The Girl in the Gatehouse Page 17

  “You must write a great deal of letters.”

  “Yes. A great deal.” She looked away from his speculative gaze. “Now, where were we? Mr. Hart, I would like you to play the lead role in ‘The Peacock’s Complaint.’ ”

  Hart grinned. “You think me a preening peacock, Miss Aubrey?”

  “Not at all. I think you a good sport.”

  “I must be, to have put up with Bryant here all these years.”

  Mariah smiled. “And as reward, you shall also play the bear and fight the lion over the fawn.”

  “And Captain Bryant is the lion, I suppose?” Hart asked wistfully.

  “Yes.”

  “Why, I wonder, do all ladies see him as the valiant lion and me as the grouchy bear? I promise you that in reality, our roles are quite the opposite.”

  Captain Bryant crossed his arms.

  “There, there, Mr. Hart,” Mariah soothed. “You may fight him and show us all how valiant you are. You may even use swords, though I shall ask the carpenter to fashion wooden swords for the spectacle, what with so many children about. But you may practice with steel all you like beforehand.”

  George and Sam whooped while Hart nodded. “That is something at least.”

  “If you are not to play the peacock, Miss Aubrey, what role will you play?” Captain Bryant asked. “The goddess Juno?”

  “No. Dixon shall do the part more justice than I. I shall be busy reminding people of their cues, helping on with costumes, et cetera.” In fact, Mariah had already begun fashioning costumes from odds and ends in her aunt’s trunk. She added, “By the way, Captain, I would also like you to play the fox in ‘The Fox and the Crow.’ ”

  He tilted his head and looked at her, eyes alight with challenge. “If you will play the crow.”

  “Why?” Mariah asked, surprised.

  He gave her a lazy grin. “I want to hear you sing.”

  “You shall hear me caw, a slight improvement on my singing voice, but at least I should have an excuse.”

  “All the better.” His grin widened.

  “Maggie is the true singer here.” Mariah placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder, and Maggie bit back a smile.

  “Besides,” Mariah added. “I already asked Lizzy to play the crow.”

  “Go on, miss, you play the crow,” Lizzy urged. “I am frightened to death at the thought of playing the dove as it is.”

  “Very well, if you are certain. And Mrs. Pitt has kindly offered to narrate the piece.”

  Again that lady dipped her head, and Mariah wondered once more why the woman had agreed to participate.

  Mariah bent and pulled her creation from a basket on the floor – a headdress she had crafted from one of her aunt’s hats. “I made this for the crow to wear. The beak can hold a wooden block of cheese.”

  “Ingenious, Miss Aubrey,” Hart said, all admiration.

  Bryant studied her all too closely. “What other talents have you hidden away, I wonder?”

  In the actual performance, the poorhouse stairway would serve as the “tree” in the entry hall, which Mrs. Pitt thought best suited for staging a theatrical. But for the rehearsal, Mariah stood on a kitchen chair to play the crow.

  Mrs. Pitt held the script near the candle lamp. She cleared her throat and began, “ ‘A crow, having stolen a bit of cheese from a cottage window, perched herself high in a tree and held the choice morsel in her beak.’ ”

  Mariah had to admit the woman had a good, if affected, speaking voice.

  Wearing the crow headdress and her aunt’s fur mantle, Mariah stood gingerly on the chair, swiveling her head from side to side so that everyone might see the beak and “cheese” from the best angle. George guffawed. Even quiet Maggie giggled. Hart, she noticed, was too busy staring at Lizzy, and Lizzy too busy not looking at him to react at all.

  Mrs. Pitt waited for silence, then continued, “ ‘A fox, seeing this, longed to possess the tasty morsel himself, and so devised a wily plan to acquire it. He would compliment the crow on her beauty.’ ”

  Captain Bryant, wearing the velvet ears Mariah had sewn from one of her aunt’s old collars, and an authentic fox tail tucked into the waist of his pantaloons, walked casually over and stood beneath the “tree.”

  He glanced up from an idle inspection of his “paw,” and reacted as if he had just noticed her there. He exaggerated his look of surprise with wide open mouth, bugged eyes, and sputtering. The children laughed again.

