“My lord! A pleasure to see you, as ever. Will you follow me?”
The attendant led him up the stairs, then along an ill-lit corridor. Three-quarters of the way down the man parted thick drapes, and what had been a dull murmur of voices changed to a loud buzz, borne on a waft of heated air. Garnthorpe did not enter. “This is not my usual box.”
“A thousand apologies, my lord. But there was such excitement to see Mr. Betterton attempt the Moor, and Mrs. Bracegirdle the tragic Desdemona, that every seat was fought over. A foolish colleague gave your customary box to the Earl of Sandwich before I could intervene.” The man cringed and gestured Garnthorpe in. “I hope this will do.”
“We shall see.” Garnthorpe entered. The box was farther from the stage than he liked. His eyesight was not what it
