The Velvet Box

By Tracy Grandlinger

The Velvet Box is a fascinating portrait of what it is like for Sophie Gordon, a young girl struggling to cope with life while passionately desiring to become an accomplished artist. Her backstage life is filled with competition, jealousies, and disappointments, as well as many colorful backstage characters. All this puts her through a gauntlet of turmoil.

Sophies personal life is as dramatic and full of adventure as her professional life. She has two delightful but complicated romances, one with her fellow actor Ian Lennox and the other with Richard Neville, her theatrical impresario. Richard has been fascinated with Sophie from the first time he met her. She also has attracted the attention of several royal personages throughout her story. All this while she is trying to reconnect with her father, who has come back into her life after a nine-year absence. These trials and tribulations help Sophie to maneuver into the adult world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524694470

Tracy Grandlinger

Tracy Grandlinger was born three an a half months premature in1967 at the San Francisco University hospital.Despite the prevailing medical opinions of the time,Tracy and her parents knew that The Force was with her and she has overcome many physical challenges and obstacles throughout her life. She has been exposed to and always fascinated by operas, Shakespeare, fine music and great story telling movies, which have stimulated her creative palette. She has also been an avid reader of classic literature, including such authors as: Tolstoy, Hugo, Dumas, Dickens,The Brontes, Fitzgerald, and Hemingway among others. Tracy graduated from the University of Utah with a B.A. in English. Tracy has always had two passions; one for the theater and the other for English history. Now she has combined these two passions with her gift for story telling to write her first novel, The Velvet Box.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Sophie

London, June 20, 1882

FIVE MINUTES, MR. GORDON, A young voice said from outside Nicholas’ dressing room.

Yes, thank you, Henry, he said.

Nicholas Gordon had finished applying his makeup, but as he stared into the mirror, he couldn’t help feeling a sense of uneasiness. It was the first time in many years his daughter, Sophie, would see him perform. He hoped he could live up to her expectations. Too many ghosts clouded his memory tonight. Nicolas had not performed in London for nine years, and he had not seen his daughter in all that time. He had sent Sophie to live with his sister and brother-in-law, Sir Rupert and Lady Fitzsimmons, when she was only six years old. Perhaps the most damning thing of all was that he had run away from his responsibility. Sophie’s mother had nursed Sophie through diphtheria only to succumb to the disease herself. In his heartbreak, Nicholas couldn’t take care of his daughter.

A man with firm features inherited from his Scottish and English ancestors, Nicholas Gordon had hazel eyes and was slim for his forty-six years. He was proud his hair was still auburn. He had taken up his parents’ profession by becoming an actor. One afternoon in 1866, while attending a performance at Covent Garden, he fell in love with a beautiful Russian ballerina touring with a Russian ballet company. After their performance of La Sylphide, he went backstage and met Catherine Alexandrovna Valensky.

He adored her small frame and exotic Russian features. It didn’t matter that her cheekbones were too high or that her nose was too short. He was uplifted by her unique beauty. Her large green eyes drew him in without any effort, and her charm and intelligence held him there. She spoke excellent English and read all the English authors she could lay her hands on, including Shakespeare, Byron, Dickens, and the Brontë sisters. However, what astonished him most about this breathtaking creature was that she reciprocated his love. She even gave him a lock of her wavy, flame-red hair, which had dazzled so many admirers. He still kept it in the back of a miniature portrait of her that did not quite do her justice.

They married quietly because of their differing faiths and embarked on a seven-year journey of joy and tragedy. Their greatest joy was the birth of their daughter, Sophie, whom they affectionately called Sonya. Then it was all gone. The joy he had known with Catherine was crushed by her fatal illness, leaving him desolate. Now he was anxiously awaiting Sophie’s arrival, wondering what she would be like after all these years. He imagined Sophie taking her place inside the box, looking small and fair like her mother. Just then, there was another knock at the door.

On stage, Mr. Gordon! On stage, announced Henry.

Thank you, Henry. I’m coming!

