Free The Plain Old Man by Charlotte MacLeod

preopening jitters. Dame Partlett was in a real state, from the look of her. Aline kept having fits of the giggles that sounded altogether too much like hysterics. Sir Marmaduke seemed to be hunting an excuse to throw a temperament.
    Others were nervy, too, but the Tippletons were the worst. It must be more than Charlie Daventer that was bothering them. A full-scale family row just before they left home was a likely explanation. Sarah hoped they weren’t going to start it up again here. She was wondering how she might safely pour some oil on the waters when, to her amazement, Cousin Frederick hurled himself into the breach.
    “Come here, Martha. It appears you get stuck with me at the end, so you may as well get used to me now. Show me what I’m supposed to do.”
    “I’d love to, Fred, but not just yet. I’m on as soon as the chorus finishes the opening number. Stand by and give me moral support. You don’t appear till almost the end of the act.”
    Frederick took Martha’s arm and held it till she had to participate in the short recitative that leads to her stage daughter’s first solo. Sarah noted with amusement that Jack Tippleton tried to get close to Gillian and that Emma headed him off, backing him into a corner with Peter and Sebastian to await their upcoming cue.
    The moral support Martha was getting from Frederick must be doing the trick. She was more relaxed now, projecting motherly concern in a sweet, true alto. Then Gillian began her mournful confession of unrequited adoration. Sarah could have smacked her for keeping her eyes fixed on Jack Tippleton instead of the kind and reverend rector as she lamented that his love alone could give her aching heart release. Nevertheless, Sarah had to admit Aunt Emma had been lucky to get so good a voice.
    Gillian knew how to project to an audience, too. She ought to, Sarah thought nastily, she practiced on everybody who came handy. She was into her second stanza now, and giving young Parker Pence the treatment. Ridpath Wale, whom Sarah had hoped she’d shaken, was still there and much amused.
    “Can’t she make up her mind which one she’s after?” he muttered.
    “Neither,” Sarah murmured back. “She’s only trying to make you jealous.”
    Maybe she was. Ridpath was no ladykiller like Jack but he was personable enough, some years younger, and a good deal richer according to Dolph Kelling, who always knew these things. Ridpath was also, at the moment, single. If Gillian simply wanted a man, why didn’t she look where the picking was better?
    Unless she didn’t really want one at all. Perhaps all she cared for was the thrill of the chase. As did Jack Tippleton, according to Aunt Emma and a number of disgruntled Tessas and Gianettas. Well, good luck to them both.
    Gillian finished her number and got her applause. Martha went back to stand beside Frederick, who reached over to pat her shoulder and let his hand rest there. Sarah wished Jack Tippleton would notice, but he was still eying Gillian like a cat after a canary. He moved again to escape, but Emma forestalled him. Dr. Daly was beginning his solo.
    “Time was when love and I were well acquainted. Time was when we walked ever hand in hand.”
    Sarah wasn’t buying that. She doubted that Sebastian Frostedd had ever given two hoots and a holler for anybody except himself. As for his having been a saintly youth with worldly thoughts untainted, one could but smile and shrug. Sebastian did project the aura of the pulpit to perfection, though, his rubicund face bland and gentle in the warm glow from Emma Kelling’s handsome brass and crystal girandoles.
    Whatever his own feelings or lack of them, one could credit the possibility that time had been when ladies of the noblest station, forsaking even military men, could have gazed upon him rapt in adoration. A few might even be doing so now, though Sarah couldn’t see any indication of it. Any woman would have to be a fool to take Sebastian Frostedd seriously,