  “ ‘How handsome is the crow,’ ” he exclaimed. “ ‘I protest, I never observed it before, but your feathers are a more delicate white than ever I saw in my life.’ ”

  “White!” George objected. For Mariah’s headdress and mantle were black.

  “ ‘And what a fine shape and graceful turn of the body is there!’ ” Captain Bryant continued.

  Mariah smiled and turned from side to side in mock modesty. She noted that, although she had given Captain Bryant his lines only five minutes before, he seemed to barely need to look at the page in his hand.

  Mrs. Pitt took up her cue. “ ‘The crow, tickled by his very civil language, nestled and preened, and hardly knew where she was.’ ”

  Captain Bryant sighed dramatically. “ ‘If only you had a tolerable voice. If only it were as fair as your complexion.’ ”

  Mariah frowned in faux disapproval, planting her hands on her hips.

  “ ‘Oh, if her voice were only equal to her beauty, she would deservedly be considered the queen of birds!’ ”

  Mrs. Pitt said, “ ‘Realizing the fox was dubious as to the particular of her voice, and having in mind to set him right on the matter, the crow opened her beak and began to sing.’ ”

  Mariah let out a loud “Caw!” and dipped her head to dislodge the cheese.

  “ ‘And in that instant the cheese dropped from her mouth,’ ” Mrs. Pitt said. She looked up at Mariah, squinted her eyes, and then repeated, “ ‘The cheese dropped from her mouth!’ ”

  Beside Mariah’s chair, Matthew beamed up at her with a lopsided grin. She shook her head again and finally felt the lightening of her headdress as the yellow-painted wood fell.

  Captain Bryant caught the wedge neatly and pretended to take a lusty bite from it.

  “ ‘This was exactly what the fox had planned and hoped for,’ ” Mrs. Pitt read. “ ‘And he laughed to himself at the credulity of the crow.’ ”

  Matthew laughed and slapped his thigh in exaggerated hilarity. He called up to a pouting Mariah, “ ‘My good Crow, your voice is fair enough. It is your wit that is wanting!’ ”

  With this, Captain Bryant jogged off with his prize. The small audience began to clap. Before Mariah could step down from the chair, the captain circled back and offered her his hand. Self-consciously, she placed her hand in his. He helped her down but did not release her. Instead he held her hand high and led her to “center stage,” where they both took their bows. The children, Lizzy, Mr. Hart, and even Mrs. Pitt applauded good-naturedly for the simple performance.

  Mariah was buoyed by the promising beginning and hoped the rest of the rehearsals and the performance itself would go as smoothly. She looked forward to bringing cheer into the lives of the poorhouse residents. And into her own life as well. Perhaps it would help her forget, at least for a little while, her remorse over the past. . . .

  Lydia was surprised late that first night when she heard a scratch at the door of her bedchamber. She knew instantly it was him. She paused in the brushing of her long dark hair. For just one moment, she sat as a statue, meeting her amber eyes in the looking glass. She saw the light, the hope there.

  Her chaperone was asleep in the adjoining room. At least Lydia hoped she was.

  She rose and padded in bare feet to the door. Pressed her hand, then her ear and cheek against its cool, smooth grain.

  “Yes?” she whispered, never imagining what she was agreeing to.

  “It is me,” his muffled whisper replied. “I must see you. Talk to you.”

  Lydia tho
ught quickly. “Meet me in the arbor before breakfast.”

  “No. Now. I must speak with you now.”

  “We cannot.”

  “We can!”

  “Shhh . . .” Lydia urged, fearing he would awaken the whole house.

  “You don’t understand, Lydia. I am afraid. My heart aches to see you. One more time. One more time before I must . . . depart.”

  Stricken, she opened the door. “Depart?” she echoed. “But you have just returned.”

  “I know. But . . .” His words faded away. His eyes widened, darkened, as he looked from her face, to the hair tumbling loose around her shoulders, to the lace bodice of the nightdress.

  “Harmless amusement.”

  – Monthly Review, about Emma, 1816

  chapter 20

  The following week passed quickly with another dance lesson at Windrush Court, a second theatrical rehearsal in the gatehouse, and a third in the poorhouse itself. On the evening of July first, Mariah went over to Honora House early to make certain everything was in order for the performance.

