No Place For An Angel

Chapter Three

The following afternoon brought a bit of welcome news in the form of a letter from Miss Gwendolyn Marsh, the spinster with whom Catherine had lived for her pregnancy and the first few months of Thomas’s life and with whom she still maintained a friendship.

Gwen wrote in an elegant, flowing hand.

My dearest Catherine,

How I look forward to seeing you again. It feels as though it has been much longer than six months between visits this time. I have followed your success, of course. I understand Promises is still the rage in London, and I am smiling to myself, remembering the nervous young girl who came to stay with me all those years ago, with nary a thought of performing on stage, let alone becoming one of its brightest stars!

But I digress. I am glad to hear you will be travelling to Grafton to collect Thomas.

I am so happy for you, my dear. You have worked very hard for this, forgoing the pleasures enjoyed by most young women your age, and you deserve now to reap the rewards...

Catherine let the letter fall to her lap, her mind casting back over the events of the past five years. Yes, she had worked hard, but what choice had she had? Making a success of her life was the only hope she’d had of regaining custody of Thomas.

She remembered as though it were yesterday the day she had arrived on Gwendolyn Marsh’s doorstep, pregnant with Will Hailey’s child. Will, the only son of the Reverend James Hailey and his first wife, Ruth, had been Catherine’s first love; an attachment formed when Will had started coming to her house to take lessons with her father. A thoughtful, quietly spoken lad, Will had actually been eight months younger than Catherine, but his gentle manners and studious air had made him seem older, and it was, perhaps, inevitable that a friendship would spring up between them.

They saw a great deal of each other over the next few months, the friendship deepening into an attraction and eventually into love. Unfortunately, Will didn’t tell his parents about his feelings for Catherine. Nor did he know, on the day he was thrown from his horse and killed, that she was carrying his child. For that reason, Reverend Hailey had refused to believe Catherine when she told him of their involvement. As far as Hailey was concerned, Catherine was just the schoolmaster’s daughter. He had been horrified to learn she was carrying his dead son’s child and had refused to have anything to do with her.

Nor had her own father been much better, Catherine reflected. Having recently lost his wife and struggling to come to terms with his own grief, Peter Jones had been unable to help her, his sadness prompting him to say things Catherine would never forget. So she had written to Miss Gwendolyn Marsh, a spinster and close friend of her late mother. Miss Marsh lived in Cheltenham, and it was to her Catherine had poured out her heart, going so far as to ask Miss Marsh if she might come and live with her until her baby was born.

Thankfully, Miss Marsh had said yes, and it was there in the comfort of her home that Catherine had spent the long, unhappy months of her pregnancy, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing on the horizon. A storm the effects of which she was still feeling today.

She picked up Gwen’s letter and continued reading.

You are welcome to stay with me for as long as you like, both before and after you collect Thomas. Cheltenham is empty of company at the moment and I should so enjoy having you around again. And of course I am anxious to see Thomas, since all I remember of him is a tiny baby.

Mrs Brown has been busy baking, and Flo and Daisy are quite silly in the way they go on. They will no doubt giggle and blush upon first seeing you. You are quite the star now, my dear, and I could not be happier for you...

Catherine finished the letter and then folded it up and put it on the table next to her chair. Unbidden, the memory of her first trip back to Grafton after Thomas’s birth came to mind; an occasion that stood out as one of the worst of her life. She had taken Thomas, then only a month old, to see Reverend Hailey and his new wife, Eliza, whom he had married shortly after Catherine left Grafton.

Pretty and spoiled, Eliza possessed neither the compassion nor the gentleness of Hailey’s first wife, and Catherine had disliked her on the spot. She’d had difficulty understanding why Hailey had married such a woman, though she suspected it had much to do with the fact Eliza was so pretty and that she played the part of the helpless female so well. Reverend Hailey wasn’t a bad man, just a weak one. And weak men, whether they be men of God or tillers of the soil, were easily manipulated. Catherine had recognised that the moment she had walked into the manse. She had been greeted at the door by the new housekeeper, a brusque north-country woman who had arrived with the new Mrs Hailey, and rather than being shown into the drawing room, where family and guests were usually entertained, Catherine had been ushered into the vicar’s private study, where Reverend Hailey and Eliza stood glaring at her from behind his desk. There, she had drawn back the blanket and shown them their grandson.

Hailey’s reaction was not at all what Catherine had been expecting. Asking if he might hold the child, Catherine had willingly passed Thomas over, hopeful his birth might help break down the barriers that existed between them. But only moments after taking Thomas, Reverend Hailey had handed him to his wife, as though reluctant to hold the child any longer than was absolutely necessary.

