Sir Philip's Folly (The Poor Relation Series Book 4) by M. C. Beaton Read Free Book Online

set the scene and make one’s heart’s desire say all the lovely things one wanted to hear him say.
    Not being accustomed to any friends at all, she was humbly grateful for Miss Tonks’ warmth and interest. Having led a loveless life herself, Miss Tonks was only too happy to become involved in Arabella’s hopes and dreams.
    Miss Tonks did experience a little pang of dread. This visit to the rehearsal meant so much to her that she feared that Mr. Davy might not be there. Besides, it had begun to rain, dreary English, soaking rain. The carriage slowed and jolted forward in fits and starts. It was amazing that on a dry, sunny day, carriages sped over the London streets like so many gilded dragonflies, but when it rained, everything ground to a surly halt and coachmen swore at each other, horses steamed and stamped, and the air was redolent of garbage and horse manure. But as they finally arrived at the theatre, it was to see Mr. Davy sheltering in the doorway and looking anxiously for them.
    “You are a trifle late,” he cried, “but no matter. What a smart bonnet, Miss Carruthers! Please follow me, ladies. We can watch a little of the rehearsal from the wings.
    How proud they were of this shabby actor who had the power to lead them into the enchanted world of backstage. How grandly did Mr. Davy nod to the surly doorkeeper as he led them in at the stage door. With what ease and familiarity did he conduct them through the labyrinthine passages towards where they could hear the sound of the actors’ voices. And then they were there, among the towering flats; and there, in front of the footlights, stood the actors.
    In the rehearsal, the character of Lady Wishfort was at her toilet, berating her maid, Peg. She was played by a Mrs. Leigh, Mr. Davy whispered to them. Mrs. Leigh’s voice reached them clearly.
    “‘I have no more patience—If I have not fretted myself ’till I am pale again, there’s no veracity in me. Fetch me the red—the red, do you hear, sweetheart? An errant ash colour, as I’m a person. Look you how this wench stirs! Why dost thou not fetch me a little red? Didst thou not hear me, mopus?’”
    The maid came into their line of vision, saying, “‘The red ratifia does your ladyship mean, or the cherry brandy?’”
    Lady Wishfort again. “‘Ratifia, fool? No fool. Not the ratifia, fool. Grant me patience! I mean the Spanish paper, idiot, complexion darling. Paint, paint, paint, dost thou understand that, changeling, dangling thy hands like bobbins before thee. Why dost not thou stir, puppet? Thou wooden thing upon wires.’”
    Arabella shifted uneasily. Lady Wishfort reminded her forcibly of her own mother preparing to go out for an evening and tormenting her maid.
    It was a very “warm” play, thought Miss Tonks, and perhaps not one that she should have taken Arabella to see. And yet it was so funny, and none of the characters came out with anything coarser than Sir Philip did when he was in a rage.
    The rehearsal was finally over. Mr. Davy led the way to the Green Room. Mrs. Tarry, the leading actress, took her place on a sofa in the centre of the room. Several very grand gentlemen were paying court to her. She was still in grease-paint and costume, a costume cut so low it exposed the tops of her nipples.
    Perhaps the finest thing about her were her eyes, which were very large and dark brown and which she used to great advantage. And then those eyes widened and filled with warmth. The actress held out a hand and cried, “My dear Mr. Sinclair.”
    Arabella caught hold of Miss Tonks’ hand and held it tight. For following this Mr. Sinclair into the pool of light around the sofa cast by a tall candelabrum strode the Earl of Denby, hat held in one hand. “Mrs. Tarry, allow me to present my good friend, the Earl of Denby, who expresses himself as smitten by your charms.”
    The earl raised Mrs. Tarry’s hand to his lips and Arabella felt all her dreams shatter. But the earl, having paid his