Vital Secrets (7 page)

Marc summoned up all his courage and said as calmly as he could, “So,
I
can't quit the army and
you
can't marry an officer: you're telling me, then, there is no hope for us.”

Beth's face brightened, filled suddenly with the gentle mockery Marc loved so much. “Not at all! Let me finish. I did have doubts, but now I believe there's
every
hope. For a start, neither of us has any intention of un-loving the other, despite all that might divide us. And more recently, Aaron almost dying and Thomas's horrible accident have taught me a lesson. Any of us could be carried away at any time. We should not
deny ourselves love or happiness—not for politics or religion or want of the perfect moment. The madness that's going on now can't last much longer, and you have your duty and I have mine, but in the meantime …”

“In the meantime, what?” Marc scarcely dared ask.

“If you ask me to marry you,” Beth said with a slight tremor, “I'll say yes.”

Marc took a moment to find his voice, then a wide grin spread over his face. “Can I believe what I've just heard?”

“Is that a proposal?” Beth countered, her blue eyes dancing.

“It certainly is.”

“Then yes, you can believe it, and yes, I accept.”

Marc held her tightly while his mind raced.

“Say when,” he demanded eagerly.

“You must go back to your garrison—there is no question about that. And I must stay here for some time.”

“With Aaron, of course.”

“And with Winnifred. I promised that I would be with her through her confinement and see the babe safely into this world.”

Marc stepped back, calculating. “That means September or October at the earliest.”

“I know. But I think she needs watching over.”

Marc did not need to ask why. “Then we'll get married tomorrow and just live apart for a few months.”

Beth thought about that for a bit. “I'd like it done proper,” she said, though he saw the indecision in her face and wished
he were ruthless enough to take advantage of it. “I need to prepare Aaron. And I promised Aunt Catherine that, should I marry again, she would be my matron of honour.” So, marriage had not been a taboo topic at the King Street shop, Marc thought.

She looked at him with a sudden, solemn intensity that brought him up short. “What's important is that we declare our love openly and publicly. We are engaged, and you can shout it to the world if you like. You can even have the banns read by the archdeacon in that stodgy old church of yours. Our wedding
will
happen, if God chooses to let us live till October. Nothing else can prevent it.”

Marc leaned over and gave her a kiss on the lips. “You shame me,” he said. “And I love you the better for it.”

“I
'm in love, Marc.”

Marc put down his copy of the
Constitution
long enough to glance across at Ensign Roderick Hilliard, who was sitting on the edge of his cot in the spartan officers' quarters they had shared now for seven months. Hilliard had served under Marc at Government House during the hectic days of the election a year ago last June. “Not again!” Marc exclaimed in mock surprise.

“This is the real thing,” Hilliard said, leaning forward intently, as if to forestall Marc's return to William Mackenzie's seditious weekly “rag” in favour of matters of greater importance. “I know you have every reason to be skeptical, given my past
history, but I have found the sweetest, most beautiful, most
ethereal
creature God ever created.”

Last year Hilliard had made a play for Receiver-General Maxwell's daughter, but when the minister discovered their affair, he threatened to emasculate the young ensign, then shipped his daughter off to Kingston to be properly married.

“It's hearing you use such language that keeps me skeptical,” Marc replied. “Do I not recall similar epithets employed to describe the goddesslike charms of one Chastity Maxwell?”

Hilliard looked as if he had been skewered by an épée in a friendly duel. “That was uncalled for. You know I loved Chastity and made her an honourable offer of marriage.”

But not before you had hopped into her bed, Marc thought uncharitably before relenting. “You're right, Rick. I do apologize. And I have to admit she was well married and away before you decided to work your way through the debutante rosters of Toronto and the County of York.” Marc smiled broadly to let Rick know he was teasing.

“Well, my stock went down considerably among respectable society when Sir Francis cashiered me.” He grinned the boyish grin he so often used to set a young woman's bosom aflutter. “But I did try, nevertheless.”

Marc had once thought Rick Hilliard to be too brash and overly ambitious to be a friend, until he realized that under the handsome exterior and sometimes impertinent manner lay a keen intelligence and a good heart. And since he, too, had been told that he was forward and ambitious, he could hardly
hold these character flaws, if flaws they were, against Rick. When Hilliard followed Marc out of the governor's retinue to the purgatory of the Fort York barracks, Marc had taken pity on him. Rick had actually hoped that he, and not a lackey like Barclay Spooner, would take over Marc's position as aide-de-camp to Sir Francis. The two agreed to share quarters and so far Marc had not regretted it. Although not interested in politics or economic affairs (his father being a very rich mine owner in Yorkshire), Hilliard was a lively and witty conversationalist and a born raconteur. Most significantly, Marc sensed that Hilliard would be a valuable officer on the field of battle, for there was mettle under that mantle of charm and bonhomie.

“And who's the lucky woman this time?”

“Tessa Guildersleeve,” Hilliard announced. When Marc did not immediately respond, he added with a sudden burst, “Isn't that just the most mellifluous-sounding name you've ever heard?”

“Sounds Dutch to me.”

Hilliard frowned briefly, uncertain as to how he ought to take this riposte. “Her father was a Knickerbocker from New York, but her mother was English,” he said, as if that explained all.

“How did she get here?” Marc said helpfully, knowing that, since there was no way he could prevent the whole story from being told, he might as well hurry it along.

“She's with that acting troupe that came to town last Friday.”

“Three days ago?”

