The Love Child

At length I was able to hobble about, but I still had to take care, and Harriet suggested that a visit to the theatre would not be too taxing and this was arranged.

“After all,” she said, “you only have to walk to the carriage and then from it into the theatre.”

It seemed a good idea and I was glad to be able to get about. I had said nothing more about Beaumont Granville and I presumed the incident had been forgotten.

It was always exciting to be in a theatre-particularly with Harriet, who knew so much about it, having, of course, once been a player herself. The play was William Wycherley’s The Country Wife, which even Harriet had never seen, and I felt my spirits rising.

We had a box near the stage and Carlotta was chattering rapidly, asking questions of Harriet as to who was that and who was this, which delighted Harriet, though she admitted she had been stagnating in the country for far too long.

“We really must come to Town more often, Gregory,” she said.

“Oh, yes, please, we must,” cried Carlotta.

The smell of orange peel was strong in the air; it mingled with the apothecaries’ scents and the less pleasing odours of humanity. It was all part of this somewhat unreal but intriguing world of the theatre. The orange girls proffered their fruit to the young men in the pit who were clearly, and not very successfully, aping the nobility and doubtless making assignations. There was a great deal of giggling and general noise until some elegant lady, masked and accompanied by an exquisite dandy, entered one of the boxes. Then there would be a brief silence while the company studied her in awed curiosity.

The play began. It was quite amusing and I felt better than I had since I had seen Beaumont Granville. Perhaps I had exaggerated, I told myself. It was just a passing encounter. What could he want with me now? I was no longer the young girl I had been when he had cast his lecherous eyes on me. Moreover, he had not made any effort to renew the acquaintance. It was just that initial shock which had unnerved me and that, having led to this silly accident, had made me feel that trouble was looming.

Then suddenly I noticed that Carlotta’s attention was not on the stage. She was gazing at the box opposite, which a short while before had been empty.

It had an occupant now. At first I thought I was imagining this. He had been so much in my thoughts. But there was no doubt. Of course it was Beaumont Granville. He had come late to the play and there he was smiling at Carlotta. My fears were intensified.

He looked strikingly handsome. He certainly lived up to his name. He was dressed in the latest fashion. His square-cut coat of thick silk material was braided across the front in many rows and the buttons were rubies. He wore one of the very fashionable wigs which I had noticed since coming to London. They were profusely curled and heavily scented. The curls fell about his shoulders, almost obscuring the most elegant of white silk cravats. The air of worldliness, combined with that Grecian perfection of feature, showed the world that he was a man who would have few rivals for good looks.

I would have preferred to see the ugliest man possible sitting in that box instead of that exquisite dandy.

I glanced at Harriet. She had seen him, too. I was aware of the smile at the corner of her lips.

Suddenly I knew. They had told him we were coming to the theatre and he was there to see us, to torment me as he was well aware he did, to amuse himself with what to him would seem a piquant situation.

I had ceased to concentrate on the play. I was only aware of the secret looks which crossed between my party and him.

I gave no sign-at least I hoped I did not-that I had seen him. I tried to keep my eyes on the stage and pretend to be absorbed by the action; but I could not have told anyone, had they asked me, what the play was about.

After the first act he came to our box.

“What a delightful surprise!” He was bowing over our hands, his manners matching his appearance.

I realized by the looks exchanged between him and Carlotta that it was no surprise; it was an arrangement between them.

Oh, my God, I thought, what does this mean?

“I am hoping,” he was saying, “that you are going to sup with me after the play.”

“What a lovely idea!” cried Carlotta.

“That would be delightful,” said Harriet. “How kind of you! One should always sup in good company after the play. One of the delights of play going is to pick the piece apart afterwards. Don’t you agree?”

“I do with all my heart,” said Beaumont Granville. “Would you care to sup at my place or go somewhere else?”

“I really think we should decline this kind invitation,” I said.

They were all looking at me. He was forcing an expression of concern onto his face, although trying not to show that he was suppressing amusement.

“It is my first outing,” I stammered. “I really feel…”

It sounded so hideously selfish. Because I wanted to go home I was stopping their pleasure.