Louise Allen - The Notorious Mr Hurst

Eden’s note in response to the invitation had arrived, punctiliously prompt and formal. But would he really come?

The waiter came in with the refreshments and, on his heels, a tall figure, dark against the brightness of the open doorway.

‘Standon, my dear fellow, would you—?’ Lord Pangbourne broke off in confusion, realising that the man he thought he was addressing was still seated to his left. The figure moved, the light fell across his face and Maude let out a long, inaudible sigh. Eden.

Her father got to his feet, ponderous and, for all his formal good manners, wary. ‘Mr Hurst?’

‘My lord.’ He came in, as the waiter closed the door behind him, and inclined his head to his host.

‘Allow me to make you known to Lady Dereham, Lady Standon, my daughter Lady Maude—’

Papa is pretending we have not met , Maude realised, returning the bow with slight curtsy, while her father completed the introductions and waved Eden to the chair by his side.

And then she realised what was different about him. Gone was the exotic theatre manager, gone too was the working man in his shirtsleeves, and in their place was a perfectly conventional gentleman in well-cut evening formality, a modest ruffle on his white shirt, the dull sheen of garnet satin on his waistcoat and just a hint of sparkle in the strange old ring, his only piece of jewellery. Even his hair had been ruthlessly pomaded and brushed into a fashionable style that distracted the eye from its length.

He is making an effort , she thought, astonished. It had never occurred to her that Eden Hurst might go out of his way to impress her father. Was it because he needed the money, or because he did not want to lose her as…as what? An investor? That was all she could be to him at the moment, surely?

Lord Pangbourne, nobody’s fool, even though he cultivated an appearance of bluff and bluster, had apparently realised that he could hardly explain to a boxful of guests, one of whom was a virtual stranger, that he had invited Mr Hurst there to interview him as a potential business partner for his daughter. He had also, while introductions had been made, managed things so that the men were all sitting to one side of the box and Maude was safely trapped between the other two ladies.

She realised, with sinking heart, that Bel and Jessica had not exaggerated the unconventionality of what she was doing. Gareth and Ashe were regarding Eden with expressions of politely neutrality, but she knew them both too well to be deceived. They were watchful and suspicious and, she feared, disapproving.

‘Good of you to join us,’ her father remarked, pouring champagne. ‘I’m very interested in this new gas lighting you have here. Thinking of installing it myself. What do you think?’

‘I would not put it in my own home, not just yet.’ Eden took the glass, but did not drink. Close to the naval officer’s tanned skin his colouring seemed less exotic. He looked and sounded just like the rest of them, yet he was the focus of more than polite attention. ‘There is an odour, and it is dangerous without proper ventilation. But, in a year or two, I think it will replace oil everywhere.’

Captain Warnham, for whom this was apparently the first sight of gas used inside, joined in the conversation with a remark about the gas lights installed on Westminster Bridge in 1813 and all four men were soon deep into the technicalities.

Maude rolled her eyes at her friends, but Bel smiled and nodded encouragement. And, yes, superficially it was a success. They could have been any group of gentlemen engrossed in discussion, but she sensed relief all round at such a neutral topic that could distance the men from the ladies.

Eden, she realised, had muted his forceful character. He deferred to the older man, held his own with the others, yet it was as though he had turned down the wick on the lamp of his personality.

Clever , Maude thought. He is adapting himself to his company, blending in. She met his eyes across the table. His expression hardly changed, yet she sensed rueful amusement. He knew exactly what he was doing, but he did not seem entirely happy that he was doing it. And he sensed the raised hackles of the other men.

‘We are neglecting the ladies,’ he remarked, bringing all eyes to where his gaze was resting, her face.

‘But I am fascinated by gas lighting,’ she said sweetly, all wide-eyed feminine attentiveness. His lips were definitely quirking now. It was infectious. She bit the inside of her lip to stop herself smiling back. ‘Still, we do not have that much time before the curtain rises again. Will you not tell us about the next piece? My father saw it the last time it was produced in London.’

‘In 1810 at Covent Garden, my lord? We have had to adapt it here, of course, because of the licence, add a short ballet, and some songs, hence our choice of Mrs Furlow in the lead; she has just the voice for it. Still, it is very much the same comedy you will recall from before.’ He uses his voice like an actor, Nell thought, listening to how he spoke, not what he said. It was a deep and flexible voice, shaded with colour. He seemed to have it as much under his control as his face, betraying only what he wanted to show.

Her father was relaxing now; she saw his shoulders shake as he recounted some piece of amusing business from the production he remembered.

The conversation moved on while she was brooding. Gareth must have asked Captain Warnham about his new ship. ‘Do you welcome another commission so far from home?’

‘I am a career officer, I go where I am ordered and may do most good, but in any case I could not turn down the opportunity to make war on pirates. They are everything I loathe.’

‘But are there any left?’ Maude asked. ‘Enough to be a problem?’

‘Not so many now, we have them under control in many areas. But those that remain are the worst of them. And like rats they know we almost have them cornered and that makes them the more vicious. They used to take prisoners for ransom; now they cut their throats and throw them overboard.’

The party fell silent, chilled, Maude sensed, not so much by the horror of what he was describing, but the controlled anger with which he said it.

Bel, the more experienced hostess, picked up the thread of the conversation after a heartbeat had passed and moved them on to safer ground. ‘I love to read the shipping news in the daily papers,’ she remarked. ‘It is so fascinating to see where they have come from to reach us, bearing our luxuries all that way.’

All those luxuries, Maude thought, unfurling her Chinese fan and looking at it with new eyes, brought over huge distances at such risk. She looked up and found Eden was still watching her and was visited by the odd idea that he knew what she was thinking. Then the imagined look of understanding was gone and he rose to his feet.

‘You will excuse me, my lords, ladies. The curtain rises soon.’ He bowed and was gone, his champagne untouched, leaving the crowded box feeling somehow empty.

‘What a pleasant man,’ Bel remarked, carefully not looking in Maude’s direction. ‘Not at all what I would have expected of a theatre proprietor.’

‘Indeed not,’ Jessica added. ‘One can only think that the theatre is becoming so much more respectable these days.’

‘Superficially, perhaps. But it is scarcely eight years since the riots over the changes at Covent Garden,’ Gareth countered. ‘Nor can one call that sort of thing respectable .’ He nodded towards the box opposite where a party of bucks were becoming very familiar indeed with three young women whose manners and clothing clearly proclaimed them to be of the demi-monde . Gareth appeared quite unconscious of the dagger-looks his wife was darting in his direction.