believe it,” I said forcibly.
“Oh, our Ned’s serious all right.” She rubbed her fingers together. “He’s after the money. She’s the worst singer and actress I ever saw, but she knows how to
woo the gentlemen. She’ll make a fortune for her husband – while her looks last at any rate.”
“But Ned…” I trailed off. Some things are acknowledged but never spoken of.
Mrs Keregan was watching with some cynicism. “There’s more than one gentleman with tastes of that kind who escapes the attention of the law by marrying.” She cast a
glance at Richard.
“It’ll be a disaster.”
“Oh certainly, but don’t worry about it. Papa will never allow it.”
I looked across to where Mazzanti was still playing the wounded hero. “I wouldn’t have thought he’d approve of Ord, either.”
She crowed. “He’s after a duke, at least!”
That hadn’t been what I meant. “I’m surprised he’s contemplating marriage at all.” The moment Julia married, her income would pass into her husband’s hands,
which meant that John Mazzanti and his wife would be dependent on the Signora’s income. And the Signora was getting older and fatter, I was told.
Mazzanti looked round and saw his daughter, and Ord and Ned facing each other over her pretty little head. The change in him was remarkable. He leapt up, strode across and seized Julia by her
arm. She was distributing her favours equally, it seemed, simpering at both Ord and Ned as Mazzanti raged about so-called gentlemen who took advantage while his back was turned. And – was it
my imagination – or did he have just a touch of desperation about him too?
Mrs Keregan sighed. “That’s no way to handle a girl of her age. It’ll end in disaster, mark my words.”
Mazzanti bore his daughter off, up the stifling theatre towards the stage, calling for the rehearsal to begin. The sunlight through the windows haloed the girl with gold. Mrs Keregan, a much
more mundane figure, extricated herself from her armchair with difficulty, and went off fanning herself furiously with a piece of paper. Ned followed the Mazzantis, still with that predatory air
about him; Ord, more inhibited, or more cautious, fumed impotently at the doorway.
Richard fussed around me, gathering up the empty tankards; his head was down, his shoulder turned. When I spoke, he muttered an incoherent reply. I started to talk to him then Ord interrupted,
strolling across to me with as much insouciance as he could manage. Richard hurried off.
I slid my fiddle from its case, plucked the strings to check its tuning. Ord was gazing about with his usual insolence, but there was an edge of bravado to it. Well, if he was ashamed, so he
should be. I could sympathise with Ned’s plight even if I disliked his idea of using marriage as nothing more than a smokescreen and a source of money; Ord, however, I could only condemn. Not
so much for the idea that he was thinking of taking a mistress – after all, so many men did – but to be courting an actress at the same time as negotiating his engagement was
unfeeling.
Besides Lizzie Saint would get wind of it – someone would tell her. Someone always did.
“Miss Mazzanti is a fine performer,” Ord said, as they began rehearsing some dialogue. I said nothing; there was nothing diplomatic I could say. “As a music-lover, I admire her
greatly.”
He was trying to pull the wool over my eyes. I was outraged that he should be so hypocritical and that he should think me gullible enough to believe him. “She is, of course,” he
added, “not a lady.”
I could not contain myself. “Not like Miss Saint,” I said.
Ord flushed. “Damn it, Patterson, it’s not your place to bandy about the names of ladies!”
He stalked off.
I started to tune up; Mazzanti on the stage swung round angrily and demanded silence. I retreated to a hot little room off the theatre, which at other times Mr Usher used as a counting office.
Richard was in there, cutting
“Oh, our Ned’s serious all right.” She rubbed her fingers together. “He’s after the money. She’s the worst singer and actress I ever saw, but she knows how to
woo the gentlemen. She’ll make a fortune for her husband – while her looks last at any rate.”
“But Ned…” I trailed off. Some things are acknowledged but never spoken of.
Mrs Keregan was watching with some cynicism. “There’s more than one gentleman with tastes of that kind who escapes the attention of the law by marrying.” She cast a
glance at Richard.
“It’ll be a disaster.”
“Oh certainly, but don’t worry about it. Papa will never allow it.”
I looked across to where Mazzanti was still playing the wounded hero. “I wouldn’t have thought he’d approve of Ord, either.”
She crowed. “He’s after a duke, at least!”
That hadn’t been what I meant. “I’m surprised he’s contemplating marriage at all.” The moment Julia married, her income would pass into her husband’s hands,
which meant that John Mazzanti and his wife would be dependent on the Signora’s income. And the Signora was getting older and fatter, I was told.
Mazzanti looked round and saw his daughter, and Ord and Ned facing each other over her pretty little head. The change in him was remarkable. He leapt up, strode across and seized Julia by her
arm. She was distributing her favours equally, it seemed, simpering at both Ord and Ned as Mazzanti raged about so-called gentlemen who took advantage while his back was turned. And – was it
my imagination – or did he have just a touch of desperation about him too?
Mrs Keregan sighed. “That’s no way to handle a girl of her age. It’ll end in disaster, mark my words.”
Mazzanti bore his daughter off, up the stifling theatre towards the stage, calling for the rehearsal to begin. The sunlight through the windows haloed the girl with gold. Mrs Keregan, a much
more mundane figure, extricated herself from her armchair with difficulty, and went off fanning herself furiously with a piece of paper. Ned followed the Mazzantis, still with that predatory air
about him; Ord, more inhibited, or more cautious, fumed impotently at the doorway.
Richard fussed around me, gathering up the empty tankards; his head was down, his shoulder turned. When I spoke, he muttered an incoherent reply. I started to talk to him then Ord interrupted,
strolling across to me with as much insouciance as he could manage. Richard hurried off.
I slid my fiddle from its case, plucked the strings to check its tuning. Ord was gazing about with his usual insolence, but there was an edge of bravado to it. Well, if he was ashamed, so he
should be. I could sympathise with Ned’s plight even if I disliked his idea of using marriage as nothing more than a smokescreen and a source of money; Ord, however, I could only condemn. Not
so much for the idea that he was thinking of taking a mistress – after all, so many men did – but to be courting an actress at the same time as negotiating his engagement was
unfeeling.
Besides Lizzie Saint would get wind of it – someone would tell her. Someone always did.
“Miss Mazzanti is a fine performer,” Ord said, as they began rehearsing some dialogue. I said nothing; there was nothing diplomatic I could say. “As a music-lover, I admire her
greatly.”
He was trying to pull the wool over my eyes. I was outraged that he should be so hypocritical and that he should think me gullible enough to believe him. “She is, of course,” he
added, “not a lady.”
I could not contain myself. “Not like Miss Saint,” I said.
Ord flushed. “Damn it, Patterson, it’s not your place to bandy about the names of ladies!”
He stalked off.
I started to tune up; Mazzanti on the stage swung round angrily and demanded silence. I retreated to a hot little room off the theatre, which at other times Mr Usher used as a counting office.
Richard was in there, cutting
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