A Grave Inheritance

“Oh, good heavens,” Nora muttered from right behind me. “He’s just a man.”

 

 

Once inside, we entered a crowded corridor where Henry nodded to various acquaintances without stopping to engage in further conversation. My eyes jumped from face to face in an attempt to take them all in, and I felt a sense of relief when the masses thinned as we passed through an archway leading up to the first boxes. At the second floor, Henry ushered us into a small room that overlooked the theater. Directly at eyelevel, a circular line of gilded boxes ran along the outer wall. The main pit was located on the ground floor in front of the stage, the rows of green upholstered benches filled to capacity with spectators.

 

Movement caught my eye from the far side of our box. A gentleman and lady walked toward us so similar in feature, they had to be brother and sister. Fair hair framed their long faces that showed every appearance of affability and pleasant natures.

 

“Miss Kilbrid, Nora Goodwin,” Henry said, “may I introduce my friends, Lord Andrew Saxby and his sister Lady Jane Saxby. They heard we were coming to the theater tonight and asked to join our party.”

 

I fought the urge to throw James a smug look. No one of the first rank indeed! “Insisted, more like it,” Lord Saxby said. “My sister and I have been most eager to make your acquaintances once we heard you were sailing from the Colonies. Isn’t that so, Jane?”

 

“Very true,” Lady Saxby agreed.

 

“You are most gracious,” I said, offering a small curtsey while Nora simply nodded her agreement.

 

“In our estimation,” Lord Saxby continued, “Henry returned home much improved, and we wanted to meet those responsible for hewing his rougher edges. I dare say, only steady hands and stoic hearts could have accomplished so tremendous a feat.”

 

Nora looked at Lord Saxby and smiled. “You are indeed right. I for one frequently recommended the hammer and chisel, but Henry would have no part of it. He was rather particular when it came to his edges.”

 

Henry gave Nora a wry smile. “Servitude was chisel enough for my needs.”

 

“If it’s any consolation,” Nora said, “you are not the first man to benefit from a hard day’s work.”

 

Lady Saxby laughed. “I must agree, Henry benefited a great deal, though Miss Kilbrid hardly seems a difficult master.”

 

“I worked from dawn till dusk under Miss Kilbrid’s employ,” Henry said, a smile threatening at the corners of his mouth. “Do not be fooled by that sweet face of hers. Behind it resides the most merciless taskmaster.”

 

“Be fair!” I protested. “You worked no more than any of the other farmers. And far less than many.”

 

“From what I can see, the recompense was well worth the effort,” Lord Saxby said. “A summer spent farming in exchange for two Colonial beauties. To be sure, I would consider going myself for such a reward.” While he spoke, Lord Saxby fixed his eyes on Nora. I glanced at her, realizing for the first time just how different she looked tonight. Her hair had been put up in a softer style instead of the usual tight bun and the sheen of her silk gown brought out the playful sparkle in her eyes.

 

“What about self-improvement?” Nora asked, in no way cowed by his overt flirtation. “I’ve heard it’s a man’s best reward.”

 

Lord Saxby shook his head, the warmth in his eyes growing stronger. “I would accept nothing less than a beauty for my labors.”

 

James moved to Nora’s side and placed a hand on her arm. “Would you care to sit?” he asked. “The performance is beginning.”

 

Two men had appeared on the stage while we were talking, one dressed as an ordinary actor, the other in beggar’s rags. We moved to the chairs as the beggar stepped forward to speak.

 

If Poverty be a Title to Poetry, I am sure no-body can dispute mine. I own myself of the Company of Beggars; and I make one at their Weekly Festivals at St. Giles’s. I have a small Yearly Salary for my Catches, and am welcome to a Dinner there whenever I please, which is more than most Poets can say...

 

The two actors continued their introduction, their voices booming out over the noisy audience. The chairs were decided and I found myself seated in between Henry and Lady Saxby. Nora sat two chairs away, her face aglow with excitement. Lord Saxby placed a hand on her arm and leaned close to speak into her ear. She laughed, rewarding him with a warm smile. James sat sullenly on her other side, his mood quite altered from earlier. I hoped the little troll was experiencing some sort of remorse for his part in my being here tonight. It was a pleasant thought, though highly unlikely as a conscience—something James most certainly lacked— was required for guilt.

 

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