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“…come night, come Romeo, come thou day in night;
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night,
Whiter than new snow upon a raven’s back.
Come gentle night, come loving black-browed night,
Give me my Romeo…”
The theatre was hushed as Juliet’s words, the plea of a woman whose lover has been wrenched from her by a cruel twist of fate, who knew all too bitterly the barriers keeping them apart, floated out above them.
Maude spoke them from her heart, her eyes locked with Eden’s. He stood, stock-still, looking up at her, his face white.
“…and when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he shall make the face of heaven so fine,
That all the world will be in love with night…”
It was almost ended, he was still there, still intent upon her lips.
“O here comes my nurse…what news?”
And Maude stepped back into the shadows and into Eva’s arms. The silence stretched on, then the applause broke out and the tension was broken.
‘Wonderful!’ Bel was openly mopping at her eyes, the others clapping. Lord Pangbourne beamed proudly as Sebastian put a chair forward and Maude sank down, her legs trembling. Give me my Romeo.
The string band began to play incidental music, the audience to gather itself, talking at the top of its voice. Laughter rose up to the box as the stalls began to empty. It was over—and it was just beginning, Maude told herself.
‘Maude and I will stay on a little, Lord Pangbourne, just to thank everyone who has worked so hard behind the scenes,’ Jessica was saying. ‘Is that all right?’
‘Of course.’ He was still beaming proudly. ‘And you say you cannot act, Maude. I have never heard better, I declare.’
‘Ah, yes, but you were not acting, were you?’ Eva murmured in her ear.
‘I’ll just go down and have a word with Mr Hurst, thank him for managing the stage so well,’ Maude said, slipping to the door of the box. She hurried down the stairs, held up every few paces by people wanting to congratulate her upon the evening or her recitation. Finally she made it to the door off the lobby and made her way to the wings.
Eden was there, giving orders to the stage manager and the hands. ‘Everyone help the caterers,’ he was saying. ‘The rest can be dealt with tomorrow. Lord Standon is taking care of the money; someone find him and carry the strong box to his carriage.’
Maude waited, enjoying seeing Eden work, the effortless way he covered everything that needed to be done. Finally the workers trooped off to their tasks and he turned and saw her.
‘Maude.’ It was there in his face, all the hope and despair and doubt that was whirling inside her. ‘Maude, that was…’
‘Hurst, my dear fellow. A triumph! I am very impressed, very impressed indeed.’ It was Papa, marching across the stage, hand outstretched to wring Eden’s. He turned and nodded briskly at Maude. ‘Telling him the good news about the theatre, my dear? That’s the way to round off the evening, indeed it is!’ He dropped a kiss on Maude’s cheek. ‘Now, don’t you and Lady Dereham stay here all hours, will you? You need your rest.’
‘What about the theatre?’ Eden asked, his voice ominously quiet as the earl disappeared from sight.
‘I…I know who owns it.’
‘And you were about to tell me?’
Some demon of truthfulness had Maude shaking her head. ‘No…I mean, yes, I was going to tell you, but not just now. You said you wanted to speak to me.’
‘And how long have you known who owns it?’ He made no move to come closer.
‘A week. Just over. Eden—’
