Love Plays a Part

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  “Now, now, Samantha.” Maria put down her sewing. “Take a deep breath. Do it now.”

  Obediently Samantha took a deep breath.

  “Now count to ten. Very slow.”

  ‘Mar-i-a! He’s waiting!”

  Maria shook her head. “You can’t go anywhere till you calm down. Just look at you. Why, you’re trembling like a leaf in a storm. How can you sew anything like that?”

  “Yes, Maria. One, two, three!”

  “Slower, slower. Take another breath.” Maria looked at her sagely. “Rehearsal ain’t for a while yet. And Mr. Kean, he’s got time. He’s a good actor, Mr. Kean is. But when you get to know him, he’s just as reglar as anyone else.”

  “Yes, yes. I know, Maria.” Samantha took another deep breath. “I will calm down, Maria, really I will.” Samantha forced herself to stand still and breathe deeply. “There now, see? I’m perfectly calm.”

  Maria chuckled. “Well, I guess you’re calmer than you was. Some calmer, anyway.”

  The old woman looked at her so comically that Samantha broke into laughter. “All right, Maria. I admit that I’m being silly. But I can hardly believe that this is happening to me.”

  “You’ll get used to it after a while,” said Maria wisely. “Now, your basket’s right there in the same place you left it yesterday. Just go along to Kean’s dressing room - and take your time. Hear now!” she called out as Samantha scooped up the basket and hurried out, shutting the door behind her. “Take your time!”

  Samantha slowed her steps, but it was not because she was heeding Maria’s advice but because she had suddenly realized that she was soon going to be in Kean’s dressing room, holding one of his garments. Even sewing on it! She almost stopped dead in her tracks at the thought, but then she took a deep breath and forced herself to go on. She could not continue to behave in this ridiculous fashion. People would soon tire of such childish goings on.

  Outside Kean’s door she stood for several moments, trying to gather her scattered courage. Finally, clutching the basket as though it were some talisman of good fortune, she knocked timidly on the door.

  “Come in,” came Kean’s voice, and Samantha wondered that even this simple command could sound so thrilling. Taking another deep breath, she pushed open the door. Kean looked up from a table where he was studying the copy of a new play. “There you are. Come over here.”

  “Yes, sir.” Samantha forced herself to move slowly. “What - what is it that you need mended?”

  “It’s over there on my chair. My tunic for tonight’s performance. I tore it some way - don’t quite know how.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Kean. I’ll mend it right away. Right away, sir.”

  “Take it easy, youngster. The play’s not for another five or six hours. Sit down and talk to me.” He swiveled around in his chair and faced her.

  “T-talk, sir? What about, sir?” Samantha picked up the tunic and, holding it, settled into the chair.

  “First,” said Kean with an exaggerated frown, “if you don’t stop calling me ‘sir,’ I shall talk to Arnold about having you dismissed.”

  “Dismissed!” Samantha jumped to her feet, barely remembering in time to clutch the sewing basket.

  He nodded. “I mean it. Unless you stop this miserable sirring, I shall take steps - drastic steps - to have you removed from the company. Now, do you understand that?”

  “I - I - Yes, si - That is, I understand. I think.” Samantha settled back into the chair, still clutching the basket and tunic.

  “Good. Now perhaps we can get to know each other. Be friends.”

  “F - friends?” Samantha could hardly believe that any of this could be taking place.

  “Yes, friends. Actors need friends too, you know. Actors are people. You do know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, s - That is, of course I do. But - but you can go anywhere in London. Be welcome any place. Why, all the ton are eager to have you as a guest.”

  Kean shrugged, his frown no longer make-believe. “The ton? Forget that. I don’t like to be gawked at like some freak in a raree show. I’m not comfortable with those people. They’re just not my kind.”

  “But - but why me?” Samantha stared at him.

  Kean fingered his chin thoughtfully. “I can’t say exactly. There’s just something about you that I like. I can tell by your speech that you’re educated. Yet you aren’t of a class that makes me nervous.”