  Mrs. Pitt, well dressed in a jaunty feather cap and a green gown that complemented her thin frame, met Mariah at the door.

  “Good news, Miss Aubrey. The undersheriff is here visiting. He is an old friend of the late Mr. Pitt, and he has promised to stay for the theatrical. He does us a great honor, does he not?”

  “Indeed,” Mariah said, feeling sheepish. “I only hope you mentioned our humble entertainment is meant primarily for the children. Though, of course, all are welcome.”

  A stout bearded man appeared in the office doorway. “Never fear, miss. I haven’t fancy tastes. I’m sure your spectacle shall prove amusing.”

  “I hope you find it so, sir.”

  Captain Bryant and Mr. Hart arrived even earlier than she had requested.

  “We walked through the gatehouse instead of riding around,” the captain said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, of course not,” Mariah said. But inwardly she felt ill at ease. Why hadn’t she anticipated that? She certainly hoped she had covered up the pages of the new book she was writing. In any case, there was nothing she could do about it now, and much to do to get ready.

  Together they hung blankets from the storeroom all the way to a structural post near the “stage,” creating a narrow passage that would allow the actors to don costumes in the storeroom and enter the stage without being seen by the audience. Around the stage, they placed gas lamps to illume the scene. The candle chandelier, rarely used, was lit for the occasion.

  At the appointed hour, the eager audience came in, some from out-of-doors, some from abovestairs. Children sat on the floor in front, older folks in chairs behind them, and able-bodied guests – the vicar, Martin, Mr. Phelps, and the Strongs – stood at the back. The under-sheriff and John Pitt stood at the side of the stage, arms crossed as if the king’s bodyguards.

  When all was ready, Mrs. Pitt positioned herself at the podium. She introduced the undersheriff with great fanfare, warmly thanked the vicar for attending, and warned the children to behave. Then, clearly enjoying the attention, she arranged her note cards and announced, “ ‘The Peacock’s Complaint.’ ”

  Miss Dixon entered, swathed in Aunt Fran’s pale tunic, the Grecian coronet atop her head, and carrying a branch as scepter. She sat regally upon the worn chair at stage left, instantly transforming it into a throne.

  From her place near the stage but behind the curtain, Mariah noticed Mr. Phelps grin and elbow Jack Strong.

  Mariah felt someone near and glanced up to find Captain Bryant standing beside her in the narrow, shadowy corridor. Captain Hart and Lizzy stood a few feet away, exchanging low whispers. Seeing them, Mariah felt a pang of unexpected jealousy. Where had that come from? She reminded herself that she was resigned to life without romantic love. She had already had her chance and squandered it.

  Captain Bryant leaned across to sneak a look at the assembled crowd, brushing Mariah’s arm as he did so. When he settled back against the wall, she noticed he stood nearer yet, his shoulder touching hers. She found she did not mind. In fact, it sparked in her a secret thrill, being in such close proximity to a tall handsome officer, people all around them yet out of view, only Hart and Lizzy as chaperones – too preoccupied with each other to notice.

  It was a silly, romantic notion, and Mariah enjoyed it even as she upbraided herself for it. His heart belonged to another. And even if it did not, he would never court her – and nor could she blame him. At least she had her own secret outlet for romance. Her novels. And that was enough, she told herself. It was. It would be.

  Little Maggie climbed the stairs and stood at the rail. She swallowed and glanced down white-faced at Mariah. Mariah nodded and smiled reassurance. Jeremiah Martin stepped forward and played the opening measures on his flute. Taking a deep breath, Maggie stared straight ahead and began to sing. The audience hushed instantly.

  “Alas, my love you do me wrong

  To cast me off discourteously. . . .”

  Mariah did not expect the tears, but there they were, wetting her cheeks. The beautiful voice, the lyrics of love and loss, struck her more painfully than she could have anticipated.

  “And I have loved you so long

  Delighting in your company. . . .”

  Mariah did not wipe at her tears, did not want to bring them to Captain Bryant’s notice. But then she felt it. Her hand, by her side, taken in his warm fingers. Gently pressed and held. And with that simple act of empathy, her heart squeezed and her whole body longed to be held.

