Her only consolation was that if at first the swarthy stage manager had looked ready to slam the door in her face, he’d changed his mind as soon as she mentioned the actress.
‘Well, you’re late,’ he muttered, looking her up and down. ‘But I s’pose there’s no harm done if you’re quick. Follow the corridor along to the girls, and Lotta will be waiting.’
Phoebe dived through, grateful to be free of his scent and lingering stare, even if his commentary seemed a little odd. She was also highly relieved to escape the auditorium. The viscount’s appearance had changed everything, and even though he’d taken his leave before the end of the interval, she now wished for nothing more than to collect Aurelia’s parcel and return home.
‘And no nicking anything, either!’ the stage manager called, as she hurried past an impressive array of wigs and swords.
Phoebe bristled on behalf of all widowed, bourgeois actresses everywhere, but felt it wisest not to respond.
It quickly transpired thatfollowing the corridor alongwas code for walking through every dressing area that existed backstage, and if the cast were at all shy of their performances, they certainly didn’t share the same reservations about their person.
‘What is it about officers?!’ she muttered exasperatedly as a second, half-dressed lieutenant attempted to thwart her progress.
‘You’re a pretty one!’ he said warmly, standing in her path. ‘Far too pretty for this motley regiment, and especially in that damson eye-catcher. Perchance you’re in need of some protection m’lady?’
Then he twirled his ridiculous moustache in the most affected way, before reaching forward to pinch her cheek. A ready flare of anger rose within her. This whole evening had been a disaster, and the last thing she needed was another mop-head thinking he could treat her as though she’d just wandered in from the street.
‘None at all – sir!’ she scowled, lifting the heel of her pretty boot, another loan from Sophie, and bringing it down quite deliberately on his stockinged foot.
To her great satisfaction, his face began to turn a similar shade to her dress, just as they were interrupted by a sullen, dark-eyed female.
‘Mary Smith?’ she called abruptly, silencing whatever curse he was about to drop. ‘Come on, we’ve only a few minutes ’til curtain’s up!’
Phoebe exhaled as the livid actor hopped away, and nodded. She was surprised Aurelia had given the waspish actress her name, but relieved to have found her quarry all the same.
‘Hurry now, there’s no time to waste, the dressing room’s just down here.’
Carlotta swept in front, all high drama and dressed hair – her silken robe not even close to covering her corset and petticoats – while Phoebe followed, feeling doubtful. Things weren’t going quite the way she’d expected, and she couldn’t begin to fathom how a barely dressed actress might be the answer to Aurelia’s situation. In truth, by the time they arrived in a bigger dressing area, filled with females in a similar state of undress, she’d begun to question whether she’d come to the right place at all.
‘Excuse me, you are Carlotta, are you not?’
At this, the entire room suddenly hushed, and looked at Phoebe.
‘’Ere, she’s a fancy one!’
‘I'll give yer sixpence if you let me borrow yer dress?’
‘Yes, of course!’ the dark-eyed actress returned sharply. ‘Now, here’s the poultice,’ she added, pulling a slim envelope from a hanging prop basket and passing it across. ‘It needs to be made like a tea, and you drink all of it.’
Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at Phoebe’s waist.
‘And I suggest you cancel any performances for at least a week! Course you probably know all this already, such is the price we actresses pay for entertaining, eh…?’
She paused to laugh raucously as Phoebe felt a dull flush creep up her neck. At least she understood why Aurelia had needed her to collect the poultice now. They all thought her a widowed actress, and she still felta bit of muslinas Fred would say – a society debutante would create a scandal beyond all imagining.
She looked down at the small envelope and suppressed a scowl. Aurelia had been nothing but hostile since they’d met, but she was here now, and she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that she also needed a friend more than anyone else she knew. Her brief, wistful moment in the theatre box flitted through her head, and she bit her tongue.
‘Now, as for payment… The costume is here and you need only stand in for the wedding scene. I’ll be back before Act Five, as Frank said…’
Phoebe stared blankly as Carlotta yanked a lacy wedding dress from a wooden rail, and dumped it on a chair, before walking briskly to unhook Phoebe’s own dress.
‘Wait!’ Phoebe protested, trying to wriggle out of her surprisingly strong grip. ‘I’m only here forthe poultice! I’m Mary Smith!’
‘We know who you are!’ Carlotta grinned. ‘Cousin to the one and only Sarah Siddons! Theatre royalty no less! We’re expecting big things of you, what wiv you having Kemble blood and all.’
She grinned before pulling off Phoebe’s cap and wig in one deft move.
‘That’s better, you ain’t an old maid no more! Now, luckily we’re about the same size so let’s get the costume on, and get you side stage. Rosa? Lucia? Give us a hand to hook her up… Now, there ain’t much to say as you’ve doneHeroafore, but just make sure you keel over good and proper, you know how our audience loves a fainting!’
