Page 21 of The Songbird of Wychwood

GEORGE

Mr. Grayson had a case of the morbs, and so, during the Saturday show he was not his cocky, crowd-pleasing self at all. If you work in a theater, even when you’re down in the dumps, every single one of us knows to paste on a fake smile and carry on. No punter would pay good coin to watch a misery-guts on stage. But Mr. Grayson was not right at all. For a start, he was on the sauce; Eloise had smelled the foul vapors of alcohol mixed with shag tobacco on his breath when he spoke to her, then she told me. I sent a worried glance to our stage manager, Arthur. He bit the bullet and spoke to Mr. Grayson, suggesting that he could take over the compering tonight. But Grayson wouldn’t have it.

“Just you remember who pays your wages, Formby. I could run this place with my bloody eyes closed and don’t you forget it,” he’d slurred. The orchestra struck up their introduction music and then Mr. Grayson stepped on stage with a face like a wet weekend, and swayed like he was standing on the prow of a ship, before finally introducing the first act.

Mr. Grayson’s black mood seemed to spread through all performers like a disease. We theater folk are a superstitious lot! A slow burning beeswax candle that we called a ghost light was always lit on stage after hours because a dark theater was bad luck. Something as simple as hearing a whistle behind the scenes would put the fear into an actor. One of the acts, a comedian named Ollie O’Brien was so annoyed about Mr. Grayson’s tardy behaviour that he laid into him back stage, accusing Mr. Grayson of bringing the evil eye upon the theater. The orchestra had to play louder to cover up their roaring.

When Tommy Pickles, the juggler, was doing his act he dropped his balls, and later Sally Swift, the plate spinner, broke a plate—something I’d never seen from a professional spinner before. Eloise was then sent on early and she had to improvise for an extra minute because Mr. Grayson’s lack of showmanship put the timings of the whole show out of kilter. I pulled things together by doing my character Miss Fortune, using one of the French showgirls Edith in the act as a customer who wanted her fortune told. I knew the fellows would appreciate an encore from one of the showgirls, and the skit went down well. Dressed as Miss Fortune in my shawls and head scarf I’d looked into the crystal ball and sang of Edith’s fantastical future, before Miss Fortune’s false eye popped out and we chased it around the stage together to much laughter. I was back on later in the night to close the show with my saucy aristocrat Lord Dickey.

After the show I joined Eloise, her Mari, and another dancer Judy Hoops, who, you guessed it, danced with hoops! We walked through the rainy streets to The Sun Tavern in Covent Garden in order to drown our sorrows. A few of the other acts sauntered in too. Scotsman Tommy Pickles was furious about dropping his balls, and the Irish comedian, O’Brien sat with us, his shoulders hunched as he seethed resentfully over his pint of stout.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I tells ya, in all my years playin’ at the Middlesex I ain’t never seen Grayson behave like such a selfish wee shite.”

“Aye. What the hell was eatin’ at him? He looked like somethin’ crawled up his arse an’ died,” Scotsman Tommy agreed.

“I was going to give him the naggin of whisky I’ve got in my dressing room if he’d have let me take over as compere to liven the place up,” Judy said.

‘You’ve got a naggin of whiskey and ye didnea tell me!” Tommy said in outrage.

“I wish you had given it to ‘im,” Mari piped up, “If I wanted to be déprimée …how you say…depressed…yes? I would have stayed in La Rochelle wiz mah crazy mozer.”

We all laughed.

“I’ll drink to that!” Eloise agreed.

“At least the punters seemed to have had a good night,” I added brightly, trying to lighten the mood. “Mr. Myrna said the takings are up.”

Mr. Cyril Myrna was all about the money. He dealt with the box office takings, making tallies and sorting out the wages before giving the remainder to Mr. Grayson to put in the safe. It baffled me that even though everyone backstage had a caught the dark mood and had a bad night, the punters were still packed in like sardines and enjoyed themselves.

“Good. What the punters don’t know can’t hurt ‘em,” Eloise said. “I’d just love to know why Grayson was in such a stinker.”

