Lady of Passion

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘Why did I imagine I could ever act?’ I sobbed.

  ‘But you can do the most marvellous recitations, dearest,’ Mama reminded me, heartsore at my bitter disappointment.

  ‘They said I was too gushing, too insincere and shallow.’ I howled with pain all the more at thought of the harsh criticism.

  Unable to bear my misery, she poured out her heart to her new lawyer friend and it was Mama’s protector, Samuel Cox, who brought the light back into my young life. By chance he knew Dr Samuel Johnson, who in turn was acquainted with David Garrick. It was therefore arranged that I should meet the great man himself.

  I at once set about learning all I could about David Garrick. My ballet teacher was most helpful in this regard and informed me that he was not only a brilliant actor but had transformed Drury Lane. He had apparently banned the young bucks from sitting on the stage and harassing the actresses, greatly improved the sets, and installed better lighting by putting in oil lamps with reflectors that could be directed to a particular spot on stage, producing a more atmospheric effect. He was also adept at revising a play to better please his audience.

  ‘Most importantly, he has a naturalistic style,’ John Hussey told me. ‘And do remember to speak up and not drop your voice when you do the audition.’ There was much more advice of this nature, but I was so riddled with nerves I could barely take in a word of it.

  Mama accompanied me to Mr Garrick’s grand house in Adelphi Terrace. My knees almost gave way as I entered through the pillared hall to be shown into an imposing drawing room, the like of which I had never seen in my life before. The elaborate ceiling was a veritable work of art, with a circular panel of Venus surrounded by the Graces depicted in a series of medallions that were quite beautiful.

  I felt completely overawed, but I must say Mr Garrick was charm itself, and his wife, a delightfully pretty woman, being the former dancer Eva Maria Veigel, even more so.

  ‘Welcome to our home,’ she said, ushering Mama to a comfortable sofa and calling for tea and scones to be served.

  I took no more than a sip of tea, and was far too nervous to eat.

  ‘Come and sit by me, child, and tell me all about yourself,’ Mr Garrick urged, patting the chair beside him. I glanced across at Mama who gently inclined her head, so I accepted the invitation, sitting up very straight with my hands folded neatly in my lap, as she had taught me.

  ‘I believe you wish to be a famous actress, now why is that?’

  He seemed such a nice, jolly old man that I readily answered. ‘Because I think I have the talent to do it well.’

  He put back his head and roared with laughter. ‘A good enough answer indeed. Then why don’t you show me some of that talent.’ And he gently silenced his wife’s polite chit-chat by pressing a finger to his lips.

  I stood before him, my knees all atremble, and began to perform my prepared speech from the play Jane Shore, which at least my ballet teacher’s friend, Thomas Hull, had approved of, even if the managers of Covent Garden had been less than impressed. I’d said no more than a few lines when Mr Garrick held up one hand to stop me.

  ‘Why are you declaiming so loudly? Am I so old that you think me deaf?’

  ‘Indeed no, sir. I was instructed to speak up and project my voice.’ I experienced again that sinking sensation of dreaded failure.

  ‘I want you to put yourself inside the head of Jane Shore. How does she feel about losing her royal lover? Is she afraid of what might happen to her? I wish to hear sincerity in your voice. Direct your speech to me as if you and I were simply engaged in a private conversation. But give it feeling, child. Can you do that?’

  I nodded and, taking a breath, continued, this time concentrating entirely upon what I was saying, feeling it, living the emotion. ‘“The scene of beauty and delight is chang’d. No roses bloom upon my fading cheek …”’

  He heard me out without further interruption. When I was done he sat back in his seat with a soft sigh and quietly applauded, making my cheeks flame bright crimson. Then turning to his wife he smiled. ‘I believe we have found ourselves a little treasure here, my dear.’

  ‘I believe we have.’

  ‘Do you not think her voice very like Susannah Cibber? Now there was an actress, and she had a fine singing voice too. Do you sing, dear?’

  I shook my head. ‘I can sing in tune, but have never considered myself to be a singer,’ I confessed.

  ‘No matter, I believe we can make an actress of you.’

