The Girl in the Mask (14 page)

I blushed and stumbled over my words, shy to be speaking to such a famous poet, but he was easy to talk to and soon put me at my ease. We spoke of poetry and stories and agreed on favourites. ‘I see you have the playbill there,’ Pope remarked. ‘It’s a good performance. I was there last night. I venture to promise you’ll enjoy it.’

I was in a glow after he’d taken leave of me. Even the usual boredom of the rooms wasn’t as painful as usual. I reread the playbill, thinking over Pope’s recommendation and Mr Charleton’s challenge. He’d as good as dared me to go. And he was quite right: why should I not see the play? I concealed the playbill in my pocket and didn’t mention it to my aunt again. She’d forgotten about it by the time she finished playing cards. Over dinner, I grew quiet and began to close my eyes and rest my forehead on my hand. When my aunt still said nothing, I sighed deeply.

‘What is it, Sophia?’ she said impatiently. ‘We must make haste and get changed for the evening service in the abbey. There will be cards afterwards at Harrison’s.’ She put down her knife and fork with a clatter and I winced eloquently at the sound.

‘I can feel one of my migraines coming on,’ I said faintly. ‘Might I be excused this once and go to bed? I don’t get them often, but when I do, they last all night.’

My aunt looked at me suspiciously. I did my best to look like a drooping headache-sufferer, and reluctantly she gave her consent.

It was an easy matter to send Dawes away, stuff the bed with clothes to make it look as though I was asleep and slip away through the window, pulling the shutters closed behind me. Wearing my old wrap-around gown, I purchased a ticket for the pit, hoping that would mean I was well away from anyone who knew me. But I needn’t have worried; the theatre was almost empty. The audience was dispersed around the cramped auditorium in twos and threes with large gaps, and I thought how disheartening it must be for the actors. But once the first scene opened, I was spellbound by my first experience of the theatre. I was with Hellena and Florinda every step of the way as they fought the persecution by their father and brother. When the first act ended, I was breathless with excitement. A touch at my elbow and Mr Charleton’s voice made me jump out of my skin.

‘So you did attend after all. But your aunt surely did not let you come alone?’

‘She preferred to play cards,’ I said, avoiding an outright lie.

‘In common with most of the nation,’ replied Mr Charleton. His smile was enigmatic, and I was almost certain he guessed I was here without permission. ‘But you must join me. It is not the done thing, you know, for young ladies to attend playhouses alone. Your aunt should have warned you.’

‘Please, don’t trouble yourself!’ I begged him, but he would not be gainsaid. ‘Come, Miss Williams!’ he said. ‘I’ve come tonight especially to enjoy your company, so you cannot refuse me.’

‘You cannot have known I’d be here,’ I objected.

‘It was an educated guess, and you have proved me right.’

I raised my brows in surprise and he grinned. ‘Very well, I confess I happen to live next to the theatre, opposite your house, and saw you pass by. But I was fairly sure you’d be here.’ He led me to a seat beside his and insisted on purchasing me lemonade to refresh myself. I didn’t know how to rid myself of him, but when he began to talk about the performance with me, I forgot about wishing him away, and threw myself into the discussion.

‘Hellena is wonderful!’ I agreed enthusiastically. ‘She’s absolutely right to flout her family’s orders and try and enjoy herself before they steal her life from her!’

‘No matter what the dangers may be?’ asked Mr Charleton. He leant one arm against the back of my chair and looked down at me.

‘What are dangers compared to experiencing life before it is snatched away?’ I cried passionately. ‘She may as well be dead as in a nunnery. I would do the same. Though why she should choose to fall in love is beyond me. I’d find something better to do with my last nights of freedom.’

‘I’m sure you would,’ agreed Mr Charleton. ‘Haven’t you already done so?’

I caught my breath. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I stammered. I was grateful when he calmly changed the subject: ‘And how did you like Alexander Pope? He’s a man of great gifts, is he not?’

‘Oh, yes,’ I agreed, relieved to be on safe ground again. ‘And I was amazed by how easy he was to talk to.’

