Vintage Love (187 page)

Lady Blake had studied her through her lorgnette and said, “What a delightful creature you are! Sir John and I have been enchanted by your Portia and your Beatrice!”

“Thank you,” she said.

“The Waddingtons are fortunate to have such a lovely daughter,” Lady Blake told her. “You are a credit to them.”

Mary could not help wondering what the languid old lady’s reaction would have been had she informed her, “I am Mary Scott, the kitchen slavey whom your own son seduced and had thrown into the streets.” But she said nothing and politely expressed her thanks to the vague old woman. She found Howard’s delight in his mother’s fine appraisal of her touching and amusing. Perhaps one day she would have to tell him the truth!

It was Peg Waddington who put the difficult question to her. One morning after breakfast the faded beauty sat beside her and asked bluntly, “Do you plan to marry Howard Blake?”

Mary said, “How could I? You know my history. That I worked in the kitchen of his parents’ house. That I was seduced and put into the streets by the villainy of his brother.”

“But you do like this young man?”

“I do.”

“And he cannot be held to blame for his brother’s evil deeds,” Peg Waddington went on.

“I suppose not,” Mary said. “But he sees me as a paragon of virtue. I don’t want to disillusion him. I could never tell him my sordid beginnings in London.”

“That is possibly a wrong judgement on your part,” the older actress suggested.

“I think not,” she said. “I could not face Edward Blake as a brother-in-law. Could not tolerate him.”

Peg sighed. “Then you had better not see this younger brother of his so often. It is bound to bring you both heartbreak. You must slowly draw away from him.”

“I know you’re right,” she worried. “I will try.”

Peg smiled sympathetically. “I don’t wish to interfere. But Hector and I do worry about you.”

She gave the older woman a grateful look. “You two have been mother and father to me.”

“You have brought us great joy,” the actress said. And then, “What of Jeffrey?”

Mary’s face took on a forlorn look. “I have not heard from him in months.”

“Yet we know he loves you,” Peg said.

“He insisted he did, but I now begin to wonder,” she said with a sigh.

“I think I know the reason you haven’t heard from him,” the older woman said. “Hector has had some information from a touring manager. He claims that Jeffrey’s new company has been doing badly. Several times their scenery and costumes were taken for debt. He has barely managed to carry on.”

Mary was shocked. “I was sure he would do so well.”

“He ought to have remained longer here,” Peg said. “He needed more experience and reputation. I fear poor Jeffrey has been too impatient for his own good. It may be his ruin.”

“Is Noel Hastings still with him?”

“Hector said so,” Peg went on. “But Jeffrey has reduced the size of his company and there is a rumor that he may come back to London and seek work again with someone else.”

“Would you rehire him?” Mary wanted to know.

“Of course,” Peg Waddington said. “But Hector fears that Jeffrey’s pride will not allow him to come to us. We would so much like to have him with us again.”

Mary found herself worrying about the young actor who had such a large place in her heart. She said, “If Jeffrey does come back to London I hope he seeks me out. I would advise him to return to the Maiden Lane.”

“Let us hope he does,” Peg Waddington said.

In the week which followed her discussion with Peg she made it a point to avoid Howard Blake. She either pretended to be too weary to see him, or too busy, but she knew this could not go on for long. And then something happened which suddenly changed everything.

One warm August evening after she had played Portia, Peg came to Mary’s dressing room with a short, elderly man wearing a badly fitted wig, powdered in the style of fifty years ago. Peg brought the little man in and presented him to Mary, saying, “I want you to meet an ardent admirer of yours, dear. This is Lord Patrick Carter.”

Mary rose with a smile. “You see this room is filled with your roses! You are far too generous.”

The old man, who in his youth must have had an attractive face, said, “No rose can compete with your beauty, dear girl.”

Mary was delighted by his courtly manner. She said, “I
do
thank you. But surely — all these flowers …”

Peg said, “I’ll leave you two to talk.” And she withdrew from the room leaving an embarrassed Mary alone with the little man.