Sophie arrived late at the theater with Aunt Isobel because her aunt and uncle had quarreled. Sophie was coming down the crescent staircase when she saw the door to the library ajar and heard her uncle’s raised voice coming from inside. She overheard how Uncle Rupert objected to this intended reunion as sheer folly. She heard Isobel counter-argue that it was high time Nicholas and Sophie resumed their relationship. Sophie herself was uncertain about it. It had been many years since Nicholas had brought her to live with Aunt Isobel. Sophie had been small and pale with blonde hair and freckles the last time she’d seen him. Would he still recognize her after all this time, or would he expect the pale little girl he left behind? To make matters worse, her recent fifteenth birthday seemed to escape his notice. This hurt Sophie deeply. In all the years he’d been away, no matter where he was, he had always remembered her birthday. Now she sat in Aunt Isobel’s theater box, hoping everything would work out for the best. She watched her father as he performed the role of Pericles in Shakespeare’s Pericles, Prince of Tyre.

The play was very good, and Sophie felt herself transported to another realm. She found herself heartbroken when Pericles had to leave his infant daughter in the care of friends after his wife’s death. She realized that was how her father must have felt when he had left her with Aunt Isobel. She wondered if her aunt had chosen to take her to this play on purpose. Sophie also found herself identifying with the play’s young heroine, Marina. The play, a romantic comedy, ended happily, of course, with Pericles reunited with his wife and daughter. His wife, who wasn’t dead after all, had been rescued by kind people from a distant land, where she became a priestess to the goddess Diana. Sophie would have liked a happy ending in her own life, but she had seen her mother’s chalk-white face in the small coffin when her father brought her to see her for the last time. She had supposed, at the time, that her father must have done this to punish her for causing her death. She saw her mother, lying there like a doll, cold and lifeless. She burst into tears and couldn’t stop crying. Afterward, Isobel scolded Nicholas, saying it was the worst thing he could have done to someone as young as Sophie. As for Sophie, it was a long time before she could bring herself to forgive him. The image haunted her still.

After the play, Sophie and Isobel were escorted backstage to Nicholas’ dressing room. Sophie hoped she looked all right. Her aunt’s dressmaker, Madame Roland, had made her first evening gown of sky-blue silk, complete with a train she spent a week learning how to wear. Her hair was also pinned up for the first time in a small, plain chignon.

Nicholas was in his dressing gown, taking off his makeup, when he heard a knock at the door. Who is it? he called.

It’s Isobel. I’ve brought Sophie with me.

Nicholas felt a chill run through his body. He hurried the removal of his makeup. Come in.

Two women entered his dressing room. The elder woman he recognized as his younger sister, who no longer had the innocent beauty of youth to sustain her. But he was shocked when he saw Sophie. Remarkably, she didn’t look like either of her parents. She was a compromise between them. Her hair was a warm shade of auburn due to her mother’s influence. Her eyes were large and green, like her mother’s, but with a deep hazel tint to them. She was taller than Catherine but was still slight and delicate, with long, tapered fingers, which were like his. She was certainly not the pale little girl he’d left behind; she was a pretty and graceful young woman. He felt a sudden burst of pride as he looked at her reflection in the mirror. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. Finally, Isobel broke the awkward silence. There she is, Nicky. Isn’t she beautiful?

She is taller than I expected, he said without thinking. But when he saw Sophie’s reaction in the mirror, he added more thoughtfully, Yes, she is very beautiful.

Well, I’ll leave you two to get acquainted, Isobel said in a less-than-subtle voice. She had never been known for her subtlety but did her best to make a graceful exit.

Now that they were alone and, having removed his makeup, Nicholas turned around in his chair to face his daughter. She was indeed very beautiful. But there was a serious expression about her mouth that made her appear very solemn. Her hazel eyes flashed the way Catherine’s used to when there was a quarrel approaching or when her feelings were hurt. With Sophie, Nicholas suspected the latter. He realized his unguarded comment about her height must have hurt her deeply. She must think I’m disappointed in her, he thought. On the contrary. But how do I explain it without sounding like a fool? I mean, "She’s taller than I expected." Was that the best I could do?

