The Notorious Mr. Hurst Read online

  ‘What a pity he will not be at home when you are there, Captain Warnham,’ Bel concluded. ‘We would have given you letters of introduction.’

  The orchestra began to file into the pit and tune up, earning catcalls and jeers for the cacophony from the common folk up in the one-shilling gallery. The noise gradually subsided back to the usual hubbub and then the lights were dimmed and the curtain rose on the first piece of the evening, a short farcical item featuring the company heavy as a strict father, thwarted at every turn by the ingenious antics of his daughter’s suitors.

  ‘I have every sympathy with the fellow,’ Lord Pangbourne remarked as the furious father chased a young man over a balcony while, behind his back, another rake took advantage and snatched a kiss from the daughter. Maude recognised Tom Gates, the ambitious walking man, who whisked out of sight behind a convenient curtain in the nick of time.

  ‘It is an ingenious piece,’ Captain Warnham agreed, laughing at the business between the cast, the maid changing clothes with her mistress, while the two young men dressed as footmen and the baffled father searched frantically for his daughter. In a few minutes the happy couple escaped down a rope ladder, the remaining suitor consoled himself with the maid and the curtain came down on appreciative applause.

  There was a short interval before the next piece, a ballet. Maude reviewed her preparations for the main interval: canapés, champagne, two small tables to be brought in and the seats rearranged. But who to place where?

  She wanted her father to appreciate Eden’s strong points, not be distracted by long hair or diamond ear studs or over-emphatic tailoring. Perhaps best not to place him next to the clean-cut Lord Warnham in his dress uniform. Between Bel and Jessica then…

  ‘You are muttering,’ Jessica said.

  ‘I want you and Bel to sit either side of Mr Hurst,’ Maude whispered back. ‘I don’t want him sitting next to Captain Warnham and making Papa think of haircuts.’

  ‘I think the length of his hair is the least of your problems.’

  One step at a time, Maude told herself, sitting through the ballet in such a state of abstraction that she would have been hard pressed to say whether there had been dancers or circus horses on stage if questioned afterwards.

  Eden’s note in response to the invitation had arrived, punctiliously prompt and formal. But would he really come?

  The waiter came in with the refreshments and, on his heels, a tall figure, dark against the brightness of the open doorway.

  ‘Standon, my dear fellow, would you—?’ Lord Pangbourne broke off in confusion, realising that the man he thought he was addressing was still seated to his left. The figure moved, the light fell across his face and Maude let out a long, inaudible sigh. Eden.

  Her father got to his feet, ponderous and, for all his formal good manners, wary. ‘Mr Hurst?’

  ‘My lord.’ He came in, as the waiter closed the door behind him, and inclined his head to his host.

  ‘Allow me to make you known to Lady Dereham, Lady Standon, my daughter Lady Maude—’

  Papa is pretending we have not met, Maude realised, returning the bow with slight curtsy, while her father completed the introductions and waved Eden to the chair by his side.

  And then she realised what was different about him. Gone was the exotic theatre manager, gone too was the working man in his shirtsleeves, and in their place was a perfectly conventional gentleman in well-cut evening formality, a modest ruffle on his white shirt, the dull sheen of garnet satin on his waistcoat and just a hint of sparkle in the strange old ring, his only piece of jewellery. Even his hair had been ruthlessly pomaded and brushed into a fashionable style that distracted the eye from its length.

  He is making an effort, she thought, astonished. It had never occurred to her that Eden Hurst might go out of his way to impress her father. Was it because he needed the money, or because he did not want to lose her as…as what? An investor? That was all she could be to him at the moment, surely?

  Lord Pangbourne, nobody’s fool, even though he cultivated an appearance of bluff and bluster, had apparently realised that he could hardly explain to a boxful of guests, one of whom was a virtual stranger, that he had invited Mr Hurst there to interview him as a potential business partner for his daughter. He had also, while introductions had been made, managed things so that the men were all sitting to one side of the box and Maude was safely trapped between the other two ladies.