He’d said that, under the circumstances, he felt it best that the child remain with them. Given Catherine’s position as an unwed mother, with no employment and few prospects, she was the last person who should be taking care of a baby. He had gone on to say it was in Thomas’s best interests that he be raised in a Christian household, untainted by his mother’s immoral and sinful ways.

Stunned by the unexpected turn of events, Catherine had immediately asked Reverend Hailey to hand Thomas back to her, but the man had coldly and adamantly refused. He had quoted biblical text, saying his son’s death was a punishment from God, and that Catherine would burn in hell for her sins of lust and fornication. Eliza hadn’t said a word, but her expression had warned Catherine against trying to plead her case. At that point, she had returned to Miss Marsh’s house, where, devastated by the very real possibility of never seeing her son again, she had broken down and burst into tears.

A kind though practical woman, Miss Marsh had let Catherine cry, and when at last the tears came to an end, she had sat Catherine down and talked about what must be done. She told Catherine she truly was in no position to look after Thomas because until she was able to earn a living that provided a reasonable level of income, she would not be able to adequately provide for her son. Then she had said the words that had set Catherine on the road to her new life.

‘You have two gifts, my dear. A beautiful face and a remarkable voice. You must use both to make a career for yourself.’

‘A career?’ Catherine had said, confused. ‘Doing what?’

‘Why, performing, of course,’ Miss Marsh said. ‘Good actresses can command very high salaries.’

An actress? Miss Marsh wanted her to go on stage and perform? Catherine had been appalled. Everyone knew actresses were fallen women who allowed themselves to be kept by wealthy men who paid for their lodgings and gowns in exchange for the kinds of pleasures otherwise found in brothels. Surely Miss Marsh did not wish to see Catherine end up that way.

Thankfully, Miss Marsh—being a great deal more familiar with the ways of the world—had agreed that, yes, while many actresses were possessed of questionable morals, some had genuine talent and managed to make enviable careers for themselves.

‘It is the morality of the woman that dictates how she will be viewed by others,’ Miss Marsh said. ‘If you are skilled at your profession and keep yourself free of scandal, you will be acknowledged and celebrated for your talent. Furthermore, if you are able to capitalise on that talent and prove your financial competence to Reverend Hailey, he might reconsider and give Thomas back to you.’

It was all the encouragement Catherine needed—and while it had seemed the flimsiest of hopes, it was one to which she had clung with desperate ferocity.

Then Miss Marsh had performed her greatest act of charity. She had taken it upon herself to pay a visit to Reverend Hailey, during which she had set out the facts surrounding Catherine’s past and future plans. She had then asked Reverend Hailey if he would consider revisiting the issue of Thomas’s custody on the occasion of his fifth birthday.

Catherine hadn’t held out any hopes of Reverend Hailey agreeing to the suggestion. To her astonishment, however, Miss Marsh had returned with the news that if Catherine was able to prove herself a responsible woman of good moral character and was able to earn an income that would allow her to support herself and Thomas, Reverend Hailey would agree to review the situation when Thomas turned five.

At the time, five years had seemed an eternity, but that date was now upon them, and knowing she had met all of Reverend Hailey’s demands, Catherine had written to advise him that she would be coming to Grafton to talk about regaining custody of Thomas.

She had fulfilled her part of the bargain. Now it was time for the clergyman to live up to his.

* * *

The following Tuesday saw the final performance of Promises and, knowing it was their last show, the cast delivered what Mr Templeton said afterwards was their finest performance of the season. A standing ovation greeted Catherine as she took her bows, and she was showered with bouquets of flowers and expensive gifts when she returned to her dressing room later on.

As always, the diamond brooches and sapphire earrings with accompanying messages and thinly veiled invitations were politely sent back, while the posies of red roses, exotic lilies, pink carnations and sweet-smelling freesia were redistributed amongst the younger cast members; girls who seldom received such tributes.

Only one pink rose, adorned with a white satin bow, was kept.

‘Your unseen admirer will have a bit of a rest now,’ Lily said as she hung Catherine’s costume in the wardrobe. ‘Whatever will he do, I wonder?’

‘Perhaps he will find someone else to admire,’ Catherine said as she removed her necklace of paste emeralds. ‘An actress in one of the other theatres.’

‘He won’t find anyone as talented as you,’ Lily said. ‘I peeked into the audience when you were singing tonight and I swear there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.’ She closed the wardrobe door and glanced around the dressing room. ‘I’ll make sure everything is packed, and I’ve asked Mr Hawkins to give us a hand with the trunk. Are you and Mrs Rankin still leaving in two days’ time?’

‘Yes,’ Catherine said, turning around so that Lily could fasten the pins at the back of her gown. ‘Mrs Rankin is looking into arrangements for the coach.’