I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something was going on with Mr. Grayson, and I was sure it had to do with me. “We’d best keep our heads down and hope the cloud soon passes,” I said, and raised my glass for a toast,

“Up your bum!” I called, and my comrades parroted it. After tossing back our drinks we all started to laugh. Finally, the atmosphere began to shift.

“Another round?” O’Brien suggested.

****

When I stepped through the doorway of Browns Hotel on Tuesday my eyes searched the crowd of well-to-do patrons. Finally, across the foyer, I found Percy. His brilliant green eyes shone, and the same wide puppyish smile lit up his face. My heart banged against my ribcage with the nervous joy of seeing him again. I’d had a despondent few days after the peculiar show on Saturday night, and I figured that if Grayson hadn’t come out of his maudlin mood by tomorrow, I’d go to his office and we’d have it out!

I longed to wrap Percy in my arms, but that wasn't done, not here, not ever in public. And so I moved off from the entrance, my long strides devouring the space that parted us. As I walked across the ever-so-fancy foyer I decided a hearty handshake was in order, like we were just old chums.

“Ah Percy, well met, my friend, it's so good to see you,” I said enthusiastically in Lord Dickey’s cultured voice, as I reach out gripping his hand and forearm with both of my hands. Our gazes locked and my innards fluttered with a burst of pleasure. How could I have forgotten the flecks of gold in his green eyes, and how adorable he looked when his cheeks pinkened with desire?

“George, my old friend. I’m so pleased you could meet with me today. Come, I’ve reserved a table in the restaurant, my treat!” I was glad that Percy understood the game and could improvise. But the restaurant reservation, this was a curious surprise. I’d imagined we’d take a table in the tea room and have a cuppa and a natter, maybe enjoy sandwiches or a Chelsea bun? But the restaurant at Browns was very la-de-dah! I was glad I’d worn the suit and bowler hat I used for my Lord Dickey costume as it made me look like I fitted right in!

The ma?tre-de took us to a private booth at the rear of the restaurant and I was pleased that we’d missed the lunchtime rush.

“Would you mind if I ordered for you?” Percy asked, and as this was his treat I said “Please do!”

Percy ordered a smoked salmon starter, and then venison for main, but we agreed to drink only cordial with our meal.

“I think I’ll need to be carried home after eating all of this!” I said after the waiter left the plate of sliced roasted venison in front of me with a selection of vegetables.

“You and me both!” Percy beamed. “I forgot that they served such a large cut. Luckily, I don’t have to rush back to the office.” Our eyes met and we shared such looks of such fondness I was sure all in the restaurant knew what we were. As I had no other plans either we took our time with the large luncheon. During the meal we engaged in lively conversation about books and poetry. Percy told me about his university where he studied English. Needing to be upfront from the get-go, I admitted that I’d not had a proper, formal education.

“When I was a nipper we would travel from town to town where Ma would work as a seamstress and costumier. I started my schooling when we moved into the Middlesex. I was eleven. That was where I learned to read and write properly, words and music too,” I admitted.

Percy listened intently. He didn’t look down on me as if I was lesser because I hadn’t been to a posh school. He made me feel like I was the only person in the whole world. We’d come from vastly different backgrounds and yet, there were so many things we had in common.

I paused eating and reached for my glass of cordial. “I was wondering. Do you have any say about stories for the newspaper?” I asked before I took a sip.

“Oh goodness, no! That’s a totally different department. There’s a dedicated team of journalists, editors and illustrators for each of our publications. My father has the final say. Why do you ask? Do you have a salacious story to tell?” he grinned and cocked a brow.

“Funny you should say that. My boss, Mr. Grayson has been behaving all kinds of funny since you and I met last Friday.”

“Is that right?” Percy replied warily. I could tell that Percy was as concerned as I was about exposure.

“The serving girl, the one you asked to give the note to me…Doris. She’s a right old wagon!” I sneered.

Percy reached for his glass, and appeared confused. “Wagon?” he quizzed.

“Ridden by many, if you know what I mean!”

“Oh…ohhhh!” At understanding the crude explanation Percy burst out laughing and I smiled at seeing him laugh. He had the most wonderful, lyrical laugh and it made my innards twist.

