“Give her a good setdown.”
“Easier said than done. She has the knack of being right, you see.”
“How unattractive of her. How does the play go on?”
“Fine,” he answered, in a distracted manner. “Just fine.”
“You sound bored with it already.”
“I am, a little. Things will improve when Swithin arrives. He’ll liven us up.”
There was something very much wrong with the play. Dewar had never been entirely happy with Rex as Tybalt, but at least his role was small. The greater error had been in casting Foxey in the much more important role of Mercutio. Foxey played truant so often, especially when Rex was not there to duel with him, that he was virtually a stranger to half the cast. When he came, he still read his speeches, with no attempt at committing them to memory. After Rex’s return, the two of them spent their time mooning over Juliet.
Dewar had to read them a thundering scold, with the upshot that Foxey tossed aside his book and declared he was 'fagged to death with the whole dull thing.’ One of the leading characters! In desperation, Dewar went to Jane to get her help. She sat with Holly, reciting her lines while her cousin held the book to prompt her.
“Foxworth has resigned. You must do something. Talk to him, Juliet,” he begged.
“Quit? You cannot mean he is going to disappoint us!” Jane exclaimed.
“Precisely. Only you can help us. He will come around if
you
ask him.”
“Oh, I shall!” she said, hopping up at once to go after him.
“Casting Mr. Foxworth in the role of Mercutio was not good judgement in the first instance,” Holly said.
“I know it well. He was staying here at the Abbey, and volunteered for the role. I let him have it before I remembered what an important character Mercutio is in the play. If I had anyone to replace him, I’d let him go.”
“There is a Mr. Prendergast in the village who would make an admirable Mercutio. He works for Mr. Raymond, but something might be arranged....”
“A bit late for that.”
“Foxworth hasn’t begun his lines yet. My friend could learn them faster.”
“Is your friend likely to resign his position to take part in an amateur theatrical production?” Dewar asked, rather ironically.
“If he were secure of another position at the play’s end, he would,” she replied, with a significant look Dewar was coming to mistrust.
“Meaning?”
“It was generally understood Mr. Prendergast would take over the school when he came down from university, to replace old Parsons. The position with Raymond is temporary.”
“Parsons has not spoken to me of retiring.”
“He never will, Lord Dewar. He is a bachelor who lives alone, but for one servant who looks after him. He would be moped to death if he quit work but, really, he is too ancient to continue.”
“That seems a hard trick to play him, after some forty years of faithful service.”
“Some sedentary, useful position could be found for him in the village—the circulating library perhaps.”
“I don’t think it will be necessary,” Dewar replied, looking across the room, where Foxworth was receiving a copy of the play from Jane, and smiling blissfully. “I think our problem is solved.”
“One problem. That leaves the more important one of the school requiring a competent teacher, and Mr. Prendergast requiring a decent position so he can afford...” She stopped short as Jane and Foxworth advanced towards them.
“All right then, I’ll stay in your play,” Foxworth declared magnanimously. “But only because Jane asks it.”
“He has promised me he will begin to memorize his lines,” Jane added.
“Jane is going to take them from me,” Foxworth said, smiling at her. “We’d better get right at it,” he added, when he saw Rex hastening across the hall.
“Don’t hear nobody offering to take
my
lines,” Rex sulked when he was told the story.
“I will be happy to take them from you,” Holly offered, out of pity.
“Kind of you,” he said, only partly mollified. “Reminds me—money for your orphan. Sent a draft off. Should have it soon.” He ambled off, deciding to listen to Foxey and Jane instead of reciting his own lines.
Dewar turned to Holly, his brows raised. “Your orphans? Does he by any chance mean
my
orphans?”
“The orphans at St. Alton’s. Rex has kindly offered to help with the expense of....”
“I do not require outside help! When I want you to stand on a corner with a cup begging, or to importune my guests, I will be sure to tell you, ma’am,” he said in a hard voice, his eyes flashing.
“You misunderstand the matter. Rex offered.”
“I can imagine what urged him to make the offer! You have been complaining of my neglect.”
“I have not!”
“Do you expect me to believe he offered money, out of the blue, for a group of youngsters he has never heard of, unless you spoke to him of the matter?”