You’re so beautiful, he said in a reassuring voice. Your mother would have been so proud of you.

Then I’m not a disappointment to you? Sophie asked as though she still couldn’t believe it.

No, of course not.

I thought I was.

Well, you’re not.

Do you like my new dress? Aunt Isobel’s dressmaker, Madame Roland, made it for me, said Sophie, trying to change the subject.

Yes, it’s lovely. Nicholas understood why she wished to lighten the conversation. Taking a large velvet box from the dressing table, he continued, I know I missed your birthday this time. But when I learned you were coming, I wanted to give this to you personally. He handed her the box, which she opened at once.

Sophie recognized it immediately as the dainty gold Orthodox cross she remembered her mother always wearing. The cross was crafted in fine Russian gold. In the center was a small, blood-red ruby to symbolize the blood of Christ. Sophie’s eyes filled with tears, which she quickly blinked away so her father wouldn’t notice. She knew how much her mother had cherished this cross. It was the only thing Catherine had to remind her of Russia. Catherine had embraced Anglicanism for Sophie’s sake. However, when it came time to relinquish her icons, she kept this one because it was given to her grandmother, Sophia Ivanovna, by Catherine the Great.

Sophie looked at this cherished cross of her mother’s and felt that her father must have truly forgiven her for her mother’s death. Putting aside feelings of guilt, Sophie felt at peace for the first time in years. She could do nothing to hide her tears of joy. Oh, Papa! she said, sobbing openly. If you only knew what this means to me.

Your mother always wanted you to have her cross. I would have given it to you sooner, but your uncle was always so disapproving of anything foreign. I thought it best not to give it to you under such circumstances. Your mother would have understood this. She wanted you to be English. She loved you so much, Sonya. Nicholas’ voice was choked with tears.

Sonya. No one’s called me that since—

I know, said Nicholas, regaining his composure.

Sophie put on the cross and embraced Nicholas, who had stood up to admire her wearing it. The golden cross lay on her milky white skin as though it was always meant to be there.

I have another surprise for you. I’ve leased a house here in London, and I’ve hired a maid to look after us. She’s a good woman, Mrs. Croft. Her husband was killed in India five years ago during an uprising within his own regiment. She’s half Indian herself, so it’s been difficult for her to find a decent position here since the death of her last employer. That’s why she’s willing to work as a maid. Would you like that Sophie?

Oh yes, Papa! Sophie said.

Then you can tell your aunt that you’ll be living with me as of tomorrow.

A saddened look came over Sophie’s face. In her excitement, she had never thought of how her leaving would affect Aunt Isobel. Now, she thought of her aunt all alone in that large house with only Uncle Rupert for company.

Do you think Aunt Isobel will mind if I come and live with you?

No, Nicholas said laughing. She’ll be delighted, and she’ll come to visit us whenever she can get away.

She will! exclaimed Sophie. Of course! Of course, I’ll come live with you. I never want to leave you again, she said as she embraced Nicholas once more, secure in the knowledge that nothing would ever separate them again.

Chapter 2

Mrs. Croft

T HE NEXT MORNING AT BREAKFAST, Sophie told her aunt and uncle about her father’s plan for her to come live with him. As Nicholas had predicted, Isobel was delighted that Sophie was finally going to live with her father. However, when Sir Rupert Fitzsimmons heard about Mrs. Croft, he didn’t like the idea of a half-caste housekeeper.

Damn nuisance, if you ask me, this Croft woman. Couldn’t your brother hire a decent English widow to keep his house? he boomed after Sophie had left the dining room.

She is half English, Rupert, replied Isobel quietly. Her father was a soldier for the East India Company and her husband served with distinction in the Highland Rifles.

Damn the Scots! Rebellious lot! Marrying inferiors! Fathering bastards! Anything to show contempt for British rule, shouted Rupert, staring right through her as though she weren’t there. Rupert knew that Isobel’s father, Alexander Gordon, was Scottish. She had to avoid his eyes before she could answer him.

