Arden's Act

by Elizabeth Thomas

  Margaret’s innocent enthusiasm about the adventure ahead of them came out in frequent exclamations. “Look, look, I see the spires!” she cried, rousing Arden from mournful reflection. She found Margaret’s outcry all the more diverting knowing the Society of Friends professed a preference for plainness. Even Treadwell, Puritan though not Quaker, would decry the spires of the University as High Church vanity.

  Arden found it even easier to maintain her spirits after taking leave of Danny and Esther and boarding the stage. This trip felt far different than her last journey by coach. Not only was there no one to carry her off at each stop, but she had to carry Helena. Also, though the four of them traveled together, they were now women unchaperoned by a manly guardian. Arden’s presence as a widowed matron, though, satisfied propriety. Still, all three adults suffered unease when confronted with a too-bold gaze from a male passenger. At the boarding of one such fellow, Margaret’s discomfort grew so great that she began preaching in a loud, quivering voice. She drew her text from Jesus’ teaching that even looking with lust upon a woman is to commit adultery in one’s heart. The gentleman in question not only kept his eyes to himself after her flight of divine inspiration, but he―and all the other passengers as well―edged as far away from the little group as possible. Arden fought to keep from ruining the effect with a burst of giggles. She welcomed any contribution to the odds in favor of making their journey without incident. Arden not only worried about the safety of her child and her traveling companions, but she still carried most of the gold the King had given her when last she had been in London, as well as her diamonds.

  London! Arden’s emotions as they crossed into the city proper made an even bigger snarl in the skein of her heart than she’d had upon her first entrance. The memories of that entry nearly a year ago composed strong strands of the knot. She had arrived, the fear of Treadwell lingering over her along with the dread she might not be good enough to follow her dream. The dream itself, however, had supported her then. She still held tight to the rope of it, placing her weight upon it more confidently now she had known success upon the boards. Yet the most awful loop, constricting all the other pieces of yarn to a dense, hard ruin, was realizing that she had never known this majestic city without Brian in it. He had been the first member of the Duke’s Company to greet her, had been the first and truest friend she had found in her new life. How cold would London be without the warmth of his heart?

  Or how searing hot, without his net to keep her moth-wings from the peril of Lord Robert’s flame? Was Courtenay still here? Or had she come too late? Had he tired of waiting for her and stolen Kitty outright from her previous keeper? And what, precisely, did Arden hope to find in the answer to these mental questions?

  Arden had asked the Davenants to find her a modest place―bigger than the room she had shared with Brian, but nothing as luxurious as what Lord Robert had so briefly provided her. The Davenants had sent word the task had been accomplished, and told her the location of the house that contained the apartments. Margaret’s cousin Jed, who came to the London station to take her home, graciously offered to give her companions a ride to their new rooms in his plain wagon.

  “But they’re in the theater district,” Arden cautioned the solemn, black-clad young man.

  “Aunt Sarah mentioned thy occupation and thy lodgings,” said Jed, with a gentle smile. “She also mentioned I should think nothing of them.” True to his aunt’s wishes, he quietly drove them away from the station and eventually down the Strand, on the way to the more humble neighborhoods that surrounded the theater of the Duke’s Company. Arden saw that Lord Robert’s house was brilliantly illumined. Candelabras and chandeliers shown through the windows, lanterns hung at intervals along his driveway. Carriages crowded around his property, spilling richly dressed men and women onto his lawn. One of the women trotting merrily up to the entranceway in her finest gown was Kitty Brinks. At Arden’s sharp intake of breath, Bonnie murmured: “She is safely on the arm of her patron, at least.”

  “If safely is a word to be reasonably used in connection with Kitty,” Arden returned, in an equally low voice. Still, Bonnie’s words quieted her spirit, lessened the impulse she had to halt Jed’s conveyance and run towards the lighted house.

