Page 46 of To Marry and to Meddle
“It’s a ridiculous, pompous bit of fluff,” Miss Congreave said dismissively, not seeming remotely bothered by her company. “I’ve never disagreed with Belfry before, but he’s bizarrely attached to this one, which June and I have to salvage somehow—”
“It’s perfectly salvageable, thank you,” Julian said, his tone curt. “I’ve watched your performances for the past two years, Julia, and I know how talented you are. The only problem at the moment is that you won’t properly commit yourself to the script.”
“I’d like to commit myself to tossing it out a window,” Miss Congreave said. Emily had the fleeting thought that, in another life, Miss Congreave and Diana would have been great friends.
Julian sighed.
“Miss Congreave has some… concerns about the script,” he explained to Emily.
“So I gather,” she said solemnly, causing June to snort.
“However,” Julian continued, ignoring this, “Miss Congreave is paid—quite handsomely, I should add—to show up and rehearse her lines every day,notto assume management of this theater, so she will be continuing to prepare for her role, now that her concerns have been noted.”
Miss Congreave, Emily thought, did not look entirely satisfied, and Emily could not blame her—she had never found a man’s assurances that a lady’s concerns had been noted to be terribly soothing.
“Belfry,” June said. “She’s not entirely wrong, you know—if we could just do the original version of the play—”
“Anyone,” Julian said firmly, “can put onMuch Ado About Nothing—including this very theater, several times in the past. What we are doing will be new and different and unexpected.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” June said under his breath. Julian seemed to decide to let the comment pass.
“Shall we continue with our tour?” he asked Emily, before either of his actors could raise any other objections.
“It was lovely to meet you,” Emily said to Miss Congreave and Mr. June as she took Julian’s arm and turned to walk backstage. She stopped in her tracks as they rounded a bit of scenery and found themselves in close proximity to a pair of stagehands who were decidedlynotdoing the work they were employed for.
Next to her, Julian muttered a curse under his breath.
“Not again,” he said in the weary tones of a parent with a naughty toddler. “Woodrose! Kumar! Is the paint even dry on those trees yet?”
The entwined couple broke apart with a start, bearing identical guilty expressions; as they did so, Emily realized that what she hadtaken for two gentlemen were actually a man and a woman, but the woman was wearing breeches.
“It is dry, my lord,” the man said defensively; he appeared to be about Julian’s age and was quite handsome, with dark hair that was cut a shade long for fashion. “We wouldn’t have—er—utilized it otherwise.”
Julian’s mouth twitched. “Very thoughtful of you, Kumar. Could you two perhaps see fit to actually do the work I ampayingyou for, and leave the other activities for when you’re done?” He noticed the other stagehand gazing at Emily with unveiled curiosity, and he sighed. “Woodrose, Kumar, this is my wife, Lady Julian. Emily,” he said, turning to her, “Miss Woodrose and Mr. Kumar aresupposedlyemployed in set design—they’re painting all the set pieces we’ll be using in the show.” Glancing around, Emily saw a half-finished depiction of an Italian villa as seen from a distance, with trees and elaborate gardens in the foreground.
“We were just catching our breath,” Miss Woodrose said with a cheeky smile; she appeared to be a few years older than Emily, with curly brown hair pulled messily back from her face, and a scattering of freckles across her nose.
Julian snorted. “Didn’t seem like you could possibly have been doing much breathing, under the circumstances.”
Mr. Kumar blushed, which Emily thought was rather charming.
“I apologize, my lord. It won’t happen again.”
Julian made a skeptical noise.
“Considering this is the third time this week someone’s found you under similar circumstances, I somehow doubt that.” He waved a hand. “Just try not to get wet paint on anything, if you please. As you were.”
Emily managed to wait until they were out of earshot before her questions bubbled over.
“Julian!” she said. “That was afemale stagehand!”
“Indeed,” Julian said, leading her around several more finished set pieces and nodding at a few other stagehands they passed before ducking through a doorway into another unadorned corridor. “Usually she hides it a bit better—it’s known among the other stagehands and actors, of course, but we don’t want any gentlemen giving her trouble on nights when there are shows, so she usually wears a cap, and always arrives and departs in a bulky jacket.”
“However did you come to hire her?” Emily asked curiously as they walked down the empty hallway. Her mind was racing—it had never occurred to her that there were ways women might be employed at the Belfry beyond acting. The life of an actress had always seemed so scandalous, so entirely beyond the pale, that Emily had never given it much thought—butthis.Working as a stagehand. The idea that a woman might choose this employment, rather than the life that was originally planned for her—in Miss Woodrose’s case, likely that of a life in service… Emily was fascinated. Despite the fact that she and Miss Woodrose had presumably almost nothing in common, she could not help but feel an odd sort of kinship with the woman—in a way, she was almost envious of her.
Because Emily, for her part, was quite desperate for someone to see that she was capable of something beyond what was expected of her.
“She was originally a scullery maid in Laverre’s household, and from what I gather, she was terrible at the work. Laverre’s wife, Lucie, found her drawing on bits of discarded paper she found around the house, and thought she could be better employed here. So we hired her.”
