The Girl in the Gatehouse (26 page)

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.

“There once was a mighty, fearless lion and a strong, brave bear. One day, as they roamed the forest, they each spied a fawn at the very same moment, and each wanted her for himself.”

Young Sam pushed the wheeled invalid chair bearing Amy Merryweather to her place stage left, out of range of the swordplay. Atop her white hair, she wore a pair of brown velvet ears. She looked charming as she waved to the audience. Hands and smiles rose in return from around the room.

Mariah continued. “What followed was an epic duel of claws . . . um, cutlasses, as the lion and bear each fought to prove his supremacy.”

Captain Bryant and Lieutenant Hart lifted and clashed their wooden swords in an echoing crack. One parried while the other struck. One struck while the other ducked. They moved through the steps of an intricately choreographed fight, and Mariah noticed that they had arranged it so that Hart stood primarily in one place and pivoted around on his good foot, while Captain Bryant made larger dives, turns, and spins. The two must have spent hours rehearsing. It touched Mariah that they would do so. Or had they really been so bored?

She watched for several moments, then read, “The battle was severe on both sides. They worried and tore at each other for so long that both grew too weary to strike another blow.”

Both men fell slowly, theatrically to the ground, groaning as they descended.

Mariah continued, “Thus, while they lie on the ground unable to move, panting . . .”

She waited for them to pant. “And with tongues lolling.” Barely covering a smirk, she waited until each man obliged her.

Then, glancing up to see that Martin was at the ready, she went on, “At that moment a fox, who had been watching the battle from a safe distance, came and stood very impudently between the bear and the lion.”

Martin, now wearing ears and tail, walked forward and stood between the prostrate men. He gave each a little bow, and said in a courtly manner, “I thank you, gentlemen.” He then took up the handles of Miss Merryweather’s chair and wheeled her smartly down the aisle.

The lion and the bear looked on, sputtering protests, lifting their torsos from the floor and reaching out, but then falling back down in exhaustion.

Before Mariah could read the next line, a shout and cries of alarm shot up from the crowd. Mariah looked up in time to see a man throw back the draperies from the window at the first landing. He ran forward and, with one hand on the banister, leapt over the stair rail and onto the stage below as though he were an athlete of twenty instead of a man of seventy, which his face showed him to be. The gaslight illuminated droopy features, unkempt grey hair, and a weathered visage.

He appropriated one of the wooden swords from the still-prone Hart, leapt onto Juno’s throne, and bellowed, “Unhand her, you cur, or I shall have your head.”

Near the back of the room, Martin whirled to face this unexpected foe.

What a sight the man made in his blue coat faded nearly white with more golden buttons missing than present, wearing old-fashioned knee breeches and stockings, but no shoes. His stance atop the chair was impressive, menacing and elegant both, as he held his sword in the
en garde
position, the other arm aloft for balance. A fire lit his droopy eyes, and his soft jaw clenched in challenge.

Martin gaped. In surprise, yes, and in recognition. If there was a measure of fear there, it was not the primary emotion. “Captain Prince!” Martin exclaimed. He snapped his shoulders back and stood at attention, offering the man a salute on the invisible brim of his missing hat. One of the fox ears flopped forward at the gesture.

The man lowered his sword. “Great Poseidon! Can it be?”

The lowering of the sword seemed the signal for a melee. Mrs. Pitt screeched a command, and her son and the undersheriff lunged forward and took hold of the old man and began hauling him across the floor toward the stairs. His stocking feet sought footing in vain, slipping and dragging as the two larger men all but carried him up the first flight of stairs.

Amy Merryweather had gotten herself up out of the chair and, holding on to its arms for support, turned in time to glimpse her wouldbe rescuer as the men hauled him from view. She made a movement as though to follow, but Agnes put a staying hand on each of her slight shoulders. With a glance at Mrs. Pitt, Agnes leaned close and whispered to her sister. Though Mariah could not hear the words, she imagined them. “Remember. We don’t know about the man on the roof.”

For that’s who the man was. The man kept locked on the top floor had somehow stolen downstairs to watch their “harmless” entertainment. And because of it, Mariah feared he had just tasted his last morsel of freedom.

In the mayhem that followed, the rest of the performance was forgotten.

Mrs. Pitt continued her terse orders and began shepherding the residents back to their quarters. Mariah was sorry they’d had to forgo “The Fox and the Crow,” especially considering all the work she had put into that headpiece. But Mrs. Pitt made it perfectly clear she wanted all visitors out and order restored as quickly as possible.

Martin appeared shaken and was silent as they walked, dejected, back to the gatehouse. Had he really recognized the man? Or had he imagined the likeness, only to remember his former commander was long dead?

Even Captain Bryant and Mr. Hart walked in silence. At the gatehouse, Mariah thanked them for being willing to help and apologized for the way the evening had turned out.

“Are you joking, Miss Aubrey?” Hart said. “That is the most fun I’ve had since coming to Windrush Court.”

“Thanks, Hart,” Captain Bryant said dryly, then pressed Mariah’s hand. “You did a good thing for those children, Miss Aubrey, and we were pleased to be a part of it. Don’t let the ending spoil the whole.”

I have finished the novel called
Pride and Prejudice,
which I think a very superior work.
I wish much to know who is the author,
or ess as I am told.