  They proceeded without further incident to Arden’s new lodgings, and Jed helped carry their few belongings up to the second floor. After several embraces and promises to visit from Margaret, the Quakers continued on their way, leaving Arden and Bonnie to settle in. Fortunately, Helena was still asleep when they arrived. Popping her into the small, plain crib the Davenants had made sure they would find in the apartments proved an easy matter. Indeed, the whole of the place had been simply furnished. Arden’s new home consisted of two bedrooms―each with an armoire―one large (compared to the bedrooms) sitting room, and a tiny pantry. There was no kitchen as such. Arden and Bonnie could cook uncomplicated meals over the fire in the fireplace. More substantial fare was available in the landlord’s kitchen for a small fee. She should not have to use much of her nest egg from the King. Arden would supplement her actress’s salary by doing Brian’s old job as well―editing the plays the Duke’s Company performed. Davenant had never found anyone to take over this function, and he had quickly embraced Arden’s suggestion. She tried not to think about her father turning over in his grave because of what she might do to Shakespeare.

  “I’ll sleep in the same room as Helena,” said Arden.

  “No, I might as well,” said Bonnie. “You will probably need your privacy more than I. You can come in and take her to nurse, any time you like.”

  Arden looked at her late husband’s cousin. Merriment sparkled in her eyes, and Arden laughed.

  “You would not think me horrid?”

  “Brian didn’t think you horrid when he was alive, before you married,” Bonnie replied. “Why would I think you horrid now? Brian would want you to be careful and wise, but he would not wish you to act as if you had died, just because he did.”

  “You are a good friend,” said Arden. “Very understanding. It must run in your family.”

  The two young women sat in their parlor. Bonnie had made chocolate and they sipped it, getting used to their new lodgings. Helena continued to sleep, but Arden knew from the fullness of her breasts that her daughter would be waking soon. At least she was down to one feeding a night.

  “You know,” Arden said, “we may be making arrangements for something that will never take place.”

  “Perhaps,” agreed Bonnie, after draining her cup. “But were I a gaming woman, I’d bet upon Lord Robert renewing his acquaintance following your first return performance.”

  Helena’s first querulous cries began then, and Arden went into Bonnie’s room to feed her before all retired finally for the night.

  Chapter Thirty

  Arden’s “first return performance” turned out to be a starring role in the play from which her father had taken her name. Mary Betterton had been taking the female lead exclusively while Arden was away, but she graciously stepped down to play Celia to Arden’s Rosalind, knowing what an audience draw a publicized return to the stage after a long absence might be. If it proved London did not care much that Arden had come back, then she and Mary would switch roles for the duration of As You Like It’s run. Arden especially appreciated Mary’s good humor, considering Thomas Betterton would play Orlando. Kitty Brinks would lend her comedic presence to Phebe.

  Her hurried rehearsal for the role and her struggle to revise what she knew to be perfect language into dactylic hexameter, however, depressed Arden. She wondered what Brian used to feel like, mangling the Bard. She could not help envying Rosalind’s ability to manipulate a happy ending for herself, her family, and even brief acquaintances. But Rosalind not only had the Bard on her side; her obstacles made not half the vast and dreadful mountain Arden saw blocking her path to happiness. Rosalind’s father might be exiled, but he still breathed. Orlando was not promised by family and duty to another, and Ros
alind herself never ruined any chances for marriage above her station by performing on a stage. On the other hand, Arden thought, managing a smile, Rosalind never had the joy of independence, nor the thrill of thunderous applause from an audience. Her performances were strictly for private consumption.

  Rehearsal also got Arden past her discomfort in the presence of Kitty Brinks. Kitty played the young woman who falls in love with Rosalind while she masquerades as her male alter ego Ganymede. Though a stiff silence enclosed their first few exchanges of dialogue, the woman whom Lord Robert took practically in the street broke through the barrier as soon as possible.

  “Arden, you can’t freeze me over that,” she protested, raising titters from the rest of the cast.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Arden returned, though obviously the entire Duke’s Company did.

  “That bit I had with Lord Robert,” Kitty explained patiently.

  “None of my affair,” said Arden curtly.

