Free One Perfect Rose by Mary Jo Putney

courtyard or barn.”
    â€œIt sounds beastly uncomfortable,” Stephen said frankly. “Do you wander through the countryside as the spirit moves you?”
    â€œNo, we have a regular circuit through the West Midlands. People expect us, and we know what facilities are available in each town.” They had reached the inn, so she led him under the coaching arch into the courtyard. “Strolling players are at the bottom of the theatrical barrel. The London playhouses are the most important, of course. Then come the major provincial circuits like Bath and the one based in York. People like us go to the towns too small for anyone else to bother with.”
    â€œYet your parents are extremely talented. Surely they could have succeeded in one of the more important theaters.”
    Rosalind gave him a quick, rueful smile. “Talent isn’t all. My father can play everything from Lear to Falstaff, and my mother can make grown men weep when she does a tragedy like Isabella . That was noticed, and when I was little, John Philip Kemble engaged them both for a trial period at Drury Lane. It only lasted a month. Family legend says that Kemble was jealous of Papa’s notices, and there may be some truth to that. But it’s also true that my father likes to do things his own way. Theater managers are an arrogant lot and won’t tolerate anyone who is equally obstinate.”
    â€œParticularly an actor who hadn’t been in London long enough to develop the sort of following that would have made Kemble willing to tolerate artistic temperament.”
    She nodded. “The only solution was for my father to be his own manager. The Fitzgerald Troupe may not be famous, but Papa can do exactly as he wishes.”
    She led Stephen toward the large hall that had been added to the inn for assemblies and other entertainments. As they climbed the steps, a handsome young man with a dandyish air came out the door in front of them. Stephen recognized him as Edmund Chesterfield, the actor who had played Ferdinand to Jessica’s Miranda.
    Chesterfield gave Rosalind a broad smile. “And how are you this morning my magnificent rose?”
    â€œNeither yours nor magnificent,” she said with the casualness of long habit. “Edmund, this is Mr. Ashe, who rescued Brian from the river.”
    Chesterfield’s gaze sharpened. Stephen guessed that the young actor constantly evaluated other men as possible rivals or potential sources of patronage. Apparently dismissing Stephen as neither, he said, “You’re a brave man to risk your neck for such a brat, Ashe. Now, if it had been the luscious Jessica, I’d have gone into the river myself.”
    â€œAnd ruin your coat? Somehow, I doubt it,” Rosalind said sweetly.
    â€œAlas, fair Rosalind, you know my weaknesses.” Chesterfield gave an elaborate bow. “Until tonight, cruel mistress.”
    Rosalind said with surprise, “Is the rehearsal over already?”
    â€œI’ve done as much as I need to.” The actor grimaced. “Other theater managers don’t demand constant rehearsals. I think the old boy enjoys tormenting us.”
    â€œHe enjoys seeing the plays performed as well as possible,” Rosalind pointed out crisply. “Your own skills have improved markedly since you joined us.”
    â€œPerhaps,” Chesterfield admitted. “But that was a year ago. I hardly see the need to waste a lovely sunny day when I have my role down word perfect and there are pretty milkmaids to charm.” After a farewell nod, he proceeded down the stairs.
    Stephen said in an undertone, “Delightful fellow. Is one of his roles Duncan in the Scottish play? If so, the mock dagger could be replaced by a real one.”
    Rosalind smiled involuntarily. “Edmund may be vain and lazy, but he doesn’t really deserve to be stabbed to death by Macbeth.”
    â€œYou’re right. Better he should play Antigonus