She told him the address of her lodgings at the bottom end of Oxford Street, which she shared with several others in the company. He passed it on to his coachman and they sat in silence as the coach rattled through the almost deserted streets. There was a constraint between them now, as if they had run out of things to say and did not know how to proceed.
It was unlike Duncan to be tongue-tied, but she had bewitched him, not only with her good looks and her curvaceous figure, but also with the way she spoke, the way she held her head, the way her expressive hands drew pictures in the air, her humour. He could see that speeding coach, could see the childlike figure weeping over a dead mother, could feel her pain. And no one to comfort her, no father, no grandparents, no one except an orphanage such as his stepmother supported. It was a wonder she had not become bitter.
Instead she had risen above it and the result was perfection. He had never been so captivated. Not that any liaison other than that of lover and chère amie was possible. She was not wifely material, at least not for him, and suddenly he could not bring himself to spoil that perfection by suggesting they continue the evening elsewhere.
When the coach stopped at her door, he jumped down to help her to alight. Thank you for a truly delightful evening, he said, raising her hand to his lips.
Dozens of young men had done the same thing, but none had made her shiver as she was shivering now. It was not a shiver of cold, but of heat. His touch was like a lick of flame that spread from her hand, up her arm and down to the pit of her stomach and from there it found its way to her groin. She had never experienced anything like it before, but she recognised it as weakness. She shook herself angrily for being a traitor to herself. This was not the way, she berated herself, allowing herself to fall under his spell was not part of the plan. He was supposed to fall under hers!
I nearly forgot, he said, putting his hand in his pocket and extracting the diamond ear drop. You must have this to remind you of the delightful time we spent together.
Thank you.
May I put it in?
Gently he took her earlobe and hooked the jewel into it. Then he bent and put his lips to her ear, kissed it and whispered, I shall always remember it. Now he was the stage-door admirer that she was used to, paying extravagant compliments and meaning none of them.
She found herself smiling. You are too generous, my lord Marquis.
Drat it, you have seen through me, he said, laughing and breaking the stiff atmosphere that had suddenly developed between them.
Did you think I did not know the Marquis of Risley?
No, I suppose not, he said, with a theatrical sigh. And I thought you loved me for myself alone.
There was no answer to that and she did not give him one. She turned and went into the house and closed the door behind her, leaning her back on it, hearing his carriage roll away. She had had her chance and she had let it go. All those years nursing a hate, all those years working towards her goal and she had fallen at the first hurdle. What a ninny she had been!
Beautiful he had called her, aristocratic, he had said, different. Oh, she was different all right. She was a fraud, a tease, for all she had told Marianne she was not. And she had been given her just reward: supper and a pair of diamond ear drops. She supposed she should be flattered that he thought her worth that much, but then diamonds were commonplace to him and would hardly make a dint in his fortune. The pin in his cravat had been worth many times his gift to her.
She toiled wearily up to her room, to find Marianne sitting on her bed, waiting for her, clad in an undress robe in peacock colours and her hair in a nightcap. Well? her friend demanded.
Well, what? She sank on to the bed and kicked off her shoes.
What happened? Did you find out who he was?
Oh, yes, I found out.
And? Come on, dont keep me in suspense. I was right, he is an aristocrat, isnt he?
Yes. None other than the Marquis of Risley.
The Duke of Loscoes heir! I am impressed. What happened?
He bought me supper at Reids, entertained me with anecdotes, brought me home and left me with the other ear drop.
Thats all? He didnt suggest a private room?
No. He was amiable and generous and a perfect gentleman.
Marianne laughed. Oh dear, and you are disappointed.
Not at all. She could not tell Marianne of her doubts. I had no intention of falling at his feet or even encouraging him. I need to be more subtle than that.
More subtle, Marianne repeated, looking into Maddys bright eyes. Oh, Maddy I do hope you have not developed a tendre for him. The Duke will never allow his son to become attached to an actress.
But if that actress also happens to be the granddaughter of a French comte, he might condescend to overlook her faults.
You never told him that tale of the French émigré, did you?