“I didn’t ask him for money. And if I had, it is none of your business.”
“St. Alton’s is
my
orphanage! I gave Johnson the additional funds two weeks ago.”
“We in the village have always helped....”
“It is one thing for the local ladies to volunteer their time, something else entirely for them to badger guests under my roof for money.”
“It seems to me you are more concerned for your reputation as a host than for the welfare of the orphans. Have you taken any steps to help Billie McAuley?”
“You will not accept money from my guests,” he declared, and stalked off to discover from his mother who Billie McAuley might be.
Lord Dewar sent around a brief notice cancelling rehearsals the next day, and urged his actors to use the time to study their lines. A considerable part of their time was also spent discussing what had caused the cancellation, till Mr. Johnson called on Lady Proctor to confide that Billie McAuley had been swept off to London in Lord Dewar’s own private coach, with His Lordship accompanying him.
Soon Lady Dewar was announced, followed shortly by Mr. Foxworth and Mr. Homberly, come to quote their lines to the ladies of Stonecroft. Rex, however, took such an interest in seeing Foxey recite that he sat at his elbow during the whole visit, without once glancing at his own book.
“This was a very sudden decision on Dewar’s part, was it not?” Lady Proctor asked, her eyes skimming her guest’s ramshackle toilette. Under her shawl she wore what strongly resembled a gentleman’s waistcoat, an ancient one of straw-coloured brocade, lavishly trimmed with bright embroidery. It looked vaguely familiar, as having once adorned the body of her late husband, who had been in his grave for a decade.
“Aye, I believe I can take credit for it. He mentioned the lad to me yesterday, and I told him of Billie’s clubfoot. But Johnson may have dropped him the hint, or it is not likely he would have known the boy’s name at all, or that he had any trouble.”
Miss McCormack said not a word. She felt an emotion that was hard to decipher. Embarrassment formed some part of it, self-justification some other, and there was, as well, a good deal of gratification.
“A nice warm house you keep, Elsa,” the dowager rambled on. “I hardly need my waistcoat. The Abbey is so drafty I put it on to keep the chill from my back. You ought to try it. An excellent contraption. If you can keep your back and neck warm, the rest takes care of itself. And the feet, of course,” she added, easing her toes out of an oversized pair of boots.
“How do the corns go on?” Holly asked.
“They always bother me in the damp. But my nephew, Swithin Idle, will soon be here, and he is as good as a doctor. He always quacks me when he comes to us.”
“Dewar mentioned he was to give us a hand with the costumes,” Holly said, hoping for a few more details of this intriguing gentleman.
“We had a letter from him this morning. He was detained, but I daresay Dewar will put a bug in his ear while he is in the city. Likely as not that’s the real reason he went, and only took McAuley along while he was going.”
Gratification fell away from Holly. “I hope he stopped to see Dr. John before he left, to get Billie’s history,” she said.
“No, he didn’t mention it. Speaking of the doctor reminds me, Holly—that Folkstone pudding. I am bored to death with it, and refuse to eat the custard that comes recommended so highly. You must find me a new receipt. Oh, and while I am here, you wouldn’t happen to have the receipt for that cold medicine you gave me last winter? I could taste the rum and white wine in it, and lemon juice. What was it gave that ugly colour?”
“That would be the liquorice, ma’am. There is also linseed and raisins and soft water. I’ll get my book upstairs.”
“There’s a good gel.” As soon as Holly left, Lady Dewar turned to her hostess. “Seems your niece is planning to nab herself a beau,” she said archly.
“Holly nab a beau? That is news to me. Why, we scarcely see Mr. Johnson except at the rehearsals, though he was here earlier this morning.”
“Johnson? Peagoose! It is Rex Homberly I meant. Dewar says she means to have him. Is there any truth in it, eh? You can tell me. Mum’s the word. I shan’t say a thing to tease her. We’ll let her go and join the youngsters when she comes back with my receipt.”
This was done, but the most hopeful watcher would have been hard pressed to observe any coquettishness on the young lady’s part, or any interest on the gentleman’s. When, after a few moments, Homberly did address a remark to Holly, however, Lady Proctor felt a pang of dismay.
