Love Plays a Part

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  “You were very unkind to her,” Samantha replied without even thinking. “You were cruel.”

  The earl’s eyes grew hard, but his voice did not change as he observed evenly, “Besides a good understanding, you have a tender heart. I should have thought that by now someone of your perception would have discovered the vain, shallow Lily for what she is.”

  “I am certainly not one of Lily’s favorite people,” returned Samantha. “And undoubtedly she is vain and shallow. But she is also human, and she has feelings which may be wounded - like any other human being. Also, she has to go on tonight. You have unnerved her. That may interfere with her performance.”

  “You can be quite cruel yourself,” said his lordship with a whimsical smile. “But you condemn me unjustly. Lily has no rights over me.” He paused significantly. “She’s a pretty little thing. And she has amused me. But it will never do to let her think that she has me in her pocket.”

  Samantha found herself growing angry. “I still believe that you were cruel - and unnecessarily so.”

  The earl’s eyes grew very hard, and the line of his mouth tightened, but still his voice kept its even texture. “You are certainly entitled to your opinion,” he replied. “I would only remind you that, having once experienced such feelings, Lily may be better equipped to portray them.”

  Samantha stared at the man. How he could twist words to suit his own ends! “I do not think it proper to discuss the subject further.” Samantha swallowed over the lump in her throat. “I am also aware, though somewhat belatedly, that I have no business giving your lordship advice in such matters. They are of no concern to me.”

  The earl looked as though he might protest this, but then he merely smiled lazily and replied in that affected way of his, “Your apology is accepted.”

  Samantha, though she had not intended her statement as an apology, thought it better not to pursue the matter, and fortunately for this resolve the curtain, at that moment, rose.

  When Elliston had made his first entrance as Leon, Roxbury whispered to her, “See how well he does this. He pretends to be stupid, yet we know he is not.”

  Samantha nodded. The subject matter of this play was making her rather uncomfortable. No wonder it had not been part of what Papa advised reading. The wantonness of Lady Margarita, who desired a husband only, as her friend put it, as “an umbrella/To keep the scorching world’s opinion/From your credit,” caused Samantha to color up, and many of the lines she considered quite unsuitable for female ears.

  “It’s a rare comedy, is it not?” said his lordship, leaning so close that she felt his warm breath on her cheek. “And in spite of his age, Elliston does the part well.”

  “I - I find the play somewhat indelicate,” Samantha said embarrassedly.

  The earl chuckled. “Really, little one? I should have thought that you would be used to such things.”

  Samantha was about to make a cutting remark about the education of young women of quality but, remembering in time, she merely said, “I led a rather sheltered existence. My papa did not allow me to read such works.”

  “Indeed!” His lordship’s eyes narrowed speculatively, as if he were about to ask her a question.

  “Look,” she said suddenly. “Now Leon is showing his true colors. Elliston does that very well.”

  The earl nodded. “Yes, I see. I particularly like the way the man approaches a woman. I must confess to have styled myself upon him on more than one occasion.” His eyes twinkled at her wickedly, and Samantha felt his presence far too deeply.

  “And were you successful?” she asked somewhat tartly.

  His lordship raised a quizzical eyebrow. “But of course.” He smiled smugly. “With the fair ones I am always successful.”

  Now Samantha had her back up for sure. “Such colossal conceit!” she cried, almost forgetting that a play was in progress.

  His lordship shrugged. “You may call it that, if you please. However, if I am conceited, it is justified. Among the ladies I am considered a prime article, a real out and outer.”

  “Indeed.” Samantha regarded him critically. “My, what strange tastes London’s ladies have.”

  The earl’s face tightened momentarily. “There is no woman in London,” he said with that lazy drawl she so hated, “whom I cannot have if I choose.”

  “In that, milord, you are quite mistaken.” She said the words triumphantly. “You cannot have me.”

  His expression of languid interest did not change. “Ah, my pet,” he replied cheerfully, “you forget, the game is not yet played out. I shall get what I want. I am quite confident of the fact.”

