Page 13 of A Wallflower Demands Satisfaction
London
Will watched with trepidation as Lady Camilla’s nephew, Carrington-Bowles, stepped from Chelmsford’s carriage into the gaslit splendor of the pillared entrance to the Covent Garden Theatre.Dressed in dark evening attire, he cut a fine figure as he handed down the a mysterious masked woman from inside the carriage.Glimpses of a violet silk dress peeking through the swirls of a dark green woolen cape completed her aura of intrigue.
Will slid out behind her with Dickie close behind.They stared carefully at the crowd and the shadows beyond as though they were her bodyguards.A buzz of gossip and speculation began immediately amongst the crowd assembled in the queue outside to enter the theater.Opera patrons rarely attended performances with their faces covered with masks.
CB had finally consented to accompany the young people to the opera that night after concurring with his aunt’s assessment that the combination of the three volatile friends on such a sensitive mission might end in bloodshed before the evening was over without a level-headed chaperone in charge.His partner, Nathaniel, was catering a private party that night, and, besides, he’d admitted he was curious about the coloratura soprano singing the part of the Queen of the Night inDie Zauberflote.
Will gritted his teeth to keep from blurting out what he knew about the performer, and Olivia rolled her eyes at CB.She was determined to hate the woman who might be her mother, and Will couldn’t convince her otherwise without revealing his own failure to tell her what he knew.He convinced himself the lie was a small one…and only for her own good.
8
APRIL 20, 1830
DIE ZAUBERFLOTE
* * *
Covent Garden Theatre
Olivia settled into one of the cushioned chairs in the Chelmsford private box, her eyes watering from the scent of the gaslight sconces and the glittering grandeur of the theatre assaulting all her senses.She’d never experienced anything so entrancing in her life.The gaslight’s reflection off the gilding on all of the intricate wood fronts of the boxes and the stage gave a surreal glow to both the theater and the audience.
The most fascinating part was the audience: hundreds of people crowded the area below in front of the orchestra, which was making trilling, tuning noises whilst readying for the curtain to rise on the overture.The levels of finery would tax anyone’s powers of description.
And then there was the reflected twinkle of countless be-jeweled women crowding the boxes all along the second level.She knew instinctively that many of those women were not the wives of the wealthy men at their sides.How many of them would one day, or perhaps already had abandoned children to the streets of the rookeries?
She hadn’t expected the level of raucous noise from the crowd, both on the ground floor and from the small balcony near the ceiling.Under all was a constant buzz of conversation.
Of course, she could have afforded to attend the opera before, but the idea had never occurred to her.She and Dickie had attended some circus acts at Astley’s, but those performances and that venue had been nothing compared to the opulence of the Covent Garden Theatre.
She’d worn the mask because the unwritten law of the ton specified a young woman was not supposed to appear in public venues until she’d had her coming-out event.Olivia had chosen a peacock blue satin gown for that night’s excursion which revealed a great deal of her shoulders with a deep décolletage as well.A sapphire broach, courtesy of Her Grace, secured a thin white lace cape covering her shoulders.When the lights were turned up just before darkening for the performance, she observed a theater full of people from the highest to the lower levels of society…and it seemed they were all staring at her.Maybe wearing a mask hadn’t been such a good idea.
One of Aunt Camilla’s footmen had brought up the rear with a basket of food prepared by Nathaniel’s kitchen and several bottles of sparkling wine.
When she gave out a heavy sigh, the footman placed a flute of wine in her hand and offered a small tray of puffed pastry.At the first sip, she relaxed back into the thickly cushioned seat and vowed to ignore all the rude stares from the audience.She popped two of the small treats into her mouth in fast succession before downing the remaining wine and extending her empty glass toward the footman for a refill.Soon, her fears of the crowd’s attention faded.
Behind her, Will stood guard at the entrance to the box.Dickie sat close by her side, squeezing her hand.“Be careful of that stuff,” he warned, pointing at her glass.“It goes down too easy.I’d hate to see Will have to carry you out of here back to the carriage.If you think people are staring now…”
She cut him off.“Dickie Jones, don’t you dare let Will Beckford carry me anywhere or you’ll regret the day you were born.”
Dickie leaned close to his sister and whispered low.“Oh, so now that he’s back, you’re going to pretend you’re enemies?”He ignored her return glare and shook his head.“Women.Can’t please ‘em, can’t shut ‘em up.”
“Shut yer gob,” she spat back, not caring who heard.The mask might come in handy after all.But then again, she was in the Chelmsford private box.She crossed her fingers behind her back, praying Captain El didn’t find out she’d behaved like a hoyden at the opera.
Some time later when the woman who might be her mother began her aria as the Queen of the Night, Olivia’s mouth dropped open.In the context of the plot, the character treated her stage daughter badly in the scene.How appropriate.
But even she could not fail to be overwhelmed by the strength, talent, and skill required of the part.In the scene where the singer produced a musical series of shrieks meant to chastise her daughter, the notes produced were so high whilst still so forceful that Olivia marveled the woman could stand and deliver such a performance night after night.
No wonder this strange woman was famous in London.But as far as Olivia was concerned, aside from her dark hair and striking sapphire eyes, she could not see any resemblance.However, when she sneaked a glance at her fellow listeners, the looks on their faces revealed what she’d dreaded.Apparently, she was the only one unable to see the similarities.Even Lady Camilla’s footman let slip a sympathetic stare which he quickly hid by turning to fetch another chilled bottle of wine.
When she could no longer hide the flood of tears threatening to pour out from under her mask, she jumped up from her chair and fled out of the box and down toward the lower level of throngs of people moving to and fro and conversing raucously.She regretted the mask but knew it would be the end of her reputation if she took it off, so she plunged wildly into the mob of opera revelers.
Suddenly, a large hand of iron gripped her by the waist and slammed her back up against a solid, immoveable chest.She stiffened in terror and cursed herself as a ninnyhammer.
“Where in the name of all that’s holy do you think you’re going?”The voice was scolding and stern, but familiar.
Will.
She was still so frightened, she could barely speak, but managed a small squeak of protest.“Why shouldyoucare?”