  When the song ended, the hushed crowd drew a collective breath, and a smattering of applause grew as the dumbfounded spectators returned to themselves. Mariah extracted her hand from Captain Bryant’s to join in the applause, and the moment between them passed.

  “Mr. Hart!” Mariah whispered.

  Mr. Hart looked up, startled, and quickly donned his mask as little Maggie grinned and darted down the stairs.

  Then, as the peacock, with the masquerade mask of jewel-blue feathers and a feather fan besides, Mr. Hart swaggered onto the stage and addressed the crowd. “Sure, sure, you all love the voice of the nightingale, do you not? I cannot compete. Oh, Juno, goddess Juno, listen to how they adore the voice of the nightingale. While they laugh at my ugly screeching voice.”

  He screeched for effect. The children laughed. The ladies winced or covered their ears.

  Hart pouted. “I thought I was your favorite bird.”

  “Of course you are, Peacock,” Dixon, as Juno, said patiently.

  “Then I beseech you. Give me a voice as beautiful as the nightingale’s.”

  Juno shook her crowned head. “Tsk, tsk, Peacock. Are your beautiful feathers not enough for you?”

  “No.” He crossed his arms and pouted once more. Again the children laughed.

  “If the nightingale is blessed with a fine voice, you have the advantage of beauty and largeness of person.”

  Watching her former nanny, Mariah was reminded of all those days in the nursery, when she would scold Mariah for pining for Julia’s musical ability, or some other girl’s superior beauty. How wise Dixon had been.

  “Ah,” Peacock said, “but what avails my silent, unmeaning beauty when I am so far excelled in voice?”

  “Selfish bird. The properties of every creature are appointed by the decree of fate.” Juno turned her head and lifted her branch-scepter. “Behold the mighty eagle.”

  George, as the eagle, with shirt stuffed with stocking “muscles,” swooped by, flexing. His comrades guffawed.

  “Would you also have his strength?” Dixon asked.

  “If I could.”

  Martin stepped forward again, this time wearing a colorful shawl about his shoulders and flapping his arms with a stoic lack of enthusiasm.

  He groused under his breath to Dixon, though Mariah and likely the entire front row heard. “Oh sure, make the ol’ tar play the parrot. That’ll serve ’im right.” Then more loudly
, he squawked, “Brack! Polly want a biscuit. Brack!”

  Juno rolled her elegant eyes and once again addressed Mr. Hart. “Behold the parrot. Would you also have his power of speech?”

  “If I could.”

  Martin returned to his place with apparent relief. Behind the curtain, Lizzy stepped near Mariah. Mariah took her hand and found it trembling.

  “And lastly, behold the gentle dove with her sweet innocence of character.”

  Lizzy, wearing Fran’s translucent, silvery shawl over a gown of white muslin, took small dainty steps across the stage, eyelashes fanning her pale cheeks and golden hair ringing her face. Mariah conceded the casting perfect. Lizzy glowed in innocence and loveliness both.

  Juno raised an arm toward the dove. “Would you take this from her as well?”

  Mr. Hart seemed particularly struck by Lizzy’s loveliness, for in fact he merely stared, forgetting or neglecting his line.

  Juno cleared her stately voice.

  “No,” Mr. Hart breathed. Then ad-libbed, “She is perfect as she is.”

  Mariah saw John Pitt frown.

  Juno rose and stretched out her arms. “Each of these is contented with his own particular quality, and unless you have a mind to be miserable, you must learn to be content too.”

  But Mr. Hart was still staring at Lizzy.

  Juno poked him with her scepter.

  “Ah . . . yes. Yes, I shall.”

  The players bowed, Hart taking Lizzy’s hand and raising it high, then bowing with great flourish. Again John Pitt frowned. But Hart did not release Lizzy’s hand even as the two exited the stage. His limp, Mariah decided, had never been less noticeable.

  Mariah took her place at the podium. She would narrate the second play and Mrs. Pitt the last. “Next we shall have ‘The Lion, the Bear, and the Fox.’ ”

  She waited until Mr. Hart removed his mask and both he and Captain Bryant picked up their wooden swords. They each stood in frozen pose of menace while she read.