“Do go on,” he said after taking a sip of his drink.

“Well, our Mr. Grayson is a married man with kiddies. Doris is his latest bit-on-the-side. She told him about the note you sent to me.” I paused for a moment before admitting, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d read it!” Percy grimaced and appeared worried at hearing the admission, but I couldn’t keep it from him. The fact was he’d chosen the laziest serving girl with the loosest morals to deliver a love note to me.

“Anyway, Grayson sent her to flirt with some of the fellows at your table. They told her you were all from Harcourt’s Press. Then Mr. Grayson starts behaving strange, spying on me backstage, asking questions about my private life, and acting out of sorts. He had the nerve to come out and accuse me of selling stories to the Daily Gazette!”

“Are there any scandalous stories circulating about the Music Hall?”

“Not that I know of. That’s what I don’t get!”

“He made quite the leap then.” Percy pondered for a moment his eyes searching mine before he said, “So, he thinks I’m a journalist and not…” Our gazes held and we both smiled in shared understanding before Percy continued, “Good, good. A man who behaves in such a suspicious way, accusing staff of misdeeds where there are none, most certainly has something to hide. Usually it has something to do with money. Are your wages paid up to date?”'

“Yes. Mr. Myrna does the box office receipts and accounts. He deals with the takings for each show and Grayson only gets what’s left once we’ve been paid,” I explained. “I’m Grayson’s star act and I’m lucky that I have a roof over my head to boot. Some of the other regulars don’t like that I live at the theater, but that ain’t my problem. I think you’re right, something else is going on that has Grayson all jittery, throwing unfounded accusations around.”

“He could have money trouble,” Percy suggested. “Men in financial dire straits will do the damndest things to dig themselves out of the hole.”

“If the numbers of punters are anything to go by, the Middlesex is doing well. We’re always rammed on a Friday and Saturday and get good crowds on Wednesday and Thursday too. Grayson also has a troupe of acts that travel the country, so he must have a pretty penny coming in from that as well.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s involved in other enterprises you know nothing about. Be careful George. Trust is hard won and easily lost. I’d suggest you keep an eye on your Mr. Grayson.” Percy paused to take a sip of cordial. “Come, let’s finish up here. We’ll go for a walk to aid the digestion.” He gestured for the waiter to come to our table and asked for the bill. He paid with a crisp pound note and didn’t wait for the change. I supposed that if I socialized with a gentleman I’d best get used to such largesse.

We left the hotel and strode down Albemarle Street, just a couple of swells having a stroll together in the city. Percy was wearing a well-tailored blue frock coat, and I was in Lord Dickey’s suit with a colourful emerald cravat that made me look like quite the dandy. I paused to gaze in the windows of boutiques that sold finery to the Lords and Ladies, but no matter the tug of temptation I couldn’t justify buying a new silk cravat for Lord Dickey’s costume at these prices when the second-hand shop would do!

It was a fine afternoon, the sky was a pale powder blue, and the light breeze had a note of river stench to it, but no matter, no one, neither rich nor poor could escape the foul air in this city. I felt as light as a feather, contented to be about in the posh side of town with my very own gentleman friend. If we hadn’t arranged this luncheon, I’d have called on Eloise and gone to Regents Park for a stroll, and a penny lick. I supposed Percy would have remained at his office.

Percy and I turned onto Piccadilly and strolled together through the bustle of pedestrians in their finery. The shops lining each side of Piccadilly sold all kinds of wonderful things, from confectionary, to fine tailoring, haberdashery, tobacco, tea, and baked goods. I saw a hanging sign denoting the guild of the Worshipful Company of Stationers and Newspaper Makers . There were many such signs for guilds around the City of London if you knew to look up. This particular guild held a grip over the publishing industry and was responsible for setting and enforcing regulations. Without a word, Percy linked his arm into mine, and pulled me into the stationers below the guild sign.

Now, this shop was right up my alley. The gentleman behind the glass display counter was pole thin, suited, and he wore small round spectacles. He gave a nod to Percy.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Waterman,” Percy said in greeting.