Why not?
Oh, Maddy, you will be in a serious coil, if you persist. Tell him the truth, make a jest of it before he finds out for himself.
I didnt know who he was when I told it. He was pretending to be a nobody while I was doing my best pretending to be a somebody, so we were both at fault. It was only harmless fun, not to be taken seriously at all. I am sure his lordship did not do so. And that was what rankled. He had not asked to see her again and she would not be given another opportunity to demonstrate her ascendancy over him. He had been the one to draw back, as if he had suddenly remembered who he was and what she was. An actress.
I am glad to hear it. Marianne stood up, prepared to leave. Now, I suggest you go to bed. You will be fit for nothing later today if you do not.
When Marianne had taken her leave Madeleine undressed and climbed into bed, knowing, late as it was and tired as she was, she would not sleep. Her evening out, which had been so enjoyable in one way, had been a disaster in another. Sometimes for days, even weeks, at a time she managed to forget her past and her enmity towards the aristocracy, but tonight had brought it all back and she was feeling decidedly vulnerable.
The fact that the Marquis had appeared to believe her story of her French grandfather, and had said he had known she was a lady of good breeding, made her wonder about her unknown father. She racked her brains, trying to think of anything her mother might have said to throw some light on who he could have been, but there was nothing. She could not remember Mama even mentioning him.
Her grandfather was certainly not a French émigré, she had invented him, but supposing the fictional character could give her an entrée into Society? And in the dark watches of the night when anything seems possible, a plan began to form in her mind, a plan so audacious it made her shiver. But she needed the help of her friend Marianne.
Well, do I owe you twenty-five pounds or not? Benedict asked Duncan the following morning when he came upon him at Humbolds coffee house, blowing a cloud and amusing himself watching the people passing the window. A week has gone by and no news of the citadel being stormed.
Citadel?
The lovely Madeleine Charron.
Supper we agreed and supper it was, Duncan said, sitting down opposite his friend and beckoning to the waiter to bring a dish of coffee to him. Taken at Reids with plenty of witnesses, so pay up and look cheerful about it.
Citadel?
The lovely Madeleine Charron.
Supper we agreed and supper it was, Duncan said, sitting down opposite his friend and beckoning to the waiter to bring a dish of coffee to him. Taken at Reids with plenty of witnesses, so pay up and look cheerful about it.
Benedict dug in his tail pocket and produced his purse. And? He carefully counted out the twenty-five sovereigns in five neat heaps. You are going to refine upon that, I hope.
Nothing to refine upon.
You are bamming me.
No. What happened and what was said between us is our private business and nothing to do with the wager.
She turned you down! It was said almost triumphantly.
Not at all. Benedict was annoying him and he was damned if he would tell him anything. But, unlike you, I do not rush in where angels fear to tread. I prefer to deal gently with the fair sex. It pays in the end.
Ah, the assault goes on. You want another wager? His hand hovered over the coins. Double or quits?
For what?
For a night in her bed.
Duncan should have refused. He should have scooped up his winnings and told his friend that he had no intention of even trying, when he realised that Benedict would take that as weakness or a lack of self-confidence at the very least and would offer to do the deed himself. The thought of his clumsy friend going anywhere near Madeleine filled him with a kind of desperate fury. He smiled. Done, my friend.
Done to the wager or done to the deed? Benedict queried, grinning.
The wager, you bufflehead.
Benedict retrieved the coins and replaced them in his purse with evident relief. Another sennight?
No, give me credit for more finesse than that. Make it a fortnight.
He could have bitten his tongue out. If the object of the wager had been anyone else but the lovely Madeleine Charron, he would not have given it another thought. As it was, he was consumed with shame. She had endured so much in her short life, he had no right to play with her as if she were a toy. She deserved his respect. He flung the contents of the coffee cup down his throat and with a curt, I will see you later, stood up and left the premises.
