Day 10
After breakfast, the pairs once again broke off to rehearse their individual scenes. As the others left the morning room, Mr. Nobley asked, “Would you like to stay here or . . .”
Jane assumed he was about to ask if she wanted to return to the garden, but his hesitation showed he still felt awkward about last night, their almost-ness and its abrupt ending. She worried that the stilted air between them would continue all day.
“Here is fine,” she said.
“Very well,” he said.
There was a bowl of olives on the sideboard, and, as they both looked over their scripts, at the same moment they reached into the bowl, popping an olive in their mouths.
Mr. Nobley started to chew and, still not looking at her, said, “I suppose we could run lines or . . . dear god, what is this?”
He began to cough just as the flavor of the olive fully hit Jane’s tongue.
She managed to squeak out, “I don’ t—” before her throat tightened, as if refusing admittance to the offending bite of food.
They both wheezed and coughed, so taken down by the unexpectedly rotten taste that they leaned into each other to stay upright.
Jane spit it out in a napkin but the overwhelming flavor continued to assault her.
“Are olives . . . supposed to be . . . fermented?” she managed to say between gasps.
“Whatever it is . . . it’s . . . beastly.”
They scrambled for a glass of water each, chugging it as it spilled down their necks.
And then, gasping, they made eye contact.
At the sight of Mr. Nobley, eyes wide and chin dripping, laughter seized in Jane’s belly.
She tried to hold it in, but a high-pitched yelp escaped.
Mr. Nobley burst out an undignified guffaw, and that made Jane laugh so hard that she had to grip the sideboard to keep from dropping to the floor.
After the unexpectedly diverting olive episode, the tension dissolved, and a friendly air took over so thoroughly that the conversation never waned for the rest of the day.
They spoke mostly of the “current” age—analyzing in depth the social mores of the time, recounting the causes and effects of the Napoleonic Wars, and wishing for access to fresh produce.
Mr. Nobley came alive with the discussion, his eyes bright as he listened to her opinions, with his own flowing freely.
And then, in turn, shaking his head and trying not to laugh as Jane made up fake backstories for all the people in the portraits.
“This lady is frowning because she just ate an olive.”
“And this smiling gent?” he asked. “What’s his secret?”
“He’s not wearing any pants.”
They kept moving through the house and ended up in the gardens, avoiding everyone else, just to keep talking. If the other couples rehearsed as well as Jane and Mr. Nobley did, she had grave concerns about the outcome of the theatrical. But she didn’t regret a second of their wasted time.
At the dinner gong, they reluctantly came back inside. The meal was an informal affair of cold meats, cheeses, and breads laid out in the dining room, where the players bolstered their strength for the coming tour de force.
At last, they gathered in the drawing room.
Servants had hung a backdrop painted with a simple landscape of green meadow, brown mountains, and blue sky.
Battery-powered lamps flickered on the rug in a semicircle to separate the stage area from the audience—three rows of chairs and sofas slowly filling with members of the Pembrook staff.
Jane felt ripples of nerves and excitement as she arranged her costume on her shoulders, a sort of dairymaid outfit that left her shoulders bare.
Standing off to the side, Captain East wore a plain-cloth shepherd’s tunic, leaving one side of his magnificent chest naked. His shoulders stooped as he furiously reread his script.
“You’re not nervous, sir?” asked Jane.
He smiled, but his brow was tight. “I am not easy with . . . memorized lines. I can speak more plainly when the words come from my heart.”
He folded the script and stuffed it into his waistband.
Mr. Nobley approached her, his smile grim. He was still wearing his full Regency suit. A servant handed him his character’s toga costume, and he promptly tossed it over his shoulder onto the floor.
He squinted at her. “You are going to enjoy this, aren’t you?”
“Extremely,” she said. “And the greater your discomfort, the more intense my delight.”
“Silence!” Mrs. Wattlesbrook entered the room, glaring at the staff. “I expect total and complete attention for our esteemed players. And now, Home by the Sea !”
Miss Charming wore her brightest pink evening dress along with a pair of wire wings covered in pink nylon.
They wiggled up and down as she walked. She stepped between the footlights and the backdrop, put her hand up in the air, and declared her opening lines with far more confidence and far better memorization than Jane had expected.
charming:
’Tis spring when I, the fairy queen, Dancing here upon the green In my silkworm-woven dress Spy five mortals in distress. Here first a shepherd with his crook; He loves a maid who loves a book.
east:
I am loath to trouble you, fair maid, but do you have a jar of water to share?
heartwright:
There is a stream over yonder hillock.
east:
Would you care to stroll with me there?
heartwright:
No, I am busy reading.
