Page 19 of The Extraordinary Florence Stoker

Mr Irving’s expression darkened. ‘What a nonsensical conversation,’ he scoffed, tossing back the remainder of his drink. ‘I’m not your chief. That’s Bram. A man rules his household.’

I couldn’t help but wonder what Charlotte Stoker, who was the beating heart of her family, would have to say about that. I knew how I felt. I waited for Bram to say something, change the direction of the conversation. He remained mute, his eyes nervously darting from me to Mr Irving and back again. My inner voice was telling me to be quiet, let it lie. Only, I couldn’t.

‘I see no help for it, then,’ I said gaily. ‘I shall have to start a rebellion and overturn your authority, Bram, or demand we co-rule. I’ll be the Chiefess. What say you, dear?’

Bram kept staring at his boss.

Mr Irving began to grow red in the face. The waiter tried to attract our attention so he could place the glasses and freshly opened bottle on his tray down.

‘Forgive Florence, Henry,’ said Bram, finally, his hand closing over where mine rested on the arm of the chair. He gave it a warning squeeze. ‘She’s young and a plain talker – comes from being part of a large family. And this —’ His arm encompassed the room. ‘This is all new to her, intoxicating. It’s understandable her tongue would run away —’

Young? I might be young, but I was old enough for Bram to marry, even if he forgot to tell his employer. And I most certainly didn’t need my husband to make excuses for me as if I was a naughty child. Heat climbed my chest, heat and fury. I didn’t wed, or gird my loins to cross the Irish Sea, to put up with this – from either man. How dare Bram patronise me so? Where had my courteous, kindly husband fled to? Why, he was practically simpering over this ill-mannered man. I couldn’t bear it. Before I said or did something I’d regret, I stood.

‘I think you’ll find my tongue is firmly in my young mouth at present, dear.’ The smile did not reach my eyes. ‘In fact, it’s my feet that are looking to run away – upstairs —’

Bram leapt up, blocking my exit. ‘Florrie! You can’t … I mean, don’t go …’

I patted his cheek, his soft beard tickling my palm. ‘I’ll leave you gentlemen to catch up. No. Please. We’ll talk later. It’s been a long day, I’m weary, and it’s evident you both have many things to discuss that the Wife will just impede.’ I held Bram’s gaze a moment. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Irving. It’s certainly been a revelation to meet the man I’ve heard so much about.’ I hesitated. In for a penny in for a pound as they say. ‘What a pity you can’t say the same for me.’

As I turned to move away, I was already beginning to regret my sharp words. I’d intended to thank Mr Irving and instead I’d drawn swords. Before I’d taken a few steps, Mr Irving spoke again, his voice pitched so I’d hear.

‘You need to take the Wife in hand, boyo.’

It took all my self-control not to bite. Instead, I crossed the foyer and calmly ascended the staircase, half-expecting, hoping, Bram would follow.

Much later, long after the moon was abed and I’d been reading for what seemed like hours, Bram returned.

‘Nice of you to join me,’ I said tersely. I was still cross about what had happened downstairs – Mr Irving’s poor manners, yes, but I was more affronted that Bram hadn’t defended me. I’d never been so rude to someone I’d only just met. But then, no-one had ever treated me in such a fashion. Were all actors like that? Or was Mr Irving the exception? I prayed that was the case.

Bram mumbled something then lurched towards the bed, plonking himself on the end. Spirit and tobacco fumes rose like a miasma. He clumsily began to remove his shoes.

I closed my book. ‘In case you’re wondering, I’d a lovely dinner, thank you for asking. I ate here in the room.’

‘I guessed you must have,’ said Bram, loosening his necktie. ‘Henry and I dined in the hotel restaurant.’

‘I guessed you must have.’

Bram continued to undress in silence. I waited a while. ‘Bram,’ I said, trying to soften my tone. I didn’t want a donnybrook, but I couldn’t let this go unremarked. ‘I thought we might have shared a meal, you know, celebrated. After all, it’s our first night in England.’

Bram spoke over his shoulder. ‘Don’t be like that, Florrie,’ he said warily, unbuttoning his shirt. ‘Henry and I had things to discuss. Important things. We’ve a lifetime together, what’s one night?’

I inwardly sighed. ‘I just thought that after the way Mr Irving spoke to me, you’d at least have come upstairs and checked I was alright.’

Bram’s fingers hovered over the last button. ‘The way he spoke?’ He twisted around. ‘Florence, I’m sorry, but you were insufferably rude to Henry. That’s part of the reason I didn’t. He was … most discombobulated by your hostility, I had to reassure him, make peace.’

I stared at Bram in disbelief. ‘My hostility. Reassure him.’ Words became clogged in my throat.

‘I think you need to apologise —’

‘Me?’ I could scarce believe what I was hearing. Bram had picked a side, and it wasn’t mine. Admittedly, I had been confrontational, but I’d also been provoked, hadn’t I? My hands balled into fists. Hot coals blistered my insides. Surely, Mr Irving wasn’t really upset. He was simply making mischief, trying to set me and Bram at loggerheads. To what end, I couldn’t fathom, but I wouldn’t allow it.

I took a few deep breaths; unfurled my fingers. Be damned if I’d apologise to Mr Irving, but I could to my husband. ‘If I spoke out of turn, I’m sorry. I was taken aback,’ I huffed. ‘Tell me, why didn’t Mr Irving know about me?’

Bram shrugged, standing to finish removing his shirt. ‘I’m sure I told him. He must have forgotten.’

I doubted that. Actors had formidable memories.

Bram finished undressing, pulled his nightshirt over his head and, throwing back the covers, climbed in beside me. The mattress was so soft, his weight caused me to roll against him, my book becoming jammed beneath me. I wriggled to pull it out. Thinking I sought to be near him when the opposite was true, he put an arm around me.