They're here.
Gilbert's here.
Joseph pushed open the door to his backstage dressing room with more force than was necessary, and for a moment he stood in the doorway and surveyed the spectacular mess that awaited him. "Should've paid that tuppence for a maid," he muttered as he grabbed a pile of costumes and dumped them behind a hinged wooden screen.
They'd been in the Egyptian for less than a month, and Joseph hadn't quite gotten around to organizing his space yet. He was used to the two of them having the full run of a place they rented, but they were sharing use of the Egyptian with two other acts, and he had decided it was better to keep all his gear in his room. At least it was a generously sized room, he conceded as he scooped up another pile of clothing. And it was in one of the best theaters in London. He'd share, for now, anyway.
"There and back again," he murmured. He had returned to the town he'd left in disgrace years ago, and returned a success. The night's audience had been the largest, most engaged yet, and—even better—Henry and Gilbert had been there.
They're here.
"Bloody hell," he said, "they're going to be here any moment."
"Who's that, your friends?" Goran poked his head in the doorway. He was already dressed in his street clothes; Joseph always marveled at the speed with which Goran did things, whether it was changing, or eating, or pretty much anything.
Speaking of, maybe he could use some of that speed. "Yeah," he said. "They're be here soon, and this is a right mess. Help?"
"Sure," Goran said, and he bounded into the room and started moving some of the equipment over to a back corner of the room. "Should've paid that girl, mate—tuppence was cheap to get everything put away all nice. Are these the blokes you told me about before? One is some fancy lord, and the other a doctor?"
"Yes, yes, and yes," Joseph said, and he shoved a pile of wigs into a box and set them up on a shelf. "Henry's an earl."
Goran whistled. "Look at you, friends with fancy people. It was nice of them to come."
"I sent Henry passes to the show," Joseph said, "and he wrote and said he would attend, I just didn't know when. I honestly never expected Gilbert to come." He hadn't really been able to make them out clearly at first, not with the glare of the stage lighting, but Henry had waved, and Joseph realized it was him, and then he'd glanced to the other side of the box and had seen Gilbert sitting there.
No mistaking that golden-blond hair.
Or that scowl.
"Come on, don't make me do all the work!" Goran chided him. They made quick work of moving the rest of the crates, and within a few minutes the room was transformed into something more acceptable for receiving visitors.
"Thanks, mate," he said.
Goran nodded, and then he eyed Joseph with a mischievous smile. "They must mean a lot to you, you're all a-flutter. You'd think the Queen was coming to visit."
Joseph cuffed him on the top of the head. "Don't be saucy," he said, and he shrugged out of his dress coat and carefully hung it on a waiting hanger.
Goran grinned at him. "We had a good night tonight! Good thing for you, since all that champagne's coming out of your half."
"That's all right, I got a good deal on it. Besides, word will get out that sometimes you get champagne instead of wine." Joseph tugged off his string tie.
"Don't tell me all that champagne was for our benefit, Joseph."
Joseph turned to see Henry standing in the doorway a few yards away from him, resplendent in black silk and wool, an emerald green silk waistcoat and a blindingly white shirt. Henry's smile was wide—and, Joseph was relieved to see, genuine.
His gaze shifted to Henry's right, and when he saw Gilbert standing there he almost forgot to breathe.
Good lord, he thought, there ought to be a law against a man looking that beautiful.
He heard Goran's quick intake of breath next to him, and Joseph knew his friend was having a similar reaction; Goran had a weakness for pretty things. Gilbert was still a hand shorter than he was, and ten years had not added much weight to his slender frame. His outfit was more modest than Henry's, but he still managed to look elegant in a black wool coat and trousers, and a waistcoat made of deep violet silk.
Matches his eyes.
Joseph realized the owner of those eyes was scowling at him, and he quickly recovered his composure. "Please, come in. Pardon the mess," he said, "We're still settling in."
"Yeah, you should've seen it five minutes ago," Goran said, and Joseph kicked his shin when he got within range.
"Goran, let me introduce you to my two oldest friends. This is Lord Henry Choughton and Doctor Gilbert Sansom," Joseph said. He put a hand on Goran's shoulder. "I know you gentlemen got the audience introduction, but this is Goran Stoenescu—he uses 'Stone' as a stage name because 'Stoenescu' is a bit too much in the mouth. We've been 'Shackleton and Stone' for what, five years now?"
