Chapter 30 The Adelphi Sighs
The Adelphi Sighs
AS BELINDA saw Mr Alwyn rush off, the small flame of hope within her flickered out.
He told me all that was in his heart — every bit of which I could only dream of! He says he is certain we belong together, just as I have felt all along.
But I did not tell him so.
“I was nearly knocked flying just now!” Mrs Hartley muttered as she came in and took her seat, but her sulk fell away as her gaze settled on the crowd again. “Well, let us see who else is here before the lights go down.”
As Lindy sat, Dora reached to touch her hand, her poorly focused eyes brimming with concern.
The orchestra sounded a few notes, indicating the play would resume momentarily. Below in the stalls, people headed towards their seats.
Leaning over, Dora whispered, “I did not mean to listen in, but I could not wander far from the door, you know, and my ears are much better than my eyes. Belinda, I believe he genuinely loves you. Why did you argue when he professed it?”
A lump rose in Lindy’s throat. Fear fueled my tongue.
And now I’m left with nothing.
Is it too late? Oh, where has he gone? Standing to her feet, she scanned the playhouse fervidly. I must go after him!
She went out of the door as Mrs Hartley cried after her, “Where are you going, Belinda? The interval has ended!”
Lindy flew down the hall and stairs to where the Chaffees had stood, taunting her. Only a few stragglers were there now, and Mr Alwyn was not amongst them.
He must have left!
Intending to run out into the night, she hurried towards the theatre’s entrance, but then a voice rang out from the depths of the Adelphi behind her.
“May I have your attention, please?”
She stopped, knowing it at once. Stepping lightly across the vestibule, she peered into the auditorium. There, on the stage, Mr Alwyn stood, squinting into the bright lights, his shoulders square, his stance tall.
“Quiet down!” a man hollered. “The doctor wants to say something!”
“You think he’s a doctor!” laughed someone else. “But here’s a quid he’ll swallow a sword, or twist himself up to fit into that bag of his!”
“Your attention, please — I must say something and I want all of you to hear it!” Mr Alwyn put his satchel down beside him, and a shushing susurration rippled through the opera boxes, dress circle and stalls. Even the musicians stopped the tentative playing of their instruments.
One of the strongmen who had pretended to hassle the juggler appeared at the base of the stage, looking as if he intended to mount it and escort the interloper away.
Undaunted, Mr Alwyn looked directly at the man and said, “I must tell this story, or all love may be lost to me.”
Though the fellow twitched with impatience, he made no move to close the gap between them.
Taking a deep breath, Mr Alwyn opened his mouth and began in a loud, clear voice, “When I was but fifteen and up at school, a fellow called James invited me to go home with him for a week-long house party. Upon our arrival there, I saw a glut of carriages in the yard and wondered how many other guests had come. When I was barely off of my horse, James grasped my arm and steered me towards a group of strangers in the garden. He introduced me, telling them quite loudly that I was the heir of a viscount.”
A sharp bark of laughter rose from the balcony, followed by a collection of titters and chuckles elsewhere.
“You do not believe it? That is fine. The people there did. And so it went for the rest of the day, my friend trotting me out like a new hunter from Tattersall’s to be ogled and fawned over.
The worst were the young ladies and their mammas.
Anything I said – clever or not – was met with peals of laughter as if I were the wittiest creature they’d yet encountered.
As we sat down to dinner that evening, I was sorely tempted to shout down the table, ‘I am only me!’ hoping they would all see the sense in it and treat me as such.
“The next morning, when the others were at breakfast, I hid myself away in the library, but a swarm of girls found me, and coaxed me outside for a game of pall mall. It was there, as my athleticism was being unduly praised, that I was surprised to see my father’s steward striding across the lawn towards me.
My relief at his appearance was short-lived as he said he’d come to fetch me home. Illness had struck my family.”
There was no laughter from the audience now, and Belinda felt her eyes prickle with tears.
“In spite of overhearing why I was to leave, James showed little concern for my family. His parents, when told, also urged me to stay. I knew then that I owed no respect to what is called ‘polite society’, and so I withdrew from it, for many years.
“Then, months ago, I met a young woman. She is a great beauty, who is kind, capable and intelligent, and it quickly became my greatest hope that she would consent to be my wife.”
“You mean your viscountess!” Someone shouted and others laughed at the correction.
