The Duchess of Drury Lane

by Freda Lightfoot

  He winked at me, and playfully chucked my chin. ‘You are worrying unduly, dear girl, but if that is what you wish then I will arrange one for you.’

  For the first time, even though I hated this habit he had of seeking any excuse to touch me, I responded to the gesture with a beaming smile. ‘Oh, thank you, sir. I shall be forever grateful.’

  ‘I’m sure you will. An expression of gratitude is always pleasant, if directed in the correct manner. And there is really no need for you to call me sir. Richard will do fine.’

  ‘Thank you, er, Richard . . . sir.’

  He rumpled my curls and went off laughing, but the glow of satisfaction I felt inside did not diminish and I ran to our lodgings with wings on my heels to share my good news. ‘We will soon settle this debt,’ I promised Mama, and the thought of a benefit inspired her sufficiently to rouse her from her bed to help me learn the lines.

  Daly chose the play, one I’d never heard of, and a tragedy rather than the comedy I would have favoured, which was disappointing. But I was so excited, so keen to do well that I rehearsed and studied for long hours, with Mama’s help. She also guided my choice through a selection of songs, including ‘Melton Oysters’, one of my favourites, which I would do at the end.

  The night of the benefit arrived and despite some nervous flutters in my stomach, I was filled with excitement, eager to begin, constantly peeping through the curtains to check on the audience.

  Sadly, there was barely a soul in the place save for the young bucks in the pit. I was not as popular as I had imagined, which seemed a salutary warning not to believe what one reads about oneself in the press, however good the reviews.

  I performed the tragedy as best I could, considering the paucity of the audience and no sound of the laughter I was so used to, but it was heartbreakingly difficult. I rallied sufficiently at the end to sing ‘Melton Oysters’, as agreed. My voice was not trained but had a sweetness to it, and the song allowed me to lift the mood a little.

  There was a clever, likely lass,

  Just come to town from Glo’ster,

  And she did get her livelihood

  By crying Melton Oysters.

  This was much better received, but not enough to save me.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dora, but there will be no money for you,’ Daly coolly informed me. ‘The expenses of the production far outweigh what we have taken at the door.’

  I was deeply disappointed and hugely embarrassed.

  ‘Do not blame yourself, child, this is no fault of yours,’ Mama soothed as I sobbed in her arms backstage. ‘It was a poor choice of play. Tragedy is not your forte, and there was precious little in the way of publicity for it.’

  Well used to her ranting and railing against Daly, I paid little attention. Who else could I blame but myself? Having pinned my hopes on a large enough sum of money to pay off our debt, to me the failure of my benefit was a huge blow. The £50 he’d so generously insisted I borrow had seemed like a fortune at the time, but was now all gone in doctor’s fees, funeral expenses, grocery bills and the cost of footwear and clothing for my siblings, not to mention costumes for myself for each production. Were I being paid £5 a week, as was John Kemble, there would have been no problem, but there was little change from my twenty shillings by the time our landlady had been paid, and the family fed.

  ‘You sang your little songs most charmingly, dear, and there will be other opportunities, I’m sure.’ As Mama dried my eyes and tenderly consoled me we became aware of a growing noise in the pit. As custom dictated, the manager had gone out on stage to inform the audience of the result of their munificence in attending the benefit. The young Irish bucks were far from happy to hear that no profit at all had been garnered, and there came a huge roar of disapproval.

  ‘Then give Miss Francis another benefit,’ called one.

  ‘Aye, we like her singing. Give her a second chance,’ came a chorus of approval.

  ‘I fear that cannot be done,’ Daly said. ‘Every actress has only one opportunity in any given season for a benefit, and this, our first season, has not been a profitable one. Miss Francis was unfortunate and there is nothing to be done about that.’

  ‘There’s something we can do,’ shouted an aggressive voice from the gallery. And Mama and I looked on in horror as a group of bank clerks joined the young men in the pit, and the whole tribe of them began to break up the benches in their fury.