Apparently her husband died fighting for the British cause. He was killed during an uprising on the twentieth anniversary of the Sepoy Mutiny, she returned sharply.

I don’t care! Let the girl be waited on by the wretched woman, said Rupert. It’s not like Sophie’s really English, not with that Ruskie blood of hers, he added as he went back to reading the morning paper.

I’ll go help Sophie with her packing, said Isobel quietly as she got up from the breakfast table. Nicholas is coming at eleven to collect her. There was no sound heard from Rupert’s side of the table. Isobel quickly left the room with tears in her eyes.

After she packed her things, Sophie said a tearful goodbye to her aunt. Isobel had been a second mother to Sophie and had never had any children of her own. Although Sophie found it hard to leave her beloved aunt, she had no qualms about leaving Uncle Rupert.

At last, she was freed from the formality of Mayfair for the simpler comforts of Number 17 Gloucester Road. All the houses on the street were the property of the current Duke of Gloucester, who leased out his property to prospective tenants the way his royal predecessors had done for generations. Some of the houses were leased for as many as five hundred years, but Nicholas was committed only to the next ten. Number 17 was white with black wrought-iron fencing around it. It was no different from any other house save that it was now their home.

Soon after Nicholas rang the bell, the diminutive figure of Mrs. Croft appeared in the doorway. Sophie had imagined an entirely different woman than the one who answered the door. When her father had described her as a good woman, she had imagined a plump woman of middle age who had graying hair. So Sophie was surprised when she gazed into the sparkling dark eyes of the small young woman who stood before her.

Good morning, Mr. Gordon, said Mrs. Croft in perfect English, although she did have a slight Indian accent.

Good morning, Mrs. Croft, replied Nicholas brightly. This is my daughter, Sophie, of whom you have heard me speak.

Miss Sophie, replied Mrs. Croft with a quick curtsy.

How do you do, Mrs. Croft? said Sophie.

Just then, the cab driver brought up the first of Sophie’s two trunks.

Scuse me gov’nor, where d’ye want these trunks?

In the house, I should imagine, Nicholas replied rhetorically. Mrs. Croft will deal with the trunks once you have them inside the hallway.

The cab driver took one look at Mrs. Croft and shook his head disapprovingly.

’Er? She’ll never make them stairs with this. I’ll carry ’em up for you. Cost you two extra bobs.

I can do it, sir, replied Mrs. Croft somewhat defensively. There’s no need for this young man to trouble himself on my account. I’m stronger than I look.

You? responded the driver scoffing. Not likely. What yer go and ’ire ’er sort for? Why didn’t you ’ire an English ’ouskeeper?

I’m half English, said Mrs. Croft quickly. My father was Sergeant George Baker, my husband was Sergeant-Major Robert Croft of Her Majesty’s Highland Rifles on the Indian frontier.

Still don’t make you English but—

Just bring my daughter’s trunks into the hall, if you please, said Nicholas, cutting short their heated exchange.

Right you are, gov’nor, replied the driver, who went to retrieve the other trunk. Then he carried them both up the steps and into the large entry hall. Nicholas, Sophie, and Mrs. Croft had moved indoors so he could accomplish his task. After he completed the job, Nicholas gave him two extra shillings for his trouble. He left well paid, if somewhat disgruntled.

Afterward, Mrs. Croft apologized for her outburst. She explained that ever since her late employer had brought her to England, she’d been treated either with contempt or as a curiosity.

There’s no need to apologize, Mrs. Croft. I understand all too well how you feel. My dear wife and I had to endure such hostility when we were married.

Thank you, sir, she replied gratefully. I’ll have lunch ready for you in one hour.

Georgina Baker Croft was had been born in Calcutta, India, in 1853 to George Baker and his Indian wife, Sita. Her mother died when she was born, so everyone expected Corporal Baker to give his daughter to a company-sponsored orphanage so he could make a proper English marriage. However, to everyone’s surprise, he kept her with him, thereby ruining any chance he had of marrying