Nine Buck's Row (15 page)

“My dear!” Maggie cried, her eyes wide with amazement. “You look—why, you look positively stunning!”

“Thank you,” I said primly, striving to maintain control.

Nicholas Craig was standing in front of the fireplace, one elbow resting on the mantle, resplendent in formal black suit, frilled white shirt, white satin waistcoat embroidered with black leaves, and a blue silk cravat at his throat. He studied me with impassive dark eyes, showing no reaction whatsoever. I had spent hours getting ready, going without dinner in order to have enough time to do my hair, and I might have been wearing rags for all the interest he took.

“You're a vision of loveliness!” Maggie declared. “I'm sure all the young men will be smitten immediately! You'll have to keep a sharp eye on her, Nicky, lest one of them attempt to abduct her!”

“I intend to,” he said dryly.

“Oh, to be young again! It's been years since I've gone to the theater. I wouldn't know how to act. I envy you two, really I do. That's a charming muff, Susannah. Looks enchanting with that shimmering bronze. You'll be the loveliest girl there, no doubt about it. Nicky, you beast, can't you
say
anything?”

“What would you have me say?”

“Gallantry is dead! Men are insufferable, Susannah, you may as well learn it now as later. Insensitive brutes! My nephew is no exception. He's hired a carriage for the occasion. Isn't that grand! You look rather dashing yourself, Nicky, though I shouldn't mention it. If only you wouldn't glower. It's getting late. Hadn't you better hurry?”

He pulled on a pair of black gloves with slow deliberation, ignoring his aunt's comments. Maggie handed him a long black opera cape lined with gleaming white satin, and he arranged the folds over his broad shoulders, his eyes flat and expressionless, wide lips drawn in a tight line. I hated him! He had already spoiled everything, and I knew I would be miserable. The long cape swirled as he moved, lining flashing, and he looked cold and sinister.

“Come along, Susannah,” he said.

“You two have a wonderful time. I'm sure it's going to be a delightful evening. I shan't wait up, but I'll expect a full report in the morning. You must remember
every
thing!”

The fog had already begun to settle outside, veiling everything with thick vapors. The gaslights were blossoms of yellow, barely visible, and there was a chill in the air. A closed black carriage stood in front of the house, two fine chestnut stallions stamping restlessly in harness, a thin little man in green livery perched on the seats, reins in hand. He leaped down to open the door for us. I climbed inside with much rustling of taffeta, and Nicholas settled down beside me, terribly close in the confined space.

“Are you going to sulk?” he said as the carriage pulled away from the curb.

“Why should I sulk?” I inquired in an airy voice.

“Why, indeed. Because I didn't shower you with compliments when you came into the parlor. Is that what you expected?”

“Of course not! Not from you anyway.”

“Fine. I don't fawn over women. It's demeaning. You look radiantly beautiful tonight, and you know it. You spent several hours seeing to it. If it was for my benefit you wasted your time. The dress is inappropriate, and your hair style is much too grown up. If there had been time I would have made you change.”

“This was Marietta's dress,” I said, my voice trembling.

“That's not at all surprising.”

“Maggie's right! You
are
an insensitive brute, and you know nothing whatsoever about women.”

“On the contrary, I know a great deal about them.”

“You despise us, don't you? Just because—just because one woman hurt you, you think we're all harlots.”

I had gone too far. I knew it at once. The words had come to my lips unbidden and I had spoken them without thinking. Nicholas Craig made no reply. The carriage clattered down the street, horse hooves pounding loudly, harness jangling with a merry sound, but inside, tension crackled in the air. There was a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I leaned as far away from him as possible, waiting for what must surely come. In the dim light I could see his face, features sternly chiseled, eyes in shadow. After perhaps two minutes he turned to me, his cape making a soft, silken noise as he moved, and when he spoke his voice was smooth and composed.

“I shall overlook that remark, Susannah. This time. But if you ever make such an impertinent and vicious statement again I—”

“I'm sorry.” I whispered.

“I have no doubt you are. Let's forget about it.”

