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She watched them, standing beside the chair, her hand absently caressing the great eagle that crowned the back. Eden entered quietly and joined her while Bel and Jessica went to help Millie find space for her tea tray.
‘You came back,’ he said, softly, resting his left hand, the one with the diamond ring, on the eagle’s claw.
‘Yes. I never meant to stay away for long.’
‘There is much I must say to you.’ His dark eyes seemed to suck her in as though she was gazing deep into a woodland pool. There was tenderness there, and anger and a haunting sadness. ‘I missed you, Maude.’
‘And I you.’ Somehow their fingers had drifted together, meshed, locked. His hand was warm and dry and she could feel the calluses on his palm, the hardness of the ring. ‘Eden…’
Behind them Bel cleared her throat and Eden turned, smiling. ‘Would you pour, Lady Dereham?’ and the moment had gone.
They had gathered round the tea table and were discussing the final details when suddenly the light flickered, dimmed, almost vanished. ‘What on earth?’ Elinor gasped. Then, as suddenly as they had faded, the gas lights were glowing as brightly again.
Eden got up and checked the lamps. ‘Strange—this has not happened before. I can only assume the gas pressure dropped for a moment. Will you excuse me, ladies? I must check that no lamps have gone out completely anywhere.’
‘I don’t like the things,’ Jessica confided as the door closed behind Eden. ‘I know they give a stronger light, but the smell gives me a headache.’
‘They must be safer than oil or candles, though,’ Bel suggested. ‘You can’t knock them over like oil lamps and the flame is enclosed.’
‘That’s true. But then there is the disturbance and cost of having to have the pipes put in everywhere,’ Jessica countered. They were still discussing it when Eden returned.
‘Inexplicable. If it happens again I will have to speak to the gas company—we cannot risk being plunged into gloom in the middle of a performance.’ He looked around the four faces as one by one they finished drinking their tea and began to gather up their possessions. ‘Is there anything else I can assist you with, ladies?’
‘No, thank you. I think everything has been organised to perfection.’ Jessica retrieved her umbrella. ‘We will see you on the afternoon of the Musicale, then?’
‘Lady Maude?’ She stopped, biting her lip, then turned with a smile.
‘Mr Hurst?’
‘Could you spare me a few minutes? There is something I would discuss with you.’ Maude’s heart seemed to jolt in her chest. Eden looked almost vulnerable, standing there, waiting for her response. But she could not risk being alone with him, not yet.
‘I am sorry, but I must go now, the others are waiting for me.’ She gestured towards the door as their voices faded away down the passage. ‘After the Musicale, Eden. We will talk then.’
‘Very well,’ he said sombrely, as though she had given him bad news. ‘You had better hurry, don’t keep your friends waiting.’ And somehow she forced a smile on to her lips and walked away.
It was like throwing a party to celebrate his own breaking heart, Eden thought as he stood on the stage at the Unicorn and surveyed the ants’ nest of activity that was transforming his theatre.
Men in shirtsleeves were everywhere, scarred soldiers, some limping, some with only one arm, mingled with his own carpenters and riggers while their noble lordships, Dereham and Standon, apparently enjoying themselves enormously getting sweaty and filthy, checked their work against Eden’s master plans.
Behind him, the scene painters and the scenery shifters were working to create the backdrop under Theo’s direction and in the boxes two dozen footmen, loaned by the various committee members, flapped tablecloths and clattered silverware under the command of his butler.
Backstage the Green Room had been transformed into a base for the caterers, his own cook supervising the men from Gunther’s while Millie, white with excitement at the responsibility, was in charge of the ice boxes and their precious contents.
Maude was with her frien
ds, arranging flowers and deciding on where the swags of greenery were to go. She was avoiding him; her smile, when they found themselves close, was strained. He, thankful for small mercies, knew no one expected him to smile at them; he rather thought he had forgotten which muscles were used.
Eden found his mind wandering to Maude again. What did she feel for him? Could she possibly share the emotion that was wrecking his sleep, leaving his body aching with unfulfilled desire and his thoughts flinching away from the knowledge of the pain to come? Would it be better if she did not—or worse? Better, he told himself. Then only he would be hurt. If she loved him, the knowledge could only bring him a second’s happiness.
All around him activity was slowing, men were stopping, standing back to eye what they had achieved, slap each other on the back. It was done. Even the ladies seemed satisfied at last, putting down scissors and wire and reaching out for one last tweak at vases of nodding blooms.
Now all that remained was to clear away the tools, sweep up and for the caterers to take over. Eden raised his voice. ‘Thank you! I suggest that everyone who is not involved in catering or cleaning leaves now. Beginners…that is, the committee, back here at six, if you please.’
Three hours for them to bathe and dress and rest. Three hours for him to transform himself as his theatre had been transformed and to show Maude, so very clearly, that the notorious Eden Hurst was not a suitable companion for her.
‘What on earth are you doing, my dear?’ Lord Pangbourne enquired with a chuckle, emerging on to the first floor landing to find Maude clutching the balustrade and muttering.
‘Practising my piece for this evening,’ she said. ‘Oh dear, I wish I had joined in with the others; my singing might be poor, but at least no one would have known if I had just mouthed the words.’ But it was not the act of performing that was making her insides tie themselves in knots and her hands shake, it was the thought of what Eden’s reaction to what she was saying might be.
