Victoria. ‘I predict she will do very well.’
‘Where did you find her?’
‘At a small theatre outside Cardiff. She was playing Ophelia and caught my eye at once. After the performance, we talked for a while and I said if she was ever interested in coming to London, she should contact me. Much to my surprise, a year later, she sent me a letter, asking if the offer was still open.’
‘How fortunate for you,’ Victoria said. ‘She hasn’t Signy’s exotic looks or her flair for the dramatic, but there is an innocence about her that is highly engaging.’
‘I thought the same thing the first time I saw her. I’ll likely cast her in ingénue roles and ensemble pieces until I’ve had a chance to work with her. She’s already learned a lot from watching Signy.’
‘Dare I ask where the great lady is this morning?’
‘ Still in bed, I suspect.’ Her uncle kept his eyes on the stage below. ‘The question is, whose?’
Victoria knew she shouldn’t have laughed. Had she been more like her mother or sister, she would have been deeply embarrassed by the decidedly risqué comment. But her association with the theatre had long since stripped away those blinds of false modesty, allowing her to appreciate the humour in her uncle’s remark. ‘I did warn Lord Collins about the risks involved in doing anything that might adversely affect Signy’s performance,’ she said now.
‘So far, other than make her late for rehearsal, he has heeded your advice. If anything, Signy’s performances have become even richer and more compelling since she became his mistress. God knows what will happen when he discards her.’
‘Do you believe he will?’
Her uncle shrugged. ‘He did it to Sarah Littlewood last year. Completely devastated the poor girl. Couldn’t remember any of her lines and spent most of her time crying. It was the reason I had to let her go.’
‘But Signy is far more beautiful.’
‘Yes, but men like Collins don’t take relationships like that seriously. Once they tire of their mistresses, they move on. When that happens, I predict an emotional storm of such staggering proportions it will leave Signy incapable of performing in any but the most pathetic of tragedies. I shall have to have a play in hand for just such an occasion.’ Her uncle grinned. ‘In the meantime, I am well pleased with Miss Jones. She makes a very appealing Elizabeth.’
‘She does indeed,’ Victoria said. Then she sighed—and her uncle picked up on it at once.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Yes, there is. You only sigh like that when you’ve something on your mind. Has your mother been complaining about us again?’
Victoria managed a weak smile. ‘No. This has nothing to do with you or Aunt Tandy.’
‘Then what?’
Victoria stared down at the stage, listening to Miss Jones recite the lines she had written. Lines that had come so easily to her in the past, but that didn’t any more. Not since Alistair Devlin had walked into her life. ‘You said something the morning after the play, about there being … very little chance of Mr Devlin pursuing a relationship with me,’ Victoria said slowly. ‘Why did you say that?’
‘Are you asking because you like Mr Devlin and have some hopes in that direction?’
‘No,’ Victoria said, feeling her face burn. How ironic that where talk of mistresses didn’t make her uncomfortable, the mention of a romantic association with Alistair did. ‘I am well aware that he is far above my touch. But he is … an interesting man. Witty, clever. Exceedingly charming.’
‘Charm runs in the family. His grandfather was one of the most charming men I ever met,’ Uncle Theo said, ‘though he was also one of the most boring. His son follows in his footsteps.’ He leaned back in his seat and rested his arm along the back of the chair next to him. ‘Have you seen much of Devlin since the night the two of you met?’
‘Not really. I spoke to him at the Holcombes’ soirée, then again whilst riding in the Park. The last time I saw him was at the King’s Theatre. Laurence and I had gone to see a performance of Tancredi. Mr Devlin was there with his sister and brother-in-law, who, I must say, were not in the least charming.’
‘Ah, yes, the Archdeacon and his wife,’ her uncle said with a sigh. ‘I’ve run into them more than once and it’s never been a pleasure. You would think the Archdeacon’s position in life would make him more tolerant, yet I find he condemns rather than commends, and as far as he is concerned, the theatre is a virtual pit of human frailty.’
‘Yes, he made that quite clear the night I spoke to him,’ Victoria said. ‘I made the mistake of expressing an opinion as to the calibre of the performers, whereupon Miss Wright told him I knew everything there was to know about opera and the theatre because I was related to you. Once the Archdeacon heard that, neither he nor his wife had any particular interest in furthering the acquaintance.’
‘I’m not surprised. The theatrical world isn’t well thought of by anyone in that family.’ Her uncle hesitated before saying, ‘Has anyone told you the story about Devlin’s older brother, Hugh?’
Victoria didn’t have to pretend surprise. ‘I wasn’t even aware he had an older brother.’
‘He doesn’t any more. Hugh died some years ago. Tragic set of circumstances,’ her uncle said. ‘Hugh Devlin was a fine man. Handsome, charismatic, even more charming than his father and brother. But he fell passionately in love with an actress and when his father refused to let them marry, they eloped to Scotland and married there.’
‘Gracious! Who was she?’
‘Her name was Sally Tamblin. I doubt you would have heard of her. She wasn’t in the theatre long. But she was an extremely beautiful young woman who more than one young buck fancied himself in love with. But there was only ever one man for Sally.’
‘Hugh Devlin,’ Victoria whispered.
Her uncle nodded. ‘The pair were madly in love. And they did run away and get married, but it didn’t turn out well. Within a few years, Hugh contracted a fever and died, leaving Sally to raise their daughter alone. And though he wrote a letter to his father asking him to take care of his wife and daughter, Kempton refused, saying he wanted nothing to do with either of them.’
‘How cruel!’
‘Kempton’s a proud man,’ her uncle said. ‘He disowned Hugh the day he ran off, and when Sally and her daughter turned up at his door asking for his help, Kempton turned them away, saying they were no relations of his. He blamed Sally for the disgrace his son had brought upon the family, and, not surprisingly, his anger grew to encompass the entire acting profession. It’s the reason he won’t set foot in a theatre to this day.’ Her uncle sighed. ‘It is also the reason he would never condone a relationship between his son and a woman known to have close ties to the theatre.’
‘Close ties,’ Victoria said softly. ‘Like mine to you and Aunt Tandy.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Victoria
