Wicked Company (29 page)

It was obvious from everything Sophie had observed during the few moments she had seen Hunter and Mavis Piggott together, that the two enjoyed more than just the camaraderie that traditionally exists among players. Sophie could plainly see that Hunter and Mavis had become lovers, and her unexpected arrival in Bath was undoubtedly the last thing either of them wished.

“I’ve a bit of pottage I’ll heat for us,” Hunter announced over his shoulder, hooking the kettle’s wire handle in the crook of a wrought-iron arm designed for cooking simple dishes over a fire.

“Thank you,” Sophie said dully. “I fear I’m a trouble to you.”

“That you are,” Hunter replied, blowing on the coals. He rose to his full height, turned around, and, much to her surprise, flashed her a crooked smile. “But then, you always were… ’tis what’s kept our friendship interesting.”

His tobacco brown coat was new—a sign of his increasing prosperity—and it fit him superbly, as did his matching breeches and fine silk stockings. Despite her shock at having seen the proprietary manner Mavis had displayed toward Hunter, Sophie was desperately happy to lay eyes on him again. However, the fact that the mean-spirited Mrs. Piggott had captured his heart, or at least had appealed to some baser instinct, was a bitter pill.

“I’ll just be staying in Bath until… ’tis safe to return to London,” she blurted, glancing down at her entwined fingers. To her dismay, tears began to sting her eyes.

“Safe?” Hunter echoed her words, taking a step closer. He gently seized her chin between his strong fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. His blue eyes seemed darker than she remembered and they searched hers intently. Then he shook his head. “You’d better sit down and tell me all about it,” he said, indicating a pair of chairs that flanked a table near the fireplace.

Her voice quavered as she described the anonymous article she’d authored about Bedlam in
The Public Advertiser.
Then she pulled from her reticule a copy of the unsigned pamphlet she had distributed—the one that boldly criticized Dr. Monro.

“He’s guessed that I penned both pieces and he’s threatening to bring a bill of libel against me—even though every single word I wrote about him is
true!”
she exclaimed.

Hunter’s eyes quickly scanned the pamphlet and his mouth narrowed into a thin line.

“You did
precisely
what I advised against,” Hunter said sternly, “and now you come running to me for help. What am I to do with you?” he added with exasperation.

“I can see you’ve quite enough to cope with as it is,” Sophie retorted, her rising temper stemming her tears. “Had I but known you would be so
occupied
, I’d
have never disturbed you in your… your…”—she glanced around the rather untidy chamber—“your
love nest!”

Hunter had the grace to flush slightly. He cleared his throat and rose to give a stir to the soup in the kettle.

“Actually,” he said, his back to her, “I’m rather glad to see you, although I can’t fathom why you’ve managed to get yourself into yet another scrape.”

“Well, you needn’t worry,” she said tartly, her anger and disappointment stiffening her spine. “I shall get myself
out
of it!” It would never do to allow Hunter to see how close she’d come to flinging herself into his arms at her first glimpse of him emerging from the Orchard Street Theater. “If you will direct me to some cheap lodgings, I shall see if some printer or bookseller would take me on for a while. I shan’t be a burden, I promise you. There are ever so many shops here, I see.”

“Aye… shops to engage all your fancies,” he agreed.

Hunter crossed to an armoire and opened its doors to retrieve two plain white porcelain bowls. Crouching again next to the hearth, he ladled out the hot soup.

“Here,” he said, rising and handing her a bowl and a spoon, “you must be famished.”

“I am,” Sophie admitted, watching him take his seat across the table from her. “And sitting here, I can still feel the pitch and sway of the coach on those muddy roads.”

Hunter gazed at her reflectively, spooning the steaming soup into his mouth.

“Your health’s quite restored, I see.”

Sophie felt his eyes appraising her carefully.

“Aye… I suppose so,” she said, moodily staring into her bowl.

To be sure, her body had convalesced since her release from Bedlam, but her mind and spirit were still in need of healing. For some reason, she found herself thinking back to her childhood in Edinburgh where she had laughed and played pranks with friends. As she faced the new year of 1764, her heart seemed overburdened with all that had happened since those happier days. She wondered if she would ever feel lighthearted and carefree again.