  My heart swelled, almost bursting with happiness. ‘Oh, Mr Garrick, I don’t know how to thank you.’

  He rolled back in his seat on that cheerful laugh of his. ‘With hard work, dear girl, with hard work. Now we must plan a suitable debut for you, one that will fill the theatre and bring in the critics. I shall train you for the role of Cordelia, and dash it, I may play Lear myself. I shall expect you first thing on Monday morning to begin rehearsals.’

  I walked home in a daze of glory, floating high over the wet London pavement upon which we trudged. And so great was her pride in my success that my mother was almost in tears. But as we sat together over supper that night, while I in my vanity contemplated a thousand triumphs, Mama’s thoughts returned to reality and her greatest fear.

  ‘It would be so much safer if we found you a good husband.’

  ‘No, Mama. I have set my heart upon the stage.’

  ‘Oh, my dear! What your father will say when he hears, I dare not begin to contemplate.’

  Rehearsals progressed well and I enjoyed myself immensely. The hours I passed in Mr Garrick’s society were utterly enchanting and engrossing. Although King Lear was a tragedy, in Garrick’s version Cordelia marries Edgar instead of being hanged, which was a great relief to me. I drank in every word of advice the great man gave me, all too aware of his generosity in taking such a risk with an unknown actress. Would anyone even come to see the play? I worried. But my tutor appeared quite sanguine in his expectations of my success, and every rehearsal seemed to strengthen his flattering opinion of me.

  If my performance was good, he would laugh and proceed to dance a minuet with me by way of celebration. Or after a particularly long and taxing rehearsal, he might say, ‘Sing for me, child,’ and I would happily sing one of the favourite ballads of the day.

  ‘You have a beautiful tone of voice, so very like Cibber.’

  But I did not always please him. At times he would seem restless and peevish, which upset me until his wife explained that he suffered from gout which could make him rather crotchety. He did have a somewhat fiery temper which I took care not to inflame. Only when Mr Garrick was on stage could I be entirely certain of how he might react. But I adored him, and he was the most generous of tutors. He also had the most brilliant, piercing dark eyes, and smiled and laughed a great deal.

  ‘Now I wish you to frequent the theatre, Mary, and familiarize yourself with its practices before your debut. You and your dear mother may make full use of my box.’

  Even Mama was in favour of taking advantage of such a treat, and the word soon spread that I was Mr Garrick’s new protégée. Any sense of awkwardness I might feel in that role quickly passed as the word buzzed about that I was the juvenile pupil of Garrick – the promised Cordelia. My young heart throbbed with impatience for the hour of my trial.

  Admirers flocked to my side, showering me with compliments and attention. It was utterly thrilling to be the object of such intense interest whenever I appeared at the theatre. I had turned fifteen, a dangerous age, and was too easily flattered.

  One evening, Mama and I were at the theatre with a small party of her friends, when an officer in full dress uniform had the effrontery to climb into our box. My mother was appalled.

  ‘Young man, what are you about?’

  ‘I wish to see for myself this great beauty everyone is talking of,’ he said, his eyes fixed upon me.

  He was not unhandsome and, bemused as I was by this attention, I confess to being utterly fascinated by th
e fellow’s daring. I was also aware that half the audience were avidly watching the little scene, eager to see what happened next. But then I’d already discovered that observing who was present in the audience, and what they were up to, was as fascinating as anything that might be happening on stage.

  This officer, however, had reckoned without my mother.

  ‘You will desist this instant or I shall call the manager and have you removed,’ she sternly ordered.

  ‘Perhaps another time,’ he said, and smilingly sketching a bow he obligingly retreated and climbed back out of the box.

  A few nights later as we alighted at the theatre from our sedan chair, Mama said, ‘I believe that young officer has followed us. How very vexing.’

  As a young girl beginning to feel my power I was deeply flattered by such persistence, whoever he might be. Later, a letter was delivered to Mr Garrick’s box, where we sat enjoying the performance, conveyed to me by a servant-woman.

  ‘What does it say?’ my mother asked.

  I stifled a giggle as I read it. ‘The writer declares his most ardent love for me. He avows himself to be the son of a notable family, and offers me marriage no less.’