“Ah, back so soon Mr. Harcourt. It just so happens that your order has been finished. It’s in the work room. I’ll be back in a tick,” Mr. Waterman said and then he left through a door into a back room. Percy and I shared a look of excitement and then we were off, browsing the wares and picking up the display jotters to check the quality of the bindings. I usually bought loose leaf manuscript pages in bundles of a ten, and loose blank paper was cheaper than purchasing a bound notebook. Percy’s playful gaze met mine and he beckoned me to join him as he viewed the display of the new, costly fountain pens. They were a very clever invention that kept a reservoir of ink inside the body of the pen, so you didn’t have to keep dipping into an ink pot. I gazed lustfully at the display.

“Nice aren’t they,” Percy whispered to my ear, eliciting a shiver to places that should not be mentioned in public. “It is quite a remarkable achievement. You see, the nib is made from iridium; it’s a metal, silver in appearance but much harder and denser, so it’s excellent for long-lasting nibs. The pen barrel is metal and can be clad with whatever you like, Mother of Pearl, tortoise shell, enameling, even gold or silver. And don’t get me started on the chemistry that went into to the recipe for free-flowing ink. It’s a marvel.”

I shared Percy’s awe at the invention of the fountain pen and enjoyed the insight’s he’d shared. “Oh, I can only dream of owning something so beautiful,” I said, my sigh filled with longing. The fountain pens were very expensive and only for the richest of men! The rest of us were stuck with dipping pens or, my less messy preference of writing was with a Banks and Co graphite pencil.

Mr. Waterman returned minutes later carrying an ivory gift box, which he tied with a thin red ribbon and then handed the box to Percy. I supposed Percy was a regular, and he’d popped in here for new stationary before meeting me for luncheon.

“Add it to the account if you please, Mr. Waterman.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Are you going to purchase anything?” Percy asked me. “Oh, no, mores the pity. This is all far too rich for my purse,” I said regretfully.

We left the shop with Percy carrying his box by the red ribbon. Was it rude to ask what was in the box? I was curious but I said nothing. I let Percy walk ahead of me so I could admire the rear view. I was hit then with a flash of remembrance about what a pleasure it was to kiss, bite, and lick the soft pale globes of his backside during our bed play. So distracted I was that I bumped into a gentleman. “Begging your pardon, sir,” I said to the furious man before hurrying to catch up with Percy. There was strange, crackling electricity between Percy and me as we strolled. I felt a little like a puppy following its master, for here on the upper-class side of town, I was a pretender, an actor playing a role, while Percy Harcourt was the real deal.

“The day is very pleasant. Shall we take a walk in St James’s Park?” Percy asked, linking my arm again. I was a little shocked at the gesture.

“Yes, why not! It’s been a while since I was in this neck of the woods.”

After several silent minutes of walking through the bustling crowds with Percy’s arm linked in mine we stopped again, this time we were outside a confectioner’s shop. We looked in the window at the displays of beautifully boxed sweets. “What’s your fancy?” he asked.

I turned and pinned him with my gaze. I grinned and cocked a brow. Percy’s smile sent a jolt of desire through me.

We left the confectioners shop ten minutes later with several boxes in a large paper gift bag. Percy had purchased Turkish delight for his mother, Russian toffee for his father, and chocolate truffles for himself. He also purchased an ornate gift box with lots of little drawers that contained a selection of sweet treats for me. I’d bought a quarter of barley sugar twists for myself, and a quarter of pear drops for Eloise, as they were her favourite. I felt bad that I hadn’t purchased a gift for Percy, but what could the likes of me offer a man as well off as he? I would have to think of something special that only I could give him! For starters I opened the paper bag of barley sugar and offered it to Percy. He took a small orange coloured twist, popped it in his mouth, and as he sucked on it he hummed with approval. Gods, the sight of him sucking that sweet made my pego twitch. I too sucked on a barley sugar and so we were silent as we made our way across the Mall to St James’s Park.

Temptation most certainly had me on a leash as I strolled along the pathways of the Royal Park with such a handsome gent. To be frank, in his company I felt rather drunk with lust and each time our hands brushed accidentally, a dart of desire coiled my innards. The floral displays of daffodils, tulips, crocuses, and snowdrops were lovely and all ages of people were enjoying the Queen’s park on this glorious spring day.