“Well, you’re most welcome to stay here,” Hunter was saying, interrupting her melancholy reverie.

“W-what did you say?” Sophie replied, confused.

“You can sleep here,” Hunter repeated. “’Tis not as if we haven’t shared lodgings before, and ’tis the least I can offer after your kindness to me when I came to London last year.”

“’Tis not charity that I ask of you, Hunter,” she said, irritated, “nor do I expect you to sleep on the floor. I’ll find myself somewhere to stay.”

“I’ll make a pallet for myself, as at Half Moon Passage.”

“No need,” Sophie responded stiffly. “I doubt that Mavis Piggott would enjoy giving up this bed,” she added with a show of pique, nodding in the direction of the four-poster.

“Such subjects are no concern of yours,” he replied testily.

“Well, if I lodge with you,
’twill
be concern of mine soon enough… and yours as well! Mavis will no doubt try to strangle me while I sleep.”

“’Tis of no consequence, I tell you!” he said harshly. “If you wish to stay, you’re welcome.” Then he added in a gentler tone, “You’ve proven yet again, we must look out for each other.”

Sophie gazed across the table, feeling suddenly exhausted from her journey and the complexities that greeted her at the end of it. Her pride was hurt and her heart was sore and she didn’t have the strength left to make any sensible plan beyond surviving this dreadful day.

“Tell me of your life here,” she said, determined to change the subject from her gloomy musings. “How goes it on the wicked stage of Bath?”

Hunter smiled faintly.

“Bath is extraordinary, a fantastical place, as you have already seen,” he said, warming to his subject. “It attracts the rich, the famous, the royal… not to speak of parvenus, gamblers, debtors, fops, dying invalids, match-making matrons—a more bizarre cast of characters you couldn’t imagine.”

Sophie smiled sleepily at his amusing description. She found the sound of Hunter’s rich, warm voice soothing, and soon her eyes began to droop with accumulated fatigue.

“And the theater patrons?” she asked, smothering a yawn. “Are they a similar array of rogues and brigands?”

“To be sure.” He grinned. “But fortunately, they seem to warm to my tunes and musical skits.” For a brief moment, his engaging smile grew diffident. “As I may have mentioned in my letter, I’ve found, quite to my surprise, that I enjoy theater management as much as performing. Mr. Arthur is a bit of a blowhard and terribly disorganized, so he’s turned to me for some assistance. We open again on January fourteenth and he’s allowed me to supervise the entire production of
The Jealous Wife.
”

“Why, Hunter!” Sophie exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. “’Tis wonderful that you’ve got on so famously in such a short time.”

“Aye, in some respects ’tis gone well for me in Bath.”

She resumed her posture, propping her head with her hand. Her eyes blinked slowly and her neck felt heavy as a chunk of Bath stone. Hunter scrutinized her closely.

“You’re about to fall asleep right in my face, aren’t you now, poppet?” he said, the full measure of his old affection resonating in her ears. “Come, now… let’s get you undressed and into bed.” He looked around the chamber. “Where are your belongings? Don’t tell me you were forced to flee without even a portmanteau?”

“My trunk’s at the Bear Inn,” she mumbled, pulling herself to her feet with effort.

“We’ll fetch it later. Here,” he said, lifting his banyan off a chair and handing her the quilted silk dressing gown. “Put this on… behind there,” he added, pointing to a four-paneled screen standing in the corner opposite the bed.

Sophie stumbled sleepily toward the makeshift dressing room and fumbled with the buttons on her gown.

“Odds fish!” she muttered in frustration.

“Here,” Hunter said, appearing behind her, “let me do those.”

She felt his long fingers deftly releasing the fastenings at the back of her gown.

“Once again, my lady’s maid,” she murmured.

“Aye,” he replied, his fingers reaching the buttons below her waist. Her gown gaped open and she could feel his hands resting lightly on her hips. An odd tremor like a trill played on a harp skittered down her spine. Then his fingers began plucking at the laces of her stays.

“You seem well schooled to this task,” she asserted over her shoulder. “You’ve made short work of it.”

