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She looked touched by his vehemence, when she ought to have been dubious about his family history. Her faith in him was a gift. Daniel longed to give her something in return. “We should go out,” he said.
“Out?”
“Tonight. You said you’d never been to a proper theater.”
She blinked as if adjusting to the change of topic. “No, only amateur theatrics.”
“We must remedy that. I’m sure Macklin’s people can get us a box, with town so thin of company.”
“I’m not sure I brought the right gown.”
“Whatever you wear, you will be beautiful.”
This clearly required a tender acknowledgment, and it was some time before Daniel left to make arrangements for the play.
The evening found them in gilt chairs in a box at the Theater Royal in Drury Lane. The players were presentingHamlet, which Penelope had heard of, naturally, but never seen. The lower floor was full of patrons for whom society’s season was an irrelevant concept. They lived in London, and partook of its amusements, at all times of the year.
Under the light of the huge chandeliers, this mass of audience members talked and ate and ogled those in the rows of boxes above. Despite the minor roar they generated, Penelope enjoyed the spectacle. “Candle wax just dripped on that man,” she said, watching a burly fellow shake his fist at the chandelier and wipe the hot wax off his cheek.
“One of the drawbacks of the pit,” Daniel told her.
“They call it the pit? Why?”
“Oddly enough, I know the answer to that. It’s named after the old cockpit, because it was used for cockfighting years ago.”
“Why do you know?” Her dear husband wasn’t usually a font of obscure information.
“I had a friend who became obsessed with the theater, or with one of the opera dancers anyway.” He blinked. “Er, that is… What I meant to say—”
“A friend?” Penelope asked with a sidelong look.
“Not me! Reggie Galthorpe. Known him since Eton. You’ll meet him when he’s back in town.”
“And I can ask him all about the…theater.” Penelope enjoyed teasing him.
“He certainly found out all he could about the subject, and he was only too glad to go on and on about it.” Though he’d never gotten up the nerve to approach the dancer, Daniel remembered.
“There are no chairs. Do they stand for the whole play in the pit?”
“Yes. The tickets are cheaper down there.”
Watching the people jostle one another, Penelope could understand why they would be. “Well, I’m glad we got a box.”
“Much better,” Daniel agreed.
The play began with a ghost. An actor painted in shades of gray wailed and admonished the not-so-young Hamlet, who received this visitation with great starts of surprise. As the Prince of Denmark went on to think and fret and plot, the audience in the pit freely expressed their approbation or disapproval of what was presented to them. They seemed to think nothing of shouting at the actors and criticizing their manner or appearance.
“I must say I agree with that,” murmured Penelope when one of these commentators urged Hamlet to “just get on with it for the lord’s sake.”
“What would you have him do?” Daniel asked. “Challenge his uncle to a duel?”
“Talk to his mother?” Penelope shook her head. “His choices are unappealing. But he needn’t have been so unkind to Ophelia.”
“No. Though she is rather—”
“Wet.” Penelope bit her lip. “In the sense of a bit spiritless, I meant.”
“Rather than drowned?”