I stared out the window, thoroughly miserable. The carriage rocked and bounced, throwing me against him once. His body was hard, rocklike. He took hold of my shoulders to steady me, and I pulled away quickly. Ten minutes passed in total silence. He sat with his arms folded over his chest, his head leaning back against the seat. His white satin waistcoat and the lining of his cape gleamed in the semidarkness, everything else sharply etched in black. We had left the East End now. I could smell the Thames and hear the lonely sound of tugboats hooting far away.

“Why are you taking me to the theater?” I asked quietly.

“I thought you might enjoy it.”

“You wanted me to—enjoy myself?”

“Is that so surprising? I'm not an evil villain out of a Dickens novel, Susannah, despite what you may think.”

“I don't understand you.”

“I have a great many things on my mind. I'm terribly busy and preoccupied most of the time. I have a quick temper, and I'm quite aware that I'm neither demonstrative nor particularly engaging. I can see how a young woman with your emotional temperament might find me forbidding, particularly under these circumstances.”

“You didn't ask to be saddled with me,” I said. “It wasn't fair to you. You should have let them board me out or—or send me to an orphanage. That would have been best—for both of us.”

“I made the decision with open eyes.”

“Maybe so, but you—you don't really like me. You disapprove of me. You think I'm vain and foolish and frivolous. I don't want to be a burden to you. I'd rather—”

“Stop dramatizing yourself, Susannah. I find it tiresome.”

We rode the rest of the way in silence. The streets were wider now and many fine carriages were passing by, dark and sleek. Through the fog I saw bright blurs of color, gold and red and blue, and music lilted in the air. The tension between us had gone, and for some strange reason I felt closer to him than I had ever felt before. I sensed another man, kinder, less severe, behind that wintry facade, and I wondered if he would ever be completely revealed. Nicholas Craig would never be warm and amiable, would never have the breezy charm of someone like Daniel Lord, yet I felt there were qualities he kept carefully hidden. Because he had been hurt? Because he felt they would make him vulnerable?

The carriage drove down the gaslit Strand and stopped in front of the Lyceum Theater, and Nicholas helped me out, holding my hand in a firm grip as I gathered up my skirts and stepped down. He told the driver when to return for us and then took my arm, leading me toward the door. The front of the theater was bathed in bright, silvery lights, and huge posters announced
“THE EXTRAORDINARY AMERICAN ACTOR RICHARD MANSFIELD
in a special engagement of
DR.
JEKYLL AND MR.
HYDE.”
An old woman in gray shawl stood nearby, selling violets, and gorgeously dressed women sauntered on the arms of tall, handsome men in formal attire. The plush lobby was filled with tinkling laughter and lowered voices and the rustle of skirts.

Nicholas Craig removed his cape and took my cloak and muff, strolling over to check them. I had never seen him in a crowd before, and I was suddenly aware of the striking figure he cut. There were more distinguished men and many who were much better looking, but he had a presence that set him apart, an indefinable quality that caused people to turn and stare. In his resplendent attire, with his decisive manner and harsh, rather cruel face, he stood out without any effort whatsoever on his part. I noticed several women watching him with frank appraisal, and I instinctively understood his magnetism.

“Would you like some refreshments before the play?” he inquired, indicating the crowded bar.

“I'm much too excited to eat,” I confessed.

“A glass of champagne, perhaps?”

“I've never had champagne.”

“Of course you haven't.”

He smiled wryly, those thin lips curling at one corner, a look of dark amusement in his eyes. Although I wanted to be poised and sophisticated, I was really quite inexperienced. I had never been to the theater, I had never drunk champagne, I had never been to a party or had a beau. Despite the years with Marietta I was, in many ways, as limited as any other carefully secluded Victorian girl. Nicholas Craig was aware of this.

“One glass won't hurt you,” he said. “I'll fetch us some.”

He left me again, and I stood beside one of the tall columns, watching the parade of people sweeping up the grand white staircase carpeted in royal blue. Three crystal chandeliers spilled dazzling light, illuminating white walls with their sky blue panels and gold leaf, but the splendor of the theater was eclipsed by the splendor of the people. All around me cultured voices chattered happily, not a trace of cockney, not a single “h” dropped. This was a whole new world, and I couldn't help but be awed.