‘He’s very affable. You see, Miss Williams, we shall have you making friends here in no time.’

I stiffened, annoyed that the apparently kind introduction had been part of a strategy. ‘I assure you … ’ I began crossly, but at that moment Belvile reappeared on stage. Mr Charleton laid a hand over one of mine and shushed me quietly. I snatched my hand away and sat rigid with indignation in my seat.

But the moment the players began to speak again, I forgot my anger and became caught up in the performance once more. The second act was even more intense than the first. There was some fine acting, and I was surprised at how the presence of Mr Charleton beside me heightened my enjoyment. He laughed when I laughed and then we both grew still and serious as the tragedy of the jilted courtesan played out on stage.

I had tears in my eyes at the end of the second act, so moving was the portrayal. I blinked them hurriedly away as Mr Charleton turned to me to ask how I had enjoyed my first visit to the theatre.

‘I loved it,’ I sighed happily. ‘I could come here every night. I bought this play, you know, just a few months ago. But before I could finish reading it … ’

‘Yes?’ Mr Charleton prompted as I stopped.

‘To tell you the truth, sir, my father burned it. He said it was unsuitable.’ I wasn’t sure what made me confide in Mr Charleton. Perhaps it was a mistake. But the sense of injustice still raged in me.

‘Severe, but not uncommon,’ Mr Charleton replied. ‘Many girls are banned from reading such works. Hellena’s first speeches against the marriage of young girls to old men are particularly outspoken and often omitted from modern productions. But when you are married you will be allowed to read more freely.’

‘Won’t that depend on my husband?’ I asked. ‘After all, my life will be ruled by the decisions men make for me, won’t they?’

‘How your eyes sparkle with indignation, Miss Williams,’ commented Mr Charleton. ‘You said earlier that any means were justified in enjoying your freedom. Would that be true even if it involved harm to others? Would you break the law?’

I sat silent, wondering again how much he guessed or knew about me. Could he possibly know what I’d done this morning? I could feel my heart hammering, and I knew a traitorous heat was rising in my face. I must keep Mr Charleton at arm’s length, or sooner or later I would reveal myself. I stood up hurriedly. ‘I must go.’

After a penetrating look that took in my heightened colour, he said calmly: ‘Of course. You must allow me to escort you home.’

This was a fresh danger. I had to think quickly. How to shake off my unwanted companion between here and the other end of Trim Street? If he escorted me, I would be obliged to knock on the front door, and my expedition would be discovered.

‘There’s no need,’ I told him. ‘I can walk such a short distance by myself.’

‘Oh, I insist,’ he replied. ‘Can I fetch your cloak?’

‘My cloak … yes, indeed my cloak,’ I said. ‘Thank you. It’s blue,’ I added with a smile.

As we rose and walked to the exit together, I contrived to fall a little behind him. He went to fetch my non-existent cloak from the attendant and I slipped back into the auditorium and left it by the only other door I could see. It led backstage to a shabby maze of narrow corridors with the paint peeling off. I ran straight into Hellena, her stage paint garish in the lamp-lit corridor. We stood and stared at one another in confusion for a second.

‘You were wonderful,’ I told her, and impulsively I kissed her cheek. ‘You’ve given me courage. Is there a back way out through here? In the spirit of the play, I’m escaping an inconvenient male escort.’

The young woman suddenly smiled. ‘There is, but it only leads out into the back yard,’ she replied, pointing the way.

‘That will be perfect,’ I assured her. I stepped out into the small yard that contained a privy and a number of broken props. I vaulted onto the wall and walked along it until I reached a narrow path at the end. From there it was easy enough to drop down, cross two gardens and circle back across Trim Bridge and into the stable yard. As I snuggled down into my bed, I grinned at the thought of Mr Charleton hunting uselessly for a blue cloak that didn’t exist and wondering where I’d disappeared to.

Mr Charleton never asked me about my disappearance; he merely greeted me the next time we met with his usual politeness. I suspected he knew perfectly well why I’d run away and had only offered to escort me home from a sense of mischief. How much else did he know about me?