  “Indeed not, considering dear Brian was still walking the earth and sleeping in your marriage bed,” agreed Kitty. “I’m sorry for your loss, Arden,” she added, genuinely tender. “I’m sure we all miss him.” Kitty stretched her arms to embrace Arden, and Arden yielded. As Kitty hugged her, she whispered: “Besides, you can have Lord Robert back any time you want, you know.”

  Arden stared at her, bewildered, as they drew back from one another. “No one here would think the worse of you,” Kitty explained in a low voice. Then, in a more normal tone, she added, “We all know you truly loved Brian.”

  Fighting simultaneous urges to laugh and cry, Arden said: “Thank you, Kitty.” She could no longer hold anger towards someone who understood her so well.

  *****

  On the afternoon of Arden’s return performance, the theater nearly burst with a throng of humanity. Highest in the midst of that throng, of it and yet not of it, stood the King. Arden, waiting to make her first entrance, saw him from the wings. She had heard during her absence His Majesty’s marriage to the Infanta of Portugal had indeed become definite for the future, though oddly for a couple of this station, no proxy ceremony had yet taken place. Nor had the Infanta herself yet appeared. King Charles thus took advantage of his single state by having Barbara Palmer (now Lady Castle-maine due to the lordship given her poor, cuckolded husband) share his royal box. Due to the lighting, the distance, and the voluminous silk folds of Barbara’s dress, Arden could not confirm the rumor she’d heard―that Lady Castlemaine expected another child, and the child most certainly did not belong to her husband. Not, Arden told herself, that I have any right to feel superior.

  Arden barely registered the loud peal of laughter emitted by the King’s mistress after one exchange of dialogue, because right then she realized he was in the audience. She sensed Courtenay’s presence before she located him with her eyes. He sat alone in the family box, and elation rushed through Arden when she saw his solitude. She told herself Courtenay's lack of companionship had nothing to do with it. No, it could only be the thrill of her impending walk into full view before the audience.

  Arden’s first appearance came at the beginning of the second scene of Act I. The crowd greeted her with a thunderous ovation. She waited for the roar to die down before speaking her line, and as she waited, her gaze swept her audience again. His Majesty looked genuinely pleased to see her there, while his feminine companion did not look pleased at his pleasure. Lord Robert’s applause appeared enthusiastic as well, but even at this distance, Arden thought she detected a smugness in the play of his smile. He looked as if he knew he would be quite satisfied, quite soon. Another thrill coursed through her, even while she wished she could rob him of his confidence.

  She took part in the next scene as well, but her third appearance proved the one that threatened to shake the rafters asunder and crumble the theater’s walls to dust. In the second act’s fourth scene, Arden walked from the wings disguised as a young man, displaying her shapely lower limbs from thigh to ankle in a pair of snug and manly leggings. Again, Arden waited for the din to fade before proudly pronouncing: “Well, this is the forest of Arden.” Applause interrupted her performance once more, mingled with good-natured laughter. She required all her will not to laugh with her audience, and to remain motionless until they allowed the play to continue. She did stay still, except for her eyes, which again searched the crowd. She did not precisely miss her Sovereign’s frank enjoyment (and Lady Castlemaine’s scowl), but she more quickly sought Courtenay, and his reaction to her appearance. If she had to categorize his expression, Arden would have called it bemused. He, too, appreciated the picture she presented, but she would bet most of the gold the King had given her that he did not appreciate sharing the view with the huge number of theater patrons packing the boxes and the pit.

  When the play ended, when the watchers had been titillated by the possibility of Kitty’s character attempting to be amorous with her own, Arden came out and made her curtsies to generous applause. She made her first one to the King, but then looked again to the Courtenay family box and its lone occupant. She held his gaze as she made another curtsey. He, standing in the box, made her a sweeping bow. Arden’s heart raced as she finished thanking the rest of her audience.