Time for Jane’s entrance. Mr. Nobley walked into the glow of the footlights first, carrying a prop sword and looking excessively grumpy. Jane followed behind, holding her hands under her chin to convey longing. She felt absolutely ridiculous and was loving every speck of it.
charming:
Next a soldier who ne’er knew love; His lass coos for him like a dove.
jane (unsure ):
C-coo. Coo.
nobley (flatly ):
I live for war.
jane:
Oh why will not my childhood friend notice that I am his destiny?
nobley:
I must attend . . . to war. Cripes, who wrote these lines?
charming:
Last a poet who sighs alone, His broken heart becoming stone.
andrews:
. . . siiiiighhh . . . How alone I am under this unforgiving sky! The wind that blows whispers of my doom . . .
charming:
This sadness is such a bore.
To fix it is a simple chore,
And certainly no harm will come
If the fairy queen does meddle some.
Miss Charming fumbled with a prop bag of sparkles while everyone froze patiently.
At last she managed to open the bag, grab a fistful, and toss them.
The entire massive gob landed right in Miss Heartwright’s face.
She didn’t make a sound, her eyes stayed closed, her face absolutely caked in glitter as if a giant red unicorn had sneezed on her.
She opened her mouth to speak her lines, but glitter puffed out and she began to cough.
She tossed aside her book and looked not at the shepherd East as the fairy queen had intended but at Nobley’s soldier character.
And so began the play’s plot of love spells gone awry.
Heartwright threw herself at Nobley, declaring her immediate love.
Jane intercepted, declaring her own love, while soldier Nobley denied them both.
east:
How would you reject so fair and perfect a lady? You dare wound her soul with your words? Then I will wound your face with my staff!
nobley:
Here you— Oops, you’ve got my sleeve. Let me just . . . Here, you rogue!
east:
Enough babble, sirrah. I will not fight your tongue! I— You’ve hooked me. Your sword is . . .
jane & heartwright:
Oh! Ooh, aah . . . um. . .
nobley:
Hold still, just let me . . .
east:
A pox upon you! I will meet you strike for strike.
nobley:
Almost got it . . . Aha! Here is your sharp, silver death!
andrews:
A battle blazes! With no sweetheart to write odes for, I will bear witness instead to war!
As Jane stood off to the side, she observed in Colonel Andrews something she hadn’t noticed before. Was the theatrical poet he portrayed supposed to be gay? Or perhaps the actor portraying Colonel Andrews was himself gay, and here, in the play within a play, he revealed part of his true self?
Jane looked around with fresh eyes, noticing everything new the play was revealing.
Normally cheery and confident Captain East gripped his script pages, reading from them with an insecure stutter.
Miss Charming was as exuberant and bright as a girl of five leaping confidently through a kindergarten pageant.
Miss Heartwright glared every time Charming spoke, perhaps disgruntled that she herself didn’t have the biggest part.
And Jane was having fun—like real, carefree fun.
Even as a child, people said she was serious and old before her time.
Had a playful kid been in there all along, buried by the fear of her mother’s disapproving glare or the judgments of peers and boyfriends?
And Mr. Nobley . . .
Mr. Nobley was watching Jane, as he often did. But on his lips was the slenderest, sincerest smile.
Miss Charming dug again into her bag of sparkles.
The stage action froze, everyone wincing in anticipation.
Miss Heartwright shielded her face with both hands.
Captain East squeezed his eyes shut and had just turned when the clump of glitter struck the side of his head, turning his whole ear Valentine red.
When Captain East opened his eyes, he was looking at Miss Heartwright.
She shook her head and reluctantly pointed toward Jane, reminding him that his character was supposed to be mistakenly enchanted with Jane’s dairymaid character now.
So East’s character began to chase Jane while Heartwright chased Nobley, with many exclamations of “O cunning cur” and “O gallant love.” They took the chase offstage, leaving Andrews and Charming alone in the footlights.
andrews:
What ho, a vision before me, coming through the mists of Faerie? Ah, I see you now, the author of this mayhem.
charming:
You cannot mean me, mortal?
andrews:
Indeed I do. I pray thee, exquisite fairy queen, go not from my sight.