He stood to his feet, holding on to the back of his chair to steady himself once he was upright and then tottered off in the direction of a public house he frequented, swaying slightly as he walked.
The proprietor of the café watched him go, shaking his head slightly. How could someone who was married to one of the most successful and beautiful actresses in the theatre end up like that? But that was the demon drink for you. So thinking, he gathered up the plethora of empty wine bottles and glasses and, humming a merry tune to himself, walked back into the cafe.
Sophy left the theatre immediately after the last curtain call without bothering to change or remove her stage make-up. She wanted to get home and lie in the hot bath Sadie always had waiting for her when she walked in. It was times like tonight when she realised she still wasn’t completely well, even though all visible signs of the attack which had left her dangerously ill for some time were gone. But it wasn’t just that, or even the tiring day and the confrontation with those awful men when they were leaving the park earlier that had her feeling tired and depressed. She had had a letter from Patience yesterday in which her cousin informed her she was expecting a baby. And she was glad for Patience, genuinely glad – but it had brought home that such an avenue was now closed to her.
She had read the letter twice and then put it away and refused to think about it, but tonight every word Patience had written was printed on her mind.
We’re thrilled, of course, and William has already gone out and bought the most splendid perambulator, even though the baby isn’t due until October. In truth I am so surprised I can scarcely take it in. I suppose I had never thought I would be a mother, Sophy. It is something so wonderful, so womanly, and I have never felt worthy for such a role. But William thinks I will be an excellent mother, and as he is always right about everything . . .
In spite of how she was feeling, a small smile touched Sophy’s lips. Dear Patience. No one could doubt that her cousin’s marriage was a love-match. Lucky baby, to be born into such a happy home.
She had been so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t realised they’d reached the house until the driver of the cab jumped down from behind the horse and opened the carriage door.
‘Here we are then, Mrs Shawe,’ he said cheerfully, helping her down onto the cobbled pavement. Sophy was one of his regulars and he liked her, not least because she always tipped well. ‘Another minute or two and you’ll be able to put your feet up.’
‘Thank you, George.’ Over the months and years he’d been collecting her from the evening performances at whichever theatre she was playing at, she’d found out he had ten children, thirty-nine grandchildren and two great-grandchildren, and knew most of the goings-on in their lives. She always sent George and his long-suffering wife a large hamper at Christmas, knowing most of their brood descended on them Christmas Day and that money was tight.
After paying him, she said goodnight and let herself into the house, wondering why the hall was in darkness. Calling Sadie’s name, she opened the door of the drawing room and stepped into the room. Several things happened in quick succession. As she took in Sadie sitting between two young men, one of whom had his hand across her mouth, someone grabbed her from behind. She uttered a piercing scream which brought another man out of the shadows on the far side of the room, saying, ‘Shut her up, for crying out loud.’
As the two men who had been waiting behind the door tried to hold on to her, she screamed again, twisting and turning in their hands and kicking out with all her strength. She managed one more scream before the hand came across her mouth and nose in an iron grip, a voice in her ear saying laughingly, ‘She’s a real little wild cat, this one. She’ll take some taming.’
She recognised Rupert Forester-Smythe as he came towards her and her terror increased. She knew why these men were here and what they were about to do. Her frantic eyes met Sadie’s for a moment. This couldn’t be happening. Not here, in her own home.
When the front door burst open and George charged into the room wielding the heavy wooden cudgel he kept tucked behind his seat, Sophy was on the verge of fainting. The hand across her face was cutting off her air supply.