And as if to provide evidence of her claim, her corset, traveling gown, and quilted petticoat slid down her slender legs, falling into a pool at her feet. She was left clothed only in her shift, a thin garment made of cotton. Slowly, she turned to face Hunter and felt a strange fluttering in her chest. Her eyes traveled up his buttoned linen shirt and halted at the deep cleft that dimpled his chin. She realized she was holding her breath and exhaled with a sigh.

“Feel better?” he asked softly.

Her eyes drifted up to meet his and she nodded. They gazed at each other for a long moment and Sophie swayed slightly with exhaustion mixed with a dizzying sense of suppressed excitement.

“I feel light-headed,” she blurted, unable to remove her eyes from his. His glance shifted lower and Sophie wondered if her cotton shift revealed her breasts’ new fullness.

“You’re fatigued from your journey,” he replied, his voice sounding as if he needed to clear his throat. He reached for the banyan she’d draped over the screen. “Here, put this on.”

He held the garment while she slipped her bare arms into its sleeves. She knew she looked ridiculously undersized in his dressing gown, but she reveled in its mysterious, masculine scent.

“Mmmm… so silky,” she murmured. She felt slightly off balance and swayed against his chest.

Hunter put an arm around her shoulders, steadying her.

“Come, soon you’ll start to snore standing up,” he said gruffly, guiding her to his bed. She watched while he pulled back the untidy covers, smoothing the bed linen as best he could. “In with you,” he urged, pushing her gently against the pillows and drawing the counterpane up to her shoulders.

Sophie snuggled into the feather mattress, which was also infused with the faint masculine essence that permeated his dressing gown. She drew the scent deep into her nostrils and sighed contentedly. Within moments she was fast asleep.

Hunter stood next to the four-poster, staring down for quite some time at the slender figure slumbering peacefully in his bed. Then he lowered his large frame into the chair that faced the low burning fire and gazed bemusedly into its glowing coals until the candle on the small table beside him sputtered and went out.

***

Sophie slept all afternoon and straight through the night, waking the next morning as Hunter was tiptoeing toward the door with his coat over his arm.

“Hunter, what time is it?” she demanded from beneath the bed covers, halting his progress.

“Ah… the sleeping beauty awakes,” he replied, approaching the four-poster. “And none too soon, slugabed! I’m just off to rehearsal. I’m staging the musical interlude this week.” He pointed to a large object placed near the screen where she had changed out of her clothes the previous day. “Your trunk, madam. I had two of the stage servants fetch it from the Bear Inn.”

Sophie lay back on her pillows and smiled up at him.

“Thank you,” she murmured, noting the makeshift pallet laid in front of the hearth. Its proximity to where she’d slept symbolized both cozy intimacy and a distinct boundary existing between them. She and Hunter exchanged a long look and Sophie was struck by a strange sense that the room had grown suddenly warmer. “In a curious way, perhaps ’twas a blessing Colman didn’t sign you on for Drury Lane,” she said quickly to fill the silence. She wondered if Hunter had noticed how flushed her cheeks had become. “It sounds as if you’ve been given much more responsibility here than you might have had in London.”

“That’s true, Bath is a good place to learn more of my craft. Still, the London toffs visit here in droves,” he laughed. “Perhaps when they return, they’ll urge Colman to remedy his terrible oversight next season!”

“Let’s hope Mr. Garrick returns by then,” Sophie replied fervently. “No one can match him for kindness, ability, or fair play.”

Hunter set his coat down on top of the bed covers.

“So, my sleepy Sophie,” he grinned. “I’ve been thinking ’twould be easiest to gain you employment as an Orange Girl rather than chase all over Bath trying to persuade the local booksellers that a lass five feet tall can run a printing press. What say you to meeting me at the theater about one o’clock and I shall try to fix it up with Mr. Arthur?” Noting her look of uncertainty, he hastened to add, “You’ve sold playbills before, and ’tis nearly the same, except you must be able to pare the fruit into sections. ’Tis sticky work, but a pretty miss can make more than a few pence, I can tell you. And—as you say—’tis only until you can safely return to London.”