No Place for a Lady (12 page)

“Here, this is Lord North’s box,” the page said, glaring at us as if we were a bunch of heathens. “Yez’ll have to clear out.”

“My good man!” Mr. Alger exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “There must be some mistake. I have tickets for this box.” He handed them to the page boy, who condescended to glance at them.

“For last week, sir,” he said. “Lord North is just on his way in with a party of six. Yez’ll have to vacate the premises.”

“That is impossible!” Alger exclaimed, snatching back the tickets. As he studied them, a frown grew on his face. “You are right. Ladies! There seems to be some misunderstanding.” His face was as red as a rose when he turned to make his apologies to us. “There must be some box empty,” he said to the page. “As you see, I am escorting two ladies.”

“Ye’d ought to have checked your tickets then, mister. Come along. I’ll see if I can find yez a corner to squat.”

As we were hustled out of our magnificent box, the commotion drew attention to us. It seemed half the audience turned to stare at our shame. We watched from the hallway as a party of six were shown in. One of the gentlemen actually nodded and smiled at Alger, having no notion we had been occupying his box.

There was a whispered colloquy between Alger and the page boy. Money exchanged hands. A moment later Alger turned to us and said, “There is an empty box. Not quite as good as the one we were just put out of, I fear. I do not know how to apologize, ladies.”

“It is no matter,” Miss Thackery said. She felt sorry for him in his moment of shame. I felt the same way myself. “We do not have to sit on the grand tier, with princes and dukes. It is not what we are accustomed to, I assure you.”

The page boy took us to what must surely have been the worst box in the house. It was on the lowest level, rammed right against the wall. We got a draft on our backs and an angled view of part of the stage. The seats were not luxuriously padded; they were of hard wood, and crowded on top of one another.

“I will darken both of Sharkey’s eyes and draw his cork when we get home,” Alger growled. “I paid him three guineas for that ticket.”

“Algie, you flat!” I exclaimed. “You cannot afford such extravagance. Good gracious, I hope you did not do that only to impress us.”

“Not us—
you!”
he said, his glance just slanting off Miss Thackery to make sure she was not eavesdropping. I was touched at his effort and felt very badly for him. I determined on the spot that I would express myself delighted with the evening, no matter what further horrors it held.

The play, at least, was excellent. The wine ordered for our box at the first intermission no doubt went to Lord North’s party. “I told the page boy to reroute it here,” Algie said apologetically. We waited, but neither the wine nor any friends came. We sat alone in our dark little corner, watching the festivities in other boxes. Algie suggested we go out, but Miss Thackery did not like to think of the wine coming and our not being there to receive it.

“The play is marvelous,” I said a couple of times, to try to cheer him up. “And the theater is lovely! I have never seen anything like it, Algie. We are enjoying ourselves very much. Truly we are.”

In the darkness he squeezed my fingers. “You are very kind, Catherine, but we both know this expensive evening has been a disaster. The only pleasure will be finding a blunt instrument and lowering it with considerable force about Sharkey’s head and shoulders when we get home.”

“Perhaps it was an honest mistake on his part. Let us go into the lobby at the next intermission, as planned. Perhaps we shall meet your friends there.”

We were all ready for a little exercise by the time the second intermission came around. I noticed Algie limited our exercise to one end of the lobby—and not the end where the grander members of the audience stood in clusters, talking animatedly about the performance. Later, he found us a seat on one of the plush benches and went to bring us wine. I saw him chatting to some of those members of the ton and wondered why he was so reluctant to let us meet them. We had been sitting all evening. I, for one, would have preferred to walk about and mingle.

When he returned with the wine, he came alone. If his aim was to isolate us, however, he was outwitted by one gentleman. A rather handsome man followed Algie with his eyes, and when Algie came toward us, the man followed. He was soon bowing and smiling.

“Lord Algernon,” he said. “I don’t believe I have the pleasure of your friends’ acquaintance.”

Miss Thackery’s wineglass trembled in her hand, spilling a few drops on her good gown. We exchanged a startled look.
Lord Algernon!

Algie ignored the strange salutation. “Ladies, allow me to present Lord Evans,” he said. “Evans, may I present Miss Irving and her companion, Miss Thackery.”

“Charmed,” Lord Evans said, with a gracious bow. “I expect you are Lord Algernon’s neighbors. From Suffolk, are you?”