Lord Patrick wore a fine waistcoat of brown and dark brown breeches in the style of a bygone age. His shoes had elegant buckles on them and it was evident that he was a man of some taste, if somewhat antiquated. In his dry, rasping voice, he told her, “I have been afraid to come and visit you. Afraid my ugly old phiz might disgust you.”

She said, “Nonsense. I find you in no way disgusting.” Nor did she. He was old but he could not be blamed for that. “Won’t you sit down?”

“I would rather stand,” Lord Patrick Carter said. And then abruptly, he asked, “Do you like dogs, Miss Waddington?”

“I’m very fond of them,” she said. “I was born and lived my younger years in the country. I had many pets, several dogs among them.”

“Dogs are preferable to humans,” the old man said vehemently.

She smiled. “I know there must be times when we all are forced to think that.”

“It is a fact, Miss,” he said seriously. “I have more than thirty dogs! They are my best friends!”

“I had heard you were a dog fancier,” she said. She recalled that the stage manager had actually told her the old man dressed his dogs in clothes and shoes, and repressed a smile.

“Some think me eccentric.” His sharp old eyes fixed on her as he waited for her opinion.

“One is entitled to one’s beliefs,” she said.

“I sometimes like to pretend my dogs are people,” he went on. “I dress them in waistcoats, capes or flowing skirts. And my cobbler takes their foot sizes and makes special shoes for them. Does that startle you?” He looked searchingly at her.

Mary said carefully, “A little. But I can’t see that it does any harm if the dogs don’t object.”

“They seem to like it,” Lord Patrick Carter said. “I take them for rides in my carriage and they sometimes sit at my table. Or join me in my drawing room. I’m a lonely old man; I wouldn’t know what to do without them.”

“I understand,” she said, wondering if he would soon leave. He made her nervous but she did not want to dismiss him abruptly and hurt the feelings of the lonely old man.

His eyes fixed on her again. “I come to see you every night.”

“You are my most faithful patron,” Mary said with a smile.

“I have spoken to your parents,” he went on.

She was a little startled by this. “Have you?”

“Yes,” he said. “I will come to the theatre tomorrow night. You will be playing Beatrice again.”

“I will,” she said. “But you must have seen me in the role dozens of times.”

“I never tire of seeing you,” the little man said. “You have brought brightness to my old age.” He bowed to her. “I will say goodnight. My carriage is waiting and I must see to my dogs before I retire.”

She followed him to the door and said, “Goodnight! It was kind of you to visit me.”

Then she finished changing into her street dress and joined the Waddingtons for the walk home. It was a warm, lovely night and they walked slowly, savoring the fine weather.

As they walked she told Peg, “What a remarkable little man Lord Patrick Carter is!”

The older actress said, “I’ll tell you more about him when we reach our lodgings.”

Hector chuckled. “At least he’s a dedicated patron of the Maiden Lane Players!”

They were seated at the table in their lodgings having a late snack. Mary was aware of some excitement in the older couple and could not imagine what it might be. She felt they had some news they were witholding from her and wondered if they might have had word of Jeffrey Hunt.

She asked Peg, “Have you heard from Jeffrey?”

“No,” the older woman said. Then with a knowing glance at her husband, she continued, “But we
do
have something to discuss with you.”

Hector Waddington nodded soberly over his teacup. “And you must not be shocked, my dear.”

“What is it?” Mary demanded.

“It’s about Lord Patrick Carter,” Peg said.

“What about him?” she said.

“He has asked for your hand in marriage,” Peg said, studying her to gauge her reaction.

Mary gasped and then laughed. “You must be joking!”

“No,” the older woman said. “It is a serious business with him. He is infatuated with you. His coming to the theatre every night proves that!”

“That old man wants to marry me!” she said incredulously.

“Yes,” Hector Waddington said. “And you must not make mock of him. He is eccentric but extremely sensible at the same time. He knows he is a ridiculous figure and that you cannot take him seriously as a lover.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Mary said.

“But he is earnest in his desire to have you as his wife,” the veteran actor went on. “By his terms you would be his wife in name only. Your duty would be to preside over his household, be company for him, and take an interest in his dogs.”

As Mary listened in stunned silence Peg added, “And in exchange for that he is willing to make you Lady Carter and leave you sole heir to his estate.”

