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When they arrived at Clara’s to pick her up on the way to Covent Garden, Bea was reminded yet again of her former life, the one before Miriam. Her friend glowed with joy at being reunited. Clara had visited the house several times and had been generous in her attention to Bea and Miriam, but Bea knew she welcomed this chance to rejoice in the music together, one of their special bonds.
The performance ofSemiramideenraptured Clara, with its Baroque-tradition singing and opulent setting in Ancient Babylon. Between the melodrama of the story itself, based on a Voltairian tragedy, and the high order orchestral performance, it was the kind of production that would have captivated Beatrice, too…once upon a time.
Tonight, however, too many distractions pulled at her to be carried away fully. She enjoyed the performance, but never quite forgot the man sitting next to her. She felt William’s admiring eyes on her in the darkness. He claimed not to detest opera, but she had her suspicions. He was there for her, and as ever, he had been gracious when she wished to include her friend in the evening.
During theintermezzo, Bea surprised William by signaling her desire to return to their box. Not only was she glad for the respite from her sudden and intense return to society, she could no longer resist the urge to speak to her husband.
Knowing they would not have privacy for long, she wasted no time once they returned to their seats. “An evening out with you is splendid, my lord. But the opera is not the only place I have missed you.”
Affability disappeared from his expression, replaced entirely with a preternatural stillness, as if he could not believe his ears.
“I know today is not Tuesday, William, but I wonder if we might—”
“Yes.” His nostrils flared and his gaze dropped below the rubies again. “God, yes.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Clara, sailing into the box. “How is it that I can knowexactlywhat tragedy awaits in the second act, yet still anticipate it so?”
William cleared his throat, and soon, his usual calm demeanor returned. “Tragedy strikes, does it? Well, judging by the past, you two will hope until the last moment the plot will change and all will be well. When it doesn’t, you’ll be heartbroken for a time, all the while luxuriating in the fineries of the performance.”
Clara raised an eyebrow and met Bea’s amused gaze. “He’s taken the measure of us, I daresay!”
A short time later, the gaslights dimmed as the beginning of Queen Semiramide’s end played out on stage. Just before darkness fell in the opera house, Bea met William’s gaze, and she blinked lovingly, hoping he understood her signal.Later tonight.
Her eyes were drawn to the stage, thanks in part to the new limelight lamps, which directed flames at cylinders of quicklime. The resulting illumination was intense, but could not flood the entire set, lending instead to a dramatic focus on one or two performers at a time. Halfway through the second act, however, neither the theatrics of the evening, nor the beloved company by her side, were sufficient to hold Bea’s attention.
Her breasts had become unbearably full. Each breath brought not only discomfort but a reminder that Miriam needed her.Is she crying from hunger? Wondering where her mother is? Why she’s been abandoned?
When Clara and the rest of the audience gasped as the queen on stage was accidentally but fatally struck by her own son, Bea huffed in frustration.Die! Die already!She clutched her shawl around her, obscuring her bodice, now soaked with leaking milk.
“Is something amiss?” William whispered.
Eyes pleading, she turned to him.
“I’ll order the carriage,” he said, already standing up.
Bea patted Clara’s hand when she reached out and asked what the matter was. “I must return home.”
“Come, let’s follow the Marquess.”
“No! Listen to the chorus blend! You lov—”
“I wish to leave now, as well,” said Clara, lying blatantly.
Grateful, Bea clutched her arm and they left. In the mark of true friendship, Clara helped her find William and the carriage, all without pressing for more information.
He held her hand in the darkened conveyance—something he’d never done in front of others—and Bea felt Clara’s eyes on her. “I—I must go to Miriam,” she explained.
“Yes, of course,” her friend replied, her voice warm with understanding. “Tell me about her since I last visited. Is she still smiling as much?”
“And laughing!”
“And otherwise making her presence and preferences known,” William added.
“When he walks into the room, she grunts and yells until he picks her up,” Bea shared, squeezing his hand. She closed her eyes, praying her daughter wasn’t screaming this very moment. “Distract me, Clara,please. Tell me your impressions of Semiramide’s aria from the first act. What is the name of that aria again?”
“Bel raggio lusingier,isn’t it? I believe so. It’s my favorite. Oh, when the chorus joins! So much joy and hope…”
Wishing she could rip her silk gown from her painful chest, Bea was crawling out of her skin—all without moving a muscle. She focused on her friend’s voice more than her enthusiastic words, willing the carriage home.