"Six, if you count that back room in Dublin," Goran said.
Joseph watched as the three men exchanged handshakes, and then he held out his own hand to Henry. "Good to see you, Henry."
Henry clasped Joseph's hand with both of his. "Joseph, I'm so glad you invited me, it's been far too long since we've been together. And I'm happy to see that you're doing so well for yourself. I enjoyed your show immensely, it was great fun."
Joseph smiled at his friend's words. He hadn't really worried about meeting Henry again; they'd always had a more easygoing friendship, and when Henry had responded to his letter of apology, their subsequent letters had fallen back into that easy camaraderie. Looking at him now, though, Joseph had an impression of fragility that hadn't been there before. Henry's smile and happiness for Joseph's success was real, but it seemed as if it was a thin veneer that covered a much larger sadness. Henry had told him of his wife's death two years before, and it was clear that her passing still cast a shadow over his friend.
He held out his hand to Gilbert. "I'm glad you came, Gilbert. It's good to see you, too."
For the smallest moment Gilbert hesitated, and it seemed like an eternity before Joseph felt the warmth of Gilbert's hand pressed against his.
"It was a good show," Gilbert said, and he released Joseph's hand.
Joseph could feel Goran's watchful gaze; his friend had obviously noticed the marked difference in reception. But Joseph hadn't expected more than that from Gilbert, and he was happy enough that Gilbert had come along, even if it was at Henry's insistence. And besides, Gilbert never gave false praise, so Joseph took great pride in the grudging compliment.
"From the state of your dress, it appears we came back a little too soon," Henry said. "But I wanted to invite you and Goran to join us for a late supper at the Red Lion; I booked the upstairs room, so it will be quiet and private. Will you come? Besides wanting to catch up with you, Gilbert and I have a matter that we would like to seek your help with."
"Of course," Joseph said, and his gaze flicked over to Gilbert's closed, tight expression. It must be something important, he thought, for Gilbert to be seeking help. Especially from him.
Because oh, yes, Gilbert was still upset with him, even ten years later.
"Wonderful!" Henry said, and he handed Joseph a small card. "Here's my card, give it to the barkeep and he'll bring you upstairs. We'll go on ahead and try not to drink all the wine."
Joseph closed the door as they left, and he leaned against it and let out a long breath, releasing some of the tension he'd felt since he had seen the two men in the audience.
Goran stared at him, wide-eyed. "Bloody hell, Joe. You said one of your friends was a looker, but I ain't never seen a man so pretty in all my life."
"Yeah."
"And he didn't say but five words to you. You sure he's your friend?"
"He was, once upon a time." Joseph removed his collar, and then he undid the pearl buttons of his shirt. "Until I ditched him and Henry to run with a bad sort. I haven't seen either one of them since I was expelled from Charterhouse."
"So they were your school-mates, then? How'd you even get into the same school as them?" Goran plopped down onto the newly excavated sofa.
"I was a charity student," Joseph said as he removed his shirt and set it aside to press later, "and Gilbert's father was my sponsor. He took me out of the penny-school I'd been going to, and paid for everything—my tuition, clothes, and other expenses. I ended up sorted in the same house as Henry and Gilbert, and we became friends, although Gilbert and I were usually always arguing about something—we were both headstrong and proud."
"Now, I'd never believe that about you, Joe," Goran said, reaching over to poke Joseph's leg, "though I can imagine why you'd enjoy getting him wound up."
Joseph shot him a rude gesture.
"You can't fool me, mate," Goran said, pushing himself to his feet. "You had a shine for him. Maybe you still have it, eh?"
Goran sometimes saw too much, Joseph thought, and he decided to deflect any further observances. "Well, look at him," he said. "You'd have a shine for that, too."
"Damn right," Goran said with a laugh as he headed to the door, "although he looks like you'd be taking your life in your hands to sneak a kiss on him." He paused, his hand on the glass doorknob. "So we're going to the Red Lion?" He looked down at his plain white shirt, braces and brown trousers. "Guess I'd better change, yeah?"
Joseph snorted. "Yeah, mate, you show up like that they'll put you to work instead of putting you at a table."