out a long, slow exhale. Were they pleased? Or disappointed? Their scientific demeanors were maddening to the uninformed spectator.

Urswick took off his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose, then carefully replaced them.

“We've done it.”

William beamed with pride. “I believe we have.” He called out to her. “Miss Farley, do you want to see?”

A layer of delicate crystals, white as snowflakes, coated the bottom of the vial.

“They're beautiful.”

“This is the isolate alkaloid,” William explained. “We'll need to do some testing, but I believe it's the essence of what makes cinchona bark so effective against malaria.”

Urswick put the vial down and slapped him on the back. The two men shook hands. “Well done.”

“It was a group effort.” William was beaming. “In fact, it wasn't until Miss Farley mentioned vinegar I realized an acid was the key.”

She couldn't help herself. “Once again, Shakespeare reaches beyond the grave with his brilliance. I think we see here an example of art trumping science.”

“Art assisting science,” said William with a growl, but he didn't seem to mind.

Chapter 10

The moment she stepped onto the stage of the Theatre Royal, Harriet's heart soared. She was thrilled simply to be standing there. Three tiers of highly polished walnut soared above the pit, which was lined with dozens of benches. The seats in the boxes were upholstered in velvet the color of claret, the ceiling bedecked with chandeliers that looked as if they were made from twinkling pieces of ice. The idea that the Farley Players had made it this far, and were about to appear in one of England's most beautiful theaters, brought tears to her eyes.

By the time she'd arrived, the cast was assembled onstage in costume and was marking their way through the second act. They were making good progress, but her joy was tempered by the sound of arguing in the wings.

“I don't see Mr. Farley here,” said a deep voice.

“I'm sure he's coming, he'll be here any minute,” answered Adam. “There's no need to interrupt rehearsal.”

The man whom Harriet presumed to be the producer at the Theatre Royal, a Mr. Wilkinson, hurried onto the stage, with Adam not far behind him. Wilkinson was a large man with short legs, and she was struck by how many steps it took to carry him forward, like a duck paddling furiously below the water's surface.

She stepped in front him and spoke in an authoritative tone. “We're in the middle of rehearsal. May I help you?”

He squinted at her. “I'm Wilkinson. You must be the daughter everyone's telling me I need to see.”

“Yes. I'm Miss Farley.”

“I have a contract here with Mr. Sam Farley.” He pointed to the paper in his hands. “I don't see him anywhere, and if he's not here, we don't have a show.”

“I've told him he's coming,” said Mrs. Kembler, almost baring her teeth at the man.

Harriet held up her hands. “I'll handle this. Everyone please change costumes for the beginning of the third act.”

Her father had somehow disappeared into thin air between the pub and the theater. Although he might not have been able to slink off if she'd been with him, she wouldn't have missed the opportunity of seeing William's discovery for the world.

She waited until the group had shuffled off. “Now, Mr. Wilkinson. I assure you my father will be here, I spoke with him earlier today. We're thrilled to be at the Theatre Royal and I understand Mrs. Ivey is excited as well. I'm sure you don't want to disappoint an actress like Mrs. Ivey.”

Harriet hadn't even met the woman yet, but Wilkinson didn't have to know.

His expression was guarded. “Are you sure your company can handle this? It's an educated crowd here in Birmingham, but they'll show their anger if they feel the entertainment is sub par.”

“We've played to grander houses.” That made two lies. All part of the job of theater manager. And without her father here, she was indeed the manager. Freddie was nowhere to be seen, yet again. Having a Farley of the male persuasion present would have no doubt helped matters. She'd have to speak with him about that.

Wilkinson cleared his throat. “Farley has fifteen minutes. If he's not here by then, it's off.”

“I don't understand. The cast is here, we're ready to perform. Why is my father such an indispensable element of the play you'd cancel the whole thing? He won't be appearing on stage. He hasn't in years.”

“It's in the contract.”

His stubbornness infuriated her. “Has Bibby put you up to this?”

The man took a second longer than necessary to reply. “Bibby? I don't take orders from Bibby.”

She didn't push him, but his response confirmed her fears. Bibby was no doubt colluding with Wilkinson to send her father to prison so he could take over the circuit. He'd probably offered him a share in return. Everyone was hoping they'd fail, and her father would be the scapegoat in the process. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms.