  “Sir- That is, Mr. Kean. There’s something I should tell you.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “I - I’m not what you think I am. That is, Mr. Kean, I am wellborn. And - and I don’t have to work here.” She didn’t know what drove her to confess her secret, but she couldn’t stop. “I let Mr. Arnold think I was poor so he would give me work. You - you won’t tell him, will you?” She realized what she had done, and tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. “I’ve dreamed for so long, waited so long for the chance to see real plays, to be part of the theatre.” She wiped hastily at her eyes. “Please, if you tell him, he’ll dismiss me.”

  “Simmer down, Samantha.” Kean’s chuckle was reassuring. “I won’t tell old Arnold anything. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

  “Thank you, Mr.-”

  Kean shook his head. “No more Mr. either. With a secret like this between us, we must be on a first-name basis.”

  “Oh, sir, I couldn’t.” Samantha clasped her hands together.

  “Yes, you can. The name is Ned. Say it. Ned. Ned, Ned, Ned.”

  “N-Ned.”

  “Say it again. Ned, Ned, Ned.”

  “Ned, Ned, Ned.”

  “That’s better. Say it again. Ned.”

  “Ned.”

  “All right. You’ll get used to it.” He smiled at her. “Thread up your needle, Samantha. There’s a rent in the front of the skirt.”

  Recalling her conversation with Jake, Samantha giggled nervously.

  “Well, and what is that about?” asked Kean.

  “My manservant - he was telling me about your tunic. And he said that it must be awfully chilly for those poor creatures who have to wear it all the time.”

  Kean smiled. “The thing is rather drafty, but it’s authentic, and that’s what we need. The idea of playing the Moor in a British officer’s coat is ridiculous in the extreme.”

  As Samantha bent to examine the richly embroidered tunic, he continued. “So, you have a manservant.”

  Samantha nodded. “Yes, Mr. Pomroy loaned him to me. My father’s solicitor – now mine.”

  Kean scratched his ear. “And have you others in your establishment?”

  “Only Hester. She was my maidservant back in Dover. She abhors the theatre, calls it an abomination. But she came with me to protect me. She’s the only friend I have.”

  “Not anymore,” Kean replied with a winning smile. “Now you have me. But go on. Tell me about Dover and your life there.”

  And so, as Samantha stitched up the tear in the tunic, she told the great man about the lonely years in the country. When she was finished, Samantha offered the tunic to Kean for inspection.

  He shook his head. “No need for that. I trust you can sew.” He glanced at his timepiece. “I suppose you should get back to Maria and your other duties. And I have to get ready for rehearsal.”

  He rose as she got to her feet and extended his hand. “But remember, Samantha, we are friends. From time to time I shall have things to be mended.”

  Samantha nodded as she shook his hand. “All right.” She hesitated by the door.

  Kean smiled at her. “Don’t fret yourself, Samantha. I’ll keep your secret, never fear.”

  “Th-thank you, Ned.”

  “You’re quite welcome.”

  As Kean closed the door, Samantha moved off down the corridor. It was unbelievable that the great actor could be so kind and considerate. Actors were supposed to be temperamental. Highhanded. With their noses in the air. Puffed up with their own importance. That was what Papa had said they were of
ten like. And, after all, they deserved to be treated differently. They were almost like another species, such talented people.

  Samantha opened the door to the room she shared with Maria. She was almost pushed over as Lily Porter came swishing dramatically by and knocked against her.

  “Excuse me,” said Samantha, but the irony of her exclamation was lost on the irate Lily.

  Samantha continued into the room. “Whatever is the matter with her?” she asked Maria, who was holding a blue velvet gown.

  “She wants to know why her gown ain’t taken in yet.”

  ‘But she doesn’t need it today, does she?’

  Maria shook her head. “Course not. But that don’t mean nothing to her. When Miss Lily wants something done, she wants it now.”

  Samantha shook her head. “It’s a shame some little lordling doesn’t come along and spirit off Miss Lily Porter.”

