“How nice to see you again, Constable,” Marc said heartily.
“Evenin’, Major,” Cobb said, using his nickname for Marc. “Enjoyin’ the carryin’s-on?”
“And this must be-”
“Dora Cobb,” said Mrs. Cobb in a rich alto voice, amplified no doubt by her diva’s lungs and bosom. She darted a critical glance at her husband for his lapse of manners.
Cobb winced, but kept his smile going.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am.” Marc reached out to take her hand preparatory to bussing it. Before he could accomplish this standard gesture of courtesy, Dora latched onto the offering with both of her ample palms and began levering it up and down, as if she were trying to prime a balky pump.
“Well, it’s bloody well time we met,” she boomed. “I was beginnin’ to suspect Mr. Cobb was deliberately keepin’ you to himself. Either that or you had two heads an’ three eyes!”
“Now, Missus Cobb, you know that ain’t-”
“Truth is, you’re as high up an’ as handsome as the ladies of the town-if I may defer to them as such-have been tellin’ me. You’re enough to make a gal’s knees buckle.”
“Now, Missus Cobb-”
“I’d be pleased, Mr. Cobb, if you’d desist and decease from ‘Missus-Cobbing’ me like some woodpecker with his peck jammed!”
“Are you enjoying the play?” Marc said quickly.
“A powerful lot of jumpin’ in an’ outta bed, wasn’t there?” Dora said approvingly, “accompanied by a great deal of ‘pleasure inta-ruptured’!” She shot a teasing glance at Cobb to be sure he had caught her mimic of his habitual play on words.
Cobb was about to protest but thought better of it.
“I am pleased to see so many people come out to the theatre,” Marc offered.
“And I see you’re a mite surprised to spot the likes of us here?” Dora said with a wry grin.
Marc denied any such thing, while silently remarking that little in the behaviour of those around Dora Cobb would go unnoticed or unappraised.
“In my case, curiosity, more’n anythin’ else,” Cobb said.
“Nonsense, Mr. Cobb, an’ you know it!” She turned to Marc, pivoting her entire person to do so. “Why, old James Cobb was a regular thesbian in his day. He’d rather jump on a stump an’ recite a bawdy ballad than he would haul it away to make room fer his corn. And at our weddin’ in Woodstock, the old rapscallion hopped on a table durin’ the toasts an’ spieled out every last verse of Mr. Gray’s ‘ Eligible in a Country Church’!”
“Now, Missus Cobb, do not eggs-agitate-”
“An’ this crab apple here-warts an’ all-didn’t fall far from the tree.”
Dora began a chuckle somewhere deep within, and while it worked its way out, Cobb said to Marc, “Funny, but we ain’t had a gen-u-wine murder in town since you an’ young Hilliard skedaddled off to the fort last year.”
“Then I must be sure to stay put.”
“So, when are you gonna come to our place for supper?” Dora said loud enough to turn heads ten feet away. “All I get is feeble excuses from Mr. Cobb, but now I’m lookin’ right at the flesh-an’-blood-”
“You’re embarrassin’ Marc,” Cobb said, part plea and part warning. “Ain’t she, Major?”
“Not in the least. I’d be pleased to come,” Marc said, initially out of politeness and good breeding, but then with a growing sense of enthusiasm. Why shouldn’t he have supper with these good people? Who was he, pretending to be a gentleman, when he himself was the offspring of a gamekeeper and his peasant wife, and one who had had the undeserved fortune of being raised up by a lonely bachelor and member of the petty aristocracy?
“How about Wensd’y? Say, six o’clock? I’ll hide the chickens an’ make the pig stay outside till we’re done.”
“Missus Cobb!” The constable’s wart ignited.
Marc laughed. “I’ll be there with bells on.”
“Long as they don’t wake the goat!”
At this point Cobb was spared any further discomfort by the reappearance of the players upon the stage, announced by three blasts of a trumpet from the wings. Jeremiah Jefferson making a wayward, joyful noise, perhaps?
When the play ended and the last of six curtain calls was gracefully acknowledged, Marc led Aunt Catherine towards the exit onto Colborne Street. “I’ll walk you home, then come back here for my horse,” he said.
“Sure you won’t come up to Mrs. Thedford’s room for a nightcap?” Owen Jenkin called out just behind them. “We’ve all been invited.” He looked imploringly at Marc, who suddenly got the message.
“Both Aunt Catherine and I have had a long day, Owen. And some personal excitement I’ll tell you about later.”
“Yes,” Aunt Catherine said agreeably. “It’s past ten-thirty and I’ve a full work-day tomorrow. We’re mending some costumes for the company here.”
“Where’s Rick, then?” Marc said.
“Probably in the ingenue’s boudoir, if I know him.”
“I sincerely hope he behaves himself.”
“I’ll see to it, Marc.”
“I’ll wait for you outside when I come back from the shop in about half an hour, and we can all ride home together.”
“That should work out well for everybody. See you then.” And he trundled off to throw himself at the feet of the prima donna from Philadelphia and New York.
Just as Marc and Aunt Catherine started along Colborne, Cobb popped out of the alley leading to the stables. He had his bowler in both hands. “You don’t haveta come,” he said with acute embarrassment. “Dora gets carried away sometimes.”
“I’m coming on Wednesday because I want to, old friend,” Marc assured him.
Major Jenkin was waiting at the livery stable with two horses in hand.
“Where’s Rick?” Marc wondered, a rhetorical question in the circumstances.
Jenkin nodded up towards the theatre. “He swore to me as an officer and a gentleman that he would have one drink with Miss Guildersleeve and leave when she asked him. Mrs. Thedford was very gracious with me: I was utterly charmed by her. But I’m afraid I may have inadvertently misled her into thinking Rick was going to leave when I did. Tessa is really like an adopted daughter to her, and it’s hard enough for actresses to gain respect without having footloose soldiers dallying in their rooms. But I wasn’t going to go barging in on the youngsters like an outraged papa.”
“I think Rick believes he’s truly in love with the girl. The odds are he won’t do anything to harm her reputation. But you’re right: Rick’s a grown man, and I’m sure he realizes that Tessa’s guardian is next door. Come on, let’s be on our way.”
The two men, so recently and unexpectedly friends, rode out together towards the garrison a meandering mile or so west of the city centre under a splendid moon and a backdrop of stars. They fell into easy conversation.
“I thought the days of this old war-horse dreaming about a particular woman were over, Marc. But Annemarie is really something.”
“So I gather. I must say she impressed me tremendously. In a motherly way, of course,” he added with an appropriate chuckle.
“I asked her about Merriwether, for example, because the man intrigues me. Unlike her, I got the feeling he was acting out a role for himself, perhaps because he wasn’t happy with who he really was. Well, she told me the whole story. Seems he was a great star of the Park Theatre for twenty years, before his wife died and he hit the bottle. By the time Annemarie arrived in New York from Philadelphia and established herself, about fifteen years ago, Merriwether was on the way down. She’d met him while she was doing bit roles at the Park and admired his talent. Five years later she had become a star and part owner of the Bowery, and took it upon herself-when everyone else in the theatre world of New York was shunning him-to take a chance on the man, on condition that he give up the drink and attempt to regain his former lustre.”