Look at Vesta Tilley and Bessie Bonehill and the other women in the music halls who impersonated men as male comedians, Cat had pointed out. They satirised men and a cavalier attitude to women through song and were applauded for it, but none of them were loose women in their personal lives. Rather, they pointed out how unfair society was, a society which labelled men as young bloods sowing their wild oats, and the girls they sowed them with as sluts and whores.
‘My brother got one of our maids pregnant when I was still at home,’ Cat had told Sophy quietly one day. ‘The poor girl was shipped off to the workhouse, while my parents sent Alexander off abroad. There he was, enjoying himself with his cronies in Italy and France, while his child was being born in squalor and misery. It was the thing which finally made me leave home. That poor child will never amount to anything now – society will make sure of that, especially if it’s a girl. Illegitimacy is the ultimate sin for the child and the mother, but the man, he walks away with his reputation intact. It’s so wrong, so unfair.’
Cat knew nothing about her beginnings, no one in London did, but her friend’s words, although spoken in innocence, were a sword through Sophy’s bruised heart. Even Cat, if she knew about her mother, would look at her differently.
Sophy glanced around the table. Everyone was laughing at something which had been said, their faces happy and carefree. She mentally shook herself. What was she doing, brooding like this tonight? Dredging up the past did no good, she knew that, which was why she had determined to put it behind her and concentrate on the future. But some days this was harder than others.
Kane sat at the head of the table, joining in the conversation and paying everyone a little attention so no artistic feathers got ruffled. But little Sophy said or did escaped him.
Did she know that the new arrangement whereby Bart guarded the stage door and sent any stage-door johnnies packing was because of her? He had been meaning for some little while to do something about the impossible position his young actresses often found themselves in when touring but Sophy joining the company had prompted his hand. The number one tours playing the big cities with famous actresses provided chaperones as a matter of course – elderly ladies who dragooned the young women most effectively – but smaller companies couldn’t afford such measures. Mind, in Sophy’s case he didn’t think it would be long before she was in such a position; her star was rapidly rising.
‘What do you think, Mr Gregory?’ He came out of his thoughts to find Sybil had brought everyone’s attention to him. He’d been vaguely aware of Christabel – he considered the soubriquet of ‘Cat’ entirely inappropriate for a woman and always gave the girl the dignity of her legitimate name – engaged in a heated discussion with Larry, another of the actors, about the success of female stereotypes in the big West End theatres. However, his mind had wandered. He seemed to recall words along the line of ‘. . . horrible artificiality of the empty-headed doll wife and mother’ from Christabel, and it had been clear that Larry was delighting in provoking the girl by making more and more outrageous statements about a woman knowing her place and so on. But he didn’t intend to get into a discussion on the merits of parts for women in the independent theatre versus those traditional parts on the commercial stage. Not tonight.
He let his eyes pass over the assembled throng. He was weary and out of sorts. He was always out of sorts when in the company of Sophy. Why he kept torturing himself by seeking out the very thing that was the cause of his distress he didn’t know. He hadn’t been aware of masochistic tendencies before he’d met her, he thought wryly.
Forcing a smile, he said firmly, ‘What I think, young ladies and gentlemen, is that it’s time for you all to get some beauty sleep so you can be up bright and early in the morning to organise that scenery before the matinée.’ He glanced at Leopold who immediately took his cue and stood to his feet.
Everyone thanked him again for the meal as they left, Christabel and Sophy bringing up the rear. He kept the smile on his face as he said goodbye, but looking at the two young women standing side by side, it only reinforced his earlier thoughts. Both girls were beautiful, both talented actresses as well as being clear-headed and intelligent, but Sophy had an extra quality which was indefinable. There was a depth to the amber eyes, an emotion that reached out and gripped the onlooker and held them transfixed. He had seen it on the faces of the audience tonight when they had looked at her, and on other occasions too. She had held them in the palm of her hand. She and Toby would make a stunning couple, he could see them being the toast of theatreland. How could he imagine, for one moment, that she would ever look at him in that way.
Chapter 12
Patience sat on the edge of her bed, the letter dangling in her fingers and tears in her eyes. Sophy was alive and safe. It had been over eighteen months since that snowy morning when her cousin had left, and many times since she had feared the worst, especially as month after month had gone by without a word. But she was safe and happy, although beyond that Sophy had said very little and there was no address on the letter. She read it through again, slowly this time:
Dear Patience,