  She realised, with sinking heart, that Bel and Jessica had not exaggerated the unconventionality of what she was doing. Gareth and Ashe were regarding Eden with expressions of politely neutrality, but she knew them both too well to be deceived. They were watchful and suspicious and, she feared, disapproving.

  ‘Good of you to join us,’ her father remarked, pouring champagne. ‘I’m very interested in this new gas lighting you have here. Thinking of installing it myself. What do you think?’

  ‘I would not put it in my own home, not just yet.’ Eden took the glass, but did not drink. Close to the naval officer’s tanned skin his colouring seemed less exotic. He looked and sounded just like the rest of them, yet he was the focus of more than polite attention. ‘There is an odour, and it is dangerous without proper ventilation. But, in a year or two, I think it will replace oil everywhere.’

  Captain Warnham, for whom this was apparently the first sight of gas used inside, joined in the conversation with a remark about the gas lights installed on Westminster Bridge in 1813 and all four men were soon deep into the technicalities.

  Maude rolled her eyes at her friends, but Bel smiled and nodded encouragement. And, yes, superficially it was a success. They could have been any group of gentlemen engrossed in discussion, but she sensed relief all round at such a neutral topic that could distance the men from the ladies.

  Eden, she realised, had muted his forceful character. He deferred to the older man, held his own with the others, yet it was as though he had turned down the wick on the lamp of his personality.

  Clever, Maude thought. He is adapting himself to his company, blending in. She met his eyes across the table. His expression hardly changed, yet she sensed rueful amusement. He knew exactly what he was doing, but he did not seem entirely happy that he was doing it. And he sensed the raised hackles of the other men.

  ‘We are neglecting the ladies,’ he remarked, bringing all eyes to where his gaze was resting, her face.

  ‘But I am fascinated by gas lighting,’ she said sweetly, all wide-eyed feminine attentiveness. His lips were definitely quirking now. It was infectious. She bit the inside of her lip to stop herself smiling back. ‘Still, we do not have that much time before the curtain rises again. Will you not tell us about the next piece? My father saw it the last time it was produced in London.’

  ‘In 1810 at Covent Garden, my lord? We have had to adapt it here, of course, because of the licence, add a short ballet, and some songs, hence our choice of Mrs Furlow in the lead; she has just the voice for it. Still, it is very much the same comedy you will recall from before.’ He uses his voice like an actor, Nell thought, listening to how he spoke, not what he said. It was a deep and flexible voice, shaded with colour. He seemed to have it as much under his control as his face, betraying only what he wanted to show.

  Her father was relaxing now; she saw his shoulders shake as he recounted some piece of amusing business from the production he remembered.

  The conversation moved on while she was brooding. Gareth must have asked Captain Warnham about his new ship. ‘Do you welcome another commission so far from home?’

  ‘I am a career officer, I go where I am ordered and may do most good, but in any case I could not turn down the opportunity to make war on pirates. They are everything I loathe.’

  ‘But are there any left?’ Maude asked. ‘Enough to be a problem?’

  ‘Not so many now, we have them under control in many areas. But those that remain are the worst of them. And like rats they know we almost have them cornered and that makes them th
e more vicious. They used to take prisoners for ransom; now they cut their throats and throw them overboard.’

  The party fell silent, chilled, Maude sensed, not so much by the horror of what he was describing, but the controlled anger with which he said it.

  Bel, the more experienced hostess, picked up the thread of the conversation after a heartbeat had passed and moved them on to safer ground. ‘I love to read the shipping news in the daily papers,’ she remarked. ‘It is so fascinating to see where they have come from to reach us, bearing our luxuries all that way.’

  All those luxuries, Maude thought, unfurling her Chinese fan and looking at it with new eyes, brought over huge distances at such risk. She looked up and found Eden was still watching her and was visited by the odd idea that he knew what she was thinking. Then the imagined look of understanding was gone and he rose to his feet.

  ‘You will excuse me, my lords, ladies. The curtain rises soon.’ He bowed and was gone, his champagne untouched, leaving the crowded box feeling somehow empty.

  ‘What a pleasant man,’ Bel remarked, carefully not looking in Maude’s direction. ‘Not at all what I would have expected of a theatre proprietor.’