  Maria chuckled. “Ain’t no little lording going to satisfy that one. She got her eye on a prime article.”

  “Really?”

  Maria nodded. “Yes, sirree. She’s got the Earl of Roxbury dangling after her.”

  Samantha felt the color flooding her face. “But would an earl marry an actress?”

  “Some has done it.” Maria smiled. “Some men, when they wants something, won’t stop at nothing to get it. But I think Miss Lily’s off the mark here. Roxbury ain’t no stripling just out of leading strings. He’s been on the town these many years. He ain’t gonna marry no player. Not that one.” She nodded wisely. “Certain sure he ain’t gonna marry that Lily. He’s just looking for a new dasher. And if she don’t come across with what he wants soon, he’s gonna go looking in other places.”

  Samantha did not reply to this but pretended to be deeply engaged in examining a gown that she had picked up. There was no doubt that Maria was right about Roxbury. The man was obviously only interested in amusement. The thought of him marrying a little nobody like Lily Porter was utterly ridiculous. And, if he did marry, he would surely continue his man-about-town ways. Not a prospect that little Lily would countenance, Samantha thought with a small smile.

  “I’ll go ahead and do her gown,” she said. “We might as well keep her happy if we can.”

  Maria nodded. “You’re a good girl, Samantha. There’s some as would take offense at her being so pushy and all.”

  Samantha shrugged and smiled. “I do not let myself be concerned by little things like that. Not when I can be part of the theatre.”

  Maria nodded. “You got sense, Samantha. I just hope some man don’t come along and steal you away.”

  Samantha laughed. “There’s no need to worry about that. I told you, Maria, I’ve no use for men - at least not like that.”

  “Yes, you told me,” said Maria with a smile that showed that she was not at all convinced.

  * * * *

  The afternoon passed swiftly. There was always something for Samantha to do. She only found time for her meal because Maria insisted on it. And then it was time for the performance to begin.

  As she took her place in the wings for the opening scene, Samantha was joined by Kean. The brown makeup changed him greatly, but Samantha would have known him anywhere from those piercing black eyes. He glanced down at the richly embroidered tunic which stopped shortly above his knees and the open Roman sandals and smiled ruefully. Then he leaned close to Samantha to whisper, “Your manservant was right. This get-up is terribly drafty.”

  Samantha could not help but smile at this piece of humor on the great man’s part. Together they watched the villainous Iago go about his machinations. Samantha shivered slightly. “How evil the man is.”

  Kean chuckled. “Wait till you see my Iago, if you think that’s villainy.” He grinned at her. “You may not even like me afterward.”

  Samantha frowned. “Of course I should still like you. You are not that kind of person.”

  Kean regarded her seriously. “There are those who contend that a man plays best those characters that are most like his own. And my Iago is very wicked.”

  “Nonsense,” said Samantha. And then, seeing the twinkle in his eyes, she smiled nervously. “You are funning me. That’s not fair.”

  Kean shrugged. “Just a little practice. I am an actor, you know.”

  And then it was Scene Two, and Kean entered with Iago and the attendants with torches. Before her eyes the man was transformed. He seemed to grow bigger, and though Samantha knew for a fact that he stood no taller than she, still he seemed to project so much power, so much manliness, that he looked bigger than anyone else on the stage. She stood there spellbound as he spoke, and when he said, “I fetch my life and being/From men of royal seige,” he looked every inch a prince.

  There was a movement beside Samantha as someone took a place there but, engrossed as she was in the play, she took no notice until someone whispered, “He does it quite well, don’t you think? The little man is a far better specimen of royalty than our own beloved Prinny.”

  Samantha turned to look up into the darkly smiling face of the Earl of Roxbury. “What are you doing here?” she said coldly, trying not to let him see how his closeness unsettled her. In the past several days she had resolutely pushed all thoughts of the man from her mind on those too frequent occasions when they had intruded there. She was not to be driven away from her long-awaited dream by any toplofty lord. “You have no business backstage.”