"There's something I’d like to show you," Percy said cryptically before darting into a grove of trees. I didn’t even ask what he meant before following Percy into the wooded area that cut us off from the park and bustling city. The woodland area was dark, and as we moved deeper into the trees the dried leaves of last autumn crunched underfoot. Percy stopped by a huge old Oak tree a couple of minutes later and he looked around warily. I stepped up to the tree trunk and leaned against it, my gaze searching his handsome face. I knew full well I'd been led here under false pretences, unless Percy wanted to show me his favourite tree. I didn’t care about any tree, but there was one particular stick I’d like to be reacquainted with! A shaft of sunlight shot through the woodland canopy lighting Percy’s mop of blond curls, making him luminous. A blush of colour rose to his cheeks and his bright green eyes sparkled with affection. I smiled back mirroring his look. Percy placed the gift bag on the dry woodland floor and angled his body closer.

“I’ve been so very desperate to get you alone,” he admitted as he lifted his fingers and tenderly stroked the back of them over my cheek. It was an intimate gesture that sent my heart fluttering and made heat travel to my nethers.

"I’d rather like to kiss you?" he said in a whispered growl. I was amused that after the blistering night of passion we'd shared he still didn't have the confidence to know what he was permitted to do, bless him.

"Did you think I'd changed my mind? I’d say we've established that I like you and you like me," I purred.

"I…I didn't want to assume," he chuckled nervously. It was totally adorable.

"Well, consider this permission to assume correctly until I tell you otherwise," I said as I leaned in and claimed his lips. Percy surprised me then by taking both of my hands, raising them above my head, and pinning them to the rough bark of the tree. My knees went weak with the rush of lust that the confident gesture elicited, and a needy little moan escaped my throat as Percy pushed his full weight against me, one leg between my own. He rutted his arousal against me, and by god, I loved it. Our tongues danced and we swapped the taste of barley sugar. I loved the tickling sensation of his moustache against my skin and I couldn’t help but grind my arousal against him, riding his hip with involuntary bucking motions. Our kiss went on for what felt like ages but also, it was not long enough. There was a peal of childish laughter—much too close to us. Percy immediately pulled away, swiped up the handle of the gift bag, and with a thumb and forefinger, he smoothed the saliva from his blond moustache. His lust drunk eyes watched as my tongue darted out to lick my swollen lips.

"Meet me on the blue bridge," he said urgently and then he vanished into the trees. I was suddenly alone, breathless, painfully aroused, and a little annoyed that the shrieking kid had scared Percy away. But I understood all too well that we could not be discovered in such intimate circumstances.

"Henry, darling. This is not funny at all. Nanny’s not playing. Come out this minute or you'll get left behind,” a woman called, her accent cut glass and cultured. “You know there are monsters in the woods that come out after dark," she added. It was then that a little boy of around four-years-old wearing a sailor suit of white trousers and shirt with a blue tar flap collar strolled past the tree I was still leaning against. He was dreamily trailing a stick long the ground as he walked. He turned and his shocked wide eyes found me. This was the errant child who had interrupted a bloomin’ scorcher of a kiss, and so I gave him a toothy grin and a malevolent stare. He screamed, dropped the stick, and went running off in the direction of the woman calling his name. That would teach the little bugger to not run away!

I moved off then and strode through the woods in the same direction as Percy. Finally, I stepped out from the cover of trees and back onto the path. There was no one around in this area of the vast park, and so I got my bearings and walked towards the lake to locate the blue bridge.

My heart flipped when I saw Percy standing in the middle of the bridge, his upper-class silhouette displaying how finely made he was. Percy was gazing longingly out into the water where couples relaxed in rowing boats and children laughed and screamed as they ran along the bank chasing after the ducks. Percy turned and his searching gaze found me and pinned me to the spot with a lustful jolt. He sent me a puppyish grin and his eyes sparkled. I returned the smile and captured that picture of him, my lover, happy to see me, wanting me, and I saved it in my memories. I hurried to meet him in the middle.