  ‘Indeed not,’ Jessica added. ‘One can only think that the theatre is becoming so much more respectable these days.’

  ‘Superficially, perhaps. But it is scarcely eight years since the riots over the changes at Covent Garden,’ Gareth countered. ‘Nor can one call that sort of thing respectable.’ He nodded towards the box opposite where a party of bucks were becoming very familiar indeed with three young women whose manners and clothing clearly proclaimed them to be of the demi-monde. Gareth appeared quite unconscious of the dagger-looks his wife was darting in his direction.

  ‘And matters will be laxer on the Continent, I have no doubt,’ Ashe added, his eyes resting on the door as though he could still see Eden.

  ‘Oh, look,’ said Maude with bright desperation, ‘Here come the string players.’ Across from her, Lord Pangbourne appeared sunk in thought.

  ‘What did you think, Papa?’ Maude ventured as the carriage clattered over the wet cobbles on its way back to Mount Street.

  ‘Excellent production. In my opinion, adding the songs helped it. It was a lot livelier than I remembered.’

  ‘Not the play, Papa, although I am pleased you enjoyed it. Mr Hurst.’

  ‘Surprising chap. Not what I expected.’ Lord Pangbourne fell silent.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I need to sleep on it.’ He sighed gustily. ‘Confound it, Maude, I know I promised you more freedom, but I don’t know what your mother would say if she were here.’

  ‘Yes, probably,’ Maude ventured. ‘She was very unconventional, was she not, Papa?’

  ‘Very fast, you mean,’ he said, but she could hear he was smiling. ‘Your mama, my dear, was a handful. And so are you. I don’t like refusing you anything, Maude; I promised your mother I would never make you feel as she did as a girl—caged. But I don’t want to see you hurt too.’

  ‘Hurt?’ She swallowed hard. He realised her feelings were involved?

  ‘By any kind of scandal. You can ride out a lot in your position, but that’s an uncommon man you’d be dealing with.’ He certainly is…‘I’ll sleep on it,’ he pronounced. And with that she knew she would have to be satisfied.

  It was not until she was sitting up in bed an hour later that what he had said about her mother sank in. I don’t want to see you hurt too. Mama had been hurt? But by what? Or whom?

  Breakfast was not a good time to ask questions about the past, Maude decided, pouring coffee and schooling herself to patience. It would take three cups and the first scan of The Times before she could expect anything from her father.

  ‘Well,’ he said, pushing back his chair at length and fixing her with a disconcertingly direct look. ‘I was impressed by that Hurst fellow, despite myself. You may invest in that theatre, to the limit that Benson advises, and not a penny more. You will not go backstage after four in the afternoon and you will always, always, go there with a chaperon. He might be a good imitation of a gentleman, but he’s young, he’s ruthless and he’s unconventional. A chaperon at all times—is that clear, Maude? I see no reason to be telling all and sundry about this involvement of yours either.’

  ‘Yes, Papa.’ Oh, yes, Papa! ‘Thank you. I do believe this will be a worthwhile investment.’

  ‘It will be if it makes you happy, my dear. Just be prudent, that is all I ask.’

  Prudent. That was what Eden declared himself to be, with money at least. Men seemed to set great store by prudence. Maude’s lips curved. Now she had to teach him to be imprudent with his heart. This morning she would write and tell him she had her father’s approval, make an appointment to call with Mr Benson.

  Chapter Six

  Papa had not been speaking lightly when he had insisted upon a chaperon, Maude thought, torn between amusement and annoyance. Anna, her Sunday best hat squarely on top of her curly mop of hair, was seated in one corner of Eden Hurst’s office, an expression of painful intensity on her face.

  As they had alighted from the closed carriage—the one without the crest on the door, Maude had noticed—the maid had assured her, ‘I’ll stick like glue, never you fear, my lady.’

  ‘Like glue?’ Maude paused on the step up to the stage door and stared at the girl.

  ‘His lordship said so. He told me he was relying upon me to maintain the proprieties.’ Anna nodded earnestly, her face pink with combined delight at having been spoken to so and alarm at her responsibilities.