  Startled, but deeply curious, Mama snatched the letter from my hand to read the missive for herself. Then putting up her quizzing glass she searched the audience for a sight of its author. The gentleman concerned raised a polite hand by way of acknowledgment. ‘How very forward of him, although I must say he appears most graceful and really quite handsome,’ she commented, studying him most carefully. ‘Perhaps we may allow him to be introduced to us, after all.’

  I was shocked by her sudden turnabout. ‘Pray do not start your matchmaking, Mama. I am entirely resolved to become an actress, and not at all inclined to favour the addresses of any captain.’

  ‘But he sounds most suitable.’

  ‘By which you mean of good family and blessed with a fortune.’

  ‘It is what your father and I both want for you.’

  I rolled my eyes in despair. ‘Papa is thousands of miles away across the sea, and I intend to make up my own mind what I do with my life.’

  ‘You are far too young to make such decisions. The injunction your father laid upon me keeps me awake night after night. I must take the greatest care of you, dearest, and make every effort to find a more appropriate solution to our difficulties.’

  I understood perfectly that she was nervous of arousing my father’s vengeance, but I firmed my lips and refused to discuss the matter further, my mind quite made up. All my young life I had been indulged, granted whatever my heart desired, and, spoiled child that I was, determined that such a state should continue.

  Nevertheless, at my mother’s instigation, an evening or two later a mutual acquaintance did present my suitor to us with all due ceremony. I paid no heed to his name, but made every effort to put the fellow off. ‘Why would you wish to take an actress for a wife?’ I challenged him. ‘Is this some long-held dream of yours? Would it not damage your good standing in society to be connected to such a disreputable creature?’

  He looked slightly discomfited by my questions. ‘I rather assumed that any young lady who accepted my offer would readily relinquish such a daredevil plan.’

  ‘Of course she would,’ Mama quickly interjected. ‘My daughter’s future has not been firmly fixed at this stage.’

  ‘Yes it has,’ I stubbornly demurred.

  ‘Mary, good manners, please.’

  I turned my back on him and fixed my attention on the stage. ‘I believe the play is about to begin.’

  ‘Then I will return at a more convenient time,’ he said with a bow, and thankfully, took his leave.

  To my great relief, the friend who had presented the captain to us, perhaps alarmed for my safety by what he had witnessed, caught up with us as we were about to leave the theatre.

  ‘I beg you not to take too seriously a single word he says, Mrs Darby. The fellow is an out and out rogue where women are concerned. I fear he has some scheme to dishonour your daughter, as he is already married, his wife young and most charming!’

  ‘Oh, my goodness!’ Mama put her hands to her cheeks in shock, her consternation all too evident. ‘You see what danger you have put yourself in by becoming an actress,’ she scolded me, in that way mothers have of turning their own mistakes upon their offspring.

  The incident did not, however, dampen my pleasure in flirting with all the other young rakes who hovered about me like bees round a honey pot. I was a young beauty on the verge of a new adventure, so why should I not make the most of it? Thrilling as all this might be, the stage still seemed to me the very criterion of human happiness. But then my gaze fell upon one young man in particular, who quite captured my attention.

  He was a solicitor’s clerk and I saw him almost every day as he worked in the lawyer’s offices of Vernon and Elderton in the buildings opposite our lodgings in Chancery Lane. He would sit in the window gazing adoringly across at me, casting flirtatious glances which I readily returned.

  I thought him most handsome, his countenance overcast by a kind of languor, possibly as a result of sickness, which to my sensitive soul rendered him even more interesting. Sometimes, when I approached the window, he would bow before turning away in a show of emotion, as if he were dying for love of me.

  ‘What is it you find so interesting at that window?’ Mama wanted to know, and coming over spotted my admirer gazing upon me with open adoration. ‘Goodness me, girl, are we to have would-be suitors invade our own drawing room?’ And she quickly closed the shutters.