“I may add he is one of the richest men in all England,” Hector Waddington told her. “It is proper that you should know the facts.”

“The poor old man is demented,” Mary said, still in a state of shock.

“Not at all,” Peg assured her. “He knows what he is doing. He is dreadfully lonely and he thinks you could fill the void in his life.”

Hector smiled wearily. “I know it must seem ridiculous. But I suggest you think it over. Few girls have ever been offered such considerate terms.”

“He is more than eighty now,” Peg said. “He cannot live beyond a few years. You would be left a rich and titled lady.”

She stared at the two. “You are
serious
?”

Peg’s faded face showed a sad smile. “I am. I see this as a chance for you to rise to the very top of society. With a title and money you could live the best kind of life.”

“I wonder,” Mary mused. “What about the theatre? My stage career?”

“You could always return to it,” the older woman said. “I don’t think you would wish to.”

Mary said, “You’re asking me to sell myself to an old man for his money and title? I cannot believe it.”

Hector said, “He only asks you to be his friend. Not his wife.”

“He came to us, thinking we were your true parents. His lawyer had drawn up the proposal for him,” Peg explained. “We are not suggesting that you accept his offer but we had to convey it to you.”

Her husband nodded. “That is true, Mary. We would be the last to have you rush into anything that might be harmful to you. But think about this carefully before you turn the old man down.”

“I don’t
want
to think about it,” she said, unhappily.

“He will expect an answer,” Peg told her. “But I’m sure he’ll understand that you need time to consider it.”

Mary did consider it. She spent a sleepless night dwelling on the offer and what it might mean. Deep within her there was a desire for power and money. She wanted to prove to the Edward Blakes of the world that she was not common clay to be disposed of with careless cruelty. To marry into the gentry would be an ideal way to do it.

She knew that Howard Blake wished to marry her and he was of the gentry. But while she cared for him, she doubted that he meant as much to her as Jeffrey. And there was also the problem of Howard’s family. She was sure that sooner or later Edward would expose her as the family’s kitchen slavey whom he had bedded and then what would happen to a marriage to his brother? It was hopeless.

She went to sleep praying that Jeffrey would return, again ask her to marry him and so solve her dilemma. As it happened her prayer was answered, but as so often happens with answered prayers, in a manner quite unexpected to her.

She was attending a rehearsal at the Maiden Lane and had just finished a scene when she saw a pale, phantom figure standing in the shadow of the wings. He was so emaciated and weary looking it took her a moment to realize that it was Jeffrey Hunt, returned to London.

“Jeffrey!” she cried and went to him with arms outstretched and tears of happiness in her eyes.

“Mary!” he said with emotion and embraced her.

When he let her go she looked up at him and said, “You are so thin! And you’ve aged!”

His smile was grim. “I’ve learned a few lessons. The world is not wholly my oyster. I have had to accept defeat and utter failure.”

“Your company?”

“No more,” he said with a sigh. “Only Noel Hastings is still with me. And we are both looking for jobs.”

“The Waddingtons will gladly have you back here,” she promised him.

Jeffrey’s gaunt face took on a stern look. “No,” he said. “I will not return here. That would be the final defeat. I will find employment elsewhere, even if it is only a travelling company in the provinces.”

“Don’t be stubborn!” she begged him. “Come back to the company and marry me!”

He shook his head. “I can’t marry you. I have nothing to offer you.”

“You have yourself,” she said. “I ask no more!”

“Not enough,” Jeffrey said. “Let me mend my fortunes. You are a London star now, I’m a player without work. When I can face you as an equal I will ask you to be my wife!”

“Don’t spoil things this way!” she begged him, now near tears.

“This is the way it must be,” Jeffrey said. “I must go now.”

“Without even discussing it with Hector and Peg?”

“Yes.”

Her consternation at his stubborn stand turned suddenly to anger. Tears in her eyes, she said, “Very well! If you intend to ruin our lives in this fashion I have no choice.”

Jeffrey looked startled. “What do you mean?”

“A titled old man has asked me to marry him! If you leave me now I’ll accept his title and his money!”