  “Really!” Samantha put all the rage she could into her whispered reply. “Then I’m afraid you shall be quite disappointed, for you will never be anything to me but an annoyance.”

  The earl’s face darkened and his mouth tightened. “Have a care, Miss Everett. I make a better friend than enemy.”

  Samantha shrugged. “That is immaterial to me. And now I must leave. I find this play not to my taste.”

  The earl moved swiftly to his feet, so swiftly that, though she could refuse to take his outstretched hand, she could not evade the one that grasped her elbow. She reached her feet and stood there, trembling, while he looked down at her. “I should be pleased to escort you home,” he said pleasantly.

  Samantha shook her head. “No, I shall wait for my cousin’s friend.”

  His lordship bowed. “Very well, Miss Everett. I shall see you soon in any case. I understand that Kean is to play Hamlet next week. I should not like to miss that.” His dark eyes seemed to probe her own, and for a long moment Samantha was unable to break away. Then, just as she took a step, his lordship smiled. “One more thing I am famous - or infamous - for,” he said with great cheerfulness, “is my perseverance. Whatever I want, I persevere until I get it.”

  Samantha felt her cheeks grow still warmer and her heart leapt up to pound in her throat as, unable even to manage a retort, she turned and fled to the sanctuary of the work room.

  Chapter 6

  As the days passed, the London cold grew more severe. About a week later Samantha got out her old fur-lined cloak. It had been her mother’s, and she had brought it to London because of its sentimental value, but now she was glad to have it. The October days were not so bad, but late at night after the play, when Jake came to escort her home, the air was quite cold.

  She called to Hester. “Do you think this cloak looks shabby enough?”

  Hester’s face wore its usual scowl as she entered the little bedchamber. “It ain’t natural. None of this is natural. A girl wanting to be shabby and bad-dressed. Don’t make no sense. You should be going to Bond Street and ordering new gowns. Something to fetch a husband.”

  Samantha sighed. “Hester, don’t you ever give up? I don’t want a husband. They just take over one’s property and run one’s life. It’s extremely unfair, and I know I should not like it.”

  A strange expression crossed Hester’s face. “There’s more use to husbands than that,” she said crisply. “A young girl like you needs a man.”

  “Hester!” Samantha stared at her servant in surprise. “I can’t believe you said such a thing.”

  Hester looked sheepish, but she forged grimly on. “Don’t know why not. Just ‘cause I’m old don’t mean I ain’t got no feelings.”

  “But I thought - That is, you never said -”

  Hester looked distinctly uncomfortable, but she seemed determined to continue. “Some things ain’t exactly fitten to discuss. But the way you been going on, I figure I got to do something.” She swallowed painfully. “Had me a sweetheart once. A likely lad. Big and brawny. I was young then myself.”

  Such a wistful look came over Hester’s face that Samantha felt tears rushing to her eyes.

  “We was going to be man and wife. And he got kilt. So that ended it.” Hester straightened her shoulders. “But I still remember what it was like - loving him. And you ought to have that. I want it fo
r you.”

  “Oh, Hester.” Samantha swallowed over the lump in her throat.

  “Ain’t no need to get weepy,” said Hester, whose own eyes were suspiciously bright. “That were all a long time ago. The thing is - a woman needs a man.”

  “But, Hester, I don’t understand about love. Perhaps a husband would be nice if he were a good companion and liked the theatre as I do.” Quite suddenly her mind presented her with a picture of the darkly handsome face of the Earl of Roxbury. “But I have grown quite used to managing things for myself. And everyone knows a husband wants to manage things.”

  Hester greeted this with a snort, and a smile that could only be called impish curved her thin lips. “There’s many a thing decided in a wife’s favor if all’s well in the bed.”

  “Hester!”