He knew he ought not to see Madeleine again, but he also knew it would be impossible to stay away. He had been ensnared. It was not a condition he was comfortable with and he set off for Bond Street, where he took out his frustration, anger and guilt on his sparring partner at Gentleman Jacksons boxing saloon, until that gentleman called out to him to stop if he didnt want to be done for murder. He apologised and decided there was nothing for it but to go home and pretend nothing had happened. He had enjoyed an evening out with a pretty actress; nothing out of the ordinary in that, nothing to lose another nights sleep over.
He would pay Benedict his fifty pounds and be done with it.
Chapter Two
B eing part of a theatrical troupe, Madeleine was used to strange hours, when night became day and day was a time for sleeping and she did not see Marianne again until the following afternoon when the cast met to rehearse the new play to be put on the following week.
Although he sometimes put on burlesque or contemporary plays lampooning the government, Lancelot Greatorex was chiefly known for his revivals of Shakespeares plays to which he gave a freshness and vitality, often bringing them right up to date with modern costumes and manners and allusions to living people or recent history. The following week Madeleine would be playing Helena in Alls Well That Ends Well, which lent itself surprisingly well to such treatment.
In it, Helena, a physicians daughter, cures the king of a mysterious illness and as a reward is allowed to choose one of his courtiers for a husband. She chooses Bertram, Count of Rousillon, but he maintains Helena is beneath him and though he is obliged to obey the king and wed her, he goes off to the wars rather that consummate the marriage. Later, Helena tricks him into bed by making him think she is another woman for whom he has a fancy and they exchange rings. When he realises what has happened, he accepts Helena for his wife.
Maddy did not like the play; she thought the hero a weak character and the ending even weaker and she questioned whether a marriage based on such a trick could possibly be happy. Now that she was contemplating a hoax herself, the question was even more pertinent. Not that she intended to trick anyone into her bed, far from it, but she did mean to deceive Society as a whole.
Madeleine, do pay attention, Lancelot said mildly, after she had missed her cue for the second time. You have been in a brown study all afternoon. Whatever is the matter with you?
Maddy pulled herself out of her reverie and peered down into the gloom of the orchestra pit where he was standing. She knew from past experience that his mild tone hid annoyance, and it behoved her to pull herself together. I am sorry, Mr Greatorex. It wont happen again.
To be sure it wont, he said. Unless you wish to see your understudy in the role. Now, let us do that scene again.
Madeleine looked across at Marianne who winked at her. She smiled back and began the scene again and this time it went some way to satisfying the great actor-manager. Nothing would ever satisfy him completely, he was such a perfectionist, but he knew just how far to go with his criticism before he had a weeping and useless performer on his hands. Not that anyone had ever seen Madeleine Charron weeping, not offstage, though she could put on a very convincing act on stage if it were required.
After the rehearsal, Marianne joined Madeleine in the dressing room they shared to prepare for the evening performance of Romeo and Juliet. It is not like you to miss your cue, Maddy, her friend said. Is anything wrong?
No, not at all. I am a little tired.
I hope you did not lie awake last night, fantasising about the Marquis of Risley.
Now, why should I do that? He is one of the idle rich and you know what I think about them. Her answer was so quick and sharp, Marianne knew she had hit upon the truth.
Then why, in heavens name, did you find it necessary to deceive him?
It just came out. It always does, when anyone asks me about my family.
But why? You are admired and respected as an actress. Why cannot you be content with that?
I dont know. I suppose because I have always wanted a family of my own, someone to belong to, and if invention is the only way She stopped speaking suddenly. Her reasons seemed so trite, so unconvincing, and yet Marianne detected the wistfulness in her voice.
You do have a family, my dear, Marianne said softly. You have me and all the rest of the company; that is your family. Mine too, come to that.
Yes, I know, but I cant help wishing
We all have dream wishes, Maddy, the secret is to recognise them for what they are, and to be able to distinguish the attainable from the unattainable. You have it in you to be an outstanding actress, one of the few who will be remembered long after they have left this world behind, a byword for excellence. Surely that is better than being remembered for a short time for pretending to be something you are not.
That is what acting is, pretending to be someone else.
Marianne laughed. You do like to have the last word, dont you? I will concede you right on that, but you should not extend that into your everyday life.