“I wish you will not encourage her in this notion,” she said to her caller. “I depend totally on Holly to keep house for me when I take Jane to London. I expect Sir Egbert must go up to London soon and find a house to let for us. Where would you recommend as a good location, Lady Dewar?”
“Belgrave Square,” was the prompt reply, to set her as far as possible from the Dewar mansion on Grosvenor Square. “You could not do better than Belgrave Square,” she said firmly.
Lady Dewar was bone-selfish, but she was human enough to like some people better than others, and she infinitely preferred Holly to her aunt. She began to feel Elsa Proctor was using the girl badly, to scotch her chance at making a good match.
Before she left, she said to Holly, “Pay no mind to your aunt. I think you and Homberly should suit very well. Very well indeed.” A nod and a wink in Homberly’s direction accompanied the speech.
“What?” Holly asked, not quite able to believe it.
“Sly puss.
I
see what you are about. I shall sing your praises to him at every opportunity. He will do much better for you than for Jane. And if you can’t bring
him
up to scratch, I shall put in a word with my nephew, Swithin Idle, though I doubt you two should suit in the least.”
“Oh, please, I wish you will not!” Holly exclaimed, blushing.
“Ninnyhammer! Why should they make a servant of you?”
Lady Proctor had arisen to join them on their way to the door, and the private coze was over, but it cast Holly into a daze of which Rex Homberly made up no part. She was very curious indeed to meet Sir Swithin Idle, however.
Before leaving, Rex found a moment alone with her. “About that pony I promised you, Holly, Dew says I ain’t to give it, but I have it here. No need for him to know. He’s seeing to the little crippled fellow himself, but you can buy sugarplums for the others with the blunt.” He chucked it into her hands as he spoke, with a blush at his generosity, or perhaps his duplicity at displeasing his host.
“You had better not, if he dislikes it,” she demurred, hardly knowing what was the proper course to take.
“Have to. Gambling debt. Gentleman must pay up his gambling debts. Buy ‘em the sugarplums. Was young myself once. Like a sugarplum very well still.” He had withdrawn his hand, leaving the money behind.
“I shall give it to Mr. Johnson as a donation, and let him decide,” she said, seeking an honourable out.
“Good idea, but I hope he don’t go buying prayer books or Bibles.”
He very likely would, too, but the donation had become so troublesome she would accept even that. When all the company had left, she went to her room to put the donation away, her mind full of the transactions of the morning. Perhaps it was ill-bred of her to have taken the money.
Certainly it had cast Dewar into a great pucker, but it was only pride that bothered him, having it said he did not attend to his obligations. He never would have attended to them without her pestering him. Probably would not have taken Billie to London either, were it not for wanting to hasten Sir Swithin Idle to the Abbey. She was very curious to see this cousin whom Dewar considered so important.
Dewar’s day in London stretched into two, with no further instructions from him regarding what his players were to do in his absence. Foxworth came a second time to rehearse with Jane, but there was no appreciable improvement in his recitations. The conversation had a way of turning from Mercutio on the least provocation.
With the Season in London to look forward to, Jane was excusably eager to learn what treats were in store for her. Homberly would no sooner promise to take her to Vauxhall to watch the lanterns being smashed on the closing night than it would occur to Foxey she must not be deprived of hearing a trial for some good crime at Old Bailey and, with luck, she might witness a hanging too.
“Looney bin in Lambeth Field. Must go to Bedlam,” Homberly added.
“Newgate. You can get in there too if you know the right people,” Foxey promised.
“I’ll wager you know just the right people,” Holly offered, as she tackled the second-last orphan shirt.
“Yessir, by Jupiter, I can slip you in with no trouble at all. Bridewell too.”
“You make me wish I were going with you,” Holly said, smiling at their gallant nonsense.
“Why, ain’t you going, Holly?” Rex asked.
“No, I am to keep house here in the family’s absence.”
“Handy,” was Foxworth’s thought on the matter.
“Demmed pity,” Rex averred, with a guilty idea that if there were any justice in the world he would be in love with Holly but, unfortunately, there was none.