“Wiltshire, actually,” Miss Thackery replied. I was quite beyond speech. “Near Bath.”

“Ah, that would explain how you met. Lady Dolman was at Bath last winter. How is your mama’s gout, Lord Algernon?”

“Much improved, thank you,” Algie said in wooden accents. “And how is Lady Evans?”

“Oh, Mama is enjoying her usual vapors and swoons. She has put herself in the hands of a new quack who does not believe in either purging or bloodletting. No doubt he will be the finish of her. He has put her on a foolish regime of walking and eating a deal of fruit and vegetables. The fellow ought to be committed.”

A little crowd soon spotted Evans and Lord Algernon and came along to pay their respects. Some of them had seen us being unceremoniously ejected from our box and laughed or consoled, according to their natures. I hardly heard a word anyone said, except that more than one of them called Algie Lord Algernon, and the name Dolman recurred, in close proximity, to “your papa.” Once the cat was out of the bag, Algie relaxed somewhat—and even appeared to enjoy my confusion. That laughing light was back in his eyes.

“I shall explain everything later,” he said in a low voice.

“You may be very sure of that, sir!” I hissed back.

This was why he had been in such an almighty rush to escape Lord Evans at the exhibition. The others, Mrs. MacIntyre and her daughter, Sir Giles and Soames, were on a comfortable first-name basis. Algie he could explain away as a nickname, but Lord Evans was more formal; he used the mysterious title. Lord Algernon had not wanted us to know he was Lord Dolman’s son. I could not fathom why, nor why he did not live at his papa’s comfortable house on Berkeley Square. He did not appear to be estranged from his papa, for more than one of the crowd made some joking reference to Dolman keeping the son’s nose to the grindstone.

It was a complete mystery, but I had to wait until the play was over before getting any satisfaction, for the crowd hung on until the bell announced the last act of the play. I had not seen or read
The Rivals,
and have to this day very little idea of how Lydia Languish and Anthony Absolute sorted out their various misunderstandings, but the smiles at the play’s end told me it was accomplished.

My mind was fully occupied with Lord Algernon’s masquerade—and the cause for it. Why had he said he was his papa’s secretary? Why had he claimed he possessed only a small competence? Every word he had uttered thus far was a lie. The curricle he had supposedly borrowed from Dolman, the closed carriage we drove that evening—none of it made any sense.

After the play, Algernon suggested dinner at the Pultney Hotel, where many of the crested carriages were heading. I would like to have seen the place, but knew it would not give us any privacy to hear the tale I was on nettles to hear.

“If you are hungry, milord, Miss Thackery and I will make you a sandwich. I am more hungry for an explanation of your deception than for food,” I said.

“It is just as well. No doubt the table I reserved will have been taken by someone else, as I asked Sharkey to make the reservation.”

We drove directly home, but we did not bother with sandwiches. Over sherry and biscuits, we finally got a story out of him. Whether it was the truth we had no way of knowing; it sounded quite farfetched to me.

“The fact is,” Lord Algernon said, “my papa has been displeased with me. Gambling debts, a life of dissipation. He cut me off without a sou. Said it would teach me a lesson to have to support myself. So I fooled him and offered to work for my daily bread. He feared some of my friends would give me a synecure and insisted I work for
him
—and still support myself on my very minimal earnings as his secretary.”

“You said he wanted you to live at Berkeley Square,” I reminded him.

“Yes, after a few months he did rescind his harsh terms to that extent, but by then I had made up my mind to show him I was not the wastrel he took me for. Our friends are all aware that I have been sent to Coventry and josh me about it. You must have noticed, Catherine, that several of the people we met teased me about my work.”

“Yes, I did notice that, but why did you tell me you were Mr. Alger?”

“Pride, I suppose.”

“You need not be ashamed of honest work just because you have a title, Lord Algernon!” Miss Thackery said at once.

“That was not my meaning, ma’am. I did not wish to tell you I was the black sheep of the family and hoped to pass for a worthy, striving gentleman of modest means. As to the others, I thought I would fit in better with the tenants if I ignored the title. You must own, a lord living in a couple of hired rooms in this neighborhood sounds improbable. They would not have believed it, nor would you, I daresay. My being Mr. Alger saved explanations. I meant no harm.”

