Perdita Read Online Free PDF Page A

it means, but they are going to sleep overnight in their carriages. They aren’t even dormeuses, but they have got pillows and things to make quite a comfortable bed. I’m sure he would let you stay too, if you like,” she offered.
    “How exceedingly kind of him!” I answered ironically, but in fact this low means of spending the night was something of a relief, the alternative being the open road or the almshouse.
    Perdita did not reply, nor even hear me. Her eyes had strayed off to the side of the hall, where some new arrivals were making a grand and noisy entrance. It was only two people, two gentlemen, but they managed to make such a to do that every head in the place turned to stare at them, including my own. One would think they set out to claim as much notice as possible. They were outfitted in a manner at odds with every other man in the place. They wore fashionable black evening clothes, a triangle of pristine white shirt-front highly visible across the hall. They talked and laughed noisily, not noticing or caring that everyone was observing them. They were not observing much of anything, I think, for they appeared to have taken on a deal of wine. Their barbering, their general get-up and behavior did not speak of the provinces. This pair had come from London, to go slumming in the countryside. They were, unfortunately, both young and handsome.
    One was dark and heavy-set, with broad shoulders but a trim waist. The other was taller, more aristocratic-looking somehow, with a thin, chiselled face and a slighter build. Before we had more time to observe them, the curtain opened and Lucy came rushing on to the stage, in a pucker because Macivor had been thrown into gaol. She looked wantonly attractive, in a low-cut white blouse, topped off with a tight-fitting weskit that was pulled in to display her tiny waist, which was made to appear even smaller by the generous swell of bosoms and hips on top and bottom. The city visitors actually let out whistles and howls of appreciation. Their vociferous praise incited the other men in the hall to emulate them. The rest of the play was pure farce. There were catcalls, foot stompings, shouts, whistles, and at the end a shower of coins rained on the stage. I wished I could dart up, collect them, and flee this den of lechery. The newcomers had removed the last vestige of decency from the evening. I knew I was attending an orgy.
    "Perdita, we must leave now,” I said. I could not trust the smiles she was throwing to the two bucks. Our only salvation was that they never once removed their eyes from the stage. "Let us go to that carriage you mentioned and make ourselves comfortable.”
    "I had better check with Mr. Daugherty first,” she replied.
    This sounded reasonable, but I had no thought of letting her go alone. “They don’t like strangers backstage during the performance,” she said.
    The older woman who had been sitting with her was the group’s seamstress, who had earlier explained grandly that she was "the wardrobe mistress.” A spade would doubtlessly be termed "an earth-turning utensil” by Tuck’s troupe. "I'll go with her,” she volunteered. "I have to get the costumes and check them out for rips. That Phoebe has her gowns so tight she splits a seam every performance.”
    I sunk lower in my seat, disliking to be alone, but I must say no one paid any heed to me. I remained totally unmolested. The other females in the audience were much more interesting. The city bucks had removed across the aisle to set up a flirtation with two local belles, who were much inclined to honor their attentions. The delay between the ballad opera and the songs was longer than seemed necessary. The reason for it was to allow the hawkers to sell their wares. The Tom and Jerry from London bought an entire basket of oranges and nuts, and proceeded to make a great display of tossing them round to the audience.
    At last, Mr. Daugherty came through the curtain to announce the songs and