“Come, let’s find a bench,” Percy suggested. We walked across the bridge and then we continued on the pathway that led around the lake. We finally found an unoccupied bench and took a seat. Percy put his hand into the gift bag and pulled out the red ribboned box he’d purchased in the stationers. He handed it to me. I was tongue tied for a moment and looked up in shock, searching his luminous face.

“I bought this for you, open it,” he encouraged, his tone full of excitement and affection.

My fingers trembled as I pulled the red ribbon and eased it from around the sides of the box. Then I removed the lid, and drew back a sheet of fine white tissue paper to see that the gift box had three compartments, one held a bottle of Indian Ink, another held a bound blue leather notebook stamped with the silver gilded title: The Songbook of George Dancie, and in the third compartment was a velvet pouch that, when I opened it, I found held a gorgeous fountain pen with a tortoise shell barrel and an iridium and gold nib. While looking at the wonder of these gifts’ tears leapt to my eyes. I turned and gaped at Percy, unable to find any words to say how touched I was. I picked up the notebook and opened it to see a hand-penned quote. I read it out.

“ This book is for you to fill with songs that will be sung for a hundred years, P x”

I was moved to think of how Percy had wanted to give me something so personal, so intimate. “I…I don’t know what to say. No one’s ever given me such wonderful gifts.” And it was true. I’d never been inundated with gift boxes like Eloise. I lived vicariously through her, enjoyed her cast offs, eating her boxes of chocolates, and borrowing the rare fancy garment to add to Miss Georgette’s costumes. Unattached ladies did not wait outside the stage door for me. They occasionally sent me notes, or a rare, racy photograph but no gifts. The fellas who had an inkling of my preference would buy me a drink or two, as they thought that was a way to get me on my knees. But I knew my worth!

“Just tell me you’ll use them,” he pleaded.

“Oh, I will no doubt. I shall copy all of the songs I’ve written into the book and use this beautiful fountain pen. It will be good to have them all in one place,” I said as I wiped the tears from my cheeks.

“How many songs have you written?” Percy asked.

“For performance, I have twenty original songs. But there are many others that I haven’t found a character for yet.”

“Will you sing for me sometime? For me alone?”

“I would gladly do it now, but I fear we’d attract a crowd.” I reached out and gripped Percy’s hand and squeezed.

“Thank you so much. I hope we can find a time and place to be alone again soon. I must confess I’m finding it painfully difficult to keep my hands off you.”

Percy sent me a boyish grin. “And I you. Did you get a letter about the event on Saturday?”

“I did and I shall inform Miss Georgette to be on her best behaviour this time! We can’t have no funny business!”

“What time do you finish working? I left early the last time and so have no idea what time the party ends at.”

“All members must be gone before two a.m. Sometimes there’s the odd straggler who falls asleep in one of the bedrooms, so we have to carry them downstairs and pour them into their carriage. I leave with Mr. Hugo and Mr. Joshua. The coachman drops Mr. Joshua off first, then me and then Hugo. I usually get back to Covent Garden at around three in the morning.”

“Ah, the Devils Hour! Do you think it would be safe for me to wait at the stage door for you to return?”

“Harold, our doorman, stays on later when I’ve got an event, so there’s always someone in the theater. If I tell him you’re going to be arriving and give him a few bob to keep schtum, he’ll let you in and you can go up to my room and wait for me. How’s that?”

“Is he trustworthy?”

“Harold’s part of the furniture. He’s worked at the Middlesex forever and there’s nothing he ain’t seen! He knows how to keep his mouth shut.”

“Very well. I’d like that very much. Does Mr. Grayson not get upset when you beg off on a show night to perform at another venue?”

“It’s surprising how affable he is when he gets sent an envelope with a few notes in it, in exchange of letting me have the night off.”

“Well, it seems the person who runs Wychwood has dotted their I’s and crossed all of their t’s!” Percy laughed.

“I swear, nothing is left to chance. Whoever they are they’ve got the planning skills of Napoleon!”

“It’s a date then. I’m very much looking forward to Saturday!” Percy smiled.

As was I!

****