A Christmas Homecoming - Anne Perry [18]
James moved closer to Mercy, then glared at Ballin. “Of course she isn’t all right! He comes creeping around here, uninvited, and frightens her half to death. How could she possibly be all right?”
Vincent spread his arms wide. “Perfect,” he said sarcastically. “The black-cloaked stranger comes out of the storm, no doubt washed ashore in his coffin, and then stalks young women in the vast heart of this elaborate house with its stained-glass windows and private theater. I couldn’t have designed it better myself. For God’s sake, stop being such a damned actress, Mercy. Be a human being for half an hour.”
Lydia, who was standing next to Caroline, started to laugh, and choked it off only with difficulty.
Alice appeared, breathless. “Is anyone hurt?” she asked anxiously.
“No, of course not,” Vincent snapped. “Mercy met Mr. Ballin around a corner and imagined she met a vampire so she screamed like a banshee, in order that no one in the entire house, and probably half of Whitby, would miss her moment of high drama. Go to bed and don’t worry about it. It’s a rehearsal.” He stalked away from the group and disappeared around the corner back to the main hallway.
Mercy started to tremble.
Eliza went to her. “Please let us take you back to the withdrawing room. Perhaps a hot cocoa would warm you. You have had a terrible shock.”
“So must poor Mr. Ballin,” Caroline said. “If he was walking along the corridor quietly and someone came out of the shadows screaming at him at the top of her lungs, it’s lucky he didn’t have an apoplexy. Mr. Ballin, I’m extremely sorry we are all behaving like mad people. We have been rehearsing a play of considerable horror, and we are all worried that we will not be able to do the subject justice. We are tired and rather highly strung. I hope you will be quite all right. Perhaps you should have a hot cocoa as well. It will settle your nerves after what must have been a terrible shock for you.”
“If you wander uninvited around other people’s houses at night, you must expect to cause terror and distress,” James said angrily.
Joshua clenched his teeth. “He is not uninvited, James. He offered to help us improve the script and we accepted …”
“You accepted!” James snapped back.
“I did, and so did Miss Netheridge. It is her play, and I am directing it. And Mr. Ballin is a guest here.” He turned to Ballin. “I hope you will sleep well, and still feel like giving us whatever assistance you can in the morning.”
Ballin bowed. “Of course. Good night.” He walked away slowly, elegantly, clearly conscious of everyone watching him.
Caroline let out a sigh of relief and leaned closer to Joshua. His arm tightened around her.
n the morning they were all considerably subdued. It was still snowing and, although no one said so, it was apparent that they were effectively imprisoned in the house. The drifts were deep. No vehicle could make its way through them—and a man on foot might easily slip and fall, and the snow would bury him. One of the footmen had been as far as the bend of the road, and reported that there were several trees down. They could not reasonably expect to be able to get a even a dog cart past for a couple of days, even if the weather improved within hours—and it showed no signs of improving. The sky was leaden, and every so often there were fresh squalls of snow.
“Is there any point in rehearsing?” Mercy asked Joshua when she found him walking toward the theater with Caroline. “You can’t imagine that anyone is going to come to an amateur play in this weather!” She ignored Caroline.
“Have you a better idea how we should spend our time until we know whether we are to perform or not?” Joshua asked her.
“Perform for whom? The kitchen staff?”
“If we can entertain the kitchen staff it would be a good indication that we had made a passable drama out of it,” he said. “But Christmas is still half a week away. A rise in temperature and a day’s rain, and the roads will be open again. What else do you want to do?”
“Not play Mina in this damned awful play!”
“And not play on the London