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It seemed to him, that ever since he had married, he had been plagued with a newly-awakened conscience. His days of a callous, self-serving existence seemed to be well and truly over. It wasn’t even as though he could decently mourn the fact. He no longer desired them, not really. His desires all seemed to be focused around one source these days. Dora.

If anyone had told him in the beginning that this would be the outcome of his purely business decision to wed, he would never have believed them. As it was, he could barely muster any interest whatsoever in The Parthenon, the thing that had motivated him to take the plunge. He almost felt as though he would go out of his way to avoidthe damn place. The very thought of it made him feel wretched and … guilty, he supposed. He almost wished he had never heard of it, but then, of course, his path would never have crossed with Dora’s.

What was he going to do to divert this latest disaster looming, he wondered, banging his office door shut behind him. No sooner had one worry been dispelled then he was beset with another! He needed to get over this inconvenient guilt he had developed over Dora’s misplaced trust in him. None of the things he had tied himself in knots over had worked out the way he thought they would.

First, there had been his steadfast belief she was going to disastrously implode on stage. That had not happened. Then there had been the worry over her finding out his underhand dealings with the theatre shares.

Okay, so that had not gone well. He was still feeling the aftereffects from that discovery, even though he had promptly acquiesced to her demands. He had apologized, he reminded himself. He was not to blame now for this distance he felt it had created between them.

… unless you have any more dark secrets from me, that was what she had said.

Clem tried to consider this impartially. At the end of the day, there was no earthly reason why Dora need ever find out that he had lacked faith in her abilities. He had every motivation to keep the knowledge to himself. Jim was probably the only other person aware of it and Jim would never knowingly betray him. Whichever way you looked at it, he was on safe ground.

Why then, did he feel like a huge great chasm was about to open up under his feet?

In vain, he reminded himself that making a clean breast of it about the shares had not relieved his feelings in any way. It had made him feel worse, if anything. Dora had been shaken by it and she had not fully recovered from it, however much she tried to hide the fact. Sleeping with her had only been a temporary reprieve. It had solved nothing.

The knock on the door made him jump. “There’s a Maurice Howard waiting out here to speak to you, Clem.”

Clem stared blankly at Jim. “Who?” he said.

Jim scratched the back of his neck. “Says as it’s about your wife,” he added awkwardly.

Clem stiffened. “Who the hell is he?”

Jim squinted at a small white rectangle. “Well, his calling card says as he’s the owner of The Princess Royal Theatre in The Strand.”

Well, that gave Clem pause for thought alright. The Princess Royal? Even Clem knew that was a class act. An establishment of pedigree. Why the fuck would its owner be here, wanting to discuss Dora? He nodded and gestured for Jim to show him in, and seconds later, an affluent looking gent with luxuriant whiskers was ushered in wearing a dark gray frockcoat and a glossy top hat.

They made their introductions and shook hands as Clem gestured for Howard to take a seat. “I understand you wanted to speak to me about my wife?” he said without preamble. Maurice Howard looked a little pained at Clem cutting through the conventionalities, but he took a seat and leaned forward in his chair.

“I was wondering what sort of contract you had Miss Dabney under,” he confessed and, seeing Clem’s quick frown, continued swiftly. “Principally, my interest lies in your terms for breaking it.” He paused to let Clem absorb this fact before continuing. “I have a new production which we start rehearsing for in three short weeks. Unforeseen circumstances have meant a principal role has become available at the last minute. A principal role which we have come to believe Miss Dabney would suit admirably.”

Clem leaned back in his seat, unable to speak for a moment. “What play?” he asked. “What role?”

“Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night,” Mr. Howard responded promptly. “She would be playing opposite the great Orlando Kirby. I am sure I do not need to tell you which role, for it almost seems made for her.”

Clem gazed back at him steadfastly. “You perhaps forget I run a music hall, Mr. Howard.”

The other man flushed. “The role is that of Viola, a maiden forced to don men’s habit.”

Shakespeare, thought Clem bleakly, it would be Shakespeare. “Might I ask how you have come to this conclusion, Mr. Howard?” he asked blandly. “You have seen my wife perform at The Parthenon, perhaps sometime over the past ten years?”

Mr. Howard met his steady gaze ruefully before shaking his head. “Alas, I have not had that pleasure,” he confessed. “It was my nephew and my godson that originally put her name forward. They were most insistent that I could not dismiss their suggestion out of hand.” Mr. Howard coughed, and Clem guessed he had probably done his best to do just that.

“They were most enthusiastic proponents and have seen her several times over the past month here at The Eagle and Sun,” Howard continued. “Such was the conviction of their arguments that myself and a few others involved finally acquiesced to come and see her perform.” He was silent a moment. “I am sure you understand my sentiments when I say that once we saw her, we were convinced one and all, that she could play Viola as no one before her has ever done.”

Fuck, thought Clem. This was it, Dora’s dream laid out before him on a platter. She had a shot at appearing in a principal role at one of the most prestigious theatres in London, performing Shakespeare, no less. It was simultaneously the end of Dora’s music hall career and the end of the illusion that she needed him in any way.

THIRTY-FIVE

On the top of the stairs, Theo was surprised to be accosted by her sister running straight into her arms. So off guard was she that she dropped Felix’s play in an untidy heap of pages. “Hetty! What on earth—”

“It came!” her sister said, covering her trembling mouth. “My … courses,” she gulped, “and I was so afraid they would not.” She burst into tears and Theo ushered Hetty back into her room with her arm about her shoulders.

“You have been worried about this the whole time,” she murmured. “I did not realize.”

Hetty nodded. “I have given you and Felix enough concerns without that on top of everything else,” she said wryly. She collapsed into her armchair and pressed a hand to her breast. “I am so, so relieved. This means I need not scruple about Vincent.”