“Why?”
“Sir Lawrence Caldicott is my banker.” He didn’t elaborate as to why he needed to curry favor with hisbanker. I knew the hotel business wasn’t an easy one, but surely the hotel wasn’t in dire financial straits.
Uncle Ronald escorted me down to the foyer via the lift. He fell into conversation with the night lift operator, and I tuned them out. Every part of me silently cursed the Caldicotts for inviting me to their infernal dinner party, as well as Lord Wrexham and Mrs. Short for their complaints. Lord Wrexham I could understand, but Mrs. Short had no right to interfere.
Why couldn’t I be friends with whomever I wanted? It wasn’t the nineteenth century anymore, and I wasn’t a society debutante searching for a suitable husband. People moved across different social levels all the time nowadays. Pearl, for example, had risen so far above her station that she’d attended parties with princes and dukes.
It wasn’t lost on me that Pearl had only been able to attend those parties because she was a gentleman’s mistress.
I sighed. I was a fool to think this century was any different to the last. I was fortunate to have been sheltered from the worst of English snobbery, having parents from different backgrounds who’d defied society’s so-called rules to marry. But here, in this most elite of settings, I was surrounded by that snobbery.
I put such thoughts from my mind, or tried to. I had a dinner party to endure and it required my full attention. If I so much as lowered my guard just a little, I might find myself engaged to one of Sir Lawrence Caldicott’s “upstanding” sons.
It was clear from the beginning that I was to be matched with the younger son and Flossy with the elder, even though I was older than my cousin. The eldest must be in line to inherit something over his younger brother, hence Flossy was earmarked for him. As Uncle Ronald’s niece, I was only entitled to second best.
I didn’t particularly care which son I was seated next to at the dinner table. They were both fine young men, well-spoken and educated. If only they were interested in something other than finance, I might have enjoyed their company more.
Although they engaged Floyd in conversation about theStock Exchange and property transactions, I suspected even he grew tired of their conversation after a while. It continued over dinner too. My gaze met Flossy’s across the table and I rolled my eyes. She pressed her lips together, but a giggle still escaped.
Mrs. Mannering, our host’s married daughter, noticed. “Edward,” she said pointedly to the younger brother sitting beside me, “I hear Miss Bainbridge and Miss Fox attended a show at the Piccadilly Playhouse the other night. You have an interest in the theater.”
Edward politely turned to me, even though I suspected he wanted to continue to listen to his father tell Uncle Ronald about the new motoring venture he was considering investing in. “What are they showing at the Playhouse these days?”
“Cat and Mouse.”
“Ah, the doomed production.” He waggled his eyebrows in what he must think was a mysterious manner.
“Why doomed?”
“The lead actress died. Some say it’s now cursed.”
Mrs. Mannering leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I hear her ghost haunts the dress circle.”
Flossy’s eyes widened. “I didn’t see her, and we were in one of the boxes.”
“Those are excellent seats,” Mrs. Mannering said. “Perhaps the ghost avoids the boxes.”
Edward picked up his wine glass. “What did you think of the show, Miss Fox?”
He seemed to be only half listening as I gave him my review so I cut it short. “It was quite good, although I think a ghostly presence will add to it. I’m not sure if the actors would appreciate a phantom’s presence, however.”
“It’ll need something sensational to improve ticket sales. I hear there was a flurry of interest after Miss Westwood died, but that’s dwindling again. It’s a shame. The show’s season will end early.”
“Will they put on something else?” Flossy asked.
“Will they be prepared with something else?” Mrs. Mannering countered. “It can’t be easy having to pivot mid-season.”
Edward sliced into his beef. “They’ll need to dosomething or risk closing the Playhouse’s doors forever. Or at least until a new financial backer can be found.”
I frowned. I was beginning to suspect his “interest” in the Playhouse, as Mrs. Mannering called it, was a financial one, not artistic. “It’s in trouble?”
He nodded but I had to wait for him to finish chewing before he answered. “The manager banks with Father. He’s mortgaged to the hilt. IfCat and Mouseends early, and he can’t put on something else, he’ll have to walk away, having lost everything. He can’t afford to stay when the rent is so high and there’s no money coming in. He’ll go bankrupt.”
Poor Mr. Culpepper. It was no wonder Pearl hadn’t asked him for money despite being in a relationship with him. She knew he didn’t have any to spare.
The evening wore on, but it improved after Mrs. Mannering forced her brothers to talk about topics other than finance. Indeed, they proved to be quite good company and we talked about all sorts of things once the men rejoined the women in the drawing room after they’d finished smoking.
The clock on the mantelpiece struck one, just as I laughed at something Edward said. I caught sight of Uncle Ronald, Sir Lawrence and Lady Caldicott watching me, smiling curiously. Beside Lady Caldicott sat Aunt Lilian, staring into the middle distance. With her arms tucked into her sides and her fingers clasped together on her lap, she appeared to be holding herself together.