Miss Thackery nodded her comprehension of this speech. “Wise of you, milord. Sharkey would have robbed you blind, and as to Miss Whately ...”

“It seems very strange to me,” I said. “Could you not have reformed yourself without moving to Wild Street?”

“Perhaps, but Papa was quite angry at first. The salary he pays did not permit me to hire rooms at Albany, or any such address. He felt me good for nothing and wanted to show me a lesson. Later, after we both got over our fits of temper, I still wanted to show him one.”

“Well, you have showed him his lesson now and ought to return home. This is no place for a gentleman,” I said severely.

“Oh, you shan’t be rid of me that easily, Catherine. I shall stay out my year. I find Wild Street quite congenial... now.” He gazed into my eyes as he emphasized that last word, implying that I was the cause of its new congeniality.

Miss Thackery suddenly decided we all needed some solid food—and used its preparation as an excuse to leave us alone. She thought she smelled romance in the air, but I discerned a fishier aroma.

“What about your dealings with Sharkey?” I asked. “Would Lord Dolman approve of you assisting a common felon?”

“He always has a soft heart for a reformer. He approves.”

“You will never reform Eric Sharkey.”

“Never say never. I reformed me,” he said.

“Were you really that bad?” I asked reluctantly.

“I wasted a deal of time and money. I did not ruin innocent maidens, or cheat at cards or kill anyone. You tell me how bad that makes me. Am I irreclaimable?” His smile was a challenge, and an invitation.

“I am not well enough acquainted with you to know.”

He watched me a moment, then said, “My own feeling is that with the right lady to keep me on course, I could become an honorable member of society.” He set aside his sherry and reached for my fingers.

I moved them away.

“What is bothering you, Catherine? Is it the chess set, the crystal decanter? I like a game of chess. The set was a birthday present from Mama a few years ago. I did not feel I was breaking the terms of my bargain with Papa by bringing it with me. As to the crystal wine decanter and glasses—well, I can do without my valet and groom, and without a few of life’s refinements, but I cannot and will not drink wine out of a cup. I bartered a pearl shirt stud for them at a pawn shop.”

“You have an answer for everything,” I snipped.

“Unlike you, who have not answered my question.”

“You did not ask me a question.”

“I implied one. What I meant was, are you interested in reforming a ne’er-do-well who is eager for reformation?”

“I believe Wild Street offers people in greater need of help than you, Lord Algernon.”

“My friends call
me Algie, Catherine.”

“I only met you an hour ago, Lord Algernon. This sets our acquaintance back, does it not? You really must not use my Christian name on such short acquaintance.”

“No, no! After all,
I
have known
you
for several days. You
are
still Miss Irving, are you not, from Radstock?”

“That is correct. I am Miss Irving, and I would appreciate it if you would call me so.”

“Oh, no. I will not give up my hard-earned privilege. I am not totally reformed yet, you see.” I believe he was about to revert to his abandoned ways, but unfortunately Miss Thackery came in with cold mutton and bread, and our privacy was over.

Miss Thackery subjected him to a discreet but thorough catechism of his family, his home, and other subjects that indicated she had shoved him under the microscope for examination as a potential husband. I listened sharply, but with an air of ennui to conceal my interest. We were just finishing our tea when the front door opened and someone came in. I noticed then that Algie had placed himself facing the hall, so that he had a view of anyone entering.

“That cannot be Miss Whately,” I said. Footsteps were moving quickly up the stairs. There was no singing.

“Sharkey,” Algie said, with a menacing grin. “Excuse me, ladies. I have a little business to discuss with Sharkey. Thank you for a lovely evening.”

We insisted that the pleasure had been ours, and as Algie moved to the stairs with a meaningful stride, I said, “Algie, for goodness sake don’t cause a commotion so late at night. Take him outside before you use that blunt instrument.”

“You’ll never hear him fall,” he said, and ran upstairs.

I waited, listening, at the foot of the stairs when Miss Thackery took the tray to the kitchen. Not a sound came from above. Sharkey was on the third floor, however, and I feared any racket would disturb Mrs. Clarke and Jamie, whose rooms were below his. I went up to the second-floor landing to listen. From inside Algie’s room, I heard the unmistakable sound of low laughter. Far from doing battle, Algie and Sharkey were enjoying a good chuckle. Then Algie spoke, but in no angry way. He seemed to be asking a question. His actual words were indistinguishable.