No Occupation For A Lady. Gail Whitiker
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Victoria sat up and stretched her arms over her head. ‘It was a very good night.’
‘Zey liked your play?’
‘They loved my play! The applause went on for ever and the cast was called back three times to take their bows!’
‘Bon! Did I not tell you it would be so?’
‘Oh, yes, you can say that now when you know everything turned out well. That isn’t what we were saying this time yesterday. At least,’ Victoria added with a frown, ‘it wasn’t what I was saying.’
‘Zat is because you do not ‘ave enough confidence in yourself.’
‘That’s not true! I do have confidence in myself, but I write plays that suit me. I don’t always know if they will suit my audience.’
‘Of course zey will suit your audience,’ the feisty little maid said. ‘You are very good at what you do! Your uncle tells you so all ze time.’
Yes, because Uncle Theo had always been one of her most staunch supporters, Victoria reflected. He was the one who had encouraged her to write, impressing upon her the importance of allowing her artistic side to flourish, no matter what her mother or the rest of society thought.
Speaking of her mother … ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen Mama yet this morning?’ Victoria enquired.
When Angelique didn’t answer, Victoria turned her head—and saw the answer written all over the maid’s face. ‘Ah. I see that you have.’
‘Do not take it to ‘eart, mademoiselle,’ Angelique said quickly. ‘Madame Bretton does not love le théâtre as you do. She would prefer zat you find a nice man and get married.’
‘Yes, I know, but a nice man won’t let me write plays,’ Victoria pointed out. ‘He will expect me to sit at home and knit tea cosies.’
‘Tea … cosies?’
‘Hats for teapots.’
‘Your teapots wear ‘ats?’ Angelique frowned. ‘You English are very strange.’
Victoria just laughed and sent the maid on her way. She sometimes forgot that while Angelique knew everything there was to know about taking care of a lady, she was far less adept when it came to making conversation with one. Still, it came as no surprise to Victoria that her mother wasn’t pleased about her success at the theatre last night. Having been raised in a rigidly moralistic house where the only occupations deemed acceptable for a woman were those of wife and mother, Mrs Bretton decried the idea of her eldest daughter doing anything else.
A lady did not involve herself with the world of the theatre. A lady did not write plays that poked fun at members of society. And a lady did not discourage gentlemen who came up to them and made polite conversation, the way the dashing Mr Alistair Devlin had last night.
Oh, yes, she’d known who he was. Between her mother pointing him out to her at society events and listening to Winifred go on about him until she was tired of hearing his name, Victoria knew all about Alistair Devlin. The man owned a string of high-priced race horses, kept a mistress in Kensington and a hunting box in Berkshire, and was equally skilled in the use of pistol or foil. He patronized Weston’s for his finery, Hobbs’s for his boots and Rundell and Bridge for his trinkets.
He was also a viscount’s son—a man who moved in elevated circles and who possessed the type of wealth and breeding that would naturally preclude her from being viewed as a potential marriage partner. Her mother had been right in that regard. Refined ladies did not direct plays or go backstage to mingle with actors and actresses. And no one but a refined lady would do for Lord Kempton’s heir. As it was, Devlin’s sister was married to an archdeacon, and for all Victoria’s being the granddaughter of a minister, it would not be good enough for Devlin’s family, so why bother to pretend the two of them stood any chance of finding happiness together?
Victoria was almost at the bottom of the stairs when she heard raised voices coming from the drawing room. But when she recognised two of them as belonging to her Aunt and Uncle Templeton, she quickly changed course and headed in that direction. Given the lack of warmth between her mother and her father’s brother and wife, Victoria had to wonder what had brought them to the house so early in the day. She opened the drawing-room door to see her mother standing ramrod straight by the window and her father, looking far from relaxed, sitting in his favourite chair. Her uncle stood in the middle of the room and her aunt, flamboyant as ever in an emerald-green gown and a glorious bonnet crowned with a sweeping peacock feather, lounged on the red velvet chaise.
It looked for all the world like a convivial family gathering—until Victoria realised that no one was smiling and that the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, looking to her father for an explanation.
It was her uncle who answered. ‘Victoria, my dear, I have just informed your parents of your stunning success at the Gryphon last night.’
‘And I have been trying to tell your uncle it is not a success!’ Mrs Bretton snapped. ‘It is an abomination.’
‘Come now, my dear,’ her husband said. ‘I think abomination is doing it up a little strong.’
‘Do you, Mr Bretton? Well, let me tell you what I think is doing it up a little strong. Your brother, trying to make us believe that Victoria has done something wonderful when anyone in their right mind would tell you she is making a fool of herself!’
‘Oh, Susan, you are completely overreacting,’ Aunt Tandy said with a long-suffering sigh. ‘Victoria did not make a fool of herself last night. Her work was applauded long and loud by every person in that theatre. Your daughter is a brilliant playwright—’
‘My daughter is a lady! And ladies do not write plays!’ Mrs Bretton said, enunciating every word. ‘They do not produce plays. And they certainly do not tell other people how to act in plays. Ladies embroider linens. They paint pictures. And they get married and have children. They do not spend their days at theatres with the most disreputable people imaginable!’
‘Here now, sister-in-law, I’ll have you know that not all actors are disreputable!’ Uncle Theo objected.
‘Indeed, I had a sterling reputation when I met Theo,’ Aunt Tandy said. ‘And contrary to popular opinion, I was a virgin at the time.’
‘Oh, dear Lord, must we be subjected to this?’ Mrs Bretton complained. ‘Will you not say something, Mr Bretton?’
Victoria looked at her father and wished with all her heart that she could have spared him this inquisition. He was a gentle man who disliked confrontation and who had spent most of his life trying to avoid it. Pity that his only brother and sister-in-law, both of whom he adored, should be the two people his wife resented more than anyone else in the world.
‘I’m not sure there is anything to be said, my dear,’ he said. ‘I cannot help but be proud of what Victoria has accomplished—’
‘Proud? You are proud that our eldest daughter has to pretend to be a man because if anyone found out what she really did, we would be cut by good society?’ Mrs Bretton demanded. ‘You are proud that she spends her days with actors and actresses and avoids the company of fine, upstanding people?’
‘I do not avoid their company, Mama,’ Victoria said. ‘In truth, they have become the source of some of my most amusing and successful characters. Nor do I think my conduct is putting anyone in this family at risk. I have been very careful, both about what I say and about how I behave when in society because I know there is Winifred’s future to consider and I am very cognisant of that. But to suggest we would be cut is, I think, going a little far. Other ladies write plays—’
‘I do not care what other ladies do!’ her mother snapped. ‘I care about what you do and how it affects your future. Something you seem not to care about at all! Spending all