  “Can’t help it,” said that indomitable servant. “This here’s a time for plain-speaking, and I’m the only one around what can tell you anything, so it’s got to be me.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Hester, really I do. But you wouldn’t want me to marry unless I had a partiality, would you? And I assure you, I will be open to that.” For some strange reason the earl’s face again presented itself to her mind.

  “Well, I suppose that’s better than nothing,” conceded Hester. “But mark my words, a husband’s what you needs. Right enough.” She turned back to the door and paused just before she left to say, “Jake’ll tell you the same thing.”

  For some moments Samantha stood staring, the cloak forgotten in her hands. She could not imagine what had gotten into Hester. The old maidservant had always seemed to Samantha to have no use at all for men. And now - A sudden smile crossed her face. It had just occurred to her that Hester had said “Jake.” No longer was she referring to him as “that Jake.”

  Samantha turned back to the wardrobe. Could it be possible that Hester was interested in Jake as a man?

  * * * *

  When Samantha peeked through the curtain at the audience that evening, she was happy to see a full house. Maria had already told her how Kean’s almost miraculous appearance the year before had saved the theatre from a very bad season. This year he seemed to be doing just as well. The pit was quite full, the boxes glittered with the gems of people of quality, and the one- and two-shilling galleries showed row upon row of heads. She looked toward the front of the pit where Jake, thanks to his friend Tippen, the ticket taker, had what amounted to a personally reserved seat. Sure enough, right there in the front row sat the jovial Jake. Samantha’s eye was caught by the dark, curly locks of the man to the right of him, a man whose well-turned clothes proclaimed him a gentleman. As he turned, Samantha saw a face that seemed stamped with suffering. It was quite a handsome face, though perhaps more boyish than Roxbury’s. Then, as Samantha watched in astonishment, this aristocrat turned from the friend beside him and said something to Jake. So Jake was hobnobbing with the upper class now!

  She drew back from the curtain, a frown furrowing her forehead. Hadn’t Jake mentioned that some nobleman preferred the first row of the pit where he could better see the expressions on Kean’s face? She was sure he had.

  She turned away and discovered the Earl of Roxbury standing in the shadows. He was leaning nonchalantly against a wall, watching her coolly. She felt color flooding her face. The scrutiny of his dark eyes was difficult to bear. She seemed suddenly conscious of a great many imperfections about herself and was reminded of his early judgment of her as “a trifle plain.” Determined to ignore his ogling, she turned to the pile of canvas that had become her nightly seat.

  Some moments later his lordship left his position by the wall and advanced toward her. “Good evening, Miss Everett.”

  “Good evening, milord.” She hesitated to sit down because it forced her to look up to him.

  “I see that you have made this spot your own,” he said, gesturing to the canvas.

  Samantha nodded. “It is convenient, milord, and now everyone knows where to find me.”

  His lordship’s dark eyes sparkled. “I shall not forget.”

  Samantha was covered with confusion. “I -I did not mean that.”

  The earl moved closer. “I know you did not, but you color up so beautifully that I cannot refrain from an occasional sally.”

  Samantha did not know how to reply to this and so remained silent.

  “Tonight the great man plays the melancholy Dane. And you are all atwitter.” He smiled at her in amusement.

  “I am excited,” admitted Samantha. “There is something about Hamlet’s character that fascinates me. I have seen him so many times in my mind, and now I am to see a performance for real. Isn’t that something to be excited about?”

  “You are very fortunate to still derive such pleasure from such simple things,” said the earl softly, his dark eyes lingering on her flushed face.

  “Simple! To be able to watch the greatest actor in the world perform Hamlet is no simple thing. I should certainly hope that I will never grow so cold and insensitive as not to appreciate such an opportunity.” She realized suddenly that her breast was heaving and she was glaring at him. What a singular effect his lordship seemed to have upon her.

  “Easy, easy,” soothed the earl. “There is no need to tell the whole world your feelings.”

  Again Samantha was covered with confusion. The earl was quite right. “I beg your pardon, milord. I am rather excitable tonight, I fear.”

