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‘Only in small private theatres in country houses. This is breathtaking. It feels so much bigger than it looks from the box.’ She glanced at him and saw he was standing, studying the view from the stage with the same look on his face as she sometimes saw on her father’s countenance when he came home to Knight’s Fee, their Hampshire estate. This was not just Eden’s work, not just a tool of his trade—this theatre belonged to him in a way that went far beyond deeds of ownership. What she could see was passion and possession and pride.
‘You have good projection and pitch,’ he remarked, turning back to the table and taking the jug of ale from Millie. ‘Are you sure you cannot act? Think what the appearance of Lady Maude Templeton on the stage would do for the box office.’
‘Empty it,’ she said, laughing, and took the chair he held for her. Anna, looking alarmed, was seated next to Tom Gates and Howard took the foot of the table.
‘Help yourselves.’ Eden waved at the spread before flattening his notes next to his plate and pouring ale. ‘Can you drink this, Lady Maude?’
‘I expect so,’ she said, cutting the pie and serving it out. ‘It is thirsty work, listening.’
‘Right, then. The first one.’
It took about three minutes for the men to forget who she was and to absorb her into the discussion. Elbows appeared on the table, notes were scribbled with one hand while the other waved a slice of bread to make a point, slices of meat and cheese were heaped on her plate without ceremony and Gates clinked his mug against hers. ‘Cheers.’
Anna sat, quiet as a mouse, eating steadily, while Maude listened. So far, everyone was agreeing with her impressions, although their analysis of faults and talents were far more detailed and technical than her own.
‘Number ten,’ Eden said, spearing an apple
with his knife. ‘No projection. No presence.’ The others nodded. Maude looked at her notes.
‘I don’t agree.’
The three men reacted as though the loaf of bread had addressed them, she thought, amused. ‘I beg your pardon, Lady Maude.’ Howard stopped gaping at her. ‘She wasn’t good technically.’
‘She looked charming, she is graceful and she reacted well to Mr Gates’s lead,’ Maude stated. ‘Can’t you teach her to project her voice better?’
‘She should know how,’ Eden said.
‘But she’s young, she cannot have much experience. Won’t you call her back?’
Gates looked at Howard. Howard looked at Eden. Eden poured more ale. Maude could almost hear their thoughts. His theatre, his company, his decision—and if he let her override him, would it diminish his authority?
‘Why didn’t you say anything about the others?’ he asked.
‘Because I agreed with you about them.’
‘Ah. Well, Lady Maude, you are our expert in the audience. Howard, put number ten down to call back.’ Face studiously blank, the stage manager made a note. ‘Number eleven?’
By mid-afternoon Anna had fallen asleep on the padded bench and was snoring softly, but Maude was still engrossed. She had three more possibles on her list and was finding her judgements easier now she had heard the men’s opinions over luncheon. Finally, at half past five, Eden called a halt and she went back down to the stage, leaving Anna sound asleep in the box.
‘Well,’ Eden said. ‘Show me your lists. Lady Maude, gentlemen.’ He spread them out on the table side by side. ‘It would appear we are unanimous. There’s six for you to call back tomorrow, Howard.’
‘You mean I got them right?’ Delighted, Maude bent over the table, tracing the notes with her finger.
‘I’m impressed.’ Eden was standing close beside her, the others had walked off; in the distance she could hear Howard calling the names of the afternoon’s selection. ‘Are you tired?’
‘No,’ Maude said, then found she could not stifle a most unladylike yawn. ‘But I do have a thick head. All that concentrating, I suppose.’
‘And no fresh air. These gas lights are all very well, but it is not a good atmosphere to be in all day.’
‘We could go for a walk,’ Maude suggested, watching as Eden stretched like a big cat, all supple muscle and long limbs.
‘It will be dark. This is February, remember.’ He stood, turning his head as if to ease his neck, then sat to gather up the papers.
‘Is your neck stiff?’ she asked as he rotated his shoulders. His attention was on the sheets in his hand; she doubted he was even aware that he was doing it.
‘My neck? Yes, a little. I am usually on my feet more.’
‘Let me.’ Maude moved behind him, put her hands on his shoulders and dug her thumbs into the hard muscle. ‘I do this for Papa when he’s been in the House all day.’ Under her hands Eden’s shoulders stiffened. ‘Am I hurting you?’
