Half Moon Street - Anne Perry [17]
The lights dimmed and the curtain rose for the second act.
Caroline directed her attention to the stage, where the drama continued to develop. It could only end in tragedy. The character played by Cecily Antrim hungered for more passion in life than the society in which she was could either give or understand. She was trapped among people who were increasingly disturbed and frightened by her.
Her husband would not divorce her, and she had no power to divorce him and no justification to leave. Even her misery was from no cause she could explain to anyone who did not share it.
Whether she could ever have behaved differently was a question not yet raised, but Caroline was asking herself even while the scene was playing itself out in front of her. She did not wish to identify with Cecily Antrim, a creature of ungovernable emotions, wayward, indiscreet, allowing far too much of herself to be known, and in so doing betraying the inner thoughts of all women.
Caroline was angry for the sense of embarrassment. She wanted to turn away, as one does if accidentally intruding on someone in a private moment. One says nothing, and both parties pretend it did not happen. It was the only way to make civilized living possible. There are things one does not see, words one does not voice, and if they slip out in a moment of heat, they are never repeated. Secrets are necessary.
And here was this actress stripping the coverings of discretion from her very soul and showing the need and the pain, the laughter and the vulnerability, to everyone with the price of a ticket to watch.
The character of the husband was well acted, but he was there to be torn apart, to evoke anger and frustration, and in the end Caroline knew it would be pity as well.
The fiancée also evoked a certain compassion. She was an ordinary girl who could not begin to fight against the woman, all but twice her age, whose subtlety and fire swept away the man she thought she had won. The audience knew the battle for him was lost before the first blow was struck.
The fiancée’s brother was more interesting, not as a character in the play but because the actor who portrayed him had a remarkable presence, even in so relatively minor a part. He was tall and fair. It was difficult to tell his real age, but it must have been no more than twenty-five at the most. He had a sensitivity which came across the footlights, an emotion one was aware of even though he gave it few words. It was an inner energy, something of the mind. He in no sense played to the gallery, but there can have been few in the audience who would not remember him afterwards.
When the second act ended and the lights went up again Caroline did not look at Joshua or Pitt. She did not want to know what they had thought or felt about it, but more than that, she did not wish to betray her own feelings, and she was afraid they would be too readable in her eyes.
There was a knock on the door of the box again, and Joshua went to open it.
Outside was one of Joshua’s fellow actors whom Caroline knew slightly, a man named Charles Leigh. Beside him stood a second man of completely different countenance, taller, a little heavier. There was an intelligence in his face and a humor which lit his eyes even before he spoke, but it was his resemblance to her first husband which for a moment made the breath catch in her throat.
“I should like you to meet my visitor from America, Samuel Ellison. Mr. and Mrs. Fielding, and . . .” Leigh began.
“Mr. Pitt,” Joshua supplied. “How do you do.”
“How do you do, sir,” Samuel Ellison replied, bowing very slightly, glancing at the others, but his eyes resting on Caroline. “Pardon me for the intrusion, ma’am, but when Mr. Leigh told me that you were named Ellison before you married Mr. Fielding, I could not wait to meet you.”
“Indeed?” Caroline said uncertainly. It was ridiculous, but she felt a nervousness inside herself, almost alarm. This man was so like Edward she could not doubt some relationship. They were of a height, and their features were not