  Of course, I opened them again when she wasn’t looking, and often the young clerk would have me in fits of giggles even as our languishing glances continued unabated. I was not about to allow my mother’s indignation, or the stern threats of an absent father, to prevent me from doing whatever I pleased. Mama fancied every man a seducer, and every hour one of accumulating peril! To me, but a young girl, it was but the mildest of flirtations, and enormous fun.

  One Sunday, Mama was persuaded to accept an invitation to dinner at Greenwich, issued by a colleague of Mr Samuel Cox, her protector. I was also invited, and prepared for the event with some excitement, always delighted by any excuse to dress in my finest. It was then the fashion to wear silks, and I chose a gown of pale blue lustring, with a chip hat trimmed with ribands of the same colour. I was most pleased with the result, and, vain as I was, hoped to produce a stir of admiration.

  As our carriage stopped at the Star and Garter at Greenwich, who should step forward to hand me from the carriage but that very same young clerk from the lawyer’s office in the Southampton Buildings.

  My mother swiftly expressed her indignation. ‘Who is this young fellow?’ she hissed in my ear.

  I judged it best not to respond, blushing to the roots of my auburn curls, secretly relieved that I had tweaked them to perfection, and that in my new gown I presented a pleasing picture for any young man to admire.

  ‘May I present Mr Thomas Robinson,’ said Mr Cox’s friend, a Mr Wayman, and the gentleman who had arranged the dinner. I offered the young clerk a simpering smile before lifting my chin and walking away to join the rest of the party. I certainly had no intention of allowing him to imagine that I favoured him.

  Mr Wayman, however, sang Mr Robinson’s praises at length for the entire evening, mentioning his future expectations from a rich old uncle, and of his likely advancement in the legal profession. ‘He is, madam, most taken by your daughter.’

  ‘He and a dozen others, all better men than he,’ was Mama’s chilling response.

  Thomas Robinson himself said nothing. I would have enjoyed a little conversation with him, but he seemed content to sit and gaze adoringly upon me, which was immensely flattering yet at the same time somewhat disappointing.

  Our party dined early, after which Mama insisted that we return to London without delay. The young clerk remained at Greenwich, apparently for the benefit of the air, having recently recover
ed from a bout of sickness, as I had suspected. But if he had taken the opportunity to gaze upon me, then I had most certainly reciprocated the compliment, finding him even more handsome and agreeable at close quarters than he’d appeared from across the street.

  How vulnerable I was, my emotions easily stirred by a good looking young man and a few seductive glances.

  Perhaps in a bid to put an end to what she perceived as a dangerous flirtation, Mama removed us to York Buildings in Villars Street. But only a few days later, proving he’d had no difficulty in finding us, Thomas Robinson paid my mother a visit. If her manner was at the outset frosty, he was in no way disheartened. The secret smiles I cast him may have helped to raise his confidence, but he wisely paid greater attention to winning over my mother.

  ‘I see you are fond of books, madam,’ he politely remarked, glancing at an array upon our shelves.

  ‘If they are of a suitably moral and religious character,’ she agreed in a most high-flown manner.

  The next afternoon he brought her an elegantly bound edition of James Hervey’s Meditations Among the Tombs. ‘This is but a small token of my respect,’ he told her.

  ‘Oh, my goodness, how very generous.’ Mama was startled, and secretly touched by the gesture.

  Mr Robinson brought more books of a similar nature, of which my mother was indeed fond, winning her round with these attentions so that she began to look forward to his visits.

  ‘There is a good deal to be said in favour of this young man,’ she admitted, casting me a sly glance to judge my reaction to this generosity.

  Whether I was quite so fascinated by him is open to doubt as my head was filled with my debut, the date of which was rapidly approaching. And then came a most devastating blow: my brother George fell ill with smallpox.

  It was a most agonising time. How my mother coped I shall never know. Having already lost two children to this dreaded disease, she now had to face the possibility of losing another. I quickly postponed my debut in order to help her care for poor darling George. To my surprise, Mr Robinson continued to call regularly, readily ran errands for us, brought food, even sat with my little brother to allow us the opportunity to rest. Day and night he devoted himself to the task of consoling my mother, and of attending to her darling boy. He was quite the kindest and best of mortals, indefatigable in his attentions.