“Harry!”

Her father gave a shout from the back of the theater. Even from this far away, she could tell he was drunk by the way he wove down the aisle.

“Have we begun?” he asked.

“Father, how nice to see you.” She turned to Wilkinson. “The contract is complete. Why don't you check the box office and make sure your staff is prepared?”

The man glared in her father's direction and scuttled away.

Once he was out of sight Harriet ran to her father, took him roughly by the arm, and led him to one of the benches against the back wall.

“You've been drinking.”

He shook his head, bewildered. “I only had a small drink before I came here. It was hardly anything.” The last word was slurred.

“Is it that difficult? All you had to do was walk from the Craven Arms to the theater. Yet you couldn't help ducking away for a drink? Everyone here is relying on you.”

“Iris.”

“What?”

“You look like Iris.”

Harriet had never heard her father refer to her mother by her Christian name. He rested his chin on his chest and breathed a heavy sigh. The nostalgia and intimacy with which he said the one word made her heart ache for him. “I do?”

He touched her hair. “You do. Same blue eyes, same hair. She was more classically beautiful, of course. You have an oddness about you, but you share many of the same features.”

Harriet didn't know whether to thank him or reproach him.

He continued. “When I saw you today, for a moment I forgot she'd died. I miss her so.”

“I'm sure you do. I wish I'd known her.”

“She was a brilliant actress. She could've been the next Mrs. Ivey, playing leading roles, living in luxury, but she chose to marry me instead. She took on the life of the strolling player with no regrets.”

“No regrets,” Harriet echoed. How hard it must have been for him, these many years, to have lost his one true love. Because of her being born.

“I know I shouldn't have had so much to drink.” He gave her a teary look.

“You're here now, and that's what's important. I'll handle the rehearsal, I'll handle everything.”

“I take it Freddie isn't here?”

“No, he's not.” She sat back and studied him. “Why can't the two of you bear to be in the same room anymore?”

“He's the reason for this. He's the reason for my bad behavior.”

As soon as she began feeling sorry for her father, he turned her good will on its head. “Don't be ridiculous. Did he force the liquor down your throat? I highly doubt it.”

“Oh, he was more subtle than that.”

“Stop it.” She'd had enough of his drunken ranting. “Stop blaming everyone else.”

“I know, I know.” He sniffed and dug around his pockets for a handkerchief.

She handed him her own and he blew his nose loudly. The cast trickled back onstage, in twos and threes.

The effort of clearing his nostrils seemed to energize her father. “Tell me about this earl who's been hanging about.”

“Quiet, there's no need to shout. He's to marry the Duchess of Dorset's daughter.”

“Quite a tongue twister.” He tried to say it quickly and laughed. “I'll have to work on that.”

He was getting tiresome. “Are you quite finished? We have work to do.”

“Are you sure he's an earl?”

“Don't be daft. Of course he's an earl. What makes you even say that?”

He stuck out his lower lip and cocked his head. “Don't be angry at me. I take it this daughter of the duchess is a pretty thing?”

“Yes, she's a lovely girl.”

“But you'd rather have Lord Abingdon to yourself, right?”

Harriet was amazed at his presumption. And at how much the idea of William and Marianne together bothered her. “Of course not. He's an earl, father. Earls don't marry girls like me.”

“They don't. And it's best you remember that.”

Harriet had had enough of his insults. No wonder Freddie wanted nothing to do with the man. He was rude and self-centered and a drunkard.

She rose and pointed to him as if he were a bad dog. “Stay put in your seat until I say you can leave.”

In response, he smiled up at her and settled back for a nap.

The door to the lobby flung open and a resplendent woman waltzed in. Their star actress had appeared at last. The final piece of the puzzle. Harriet quickly intercepted her, blocking her view of her sleeping father in the back row.

“Mrs. Ivey?”

She stopped and turned, not looking at Harriet as much as offering herself up for view. The woman was an actress in the truest sense of the word, from the top of her gaily-adorned bonnet to the tip of her satin slippers. She wore a sumptuous peach gown with a cornflower blue sash, and her hair spilled down her neck in a careless manner that certainly took hours to achieve.

“Yes?”

“I'm Sam Farley's daughter and I'll be leading the rehearsal today. Thank you so much for appearing with us, it's such an honor.”

