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He could not look away as the young woman, deceived in love, deprived of her wits, of everything, wandered distractedly and in despair to the back of the stage where the willow branch bent over a manufactured stream. Almost in a trance it seemed, she slipped into the water, still singing to herself, flowers floating around her body, her arm raised, her fingers holding the lyre until it too fell away. Then without a cry or struggle she disappeared beneath the water. A great sigh went up from the pit, a woman sobbed, ‘No!’ A man struggled to climb onstage to save her but was held back, and Ivor Asprey felt an unfamiliar clutch of sympathetic anguish.

The drunken element of the crowd then recovered its bawdy humour when the body of Ophelia was carefully extracted from the stream and the actress’s form was unexpectedly revealed to the audience, the wet muslin clinging to her limbs, long tendrils of her hair trailing as she was carried into the wings.

Mr Asprey sat back deep into his box, unsettled, transported. Since his wife’s death, a steel band had constrained his heart but he felt something shift and suddenly his emotions were at sea. He shut out the catcalls of the crowd who had turned so roundly against Prince Hamlet, and could barely follow the remainder of the play. His mind was exercised with the heart-wrenching vision of this young beauty so stripped of artifice, so undone.

He was touched to the core, yet he knew it was this very power that made Miss Leigh such an affecting tragic actress. But he had to resist her sorcerous art. Charged with his sister’s mission, he now had to discourage her son’s love affair with this young woman who no doubt had cast a spell over him as surely as she did the unruly audience. Mr Asprey felt lacking in the authority to intervene in his nephew’s life and ill-equipped with any weapons of persuasion. It was disconcerting to recognise, in his own heart’s reactions, something of Miss Leigh’s emotional power. But most of all, he was startled by his own heart’s susceptibility to Shakespeare’s ageless tragedy and how it unlocked memories of the past. His wife, Emma, had been almost as young as Ophelia, her face as pale. It had been a long time since he had allowed himself to feel, to remember.

As the curtain fell he left his box in a hurry, not wanting to be in a queue of admirers waiting to see the actress. From his days as a young buck, courting Maria Campion, he knew well the secret passages that led directly to the lead actress’s dressing room. Unnoticed by either Lady Linus or the Countess of Hilperton, he slipped into the corridor and through the hidden door that led backstage. One dark lord however saw him go, his face registering sly amusement that such an Honourable Member of Parliament was clandestinely visiting a young actress and taking such care not to be seen.

* * *

Angelica was sitting in her dressing robe, her damp hair falling in spirals round her face, sipping her hot chocolate and puzzling why she had forgotten two of her lines. ‘Mary, in my response to Laertes’s advice on maidenly virtue, I forgot the first couplet, “I shall the effect of this good lesson keep, as watchman to my heart”. I had to be prompted to continue. Why, d’ye think?’

‘The audience was so rumbustious, I could hear the hubbub back here. Perhaps you were disturbed?’

‘Or just resistant to my brother’s tedious jobation.’ The young women laughed. There was a knock on the door. Angelica pulled her robe about her and tied the sash round her waist. ‘Oh no, it’s probably Lord Rackham. I’d hoped we might be gone before his threatened visit.’

Mary went to the door and there found a tall stranger with the bluest eyes she had ever seen. ‘Sir, what can I do for you?’

‘My name is Ivor Asprey. May I have a word with your mistress?’ He had recovered his equanimity and his voice was businesslike.

Angelica sighed with relief. ‘Let Mr Asprey come in, Mary.’ She stood to greet her visitor.

‘Forgive me intruding, Miss Leigh.’ He bowed as she surveyed him with interest. ‘My name may not be familiar to you.’

Angelica interrupted him with a delighted laugh and came forward to take both of his hands. ‘I am relieved it is you and not another of your colleagues. And yes, I do know your name.’

Such a warm greeting took him aback. ‘Has my nephew mentioned me?’ His voice was wary.

‘No, no. I know not whom your nephew may be. I have heard your name from a friend of mine, a Mr Brunner, who used to work in a woollen mill in Yorkshire when he was a boy. He very much approves of your efforts to address conditions in the mills.’

This unexpected sally put Mr Asprey on the back foot, however he determined to carry through his original plan. ‘I am gratified that my work might make a difference,’ he said stiffly, standing very tall in the small room. Angelica motioned him to the only chair, Mary whisking away the brocade dress that had been tossed there in the middle of their costume change.

Angelica was still smiling when she said, ‘I think I do recall your nephew mentioning you. Is he, by chance, Lord Latimer?’

‘He is indeed.’

‘So you have been involved in trying to promote a bill on Catholic emancipation?’

Mr Asprey was surprised this young beauty was so up to snuff on his political work. It disconcerted him to be confronted by her in the flesh, so charming and welcoming, yet having to follow through with his disagreeable mission. He was further deflected by Angelica’s amusement.

‘Have I said anything untoward, Miss Leigh?’ he asked, narrowing his blue eyes as he looked at her.

‘Not at all, Mr Asprey. I’m just delighted to find you’re not stiff-rumped at all.’ Her words ended in a peal of laughter.

He found her laugh oddly infectious and smiled. ‘That incorrigible boy! Did he really describe me thus?’

‘Only with affection.’

‘He is a rattle-pate, I fear.’ In the expectant silence that hung between them, Ivor Asprey launched into the purpose of his visit. ‘Apart from congratulating you on a most affecting performance, Miss Leigh, I have come on other business.’

Angelica sat down in front of her looking-glass. ‘And what might that be, sir?’ she asked, her remarkable eyes flashing with merriment.

Ivor Asprey looked disconcerted again; it embarrassed him to think he had implied ulterior motives in visiting a young actress in her dressing room. ‘Oh no, no! Not on my own business, Miss Leigh. This is to do with my nephew, Charles Latimer.’

Angelica’s smile faded as she turned to her maid. ‘Mary, perhaps you should leave us so that Mr Asprey can talk freely.’

Seeing her in profile, he was struck once again by how beautiful she was in person. Her remarkable colouring, charm and intelligence of expression made it almost impossible not to gaze on her with a little wonder. But someone of his sophistication, experience and sense of self was not about to reveal admiration to any woman, least of all an actress, practised in the art of attraction and pretence. He hardened his recently sensitised heart. ‘Miss Leigh, you cannot be unaware that Lord Latimer is heir to a great dukedom and extensive fortune?’