Anne Perry - A Christmas Homecoming

“Tedious,” Singer replied. “But mercifully uneventful. The weather is vile, and apparently likely to get worse.”

“Then it is fortunate that the house is so comfortable and we shan’t have to leave it,” Joshua retorted.

The door opened and they were joined by Lydia Rye, the actress who would play the second female lead, Lucy Westenra, Dracula’s first victim. She was pretty in a voluptuous way, and yet there was a delicate character to her face, and her slightly husky voice was unusually attractive. Caroline had often wondered why Lydia had not overtaken her fellow actress Mercy Carstairs in the leading roles.

“Too little hunger,” Joshua had said of Lydia, but looking at her now, Caroline could not understand what he had meant. It was just another example of the way in which she would never quite be one of them. She could learn all she wished and ask Joshua a hundred questions, but she did not have the instinctive understanding of the way the world of the theater operated that the others shared.

Lydia knew Vincent, of course, but she was introduced to Alice, and then to Mr. Netheridge, and to Eliza Netheridge. She spoke to Joshua and Caroline with the warmth she had always shown them, and they were talking agreeably of nothing in particular when the last two of the players arrived. Mercy Carstairs and James Hobbs had been married for three years and seemed well suited to each other. She was very slender, wide-eyed, and filled with a restless energy that commanded attention on the stage. He was traditionally handsome, as tall as Vincent Singer but far less dynamic. He was good in romantic leads but he had no inner darkness at his command to play villains, and no silence within from which to summon tragedy.

They all exchanged greetings, expressed their satisfaction at the ample accommodations that had been provided for them, and then swapped a few stories about the journey from London.

They had already been shown to the dining room and had taken their places at the table when the last of the week’s guests arrived. He was introduced as Douglas Paterson, fiancé of Alice Netheridge. He was in his late twenties with a keen face. At the moment he was clearly unable to hide his discomfort at the present gathering. He took his seat with a brief apology, directed first to Mrs. Netheridge, then to Alice.

Alice accepted it without comment.

Caroline glanced at Joshua, and saw that he, too, had recognized the first sign of disapproval. Paterson’s glance at Alice, and then the strange tension in his face at her lack of response, made the situation clear. He did not wish his fiancée to be wasting her time at such inappropriate pursuits. He had probably expressed his displeasure earlier, and Alice had clearly chosen to ignore him.

The meal was generous and very well served. They began with soup, then fresh fish. Netheridge remarked that it had come in overnight and been brought up from the docks that morning.

“I doubt we’ll get more for a while,” he said, looking at the closed curtains, beyond which the sound of the rising wind was quite clear.

“They’ll put it on ice,” Eliza assured him. “We have plenty to last us.” She looked at her guests one by one. “I always find a stormy Christmas quite enjoyable, especially if there is snow. I can remember some years when Christmas Day was so beautiful it was as if the whole world had been made anew while we slept.”

“So it had,” Caroline responded quickly. “At least in a spiritual sense, and that is how we should view everything.”

Singer stared at her in amazement. “I thought you were a Jew,” he said, pointedly looking at Joshua and then back at her, his eyebrows high.

There was total silence around the table. Alice dropped her fork and it clattered on the china of her plate.

Caroline hesitated. She knew everyone was looking at her, waiting to see how she would react. All the players were aware of Joshua’s race and religion, but were the Netheridges? Caroline was so angry at Vincent that she put down her own knife and fork and hid her hands in her lap to hide the shaking.

But she forced herself to smile charmingly. “No, you didn’t,” she said to Vincent. “You know perfectly well that Joshua is Jewish and I am Christian. You made the remark to be absolutely certain that our host and hostess are also aware of it, although I can’t think why, unless it is a desire to embarrass someone. If they now wish us to leave, then you have sabotaged the whole project, and all that hangs on it. Surely that was not your intention?”

For several pulsing seconds the silence returned. The color washed up Vincent’s face as he fought for an answer. Beside Caroline, Joshua moved uncomfortably. Lydia stared at the floor; Mercy and James looked at each other.

It was Alice who finally spoke, turning to face Joshua.

“It would be terrible if you were to leave, Mr. Fielding. You are most welcome here. In fact, we cannot possibly succeed without you—either with the play, or with being the kind of hosts we wish to be. How could we celebrate Christmas if we were to turn anyone away into the snow, let alone our own guests, who have come here specifically to help us?”

Netheridge winced, but so slightly Caroline would not have noticed it had she not been watching him.

Eliza let out her breath in a low sigh.

Douglas Paterson was clearly appalled.

“You’ll make an actress yet,” Vincent said drily. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Liar.” Lydia mouthed the word soundlessly.

“This pork is delicious,” James remarked to no one in particular. “It must be local.”

“Thank you,” Eliza murmured. She did not correct him that it was mutton.

he meal finished with stilted conversation and very occasional nervous laughter. Afterward, Caroline found herself being shown the rest of the very large house by Alice Netheridge and Douglas Paterson. The tour began very formally, as a matter of courtesy. None of them had been particularly interested, but it was an easy thing to do, and filled the time until it would be acceptable to excuse themselves and retire to bed.

Alice was clearly eager to make up for the earlier discomfort, although it had had nothing to do with her.

“Do let me show you the stage,” she said eagerly. “It was originally designed for music: trios and quartets and that sort of thing. One of my aunts played the cello, or the viola, I can’t remember. Grandmama said she was very talented, but of course it was not the sort of thing a lady did, except for the entertainment of her own family.” She glanced at Caroline as she said the words, her soft face pulled into an expression of impatience.

“She was thinking of her daughter’s welfare,” Douglas pointed out from behind her as they walked along the broad corridor. The walls were hung with paintings of Yorkshire coastal scenery. Some were very dark but, looking at them, Caroline thought it was more probable that time had dulled the varnish, rather than that the artists had intended them to be so forbidding.

“She was thinking of the family’s reputation for being proper,” Alice corrected him. “It was all about what the neighbors would think.”

“You can’t live in society without neighbors, Alice,” he replied. He sounded patient, but Caroline saw the flicker of irritation in his face—at least that was what she thought it was. “You have to make some accommodation to their feelings.”

“I will not have my life ruled by my neighbors’ prejudices,” Alice retorted. “Poor Aunt Delia did and never played her viola, or whatever it was, except in the theater here.” Without realizing it, she increased her pace. Caroline was obliged to lengthen her strides to keep up with her.