“Here we are,” he said, handing me a fragile glass filled with fizzling golden liquid. “Sip it slowly.”

“It really does bubble, doesn't it?”

“It really does,” he replied, the look of amusement still glowing in his eyes.

He stood beside me, watching me sip the champagne, oblivious of everyone else in the lobby. We might have been alone for all the notice he took of the richly dressed people moving around us. I found his attention flattering, if somewhat disconcerting. He was like a parent watching his child take its first step, I thought. He finished his champagne and impudently set his glass on a ledge running around the wall, turning back to me with that same absorption.

“Like it?” he inquired lazily.

“I'm not sure. It makes me feel rather dizzy.”

“That's probably just the excitement.”

“I wish I could be cool and blasé,” I said.

“Whatever for?”

“Wouldn't you like me better that way?”

“Nonsense. You're perfectly charming the way you are.”

He spoke the compliment in a crisp, matter-of-fact voice, yet I could hardly believe my ears. My cheeks colored slightly, and he grew impatient, thrusting his hands in his pockets and scowling.

“Hurry up,” he said gruffly. “We'd better get to our box.”

I was just finishing my champagne when I noticed the woman moving purposefully through the crowd toward us. She was middle-aged and very fat, a brown velvet gown tightly encasing her rotund body, brassy gold hair heaped in untidy waves on top of her head. Her face was round and shiny and highly rouged, bright brown eyes snapping as she marched over and planted herself in front of Nicholas Craig. She tapped him on the arm with her fan, a petulant smile on her cherry red mouth.

“Nicky! Where on
earth
have you been keeping yourself?”

“Hello, Cordelia.”

“We've been simply
famished
since you deserted us, you scamp, and I felt sure you'd been swallowed up in the bowels of the earth. No Nicky at any of my parties! How can you be so
heart
less?”

“I've been quite busy—”

“Another of those dreadful reports? Reggie told me you were conducting some kind of investigation in the East End. He said you were even
living
there. Just like Nicky, I said. He'd rather traipse around consorting with criminals than entertain my friends at a ball.”

She turned to me, smiling a friendly smile that caused me to warm to her immediately.

“But, my dear, who is this stunning creature? Someone you've kept in hiding?”

“My ward, Susannah Hunt. Susannah, may I present Lady Cordelia Belmount.”

“Your ward!”

“I'm Susannah's legal guardian until she is twenty-one.”

“You! With an innocent young girl like this? Whatever can the courts have been thinking of? Don't they know your wicked reputation? This is outrageous!”

Lady Cordelia Belmount laughed merrily and squeezed my arm.

“He's really a dear boy, in spite of his shocking lack of courtesy and his fierce expressions. Reggie and I love him, always have. It's been over a
year
, Nicky. There's no excuse for such neglect. Are my balls so awful? Don't answer that! I'm afraid you'll tell the truth.”

Nicholas took my empty glass and set it on the ledge.

“I haven't had much time for balls,” he said quietly.

“I know. You're so frightfully serious and dedicated. Reggie says we need more men like you, though I don't know what we poor hostesses would do if there
were
. I'm giving a ball on the twenty-fifth. You'll come.”

“I'm afraid not, Cordelia. I—”

“Have you ever
heard
such selfishness? I know you would rather have a tooth pulled than come, Nicky, but think about Susannah. A young girl needs to dance and wear a pretty gown and have a little light flirtation. All my nephews will be there. I won't take no for an answer!”

“Cordelia—”

“Is that the bell? We'd better get to our seats. I'm dying to see this actor. I hear he's horribly temperamental off-stage. Throws the most deplorable fits, they say, but a consummate artist when he dons make-up and wig. Ta ta, dear. I'll tell Reggie I ran into you. Susannah, you make him bring you to my ball—”

She scurried away, brown velvet rippling, the untidy gold waves spilling from their pins. Nicholas took my arm and led me up the stairs and into our private box. He helped me into my chair and sat beside me, tucking his gloves into his waistband. The houselights were dim, but a row of footlights illuminated the tattered but still magnificent blue curtain. The audience were so many dark, murmuring figures, and there was a sense of isolation here in our box.