The Notorious Mr Hurst. Louise Allen

man, held his own with the others, yet it was as though he had turned down the wick on the lamp of his personality.

      Clever, Maude thought. He is adapting himself to his company, blending in. She met his eyes across the table. His expression hardly changed, yet she sensed rueful amusement. He knew exactly what he was doing, but he did not seem entirely happy that he was doing it. And he sensed the raised hackles of the other men.

      ‘We are neglecting the ladies,’ he remarked, bringing all eyes to where his gaze was resting, her face.

      ‘But I am fascinated by gas lighting,’ she said sweetly, all wide-eyed feminine attentiveness. His lips were definitely quirking now. It was infectious. She bit the inside of her lip to stop herself smiling back. ‘Still, we do not have that much time before the curtain rises again. Will you not tell us about the next piece? My father saw it the last time it was produced in London.’

      ‘In 1810 at Covent Garden, my lord? We have had to adapt it here, of course, because of the licence, add a short ballet, and some songs, hence our choice of Mrs Furlow in the lead; she has just the voice for it. Still, it is very much the same comedy you will recall from before.’ He uses his voice like an actor, Nell thought, listening to how he spoke, not what he said. It was a deep and flexible voice, shaded with colour. He seemed to have it as much under his control as his face, betraying only what he wanted to show.

      Her father was relaxing now; she saw his shoulders shake as he recounted some piece of amusing business from the production he remembered.

      The conversation moved on while she was brooding. Gareth must have asked Captain Warnham about his new ship. ‘Do you welcome another commission so far from home?’

      ‘I am a career officer, I go where I am ordered and may do most good, but in any case I could not turn down the opportunity to make war on pirates. They are everything I loathe.’

      ‘But are there any left?’ Maude asked. ‘Enough to be a problem?’

      ‘Not so many now, we have them under control in many areas. But those that remain are the worst of them. And like rats they know we almost have them cornered and that makes them the more vicious. They used to take prisoners for ransom; now they cut their throats and throw them overboard.’

      The party fell silent, chilled, Maude sensed, not so much by the horror of what he was describing, but the controlled anger with which he said it.

      Bel, the more experienced hostess, picked up the thread of the conversation after a heartbeat had passed and moved them on to safer ground. ‘I love to read the shipping news in the daily papers,’ she remarked. ‘It is so fascinating to see where they have come from to reach us, bearing our luxuries all that way.’

      All those luxuries, Maude thought, unfurling her Chinese fan and looking at it with new eyes, brought over huge distances at such risk. She looked up and found Eden was still watching her and was visited by the odd idea that he knew what she was thinking. Then the imagined look of understanding was gone and he rose to his feet.

      ‘You will excuse me, my lords, ladies. The curtain rises soon.’ He bowed and was gone, his champagne untouched, leaving the crowded box feeling somehow empty.

      ‘What a pleasant man,’ Bel remarked, carefully not looking in Maude’s direction. ‘Not at all what I would have expected of a theatre proprietor.’

      ‘Indeed not,’ Jessica added. ‘One can only think that the theatre is becoming so much more respectable these days.’

      ‘Superficially, perhaps. But it is scarcely eight years since the riots over the changes at Covent Garden,’ Gareth countered. ‘Nor can one call that sort of thing respectable.’ He nodded towards the box opposite where a party of bucks were becoming very familiar indeed with three young women whose manners and clothing clearly proclaimed them to be of the demi-monde. Gareth appeared quite unconscious of the dagger-looks his wife was darting in his direction.

      ‘And matters will be laxer on the Continent, I have no doubt,’ Ashe added, his eyes resting on the door as though he could still see Eden.

      ‘Oh, look,’ said Maude with bright desperation, ‘Here come the string players.’ Across from her, Lord Pangbourne appeared sunk in thought.

      ‘What did you think, Papa?’ Maude ventured as the carriage clattered over the wet cobbles on its way back to Mount Street.

      ‘Excellent production. In my opinion, adding the songs helped it. It was a lot livelier than I remembered.’

      ‘Not the play, Papa, although I am pleased you enjoyed it. Mr Hurst.’

      ‘Surprising chap. Not what I expected.’ Lord Pangbourne fell silent.

      ‘And?’

      ‘And I need to sleep on it.’ He sighed gustily. ‘Confound it, Maude, I know I promised you more freedom, but I don’t know what your mother would say if she were here.’

      ‘Yes, probably,’ Maude ventured. ‘She was very unconventional, was she not, Papa?’

      ‘Very fast, you mean,’ he said, but she could hear he was smiling. ‘Your mama, my dear, was a handful. And so are you. I don’t like refusing you anything, Maude; I promised your mother I would never make you feel as she did as a girl—caged. But I don’t want to see you hurt too.’

      ‘Hurt?’ She swallowed hard. He realised her feelings were involved?

      ‘By any kind of scandal. You can ride out a lot in your position, but that’s an uncommon man you’d be dealing with.’ He certainly is… ‘I’ll sleep on it,’ he pronounced. And with that she knew she would have to be satisfied.

      It was not until she was sitting up in bed an hour later that what he had said about her mother sank in. I don’t want to see you hurt too. Mama had been hurt? But by what? Or whom?

      Breakfast was not a good time to ask questions about the past, Maude decided, pouring coffee and schooling herself to patience. It would take three cups and the first scan of The Times before she could expect anything from her father.

      ‘Well,’ he said, pushing back his chair at length and fixing her with a disconcertingly direct look. ‘I was impressed by that Hurst fellow, despite myself. You may invest in that theatre, to the limit that Benson advises, and not a penny more. You will not go backstage after four in the afternoon and you will always, always, go there with a chaperon. He might be a good imitation of a gentleman, but he’s young, he’s ruthless and he’s unconventional. A chaperon at all times—is that clear, Maude? I see no reason to be telling all and sundry about this involvement of yours either.’

      ‘Yes, Papa.’ Oh, yes, Papa! ‘Thank you. I do believe this will be a worthwhile investment.’

      ‘It will be if it makes you happy, my dear. Just be prudent, that is all I ask.’

      Prudent. That was what Eden declared himself to be, with money at least. Men seemed to set great store by prudence. Maude’s lips curved. Now she had to teach him to be imprudent with his heart. This morning she would write and tell him she had her father’s approval, make an appointment to call with Mr Benson.