Among the Darkness Stirs

After supper, she went to visit her friend Marguerite Shirley, who was humming about in her small room.

“Dearie!” Marguerite beamed when she saw Audrey’s face.

“Hello, Marguerite,” Audrey said to the older woman.

“You look like a blooming flower. Are you in love?” the old woman asked.

Audrey reared back. “Love? What? Of course not.”

Marguerite pursed her lips. “Hmmm. I’m not usually wrong about these things.” Audrey wisely kept quiet. “It’s been ever so long since you’ve come to visit dearie. Ever so long,” she repeated.

Audrey tried not to smile. “It’s been three days.”

“That’s a very long time.” Marguerite sighed. “Seems like forever.”

“Are you well?” Audrey asked.

“Am I well? Such a relative word. Well compared to what?”

Audrey could well imagine the old woman on the stage, dramatic and lovely captivating an audience. “My mother and sister are coming to join me.”

“Are they? That’s wonderful,” said the one-time actress.

“Yes. I’m so pleased. We’ll be a family again.”

“That’s important.” Marguerite surveyed her face and narrowed her eyes. “You could have been on the stage, dearie. Those eyes and that figure.”

Audrey’s cheeks warmed. “I don’t think my mother and father would have allowed that.”

“Nonetheless, you could have been. You would have been a grand success!” She threw her arms out. “Those cheekbones alone—London would have been at your feet.”

“My cheekbones?” Audrey asked.

“Yes, and those lips. Gorgeous lips.”

She could feel Henry’s lips pressed against hers and his arms around her, and she cleared her throat. “Come, Marguerite. Stop teasing me. Tell me a story of long ago.”

“Long ago? You mean in ancient times when I was a young girl?” Marguerite wondered.

“Unless you were a young Roman girl who lived in Londinium, then no. Tell me one of your stories.”

“Ah. Smart girl. I like that.” She paused. “Very well. Since you plead with me to the point of exhaustion, I’ll tell you a story,” she agreed dramatically. “I was working at a small music hall where nobody ever went and nobody does still. I had been a musician’s assistant and chorus girl. And finally, I had my own song. I was so happy. I met a young man. He was an actor on the stage. A real actor. Shakespearean. Beautiful. Better cheekbones even than you.”

Marguerite sighed dreamily and continued. “That summer, we had coffee in small cafes, took long walks in Hyde Park, and fell in love. It was a good time.”

Audrey imagined a young, winsome Marguerite and a dashing young man at her side. “You married him?”

Marguerite looked at Audrey as if pitying her. “No, dearie. This story doesn’t have a happy ending. You asked for a story, not a happy ending.”

“Oh.” Audrey hadn’t expected that response.

“At the same time, I learned I was pregnant. I found out my sweetheart was married already,” she said. “With two children.”

“What did you do?” Audrey asked sadly.

Marguerite shrugged. “What could I do? I had my son and went on to another music hall.”

Audrey hadn’t known she had children. “How old is your son now?”