Page 32 of Miss Dramatic
Drysdale affected a quizzical air. “I have yet to discuss that menu with my hostesses. Every gathering is different, every audience is different, and this is a unique assemblage, if I understood Lord Tavistock’s invitation. Perhaps Galahad, I mean, DeWitt, will have some suggestions?”
Gavin put his hands behind his back. “I wouldn’t think to trespass on that terrain. Lady Phillip and Lady Tavistock will have ample guidance for you, I’m sure.”
Lady Phillip popped to her feet. “I should alert the household staff that Mr. Drysdale has arrived. You come as something of a surprise, sir, though I trust we will enjoy adding you to the guest list.”
Lady Phillip, in what amounted to near rudeness, swanned off, collected her husband, and walked with his lordship up into the formal parterres.
A footman hovered one table away, tray in hand. Rose was on the point of offering to share a table with Mr. Drysdale—Gavin assuredly should not have to suffer that chore—when Miss Peasegood took Mr. Drysdale’s arm.
“While our hostesses adjust to what will undoubtedly be a near doubling of the guest list, why don’t I find you a table, Mr. Drysdale? You can regale me with tales of your misspent youth and impress me with your literary acumen.”
Mr. Drysdale looked to Gavin, who was absorbed with consulting his pocket watch.
“I’d be honored.” Drysdale managed to make the platitude sound sincere, and Rose felt nearly sorry for him. The rest of the guests watched as he and Miss Peasegood settled at an empty table, while Rose wondered what that little exchange had been about.
“Humor me,” Gavin said, putting away his watch and winging his arm. “I am in the mood to hit something. Hard.”
“Drysdale?”
“I will settle for a wooden ball. The pall-mall court is on the west side of the house.”
Rose accepted his escort, glad for any pretext to leave the tent. “You knew he was coming.”
“I did, you did, Phillip and Hecate did, but somebody apparently forgot to tell my sister. Tavistock might find he has a hammock to himself tonight.”
“I gather Drysdale arrived early?”
Gavin glanced back at the tent, which gleamed white in the evening light. “He must be the advance party. He will decide on rehearsal spaces, what scenes will be performed, whether and how guests will participate, and which footmen and maids can be bribed.”
Money again. Always money. Coin had featured in Rose’s marriage, and coin was never far from Society’s mind.
“What need has Drysdale of bribes?”
“He might not, but he believes that a good performance is ninety-nine percent preparation. Having allies and enemies sorted before opening night is simply how he thinks. I don’t believe Miss Peasegood cares much for actors putting on airs or making entrances before their proper cue.”
Gavin led Rose from the path bordering the garden and took a walkway around to the side of the house. A wooden cart sat near a low fountain, mallets, balls, and wickets neatly stacked. Sheep or goats had trimmed the grass nearly to carpet smoothness, and a few wickets had already been set up.
“The thought of smacking the daylights out of something does appeal,” Rose said, hefting a mallet. “I thought you handled Drysdale’s posturing with a nice blend of amusement and boredom.”
“I was aiming that direction. If I never hear the name Galahad again…” He chose a mallet and selected a ball. “Ladies first. A few practice swings.”
He set the ball on the grass, and Rose considered options.
“Miss Peasegood muttered something when Drysdale made his bow to Lady Tavistock.” She swung the mallet back and forth at nothing, then took a stance an appropriate distance from the ball.
“Something you overheard?”
“I don’t know as I was meant to, or meant to understand what I heard, but yes: ‘Hic incipit pestis.’”
“Here begins the plague. A tomb inscription from Stratford-upon-Avon, but I forget who the poor wretch was who earned it.”
“Not a tomb inscription, but written in the church register to mark the burial of Oliver Gunn in July of 1564.”
“The Bard would have been a newborn about then. Right now, I don’t give a Shakespearean insult for what troubled Miss Peasegood.”
“Something displeased her.” Rose sank her weight into her heels, took a steadying breath, and fixed her eye on a spot about ten yards distant. In another half hour, the shadows would be too dense to allow for play, but this notion of smacking a few balls had been inspired. “One minute, Miss Peasegood and I were chatting easily. The next, she was charging off.”
“Rose?”
