A Most Lamentable Comedy Read Online Free PDF

and made themselves into a regiment.
    We are led into dinner, and there is a minor whirlwind as the guests, torn between avoiding Mrs Riley and myself, choose their seats, with the consequence that I find myself next to her and with Mrs Gibbons’ companion on the other. He introduces himself in a most friendly way (obviously not someone who partakes of London gossip) as Mr Thomas Darrowby, Otterwell’s secretary. I flirt a little with him purely to annoy Fanny Gibbons who sits opposite, but she smiles with great serenity and converses with her neighbours. Mrs Riley throws in an odd comment as the fancy takes her.
    ‘And what is your part in the play?’ I ask Darrowby.
    ‘I play Demetrius, Lady Elmhurst. Lord Otterwell is most gratified that Mr Congrevance has joined us, having lost his Lysander. He and Lady Otterwell, of course, are to play both Oberon and Titania and Theseus and Hippolyta.’
    I try not to giggle, for the plump Lady Otterwell is a most unlikely queen of the fairies, let alone of the Amazons, but then it is a most silly play, as I remember, with two sets of lovers lost in the woods, and fairies and enchantments and so on.
    ‘And Philomena Linsley is our wardrobe mistress.’ He smiles down the table at her with great affection. ‘Of course, she’s more interested in the costumes than in acting. I know her well, Lady Elmhurst. She is like a sister to me. Our families have been friends for years, and I was secretary to her brother-in-law for a time.’
    Indeed. I wonder what Mr Linsley thinks of Darrowby following his wife around. Linsley, it appears, is stage manager, and his son, Will, a youthful Puck.
    ‘And the rude mechanicals?’ I ask.
    ‘Otterwell’s servants,’ Mrs Riley says. ‘His butler fancies himself a thespian, and so plays Bottom and takes charge of their rehearsals. Of course Otterwell plans to cut out all the business with the ass’s head so his butler does not make love to her ladyship. And your audience will be Otterwell’s friends and neighbours from miles around, with a ball following, and too much strong beer and a roast ox for his tenants.’
    After dinner – we dined early, as Otterwell has announced that since we have but two weeks to perfect our play, we start rehearsals the next day at ten of the morning (is he mad?) – there are cards, so I play whist in a boring and ladylike sort of way, winning a few shillings. I feel quite satisfied with myself – everyone has drunk enough wine from Otterwell’s excellent cellar to be cordial (and Mrs Gibbons, most gratifyingly, plucked Mr Darrowby from my side with a proprietorial air and a cool smile). It seems the evening is about to end, as people yawn and exclaim at the time, the women gathering fans and shawls.
    I should know, surely by now, that when things appear to be progressing well, disaster is about to strike.
    ‘So, Lady Elmhurst.’ A hand brushes against the back of my chair, and thereby against my bare shoulder. ‘I hear you are a great card player. What say you to a hand of piquet?’
    Congrevance.
    ‘Why, sir, I was thinking of my bed.’
    Moving round to sit opposite me, he smiles in a predatory sort of way. ‘A pleasant thought indeed, Lady Elmhurst. I could spend a great deal of time thinking of you in your bed. But before you retire . . .’ He is already picking the low numbers from a pack of cards.
    I watch, fascinated, as he indulges in some fancy shuffling, sweeping the cards face down into a sinuous curve on the table, tipping them over, and gathering the pack together with those long, elegant hands. He has beautiful hands and I find myself torn between watching them and his lips.
    ‘Very well.’ The words tumble from my foolish mouth before I can stop them. ‘I trust a shilling a point is satisfactory?’
    ‘Of course.’
    There is a slight stir around as the other guests, bedtimes postponed, gather round to watch this new entertainment for the evening. Otterwell calls for candelabra to be