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“Yes,” she repeated. The moon hung in the sky just over his shoulder, peering as though listening in, breathless for what was next.
“Miss Erstwhile.”
“Yes?”
He looked at the sky, he took several breaths as if trying to locate the right words, he briefly shut his eyes. “Miss Erstwhile, do you—”
Captain East and Miss Heartwright passed by, walking close without touching. Mr. Nobley watched them, his frown deepening, then he looked back over his shoulder at nothing.
What? What?! Jane wanted to yell.
“Shall we go inside?”
He offered his arm. She felt dumped-on-her-rear disappointment, but she took his arm and pretended she was just fine. Soon the warm safety of roof and walls cut off the luscious strangeness of night in the garden. Servants scurried, candles blazed, the preparations for the play were lively and unconcerned with a moment in the park.
Without another word, Mr. Nobley left her alone, his jacket still around her shoulders. It smelled like gardens.
* * *
TWO HOURS LATER, THE DRAWING room converted, the costumes wrapped, the electric-kerosene lamps flickering in a semicircle at their feet, the performers enacted the thirty-minute ode to love and the Mediterranean, Home by the Sea.
Miss Charming kept a ferocious grip on her script and gave oily air kisses to Colonel Andrews. Amelia was calm and sweet, melting into her dialogue with Captain East as though into his arms. Jane knelt beside Mr. Nobley, the wounded war captain, as he nearly died, and did her best to sound earnest. Old Jane would’ve run away or laughed self-consciously throughout. New Jane decided to feel as enchanting as Miss Charming and performed each line with relish and passion. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t a very good actress. Mr. Nobley’s character miraculously recovered all the same, leading to the part where he stood and took her hands. They were still cold. He paused, as though trying to remember what came next.
He looked. Looked at her. At her and into her. Into her eyes as though he couldn’t bear to look away. And there was a delicious curl in his smile.
“I love you,” he said.
Zing, thought Jane.
It was his line, more or less, though simplified. Stripped of similes and farms and rain and moon and all, it pierced her. She opened her mouth to say her own line but couldn’t remember a single word. And she didn’t want to.
He leaned. She leaned.
Then Aunt Saffronia, who’d been laughing encouragingly during the parts that were supposed to be sad and clapping gleefully whenever a new character came onstage, now cleared her throat as though intensely uncomfortable. Mr. Nobley hesitated, then kissed Jane’s cheek. His lips were warm, his cheek slightly scratchy. She smiled and breathed him in.
At length, the six actors stood side by side, pretending the bright yellow wall of the drawing room opened to a view of the Mediterranean Sea, and said their closing lines.
Jane: Trying to sound actress-y. “At last, we are all truly happy.”
Miss Charming: Pause. Crinkling of paper. Frantic searching for line. “Indeed.”
Amelia: With a shy smile for the tall man beside her. “Our travels are ended.”
Captain East: With a manly smile for his lady. “We can rest peacefully in each other’s arms.”
Colonel Andrews: As always, with panache! “And no matter where we may roam . . .”
Mr. Nobley: A sigh. “This will always be our home.” His voice unhappy with the line. “By the sea.”
And, silence as the audience waited for who knows what— a better ending line? A better play? Colonel Andrews cleared his throat, and Jane inclined her head in a hurried curtsy.
“Oh,” Aunt Saffronia said and started the applause.
The audience clapped enthusiastically and arhythmically, and the cast bowed, Miss Charming giggling.
Jane squinted past the lamps to get her first good look at the audience, now that the play was over and stage fright couldn’t prickle her. Aunt Saffronia, beaming. Mrs. Wattlesbrook, looking for all the world like a pro
ud schoolmarm. Matilda, bored, and a few other servants, equally bored.