Mrs. Ivey looked her up and down. “What's happened to Mr. Farley?”

“He'll be here shortly, but we don't want to waste your valuable time, so if you please.” Harriet guided her onto the stage and called for the cast to gather.

They rose to attention, drawn by the presence of theater royalty. Unfortunately, Mrs. Kembler's costume dipped unnaturally low in the neckline and Toby's pants were too short. Harriet would do a quick fix before curtain but for now, she hoped Mrs. Ivey wouldn't think them too provincial and walk out.

“I'd like to welcome the esteemed Mrs. Ivey to the Farley Players' production of
As You Like It,
” said Harriet to cheers and claps. Mrs. Ivey responded with a practiced expression of demure overconfidence.

“Everyone get settled and in five minutes we'll begin at the top, please.”

In the wings, the various set pieces and drops were where they ought to be and, much to Harriet's surprise, Miss Entwhistle was efficiently hanging costumes for the quick changes at stage left.

“Don't tell his lordship, will you?” Miss Entwhistle murmured as Harriet passed by. “If I don't help out there's no way Mrs. Ivey will have time to switch from a court gown to country breeches.”

Harriet smiled. Miss Entwhistle's lucidity seemed to have improved during her association with the actors.

For all the insanity, real or imagined, Harriet was happier than she'd been in a long time. The hub of activity, everyone working toward a common goal, created an infectiously giddy atmosphere, one where she was challenged and appreciated. Although it was a shame her father was incapable of keeping away from the drink, she had to admit she'd much prefer to be the one in charge, particularly after the hard work of the past few days. She wanted to see it through.

She called places, hopped off the stage and settled on one of the benches in the middle of the pit to watch.

“Has the famous Mrs. Ivey arrived yet?”

William joined her.

“I thought you were back at the hotel, making notes on the grand experiment.” Seeing him again so soon gave her a jolt of pleasure.

“My work, for today, is done.”

“Mrs. Ivey has arrived and we're almost ready to begin. But before we do that, please follow me.”

“Why?”

She took him by the arm and led him up the aisle, through the lobby and outside. The daylight seemed unnaturally bright.

“What on earth has gotten into you?”

“Do exactly as I say. Turn around three times.”

William dropped his head back and laughed. “You've got to be kidding. Is this about the curse?”

“You can't go back inside that theater until you've done so. Turn around.”

He did.

“Twice more.”

He complied.

“Now spit.”

“An earl doesn't spit out on a busy city street. It's unseemly.”

“It's not difficult.” Harriet swished the saliva in her mouth and spat, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Freddy had taught her well.

William laughed again and followed her example.

“And finally, you must swear.”

“Bloody hell.” He immediately clapped a hand over his lips, barely suppressing a smile. “I'm sorry, that's a terrible thing to say in front of a woman.”

“I've heard worse in my day.”

William's success at the dispensary had changed him. He appeared to be in high spirits. It was hard to imagine the man she'd met in the library so many days ago performing an unseemly act with such gusto. She wondered what Marianne would think of her potential husband now.

“So this way, you hope, there will be no more disasters?” he asked.

“I have no doubt. Thank you for your compliance.”

He held the door for her as they re-entered the lobby. “You'll be happy to know we have a coach back to London tomorrow. I know the duchess and Lady Marianne will be pleased to see you again. But in the meantime, you've done well, Harriet.”

She smiled, but her emotions were in turmoil. London seemed miles away, in another country almost. It was difficult to hear Marianne's name cross William's lips. Marianne didn't know anything about the man she would be marrying, how difficult he could be, or how brilliant and brave, and a pang of jealousy ran through her. Perhaps he considered Harriet more of a silly younger sister after all they'd been through. They shared an easy camaraderie and she had the impression he was genuinely fond of her, even after their disastrous encounter at the castle. But only now, with him standing so close to almost be touching her, did she realize the truth.

She had fallen in love.

* * * *

William took a seat inside the theater and tried to ignore Harriet's father snoring away near the back. It was a shame the man had been unable to stay sober for even an afternoon. Harriet dominated the stage, marking the actors through each scene change, and he was again struck by her uncanny knack for making people do what she wanted them to, whether it was encouraging Toby to speak his lines faster (“we're breathless to hear the full thought”) or Mrs. Kembler to hike up the neckline of her gown (“much more youthful, yes”).