Somewhere I'll Find You (Capital Theatre #1)(7)

“I knew Scott wouldn't hesitate to hire you, once he saw you act,” she remarked. “You have a quality, my dear, which he couldn't fail to see. You seem to give everything of yourself when you're onstage…but you withhold just enough to make them want more. Never give everything, Jessica, or you'll be taken for granted.” Settling back in an overstuffed chair, the elderly woman regarded Julia with bright eyes. “Now tell me…how was it to play a scene with an actor of his caliber?”

“Thrilling,” Julia said instantly. “He almost made me believe it was really happening. I've never met anyone who could make a scene from a play seem more real than life.”

“So it is with the great ones,” Mrs. Florence replied reflectively. “But beware, Jessica…after reaching the heights that are possible in the theater, real life can seem rather disappointing. You may awaken one morning to find that your profession has stolen precious years from you. And you'll be no better off than I, surrounded by faded artifacts and portraits, with nothing but memories to sustain you.”

“I would love to be exactly like you,” Julia said fervently. “You've made your mark in the theater, you're respected and comfortable and independent…I could hope for nothing better than that.”

For a moment Mrs. Florence's eyes were filled with sadness. “I haven't always made the right choices, child. I've had to live with the consequences for a very long time.”

“Do you mean…” Julia stared at her, perplexed. “Is it that you regret not having married?”

“I only wanted to marry one man in particular,” the elderly woman informed her, with a wry twitch of her lips. “Unfortunately he didn't mix with the theater. He wanted me to leave it entirely, and so…” She spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I let him go. How I envied other women who didn't have to make such a choice!” She stared at Julia in a faintly pitying way, as if it were a certainty that Julia would someday face the same painful dilemma. Julia wished she could tell Mrs. Florence the truth…that she would never need to choose between Jove and her profession…that she was in fact already married, and her husband was no obstacle at all.

Quietly Julia made her way to her mother's bedroom, located in the darkened east wing of Hargate Hall. The luxurious gothic estate was dark and stalwart, with tall chimneys and long, narrow windows. Set in the midst of the chalky Buckinghamshire hills, it was connected to the market town a mile away by old, sunken paths that hadn't changed for decades. Hargate Hall was dim and quiet, with heavy mahogany furniture and ceilings covered with webbed fan vaulting.

Being inside the home she had left two years ago gave Julia an uncomfortable, closed-in feeling. Resolutely she climbed one of the long flanks of stairs leading from the first floor to the second, half-fearing that at any moment she would hear her father's knifelike voice commanding her to get out.

Aside from several discreet greetings from a few servants she had known since childhood, no one dared speak to her. It was known to everyone at Hargate Hall that she was not a welcome visitor—her father had forbidden her to set foot on the property—yet no one would stop her from visiting her ailing mother, Eva.

Wrinkling her nose at the stale air in Eva's bedroom, Julia went to the curtains, drew them apart, and opened a window to admit a breeze from outside. There was a stirring beneath the covers on the bed, and Eva's weak voice.

“Who is that?”

“Your prodigal daughter,” Julia replied lightly, and went to the bed, bending over to kiss her mother's pale brow.

Eva blinked rapidly and tried to sit up, her face stiff with consternation. She was a small, slim woman, with ash-blond hair streaked with silver, and large brown eyes. She seemed to have aged a great deal in the past two years, her colorless skin etched with tiny lines and the bones of her face more prominent than ever. “Julia, you shouldn't be here. It's dangerous!”

“It's all right,” Julia said quietly. “You wrote to me and said that Father would be gone today. Don't you remember?”

“Oh, yes,” Fretfully her mother rubbed her forehead. “Things slip from my mind so easily of late.” She sighed and let her shoulders press back into the pillow. “I've been ill, Julia…”

“Yes, I know.” Julia was tight-lipped as she stared down at her mother, who had always been slender. Now she appeared birdlike in her frailty. “You shouldn't be closed in this dark room, Mama. You need light and fresh air, and a walk outside—”

“You mustn't stay long,” her mother said weakly. “If your father comes home unexpectedly…”

“He would throw me out,” Julia finished for her, her mouth curling sarcastically. “Don't worry, Mama. I'm not afraid of him. There's nothing he could say or do that matters to me now.” Her face softened as she saw her mother's distress, and she sat carefully on the edge of the mattress. Taking one of Eva's thin, cool hands in her own, she pressed it carefully.

“I've made a new life for myself. I'm an actress now, a fairly good one.” She couldn't help smiling as she saw her mother's expression. “Actress, not prostitute…though I'll admit most people don't seem to understand the difference. This season I'll be working at the Capital Theatre, training under Logan Scott himself. I'll have a handsome salary, my own carriage, a house…and I've chosen a new name for myself. Jessica Wentworth. Do you like it?”