  ‘Indeed.’ Thoughtful, Maude walked in and smiled at the door-keeper. ‘Mr Hurst is expecting me. There will be a gentleman as well.’

  The man consulted his ledger. ‘Mr Benson, ma’am? Came in five minutes ago. I’ll take you through, ma’am, if you’ll just wait a minute while I get the boy to watch the door.’ Maude shook her head.

  ‘No, it is quite all right, I know the way, Mr—?’

  ‘Doggett, ma’am.’

  ‘Mr Doggett. This is my maid, Anna—you will probably be seeing quite a lot of us from now on.’ The man knuckled his forehead and grinned, revealing several gaps in his teeth, as they walked past.

  ‘The stage door-keeper is an important man backstage,’ Maude explained as they walked along the corridor to the Green Room. This passageway had been painted green up to the dado rail, then cream above with prints of theatrical subjects hung on the walls, no doubt in acknowledgement of the class of visitors to the Green Room. ‘You will need to speak to Doggett when you want to call the carriage, or if you need to go out on an errand for me. He keeps an eye on things and makes sure no riffraff come in.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’ Anna nodded solemnly. Maude hoped she was absorbing the idea that it would be all right to leave Maude from time to time. It was going to be impossible to establish any sort of relationship with Eden Hurst with the maid always at her side.

  ‘You’ll be able to reassure his lordship about how well run and respectable things are here,’ Maude continued chattily.

  ‘Oh, yes, my lady. I’ll do that.’ So, she was expecting to report back.

  Bless him, Papa was no fool, however indulgent he might be, Maude thought, half her mind on the proposals Mr Benson was outlining, half on her tactics for dealing with Anna.

  Eden Hurst was silent, listening. His head was bent over his hands clasped on the desk, his eyes apparently fixed on the gold tooling around the edge of the green leather top.

  Benson put down his pen and sat back, too experienced to prolong his presentation.

  ‘Reduce the return by one percent and I will consider it,’ Eden said at last, looking up, his eyes clashing with hers, not the attorney’s.

  ‘By one quarter of one percent,’ Maude said promptly.

  The dark eyes looked black; there was no softening tilt of the lips or warmth in his voice as he responded, ‘Three quarters of one percent.’

  ‘Half.’ She felt as though she had
been running, the breath was tight in her chest and it was an effort to keep her voice cool and steady. This was, somehow, not about the money.

  She was meticulous in keeping all hint of feminine charm out of her voice, her expression. When she was buying supplies for the charity or coaxing donations from patrons she would use whatever pretty wiles worked—wide-eyed admiration, a hint of chagrin, a touch of flirtation. But with this man she sensed they would not impress and he would think less of her for it.

  ‘I will meet you halfway,’ she added.

  ‘Will you indeed, Lady Maude?’

  ‘But no further.’ Beside her Benson shifted, uneasy. She did not turn her eyes from Eden Hurst’s face. It was like trying to outstare ice. Then slowly, subtly, she was aware of heat and realised she was blushing and that those cold, dark eyes were warming, smiling, although the rest of his face was impassive. There was no air left in her lungs now, but she was not going to give in, she was not…

  Anna coughed, Benson put his pen down and the spell was broken. Which of them looked away, Maude had no idea, but Eden was on his feet, his hand extended across the wide desk. ‘Come, then,’ he said. ‘Halfway.’

  No man had ever offered her his hand to seal an agreement before. It was not done. A gentleman told her what he would do and she took his word for it. A tradesman agreed a price and bowed her from his premises. Men shook hands on deals with other men. Some instinct made her pull off her glove as she stood and took his hand. It was warm and dry and she could feel calluses on the palm as it closed around her fingers, firm, positive, but careful not to squeeze hard as it enveloped them.

  A lady allowed her gloved hand to remain passive in a man’s for a few seconds while he bowed respectfully and then released her, or placed her fingertips on his forearm so he could escort her. A lady did not grasp a man’s hand in hers and return pressure with her naked fingers as she was doing now. He must be able to feel her pulse thudding, she was certain.