As the play progressed, I grew even more disheartened to learn that it was a cleverly written satire that not only mocked Italian opera, but also poked fun at politicians and social injustice. Neither was there anything in Justine’s portrayal of Polly Peachum to give me reason to gloat. Her acting was above reproach. By the time the second act ended, I grudgingly agreed with James that she was a rare specimen, indeed. No wonder Henry had chosen her to be his mistress. Any man in his right mind would have done the same if given the opportunity.
The three acts stretched on for what felt like an eternity. I sulked in silence, growing increasingly moody from the relentless cheers for Miss Peachum. The woman had only to deliver a witty phrase or sing a few lines to receive praise. Even Nora became caught up in the spectacle, laughing and clapping with the rest of them.
Henry, at least, had the good sense to stare down at his lap rather than at Justine. By the middle of the second act, his full attention was absorbed by a stubborn hangnail. He then occupied himself with tracing along the skin where his hand had been cut by the pocket watch the day I arrived.
The last song brought the audience to their feet, applauding wildly to show their appreciation. Henry also stood, though for an entirely different purpose. “We should leave,” he said. “Lucy may be waking soon.”
I wholeheartedly agreed and had turned to go when Nora came toward me, flanked by James and Lord Saxby. “My life is fulfilled,” she said. “Without doubt, Justine Rose is the most extraordinary woman I have ever laid eyes upon.”
“She would be flattered by your good opinion,” James said pleasantly. His somber mood had passed, returning his previous good humor. A bad omen by any estimation, and I hadn’t even managed another breath before his true intentions were revealed.
“We can go meet her if you would like,” he said, then turned his little trollish eyes on me. “If Miss Kilbrid doesn’t mind, of course.”
Nora turned to him, her cheeks a rosy pink with excitement. “Do you really mean it?”
“She is a special friend of Lord Fitzalan’s,” James said. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a visit from a devoted admirer.”
“Oh, Henry,” Nora said. “Will you please make the introduction? I shall be forever in your debt.”
Henry shot James a dark look. “We have pressed our luck long enough for one evening, James. The ladies should return home before their absence is discovered and we are permanently barred from Lady Dinley’s drawing room.”
“Ten more minutes will make no difference,” Nora persisted. “Please, Henry. I had to drug my mother to come tonight and may never have another chance.”
For Nora’s sake, I had already suffered the indignity of Justine’s success, not to mention the wanton looks she had been throwing Henry since partway through the first act. Best friend or not, I had no intention of adding insult to injury by participating in a private meeting with the strumpet.
Heavens above! It was high time for my headache. “I fear all the noise has gotten the best of me.” I looked at Henry, trying to keep my face impassive. “Some fresh air should help. Would you mind if we walked to Lady Dinley’s and James can stay to make the introduction? Once Nora has had her fill of the glorious Miss Rose, they can return home in the carriage.”
“That is a splendid idea,” Lord Saxby said, interjecting himself into my plans as he offered Nora his arm. “Miss Rose is a dear friend and I would be honored to introduce you.”
Nora gladly took his arm. “You are very kind, Andrew Saxby.”
He gave her a warm smile. “And you, my dear lady, are forever in my debt.” He glanced at James, a devious glint in his eye. “Be a good fellow and accompany my sister. The hallways are narrow and only allow for two at a time.” With that he strode from the box, a gleeful Nora at his side.
James watched the interaction, his good mood turning to dismay. He hardly had time to glare at me before offering Lady Saxby his arm and hurrying after Nora.
Henry wasted no time in escorting me from the box. The adjoining common area was already filling with people happily chatting in small groups. Rather than traverse the crowd, he turned in the opposite direction, opting for an alternate route from earlier. I held onto his arm as he led the way down a rickety flight of steps and through a dismal hallway, sparsely lit by the occasional candle. We encountered a handful of stagehands along the way, but no other theatergoers. This I assumed was Henry’s ultimate goal, to leave the theater as quickly and inconspicuously as possible. It didn’t take a genius to surmise just how he had gained such an intimate knowledge of the back passageways.
The hallway came to what seemed a dead end when I heard the creak of an iron handle. A door swung open and brisk air hit my face. I looked around, seeing that we had arrived in an abandoned alley.
“It isn’t the most glamorous exit,” Henry said, “but preferable to the gauntlet of endless conversation we would have encountered by going the other way. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” I took in the clear night sky, relieved to be outside.
“Are you serious about walking?” he asked. “I can always call for the carriage and send it back for Nora and James.”
“Cate’s home isn’t far and I really do need some air.”