The driver pulled up directly in front of the stone building on Catherine Street. She wondered if it was fate or simply ironic that the theater was on her namesake’s street, but she pushed the fanciful thoughts aside as she alighted from the carriage.
A white stone portico covered the entrance. She took a moment to regard the large structure with its white columns supporting the portico. A footman waited by the door, opening it wide and bowing a welcome as she approached. Smiling her thanks, she heard Mrs. Burke’s footsteps behind her as she made her way into the main entrance of the theater. Wide staircases led upward to the boxes, and a graceful chandelier hung from the ceiling. Its crystals refracted the light from the door and windows. Several other lights brightened the foyer, which led toward the main entrance to the grand stage.
Through the open doors, Catherine could see row upon row of velvet-covered seats, all arching toward the stage at the center, its size hidden by the doorframe.
A man in the theater’s livery gestured for her to follow him, and they were led to a smaller staircase. Each step creaked as they ascended, and then the man opened a door on their left, exposing an impressive salon where several other gentlemen were seated and milling about in turn.
“Ah, Lady Catherine.” A gentleman with a white beard and kind eyes rose from his seat at the head of a large mahogany table to greet her. “We’re so thankful you agreed to come.” He bowed to her, then took her offered hand. “I’m Mr. Whitbred, chairman of the committee.”
“A pleasure,” Catherine replied warmly.
“If you’ll have a seat?” He motioned to the long table just beyond the view of the entrance.
She nodded. “Of course, thank you.”
“Gentlemen?” the man announced.
The room hushed, and all flocked to their chairs, giving her kind nods of greeting. Her chair was pulled out, and she sat, awaiting the beginning of the meeting. Mrs. Burke took a seat on the perimeter of the room, her disapproving expression never relaxing.
“Lady Catherine, thank you for meeting with us today,” the gentleman started. “On behalf of everyone present, I welcome you.” He gestured to the table. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Sherman, Sir Teasdale, Mr. Dingam, and Mr. Rafe—all board members of our beloved theater.”
“Thank you for your kind invitation,” Catherine replied to the gentlemen.
Mr. Whitbred nodded. “I assume you received and looked over the fiscal details in the documents we sent over yesterday?”
“Indeed, I have.”
“Before I continue, do you have any questions?”
Catherine swallowed and then nodded. “There are a few particulars I would like to have clarified, Mr. Whitbred.”
He signaled for her to continue, his silver brows lifting in an engaging manner.
“I noted that you were experimenting with several actors, most interestingly, Edmund Kean. Do you continue to promote his talents?”
Mr. Whitbred gave a curt nod. “As you know, the theater has struggled financially, and it was only in January with Kean playing Shylock inThe Merchant of Venicethat we made any headway. We wish to continue on this path.”
“Very good. What plays do you propose for him?”
“I’m glad you asked, Lady Catherine. In fact, why don’t you follow me? Gentlemen?” He gestured to the table and then made his way to the door. A man beside her pulled back her chair, and she followed them all down the small stair and into the main entrance, casting a quick look behind to see Mrs. Burke following a few paces back. Mr. Whitbred turned and led them all into the main floor of the theater. “Sit wherever you wish,” he instructed, and then took a seat near the stage.
Catherine cast a look to Mrs. Burke, who seemed oddly uncomfortable, and then took a seat near the front with Mr. Whitbred, nodding her approval when Mrs. Burke sat beside her.
“We have asked Kean to perform a small sample of an upcoming performance. I trust that an experience of his acting will speak volumes more than a description can.” He gave a signal to the stage boy who had appeared to the left. A moment later, the lights dimmed, and Catherine gasped as a figure walked onto the stage.
He was dressed in red velvet with ermine fur covering the edges of the fabric. A kingly crown sat upon his head, but it was the gait with which he walked that was fascinating. Rather than proudly strutting onto the stage as his costume suggested he might, the character limped or hobbled with each step, his body contorted. As the light illuminated his features, a stern determination lit his expression, and with a voice that rent the very air of the theater with its power, he began.
“Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to see my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity.
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,