  “Au contraire,” said his lordship. “As a patron of Drury Lane, I have free ingress to its inner sanctuaries at all times.” He reached out a gloved finger and lightly touched the furrow between her brows. “Do not scowl so, little one. You will mar that lovely face.”

  “I am watching the play,” said Samantha, thinking how difficult it was to be icily correct when one was forced to whisper. “And I’ll thank you to leave me alone. Lily is probably in the greenroom.” She regretted this last remark the moment it was made, for it revealed a familiarity with his lordship’s concerns that indicated far too much interest on her part.

  Just as she feared, he was not slow to pick up on its implications. “Jealous already, my pet?”

  For a moment Samantha almost forgot where she was. She opened her mouth to shout at him angrily and then, remembering, closed it sharply and turned back toward the stage, where Othello was entering the duke’s council chamber with the others.

  “A noble figure, is he not?” continued Roxbury, quite as though she had never told him to leave her be. “I particularly like this speech.”

  On the stage Othello was saying, “Little of this great world can I speak,/More than pertains to feats of broil and battles.”

  “See how warrior-like he looks,” Roxbury went on. “What noble simplicity and self-confidence he portrays.”

  “I do not need your comments on the play,” Samantha almost hissed at him, so distracted was she by this continual whispering in her ear.

  Roxbury chuckled softly. “You may as well relax and enjoy my enlightened company,” he continued cheerfully, “for I am quite conversant with the ways of the theatre, and I know that you cannot leave your station here. Your presence in this place, with your ever-ready needle, is required. And, since I find your company interesting though a trifle surly, I shall stay right here through the remainder of the play.”

  Samantha could barely suppress her fury at this nonchalant disregard of her wishes. Must her dream be spoiled by the interference of this arrogant lord? “Are you too cheap to rent a box?” she asked acidly.

  A momentary tightening of his lordship’s strong mouth told her that she had scored a hit, but his voice maintained its same even quality as he replied. “No. In fact, I have rented a box for the season.” He took a step closer, so that the sleeve of his corbeau-colored coat brushed against her arm. With difficulty she stood her ground. Surely he would not repeat his kiss of the other day. Not here, where everyone could see.

  “But what you do of necessity - observing from the wings - I sometimes do from desire. The play l
ooks different from here. It is usually easier to observe the varying expressions on Kean’s face, though, master of the art that he is, every limb is capable of portraying his emotions.”

  Samantha, remembering Maria’s earlier advice, strove to calm herself by counting slowly and silently to ten. Perhaps if she presented his lordship with a pose of indifference, he would tire of his game. That it would have to be a pose was very clear to her. There was something strangely disturbing to her about the Earl of Roxbury, something that must be based on more than his unflattering remark that she was plain, especially since he was now pursuing her in a way that indicated quite the contrary.

  Unconsciously Samantha sighed. His attack on her person in that stolen kiss had been provoking, certainly, but neither could it account for the strange combination of feelings that warred in her breast. Her few days in the city had already showed her that lords of Roxbury’s ilk considered all the young women of the theatre as game. And, to be perfectly fair, Samantha was convinced that most young women saw things the same way. Also in fairness, she supposed she should concede that Roxbury would be a plum for any young woman. Though obviously past the age of thirty, he was still in his prime. In his black coat, his black silk breeches and stockings, with his precisely tied cravat rising above a white marcella waistcoat and his chapeau bras under his arm, he was quite a figure of a man. That much she could in good conscience admit. And she supposed that she must be rather an anomaly to such a man, into whose strong hands young women most likely fell like ripe fruit.

  As the play proceeded, she continued to stand silent, not condescending to reply to his remarks, though after some time she was forced to admit to herself what certainly she would never have conceded to him: that, for all his rakish airs, the Earl of Roxbury really did know his theatre. This thought was followed almost immediately by one even more striking: Perhaps she could learn something from the man. Since he was entirely correct about her not being able to leave her station, she might as well receive his remarks with an open mind. After all, the fact that he was a rake did not necessarily say anything about his knowledge of the stage.