‘I’m glad I don’t have to go.’ Lily wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t like travelling on public coaches.’

‘Neither do I, but at least we will be riding inside.’ Catherine stood up and smoothed back an errant curl. ‘There, I think I’m ready. I shall meet you outside the theatre in half an hour.’

Catherine heard the sound of voices and laughter long before she walked into the crowded lobby, but as soon as she did, people turned and began to cheer her arrival. It still humbled her, these overwhelming tributes to her performances. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that one day, she would achieve this kind of fame. Indeed, when Miss Marsh had first put forward the idea of singing on the stage, Catherine had been convinced that no one would pay good money to hear her sing, let alone provide her with enough to establish herself as an independent woman. But they had paid to see her, filling the seats and the boxes of the Gryphon Theatre night after night and giving her back far more than she could possibly have given them.

‘Catherine!’

She looked up to see Theo Templeton shouldering his way through the crowd, dapper as always in formal evening attire, his trademark black cape swirling around him. Theo didn’t study the dictates of fashion. He set them; dressing as he pleased because he was rich enough to do so. Even his hair, once as black as midnight but now liberally sprinkled with grey, was worn longer than fashion decreed, but it looked dashing on him and he had the confidence to carry it off.

He reached her side and embraced her in a fatherly hug. ‘A marvellous night, my dear, and you were wonderful. Come and meet your adoring public and celebrate your success!’

He stayed by her side for the next twenty minutes, acting as both buffer and host as Catherine moved through the crowd, acknowledging the accolades and compliments. The gentlemen were all there, of course: the green lads begging for kisses or calling out invitations for supper, the older men like Lords Styles and Tantemon lounging by the stage door, watching her with barely veiled desire. Others, like Lord Hugh Nelson and Mr Stanton, merely smiled and winked.

Caught up in the giddy whirl of the evening, Catherine smiled back, knowing Theo would intervene if any of them came too close. But when she heard his voice rising above the others, she stopped and immediately turned around. ‘Lord Valbourg,’ she said, extending her hand. ‘You came.’

‘Did you think I would miss your final performance?’ He raised her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss against her fingers. ‘Which, I must say, was one of your finest.’

Catherine blushed like a schoolgirl, as though she had never been offered a compliment before. ‘Thank you. Last performances are always special,’ she said, wondering if she would ever develop an immunity to this man’s charm. ‘We strive to send the audience home with good memories.’

‘Judging from what I saw tonight, you succeeded admirably. So, what now?’ he asked, drawing her to one side as Theo moved away to speak to Lady Pearcy. ‘A well-deserved holiday, perhaps?’

‘You could say that. I leave for Cheltenham the day after tomorrow.’

‘Cheltenham! What a coincidence. So do I.’

Catherine’s stomach tightened. ‘Really?’

‘Lord and Lady Brocklehume are hosting a gathering at their country estate,’ Valbourg said, nodding at an acquaintance before turning a thoughtful gaze back on her. ‘Would you care to travel with me?’

Catherine hesitated, but only for a moment. ‘Thank you, but I have already made my arrangements.’

‘And they are?’

‘To take the coach into Gloucester and rendezvous with the lady with whom I shall be staying. She has written to say she will meet me in the square.’

‘She still can, but since we are both bound for the same destination, why not journey together?’ Valbourg said. ‘Time always goes faster when one has company.’

‘But I will have company. My companion, Mrs Rankin, will be travelling with me,’ Catherine said, aware even as she said it that it was a flimsy excuse. A lady of quality never travelled without a maid or a companion, but the thought of spending two days in a carriage with Valbourg and having to make conversation with him was disquieting to say the least. ‘There won’t be room for all of us in your carriage.’

‘There will be if I take the barouche.’

‘But surely your father will need it while you are gone?’

‘Not for the brief time it takes to drive there and back, no.’

Catherine bit her lip. For every objection she put forward, he countered with a solution. If only there weren’t the risks... ‘Lord Valbourg, I am most grateful for your offer, but I’m really not sure it would be wise.’

‘And you, Miss Jones, must stop throwing up roadblocks in my path. If it is your reputation you are worried about, don’t be,’ Valbourg said. ‘You will be travelling with a respectable companion and I can hardly ravish you with her looking on, now can I?’

Shocked, Catherine burst out laughing, only to regret it a moment later when she realised that amusement would not have been the reaction of a well-brought-up young lady. ‘No, I am quite sure you can’t. And were I a respectable young lady, the presence of a companion would likely be enough to quiet wagging tongues. But I am an actress and therefore anyone travelling with me might be equally suspect.’

‘Even though Mrs Rankin is a widow?’

‘Perhaps more so because of it.’