In the following weeks I attended breakfasts, dances, afternoons at Harrison’s, promenades, and services in the abbey. Some days I had to pinch myself to be sure it wasn’t the same endlessly-repeating dull dream. Aunt Amelia disappeared into the card room every afternoon. I stood at the door and watched her take her place at the tables. Obviously I was delighted to have a breathing space from her watchfulness each day, but I was surprised that gambling was becoming such a passion that she left me regularly unsupervised.

One afternoon, a lady at a nearby card table beckoned me across to her.

‘You wanted to speak to me, ma’am?’ I asked her as I stepped up to her table.

‘Yes, dear. Miss Williams is it not?’

She was an older woman with a strong, much-painted face, a large patch on one cheekbone and an elaborate, powdered hair-style. ‘That’s right,’ I agreed doubtfully.

‘Well, Miss Williams, we need a fourth for our table. Do you care to join us? We intend to play at ombre.’

‘Thank you for the invitation, ma’am,’ I said, still ignorant of the lady’s name. ‘But I don’t know how to play.’

‘You don’t know how … ?’ The lady stopped, apparently speechless. One of the girls at her table tittered. Glancing at her, I saw a young and pretty blonde face. ‘Lansquenet then? Or perhaps you prefer loo?’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t know any card game at all.’

A fresh outburst of giggles from the fair girl greeted my words, and a look of astonishment descended on the lady’s face. ‘But, my dear, what do you
do
all day?’

‘I love to read, ma’am,’ I said somewhat stiffly.

‘Books!’ she exclaimed. ‘Don’t give me books! Men and cards are all the books I need!’

‘We should teach her, Lady Orkney,’ cried the fair girl. ‘It does not
do
you know, Miss Williams,’ she said speaking earnestly to me, ‘to be ignorant of cards. All the world plays.’

‘Thank you,’ I said swiftly, ‘but I find I do well enough without cards or what you call ‘the world’ for amusement.’

A man nearby, hearing what I said, lounged up to us and leant on the back of the blonde girl’s chair. He was dressed in brown with a waistcoat that was a vile shade of puce. He stared at me as if I were some curiosity in a travelling fair. I felt my colour rise under his scrutiny. He commented: ‘How very singular!’ The girls tittered again.

Blushing, I left the card room, aware of a buzz of whispers after me. I told myself I cared not. Instead I sought the tea room and accepted a cup of tea and a smile from a friendly waiter and passed some pleasant time chatting to him until a fiddler struck up outside and an impromptu dance began on the lawn. The guests crowded out of the rooms to join in. The tune was a merry one that set feet tapping at once, and I found myself drifting outside to watch. It was mildly entertaining; certainly better than sitting in a stuffy tea room on a bright afternoon.

After just a few moments, I became aware I was being watched. The same man in the puce waistcoat was staring at me once more. There were several young women gathered around him, one of them the ubiquitous Mary Welland who I avoided whenever I could. I saw the blonde from the card table whispering in her ear, her speech punctuated with giggles. They were all looking at me. I looked away, pretending I hadn’t noticed. ‘Lud!’ the man exclaimed, loudly. ‘Does she think she’ll get a dance partner? Surely even she must realize that no self-respecting gentleman would be seen within ten feet of her?’

It was clear the speaker intended me to hear his words. His tone was arrogant and disdainful. There was laughter from the girls around him. I froze, unsure whether to move away, pretending I hadn’t heard, or whether I should brazen it out. It hadn’t occurred to me that by watching the dancing, I’d be thought to be begging for a partner. Then I reminded myself that social disgrace was my aim and steeled myself to stay where I was.

‘Who’d want to dance with a girl who walks like a man and muffs all her steps?’ commented another girl in a breathless voice.

‘And she has no notion of the rules of ombre!’ said another with a giggle. ‘If ever there was a sign of no breeding.’

I glanced at the group. Mary was in the act of putting her hand on the young man’s shoulder and standing on tiptoe to say in a penetrating whisper: ‘At home in Devon, she rides around in breeches and they call her ‘the Squire’
.’