The Greatest Showman #988 – Troubled

Edith Hall stood before the mirror, gazing down at her black wide-leg suit pants and white vertical-striped shirt. For a moment, she hesitated, unsure of her next move. Finally, she sighed in frustration. "Oh!" she muttered under her breath, gritting her teeth. She grabbed the red wine glass on the balcony and, though grumbling, moved swiftly, gathering her handbag and leaving the box in a hurry.

She walked to the next room, knocked lightly on the door, and pushed it open, feeling the weight of every gaze from within.

Inside, four people sat in the box. At the center of the group was a couple, accompanied by two men on either side.

The couple appeared to be in their forties, dressed up for the occasion. The woman wore a small lady's hat, though its style and fabric seemed outdated, not quite in line with the latest London fashion trends. Beside them was a young boy, perhaps eleven or twelve, dressed in a suit and bow tie, his demeanor perfectly gentlemanly. On the opposite side, near the farther end of the box, was a familiar face.

Edith raised her wine glass with a polite smile. "Good afternoon, sir, ma'am."

Her gaze shifted to the young man on her left. He stood up, his navy blue suit and pearl white shirt catching her attention. In his early twenties, he carried himself with an air of cool arrogance, his presence as clear and crisp as the icy waters of the Arctic.

She exchanged a glance with him, and the two moved to the space near the door. In a low voice, Edith explained, "Is there still room in your box? Arthur just sent a red alert. George is on his way with the Marquis of Dublin."

The young man frowned, and Edith rolled her eyes. "Yes, you heard me correctly. Baron George Hall is coming to the Almeida Theatre. Ha! Ha!" Her laughter was filled with sarcasm. "Renly may have won this round, but that's no surprise, is it? He's never been one to back down."

A hint of envy flashed across her face. The Hall children always thought Elf was the happiest—pursuing her career while earning the family's respect and admiration. But it was Renly who had truly won: freedom.

"Damn it," Edith muttered. "He could come anytime, but he chose today."

She had snuck back into London for a simple reason: to catch a performance of Les Misérables at the Almeida Theatre. It wasn't supposed to be a special occasion, just an opportunity to take backstage photos for a magazine. She wasn't there to join anyone—until she ran into George. And now, dressed as a capable, professional woman, she knew seeing George would require endless explanation.

"At least you didn't wear smoky makeup today," the young man remarked indifferently, drawing an exasperated roll of Edith's eyes.

"You're not Renly," she shot back. "That was supposed to be funny, but it's just awkward. No charm at all."

He shrugged, unconcerned. "I'm not joking."

Edith huffed in frustration, but then, without warning, she nudged him with her elbow. "I can't handle Renly, but you? You're easy." She smirked, knowing full well that Renly's circle of friends had all been hardened by his influence—they had to be tough with him.

She gracefully lifted her red wine glass and took a sip. "Matthew, your box looks like it can fit another person. What do you think? I came here to enjoy the performance, after all."

Matthew Dunlop stood straight, inhaling deeply as he relaxed his tight muscles. He looked at Edith, a little helpless. "Do you want my seat, or should we move to the second row?"

The box had room for seven, with two rows offering an excellent view of the stage. The staff and any entourage standing by the door could also see the performance.

"The second row is fine," Edith replied.

Matthew opened the door to the box, and the staff quickly acknowledged him. When he looked up, George and Richard appeared in the corridor. Matthew stayed where he was, greeting them politely and exchanging a few words, though Richard was eager to watch the show, so the conversation was short.

When Matthew returned to the box, Edith couldn't hide her curiosity. "So, how was it? Wasn't George's face just priceless?"

"George was very composed in front of the Marquis of Dublin," Matthew said coolly, clearly uninterested in gossip. He then noticed Edith's look of mild disappointment.

Matthew briefly wondered whether Renly would meet George in the box that day. Richard's presence would undoubtedly make things awkward for George. Edith's frustration with the situation became clearer to him.

"Matthew," Edith asked, her curiosity piqued, "Is the Marquis of Dublin here? Should we go over and greet him?"

The man sitting beside them, who had been silent until now, suddenly stood up and interrupted the conversation.

Edith frowned. She was accustomed to the chatter of corners and whispered gossip, especially among the nobility, but this felt rude and invasive.

Matthew handled the situation with poise, speaking with the couple for a while before leading them, along with the young boy, to the next box to say hello to George and Richard.

When Matthew returned alone, Edith's gaze narrowed. "What's the story with them?"

"They're office workers, white-collar types," Matthew explained. "They live in Cardiff, far from the upper social circles of London."

Edith's eyes widened. "Cardiff? That's miles away from here."

Matthew smiled. "Henry is pursuing their daughter. Today was supposed to be Henry's company, but they wanted to bring their son to the theater."

Edith nodded, understanding. She didn't press the topic further. When the staff moved the chairs into place, she and Matthew sat in the second row.

"What about your job in New York?" Edith asked. "Is everything okay? Aren't you supposed to be back by the premiere night?"

"Yes, I've been back for a month," Matthew replied simply.

"Jesus, you came back like this? Is everything fine with your company?" Edith's eyes widened, but before Matthew could respond, she waved her hand dismissively. She already knew the answer.

Growing up with Renly's friends, Edith had seen how they all rallied together, not as individuals, but as a group willing to drop everything when Renly called. It wasn't youthful camaraderie; it was a bond that had lasted well beyond their school days.

"Why?" she asked again, though this time, it was more out of genuine curiosity than accusation.

Matthew's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Edith, you're sitting in the VIP box at the Almeida Theatre right now," he said softly, as though that answered everything.

Edith opened her mouth, but no words came out. After a pause, she finally said, "I'm just here for work today."

Matthew didn't argue with her, merely accepting her words as they were, leaving Edith feeling a bit aggrieved. She took a deep gulp from her red wine glass, trying to soothe her frustration.

"You know, Heather Cross died," Matthew said suddenly.

Edith froze, unsure how to respond.

Matthew continued, his voice tinged with something strange. "I've always had this absurd notion... maybe she was the only one who truly understood Renly."

Heather—her life cut short by illness, her dreams never realized. Before her illness, she and Renly had little in common. In terms of dreams, there were countless others, yet she had shared something profound with him.

Matthew smiled, but it wasn't one of humor. "Ridiculous, I know," he murmured, though his eyes remained serious.

Just then, the door to the box opened once more, and the couple and their son returned. The lights dimmed, and the performance began.

Edith turned her attention to the stage, her thoughts drifting with the music and lights, sinking into the world created by Victor Hugo. The hours slipped by unnoticed, as the grand performance unfolded before them. In the end, the entire audience rose to their feet, applauding.

Edith stood as well, clapping enthusiastically. "God damn it. He's a genius."