Page 43 of The Extraordinary Florence Stoker

‘Take me home, Gilbert. I find I’m suffocating from either the smoke of cigars or the panegyrics to Mr Irving.’

‘Well, we can’t have that.’ He looped his arm through mine. ‘Come, we’ll find Bram and let him know we’re departing.’

I glanced over my shoulder. Bram was standing with Mr Irving, who had his arm draped so far over my husband, it was almost as if he was about to strangle him.

Damn Oscar, I thought, all a-flurry as I hurried Gilbert from the auditorium, aware of Oscar’s eyes upon me the entire time.

After two hundred and fifty performances of Merchant, the season finished, and we prepared to leave for our very first holiday to Southsea, near Portsmouth on the coast. The entire household was making the trip, including our maid, Emma, and the nursemaid, Elizabeth. Matilda and George would remain in London. The day before we left, just as I was supervising the last of the packing, I asked Bram what Mr Irving was planning to do now the season was finished.

‘He’s going on holidays.’

I was in my bedroom sorting out which hats to take. I needed a wide-brimmed one to protect me from all the sun I just knew was going to shine. ‘Oh?’ I asked, only halflistening. I didn’t really care what he was doing, but this was all a part of my new strategy. ‘And where does the guv’na go on holidays this year? Another cruise on the Mediterranean with the baroness?’

When Bram didn’t immediately reply, I turned and looked at him. He’d not long returned from the theatre.

‘He’s holidaying in Southsea.’

Molten metal rushed through my body.

‘That’s rather a peculiar coincidence, isn’t it?’ I gave a brittle laugh. ‘He’s bound to run into us.’

‘Run into us? Florrie,’ said Bram, as if talking to a wayward child, ‘I told you. Henry is holidaying with us.’

I slowly put down the hat I was considering. ‘I think I’d remember if you’d told me that, Bram,’ I said, proud my voice was steady. A high-pitched whine began in my ears.

‘We’re travelling there with Henry and Ellen – by train. She’s accompanying him. It will be the four of us. With wee Irving and the maids, of course. Think of the fun we’ll have.’ Refusing to meet my steady gaze, he began to stride around the room, pausing by the window and pulling back the curtains. It was still light outside, with the lovely, bruised glow the late evening sky gets in summer. The percussive sound of horses was faint as was the strain of a violin. He let the curtain fall back and faced me. I hadn’t moved.

‘You’re always saying we should spend more time with each other,’ said Bram, throwing my words back at me. ‘Now we will. That calls for a celebratory drink, don’t you think?’ He rubbed his hands together, as if he’d just made the most thrilling announcement, and left the room.

I stared after him in utter disbelief before falling onto the bed, my heart so heavy it held me there.

There was no escaping the man, was there?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Southsea, 1880

I’d never heard so many Irish voices outside of Dublin as I did in Portsmouth and Southsea that summer. Employed to work at the royal dockyard and the railway station, the Irish were everywhere. They helped with our luggage and found us a conveyance to take us to our hotel. The concierge was from Belfast, the porters from Cobh, Dublin and Galway. It was a comfort to be surrounded by the singsong lilt of my homeland again.

The view from our room was panoramic, taking in the green of the common and the wide expanse of sand and water. We were a short walk from the entertainment and stalls on the Clarence Esplanade Pier. I began to imagine days of wandering the shore, eating ice-creams, watching the performers in town for the season and reading the books I’d squeezed into my bag.

While I’d worried about maintaining my pretence of being friendly towards Mr Irving on the trip south, especially in the close quarters of a railway carriage, it had been for naught. Between comforting young Irving, who was overtired and grizzling, and being grateful when Elizabeth and Emma took it in turns to carry him up and down the train, the rest of us sat in comfort and drank tea, ate the cake Mrs Daw had packed, and exchanged stories. When Mr Irving tried, he could be a pleasant companion. I wondered briefly what he thought of me. After all, I’d given him no cause to hold me in affection. We spoke of many things – William Terriss’s new lady friend, an actress from Drury Lane; the Prince of Wales’s current mistress; and Mr Disraeli’s loss in the recent election. We were of a mind that being free of parliamentary duties meant he could at last finish the novel he’d started years ago.

‘Whether anyone will read it is, of course, another matter entirely,’ said Mr Irving.

‘It’s what preoccupies every author,’ said Bram, revealing himself. ‘Does the work merit readers?’ Despite being busy, he’d almost finished writing a collection of short stories for children, Under the Sunset, and would soon be seeking a publisher. With hopes it might be advantageous for Bram, I’d invited the publisher I met the night of the Merchant of Venice celebration months ago, Mr Marston, over for afternoon tea when we returned.

I reached across and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘Surely, publishers only accept work of quality, those that they believe have a readership.’

‘Ah,’ said Ellen, ‘I’m certain they give the famous special dispensation, assured the name will sell. Quality is not always a consideration.’

The days at Southsea became a blur of strolls along the seashore with Ellen, babbie Irving, Elizabeth and Emma, watching pantomimes and puppet shows at the pier, and lots of talking. When the weather was inclement, there were card games, chess and quiet reading. Tired from the eventful days, young Irving would be abed early and either Emma or Elizabeth would have the night to themselves. Our evenings were most often spent in the hotel restaurant, watching the mellow sunset and drinking wine and whisky. After dinner, the men puffed away on cigars or went for evening ambles along the foreshore, Bram content as a milk-addled cat. That left Ellen and me, blankets across our knees to keep the cold at bay, wine in hand, and the moonlit sea to gaze upon as we gossiped.

It wasn’t until the holiday was drawing to a close that the newfound accord between me and Henry (as he demanded I call him) ended abruptly.

For the last two days, we’d been confined indoors due to incessant rain. When the sun finally appeared, Bram and Henry decided to hire a boat. Naturally, we women weren’t invited as the men wanted to fish and declared feminine chatter would scare away any chance of a catch (I’d argue it was lack of skill and patience as opposed to women’s conversation). If Ellen and I weren’t enduring hours and hours of endless (and, frankly, quite smug and self-congratulatory) dialogues and evaluations between Bram and Henry of how well the Lyceum was doing, how fabulous their choice of productions, we were being forced to listen to them forecasting future ones, making plans to tour North America, and what a wonderful actor Henry was. He didn’t seem to notice or care that his leading lady was right there. Nor that much of what he took credit for was due to Bram. The vanity of the man was breathtaking and I was fast reaching the limits of my tolerance. I wasn’t the only one glad to see the back of him and Bram for the morning.

Ellen and I, along with Elizabeth, Emma and the babbie, decided to take a picnic to the beach, having exhausted other pursuits. It was a lovely day – the calm after the storm of the night before, as one old sea salt noted. The sky was a glorious duck-egg blue, a few wispy clouds drifted, gulls squawked and floated in the thermals above. We found a secluded spot and laid out a thick blanket. We all wore wide-brimmed hats and removed our shoes so we might burrow our toes in the gritty sand. Babbie was thoroughly enjoying himself until he grasped a fistful and shoved it in his mouth. Oh, the cries! Emma and Elizabeth whisked him back to the hotel, leaving me and Ellen alone. Such bliss. Just us, some egg sandwiches, Victoria sponge and cordial, the sunshine, and a friendly hound that came over and lay beside us, sharing some crusts.