“Yes, that is right,” Mr Alwyn replied, seriously. “But circumstances kept me from telling her of my hopes until just moments ago.”
He paused.
“And?” a woman cried out. “How did she answer you?”
“She said that Society would disdain us because her father is not a gentleman. Therefore, I stand here, upon this stage, wanting to make something very clear to everyone present.”
He cleared his throat.
“I mean to marry the woman I love — if she will have me — and any opinion which arrogantly or ignorantly pits itself against our happiness, will be regarded as mere fecal matter.”
Several people gasped, and one young lady in the back whispered, “What is fecal matter?”
Her companion shushed her as Mr Alwyn went on.
“And now…”
As if in a dream, Lindy watched him turn towards the Hartleys’ opera box, and get down on one knee.
In a more tender voice, he said, “Miss Belinda Everson, in the presence of all of these witnesses, I will say that you have captured my heart completely. And I will humbly ask for the second time this evening — will you please make me the happiest man in all the world and say you will marry me?”
There was the subtle rustling of the audience turning in their seats to look to where the young lover had directed his address. Then the theatre fell utterly silent.
“Miss Everson?” Mr Alwyn shielded his eyes against the lights.
“She is not here, my lord!” Mrs Hartley called down, her gold-garbed arms flashing as she gestured widely to her box. “She ran off just before you began your pretty speech!”
Snickering rippled through the house, and Belinda saw Mr Alwyn’s shoulders sag.
I must…this is my chance…
“I am here!” she cried, though it sounded like a peeping chick to her own ears. All heads nearby, swiveled her way.
“Where? Where are you?” someone far off hollered.
Still holding onto the doorway, Belinda lifted her hand and fluttered it faintly.
“Well, step forward so everyone can see you!” chided a woman who then muttered to those around her, “This is less practiced than the juggling and acrobatics were.”
Lindy stepped into the aisle, her pulse pounding furiously in her ears.
Mr Alwyn stood and moved to the very edge of the stage, squinting in her direction.
Taking bolder steps, she drew nearer until she saw that his eyes had settled on her, and felt warmed by their familiar caress.
“I am here,” she said, steadily this time.
“Up, ma’am?” asked a quiet, gruff voice right at her ear.
It was the brawny fellow who had posted himself at the foot of the stage moments earlier. He looked a bit teary-eyed. At her nod, he led her by the hand and helped her up a little set of stairs.
With her heart in her throat, Lindy walked to the middle of the stage where Mr Alwyn was kneeling down again.
Looking up at her, his eyes were aflame with all that Belinda had ever longed and hoped to see within them. He took her hand, then turned it over with delicate deliberation, and dipped his head to lightly kiss her wrist.
The entire Adelphi breathed a sigh, and the two regarded one another intently, intimately, for a long moment.
Everyone present looked to him. Then to her. Back again, until shouts arose from every corner.
“Have you forgotten your lines?”
“Speak up, m’lady!”
“Go on and give an answer!”
Quelling them all with a lift of her hand, Belinda opened her mouth to speak.
“Mr Alwyn,” she began, and though her voice quavered, she thought it might carry to the far reaches of the auditorium. “It would be my greatest honour to call you husband.”
She urged him up, and he stood to embrace her. Feeling the strength of his arms around her, she closed her eyes and relished the thrumming of his heart, so very near her own.
A fond silence reigned briefly.
Then the applause began. Like a wave over water, it surged outwards and upwards, growing in strength.
By the time the two strongmen appeared to usher the newly betrothed couple backstage, nearly every one of the 1,500 people in attendance was clapping and cheering.
It was a full five minutes before order was restored, and another ten before The Unfinished Gentleman could resume.
However, in spite of the crowd’s enthusiasm, there was little consensus amongst them as to what it was that they had all just witnessed. Many of the ladies thought it was an act meant to pull at their heartstrings, and smiled, delighted with its success.
Others, who were inclined to scrutinize, felt lampooned by the presentation, and sat wondering about its intended criticism of Society.
A few supposed that it was a genuine marriage proposal, but worried that the lady involved would be disappointed when she discovered that her betrothed was just a lowly doctor who was prone to lavish confabulation.
There were two young women seated in the dress circle who insisted to those around them that ‘Miss Everson’ was their distant relation, and ‘Mr Alwyn’ was their old friend, who truly was a viscount.
But those listening thought the sisters’ claims far too audacious to give them any credence whatsoever.