All this beauty, this fabled, remarkable building with the generous fireplace, plush cushioned benches, and abundant lighting, struck my weary eyes with the harsh brightness of the sun. So gaudy, so excessive. I tugged on his arm. “Perhaps I don’t want lessons anymore.” In a world of hurt and need, what good was ballet? If I spent my life on it, what good was I?
“Nonsense. I’ll have you dancing better than you’ve ever dreamed.”
When I’d been a very young maid to the Cavendish family, I’d once bit down on a brass candlestick after I’d seen the housekeeper do it to test the authenticity of a piece. The unpleasant taste of that metal in my mouth came back to me now on the sound of Jack’s confident words. When had my dreams soured so? Or perhaps they were merely changing.
He tucked my hand back into the crook of his arm, bowed atan attendant who passed on the way to stoke one of the recessed stoves on the south side, and ushered me toward the fifth red-velvet curtain. “How fortunate, once again, that you are friends with Jack Dorian.” He grinned and lifted the curtain back to reveal a small private box amply appointed with two light-blue brocade chairs and fringed curtains framing its view of the renowned Theatre Royal stage. I inhaled as I stepped inside, and the music boomed from the pit. The well-lit stage swarmed with dancers leaping across its expanse in perfect formation.
“You’ve brought me to a ballet?Here?” Jack was ever full of surprises.
He shrugged. “You taught those behind you earlier today and now you learn from those ahead. It is the logical next step in your lessons.”
The undeniable magnificence struck me full on, as it had that first night from the peep at Craven, and I descended into the moment as one sinks into a familiar chair by the warm fire at home. Gaudy as it had suddenly seemed, I belonged to ballet and ballet to me, for I’d loved it and desired it before experience had told me it was evil. There was a raw, unfiltered beauty on the stage before me, and my God-created heart was magnetized to it.
“Does belonging to God mean I have to give up my dreams?”I’d asked this once of Mama when I was small—maybe seven or eight—and it had nearly broken my heart to even voice it.“No, little one,”she’d answered.“But it means you’d best be wholly willing to.”
There was a silent shattering in my chest at the memory. Perhaps that was why the trip to Seven Dials had happened, to prepare me to let go. To bring that bitter metallic taste into my mouth for what I should not want. I owedGodmy life—not ballet.
I turned away. The theater was full of immorality and evil. Vanity and uselessness. How could I ask God to come into this place—to help me succeed in it?I will follow you anywhere, Lord. Even out of the theater.Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes as I looked straight ahead, absorbing the sight of the dancers twirling in tandem arabesques.
Then came the female lead, a dark-haired beauty with vibrant skin and lively steps, measured control in every lift of her arms.
“There now, see what she’s doing?” Jack pointed out toward the stage. “This is what I wanted you to see. She’s known for this. It reminded me of the dancer who wished to fly ... but not too high.”
I caught my breath as she popped up onto the very tips of her toes several times, landing down again with acrobatic precision and bouncing back up. I leaned over the bannister, drinking in the sight of every movement, every pointed toe, every graceful leap and lunge on that stage. I merely tried to breathe as the ballet spun on, with chiffon scarves floating, ribbons swirling, and strength pulsating.
I would, God. I would leave the theater ... if you made it clear that’s what you wanted.I closed my eyes.Do you?
I opened them again and waited, breath shallow and vision spinning. Only the orchestra filled my senses. What had I expected, a voice? A bolt of lightning?
Jack’s voice jarred me. “Look, look over there. Did you see the prince regent is in his box tonight? How wonderful.” He pointed across the way toward a lavish second-story box with a rounded balcony that extended from the rear of the auditorium. Several figures could barely be seen from our angle, but one wore a startling red coat with yellow fringe atthe shoulders and a white sash. The skirt of an ice-blue dress hovered near the man’s black-clad legs.
“How odd it is that the royal family will come to watch the dancers who aren’t deemed fit to step inside a church.”
“Nonsense. Ballet is as royal as the prince himself.”
I stilled, my hands laid limply together on my lap. “What do you mean?”
“Precisely what I said. Ballet is many things, some of them less than savory, but it was always meant to be a most noble dance in the royal courts, ever and only for the pleasure of its primary admirer—the king. Why, some royals even took part, dancing along with the principal.”
I grasped the edge of the chair, feeling the carved flowers below the cushion against my palm. “Is that so?”
“Others have always been allowed to look on, but it was always, from the start, meant primarily for the king.” His fingertips brushed my skirt searching for my hand, then rested across my fingers. “A great many things that were originally noble and beautiful have been tarnished by this world, but that doesn’t change what they were originally created to be.”
Shaking, I looked back out to that exquisite dancer as she again popped up on her toes—up, up, up. Up toward heaven.
Praise him with the timbrel and dance: praise him with stringed instruments and organs.Praise him upon the loud cymbals: praise him upon the high sounding cymbals. Let every thingthat hath breath praise the LORD. Praise ye the LORD.
God hadn’t been taken out of the theater. Oh no, we were not big enough for that. At last, my wandering gaze had found the correct focal point. I turned to my companion and rested my hand on his. “Thank you, Jack. Thank you.”
His lips parted, revealing white teeth against tanned skin. “You’re welcome. Lady Ella.”
I smiled, tempted to tell this playful rogue exactly how many times he’d been used of God in my life lately.Thank you, Father.In that opulent theater surrounded by orchestra music and pieces of my own heritage, my heart brimmed over with gratitude, with awareness of God. And a completely fresh view of myself as a dancer.
The curtain to our box whipped back, and the narrow, reddish face of an usher broke into our moment. “You’re not Lord Favelroy. Have you any right to be in here?”
“Much as you do. This is a private box.”
“Let’s just fetch the manager and see what he says.” The curtain fringe whipped down over his face and the man disappeared.