“I know what you're thinking, but I've spent every spare moment for the past two days in her presence.”

“Well, then, two entire days is certainly time enough, and here I thought you were ice-fishing off the island or supervising the road detail.”

“There's no need to be sarcastic.”

“There's every need. You're telling me that you're deeply, irrevocably in love with an actress from the United States who, if I've correctly read the handbills littering this garrison, is in town for precisely five more days?”

“I thought you would understand,” Hilliard groused, crestfallen. “After all, you are a man very much in love yourself, and one who has suffered greatly for it.”

“Perhaps it is because I
do
have some notion of what love is about that I ask such impertinent questions, Rick. But at the same time I would be a hypocrite to imply that one cannot fall in love at first sight.”

Hilliard brightened at this admission. “I know what respectable people think of actresses, but they would be horribly mistaken in Tessa's case.”

“Well, then, you must tell me all about such an exceptional soul.”

Hilliard's expression went suddenly dreamy. “The Bowery Theatre Touring Company arrived here last Friday from Buffalo. Their engagement down there was cut short for some reason and the lady who runs the operation decided to come up here a few days early. They don't open until tomorrow night
at Frank's Hotel, but Ogden Frank adores the theatre, and he's put them up in the best rooms above his playhouse for the whole week. In return, they've agreed to assist some of the amateur players in town by letting them watch the professionals rehearse and get up fresh scenes and do proper elocution, and so on. Mrs. Annemarie Thedford is the company's proprietor, a very famous actress from New York City and every inch a lady, and so generous with her time and advice.”

“And Tessa is a member of this illustrious troupe?”

“Oh, yes. There's six of them in all, seven if you count the black fellow who does the heavy lifting. Tessa plays all the ingenue roles, like Ophelia and Miranda.”

“And
is
she an ingenue?” Marc asked, knowing what Rick's answer would be.

“Yes, she's brilliant. I watched her do Ophelia's mad scene from
Hamlet
last Saturday afternoon. There wasn't a dry eye in the audience. Even the old farts from the Shakespeare Club blubbered shamelessly. Afterwards she was very gracious, and we spent above an hour talking. She seemed very impressed that I had done amateur theatricals since I was a youngster. We hit it off immediately.”

“So I gather. And of what age might this extraordinary ingenue be?”

Hilliard seemed momentarily puzzled by the question, but said quite proudly, “Eighteen.”

Marc sighed but said nothing.

“What does age matter? I'm only twenty-five, and she's a
beautiful woman. And you wouldn't believe the tragic story of her life.”

“Oh?”

“She was orphaned at fifteen when both her parents died of the cholera and she learned that all her father left her was debts. She was an only child, without relatives in America. But her parents had always loved the theatre, and she had been taken to plays and musicals since she was six.”

“You found out a lot in a little more than an hour.”

“Ah, but our own York Thespians were invited by Mrs. Thedford to put on scenes from our spring production of
The Way of the World
on Saturday evening just for her company. Imagine the pleasure we had in performing before true professionals! And how they did laugh. But best of all, Tessa was thoroughly taken with my Mirabell, and invited me up to her room for a nightcap, the most exquisite sherry I've ever tasted.”

“And you returned for a further engagement yesterday?”

“We couldn't really do anything on the Sabbath, but with everybody else in the troupe off to see the sights of the city and take up dinner invitations from several of the more distinguished members of the York Thespians, Tessa and I were able to spend the entire day together. The only unpleasant bit was the dressing-down Tessa was given by Mrs. Thedford for not showing up at the Grange for tea, which, I'm embarrassed to say, I was the cause of. But I turned on the charm, and before I left all was once again sweetness and light.”

“Thank God for charm.”

“But to get back to Tessa's life: as I said, she was alone and destitute—”

“And loved the theatre.”

“—and out of the blue Mrs. Thedford arrives at her house just as the bailiffs do, and spirits Tessa away to her Bowery Theatre, of which she is part owner. It turns out that Mrs. Thedford had been a friend of the Guildersleeves, and so more or less adopted Tessa on their behalf—then and there.”

“Sounds suspiciously like those three-decker romance novels you find so enthralling.”

“There's more, of course. It soon becomes apparent that Tess has a knack for acting, and is gradually worked into plays requiring the ingenue role.”

“What else?”

“By the age of seventeen, she's the talk of New York, and being pursued by every cad and roué in that nefarious town.”

“So she and the company run off to—”

“I know this all sounds incredibly romantic, Marc, but it happens to be fact. The reason the troupe is on the road is that the Bowery Playhouse burned down last spring, and as the new one won't be ready until this coming January, Mrs. Thedford formed a touring company for this fall. They've been to Rochester and Buffalo, and from here they're going on to Detroit and Chicago.”

“And when they do?”

Hilliard stared at the floor. “I haven't been able to think about that,” he said gloomily.

“The good news is you've got five more days to find out just how deep your love really goes. And believe me, Rick, that will prove to be a necessary part of the process.”

A grateful smile lit up Hilliard's face. “That's true. And the reason I wanted to tell you all this is that we've been invited again to watch a rehearsal of some scenes from Shakespeare—things they've done before but not for some time. It's a chance to see how they whip an act into top shape.”

“I'm sure you'll find it interesting, but—”

“I want you to come with me. I want you to meet Tessa.”

Marc was surprised, then touched, by Hilliard's request. Of course, Rick did not know that Marc, too, had been briefly intoxicated by the acting scene in London five years ago. He merely wanted to show off his girl to—what?—his best friend.