  As she headed to the dressing room, however, the cries of her hungry daughter pierced the general din of applause. Arden realized how full, rock-hard, and painful her breasts had become. Bonnie held Helena in Arden’s accustomed niche of the room, trying to quiet and comfort her, and she rose from the chair to let Arden sit. The actress obliged, and stretched her arms out to take her baby, clothing already loosened and a shawl ready to drape for modesty. Arden sighed with relief as Helena began feeding.

  After Helena had drunk her fill, and Arden had changed from her last costume, she and Bonnie prepared to walk back to their apartments. When they came out onto the street, she did not see Courtenay’s carriage. Perhaps he waited for me, but did not realize I’d have to feed Helena first. Perhaps he didn’t wait for me at all. No matter, she told herself. A large portion of London has welcomed me back. Few members of the theater audience remained upon the nearby streets. In any case, no one seemed to notice Arden now that she was once more dressed in her simplest mourning, accompanied by her maid, and carrying a drowsy baby. Just as well. Admiration is extraordinary, but anonymity has its joys, too.

  “They all loved you,” said Bonnie. “I thought the place would come down when they saw you in the leggings. What does that feel like?” The sound of their boots on the cobblestone street blended with the taps of other footsteps as they walked.

  “Well, they’re very tight,” replied Arden, archly.

  “You goose!” Bonnie laughed. “You know that’s not what I meant!”

  “It feels wonderful. Would you like to find out?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Would you like to be in a play? Be an actress?” Arden clarified.

  “Oh, no! Stand up there in front of all those people? And try to talk? No thank you, Mistress!” Both young women giggled at Bonnie’s vehemence.

  After that, they moved on for a time in companionable quiet. Arden’s thoughts drifted back to Lord Robert. Surely he will come tonight? I will put on a better dress. He will not like to see me in mourning. But maybe I shouldn’t care so much what he’d like.

  As they neared the apartments, Bonnie reached for Helena. “Let me take her for the stairs,” she offered. “You’ve had to carry her all this way.”

  “Not that she’s a horrid load, but you’re welcome to a turn,” Arden replied, handing her daughter over. She returned to her own thoughts as Bonnie, carrying Helena, moved in front of her to make her way up the narrow path to the building. Hardly any light remained but what came from the torches of other pedestrians; darkness came early to London in February. Arden thought she saw the bushes rustle violently as Bonnie strode past them, but the dimness made her unsure. In any case, bushes did not concern her at the moment.

  When somet
hing―or someone―grabbed her about the waist, she almost got a scream out before she recognized the strong hands gripping her. Arden managed to squelch the volume she’d been mustering, so that her cry became a soft sigh: Oh! She leaned into the bushes to return Lord Robert’s embrace.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The kiss―deep, long, and all-powerful―expressed the better part of a year’s worth of longings. When their mouths had shared every hungry intimacy, Arden broke slowly, reluctantly away. She had just enough light to see his dark eyes looking back at her. Just enough light to read his want, his desire for her. She had, as their lips met, thrown her arms around his neck. She let them stay there, her hands stroking the place where his thick black hair began growing above the nape.

  “Arden,” he breathed, breaking the wordlessness that had reigned since her first sigh of surprise. His hands already under the cloak she wore against the early February damp and cold, he reached up to caress her breasts. Even through the ordinary taffeta of her mourning dress, his touch amazed her. Yet while they had kissed and held each other, they had turned themselves around in the hedge. A small flicker of light caught Arden’s peripheral vision. She remembered Bonnie and Helena then. The light proved to be her maid with a candle, appearing at the window of the room she shared with the baby. Bonnie opened the window. “Arden, where did you go? Are you all right?”

  Arden laughed. “Right as a trivet,” she called. “Go ahead and get ready for bed. I’ll be up in a moment.” She took Courtenay’s hand and said, more softly, “Come on up with me, where it’s warm and comfortable.”

  “You know I’d take you right here in the hedge,” he replied, merriment in his low voice, “but it would be a shame to let these twigs scratch your beautiful skin.” He held a large portion of the shrubbery aside so she could emerge from it, then willingly followed her up the stairs to her flat. Arden took the stairs two at a time, but she could feel him close at her back.