Darkest of Times [Albert J Moriarty] - Moriarty the Patriot

Act 3, Scene 1 - The Almost

Tapping her foot against the floor, Eleanor leans forward in the chair as her eyes scan the newspaper, pages scattered along the surface of the dressing table. Her tired eyes survey the words.

'After reading the previous reviews of Miss Eleanor William's Lady Macbeth performance, she did not disappoint —she was in fact depressing.'

Lip quivering, she snatches the paper from the table, looking down at the article between her tears and attempts to blink them away. She clears her throat, forehead creasing as she crumples up the paper and tosses it to the side carelessly.

Grabbing her coat from the back of the door, she hastily pulls it on over her dress, throws the door open and slams it shut behind herself.

"Eleanor? Eleanor!"

"Yes!" She whips around to face Emily who has her hand raised at Eleanor to gain her attention.

"Is everything alright?"

"Splendid, yes," She sniffles, her nose reddening.

Emily places her hands on her hips. "Are you sure? You don't seem—"

"I'm fine." Eleanor nods, turning on her heel, a nonchalant wave over her shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Storming out of the side entrance, she shuts the door with a bang, proceeding to kick the door a few times with an exasperated groan. She slams her fists against the wall beside the door, chest heaving as she holds back more tears.

"This seems familiar."

She jumps back, startled by his voice and a hand on her chest as she regains her footing.

"Sorry, I'm earlier than we planned."

"Albert," She breathes a sigh.

He rushes forward, eyes full of concern. "Why are you crying, Eleanor?"

Brushing the hair from her face, she huffs a weak laugh, waving him off. "I'm not crying, it's nothing at all."

"Eleanor," His eyes try to find her own and he steeps his head down. "Please, tell me what troubles you."

Giving in to his gaze, her glossy eyes meet his and his chest tightens.

As he opens his mouth to talk, Eleanor raises a finger to his lips to silence him. "Please, Albert, I'm fine. It was merely another poor review, as to be expected."

His warm touch meets her hand, lowering it from his lips, before holding her hands together comfortingly. "If you don't want to talk about it, I won't ask again. But I don't wish to brush aside the tears you shed. At least promise me you'll smile."

She nods, the corner of her mouth turning up and he smiles in return. Lacing their fingers together, Albert motions to their hands.

"Is this okay?"

"It's nice." She responds, biting back a wider smile and wiping under her eyes. The pair begin their evening stroll together, hand in hand, down the streets of London.

Lit only by streetlamps, the roads are fairly quiet, horse-drawn carriages going by and restaurants bustling with people inside.

"Are you warm enough?" Albert asks.

Eleanor nods, her other hand finding its way to his arm and she hugs into his side as they walk.

He smiles to himself. "I was surprised you suggested an evening stroll."

"I have somewhere I want to show you that can only be accessed by foot," She tells him. "I thought it made a nice change from taking a carriage everywhere."