  His lordship smiled easily. “That is quite all right. And certainly your feelings are admirable, though perhaps a trifle excessive.”

  He paused as though waiting for her to agree, but she remained stubbornly silent. He raised a dark eyebrow. “You do not agree? Just a trifle excessive?” His eyes held hers and seemed to pull the reply from her.

  “Perhaps, but only a trifle,” she admitted finally, dropping her gaze.

  His lordship chuckled, a warm pleasant sound. “What a gem,” he said. “A woman who admits to being wrong.”

  Samantha brought her eyes up quickly, prepared to defend her sex, only to discover that he was grinning widely. “I have seen you in a temper before,” he said with an amused smile. “But I still enjoy seeing you with flashing eyes and heaving - breath.”

  His eyes dropped slightly as he paused before the last word, and Samantha felt an almost irresistible urge to strike him. “You are quite beyond the line,” she said stiffly, pressing a hand to her flaming cheek. “And if you cannot behave as a gentleman should, I will thank you to go away and leave me be.”

  His lordship’s grin changed to a slight frown. “I intend to watch Hamlet from this very spot,” he said gravely.

  Samantha did not reply but turned her attention to seating herself on the canvas. His lordship stood by until she was settled, and then he too lowered himself to the canvas. He seemed too close for comfort, but Samantha was already on the edge of the canvas and could not move away without getting entirely off it.

  “You should enjoy this very much,” said Roxbury. “Hamlet is one of Kean’s best roles.”

  “Have you seen it performed by others?” asked Samantha. “Mr. Kemble, for instance?”

  The earl nodded. “Yes, I have seen Kemble do it often. I rather favor Kean, I’m afraid. It’s the same old argument of Nature versus Art. Does the best actor learn to portray emotion successfully from watching and studying its effects in real life or from diligently following the conventions built up and observed by other actors over the years?”

  “That seems like an easy enough question to decide,” said Samantha.

  His lordship’s mouth curved into an impish grin. “Really? Well then, suppose you tell me the answer.”

  “It seems very clear,” Samantha replied, “that Nature is the best guide to such things. If one has not experienced the emotion in question, then it seems apparent that the next best thing is to watch someone who has. To merely copy the conventions which everyone takes to stand for certain emotions seems rather lazy on the actor’s part. Such conven
tions are even further removed from the original than the feelings of someone else.”

  His lordship smiled. “My sentiments exactly. And quite well put, may I say.”

  Samantha accepted this compliment quietly. “How is it possible for people to believe that convention is more important than conformity to Nature?”

  The earl frowned slightly. “It is possible for people to believe anything. The longer you live, the clearer that will become to you. One thing that seems often to operate in matters like these is the force of custom. The human animal is a creature of habit. That which he sees first is oftentimes imprinted on his brain as a standard by which to judge. Consequently, anything that deviates from this standard is seen as wrong.”

  “But that’s stupid,” said Samantha.

  “I did not say it was intelligent - or even right,” said his lordship with a brief smile. “I merely said it was so.”

  “If this is true,” said Samantha, “how can you account for Kean’s popularity, which surely has something to do with his espousal of the natural method of acting?”

  His lordship stroked the chin above his high cravat. “Fortunately, at least in this case, human beings are also, the majority of the time, followers. Therefore, when the critic proclaims a player to be great, the theatregoers will follow. Also, in Kean’s case one must admit to the very real force of his personality and talent. Any observer not entirely dependent on Kemble must be swept away, at least on occasion.”

  Samantha smiled. “Sometimes when I think about all the great and memorable characters Shakespeare created, I wonder that one man could achieve so much.”

  “When the man is one of talent, there appears to be no limit to his achievements,” said the earl, removing his gloves.

  For some reason Samantha found this simple act strangely disconcerting. It seemed to speak of an intimacy that did not really exist between them. She found herself staring at his hands, long slender fingers, very artistic looking. The hands of a sensitive, creative person, which was not the way she saw him at all.