  ‘Stop this at once!’ Daly roared, but his cries went unheeded. My supporters, which is what they chose to call themselves, even turned on the orchestra, who were making a pitiful attempt to drown out the hubbub by sawing on their violins and blowing loudly into their trumpets. The result was bedlam, until one young man put up his hands to his comrades for silence and began to address Daly in a calm, clear voice.

  ‘These are our demands. You will agree to give Miss Francis one more chance, a proper benefit this time with posters put up around the town to publicize it. And she must be allowed to choose her own play instead of that tragic drivel you put on tonight.’

  ‘And if I do not agree?’ roared Daly.

  ‘Then we will rip this theatre to shreds, and you will have more to worry about than the loss of one night’s profit.’

  Fearful that they might carry out their threats, Daly was forced to concede to the pressure. He had little choice. ‘See what trouble you have brought upon my head,’ he snarled, as he brushed past me and strode away in a rage.

  Mama, who was looking happier by the minute, hugged me tight. ‘Another benefit, and this time you will do well, I know it.’

  She was right. My second benefit, this time a comedy, was riotous in that it proved to be a huge triumph. My supporters were there in droves. The theatre was full to bursting and I pocketed the princely sum of £40. I took it straight to Daly’s office and laid the entire wad of notes and coins on the desk before him, the glow of success still warming my heart. ‘There, does that settle what is left of the debt I owe you?’

  He picked up the notes and counted them one by one, even though he knew the amount as he had himself put them into my hand. He then counted the shillings and sovereigns, every single sixpenny piece, before setting it all in a tin box and locking it back in his safe. Then he came around the desk to stand before me, a wry smile on his handsome face, his squinting eye wandering elsewhere while his good one remained fixed upon my face. ‘It settles about half of it,’ he said in calm, soft tones.

  ‘Half? But I only borrowed fifty in the first place and I have paid a fair amount back already, scraping by each week on a pittance in order to do so.’

  His laughter was a low rumble deep in his throat. ‘You are forgetting interest, my dear, which is considerable for any unsecured loan.’

  I looked at him blankly, not understanding. ‘Interest?’

  ‘A bank would charge you considerably more than I, even were one willing to lend to a young, unknown actress such as yourself with neither means nor reputation.’

  I felt sick to my stomach. In my naivety I had given no thought to interest, nor made any provision for it in my reckoning. Our budget was tight enough, so slim that I could see no way of increasing my weekly repayments. And there would certainly be no hope of a third benefit. ‘How will I ever repay it then?’ I cried, unable to keep the fear and misery from my voice.

  I was so young, so naïve, so utterly innocent.

  ‘I am quite sure,’ he said, with a soft chuckle, ‘that you will think of a way.’ Then, lifting my chin with one finger, his mouth came down upon mine. To call it a kiss would be a misnomer. He devoured me. I was shocked to the core, revolted even, and quickly attempted to step back, out of his grasp. But his arm came about my waist, pinioning me against him, and while his other hand stroked my throat, the assault continued. I was not so innocent that I wasn’t aware of the fact that many young actresses were willing to exchange their favours for a particular choice role. I was not one of their number. Summoning all my strength, I thrust him away.

>   ‘I think you mistake me, sir,’ I snapped. ‘My virtue is intact, and I mean to keep it that way.’

  His laughter was still ringing in my ears as I stormed from his office and up the stairs, in high dudgeon.

  Daly never left me alone after that. Wherever I went he seemed to be hovering right behind me, or would appear unexpectedly out of nowhere. ‘You are sweet as a cherry,’ he would say, capturing me in his arms, or lightly graze the bloom of my breasts above the neckline of my gown with the backs of his knuckles. ‘Ripe for the picking, so deliciously vulnerable. Utterly irresistible!’

  I loathed his hands on me, constantly touching and caressing, trapping me in some shadowed spot just when I thought I had escaped his attentions. ‘I beg you to leave me alone.’

  ‘Why do you pretend indifference when you are equally captivated by me, as I am by you?’

  ‘That is a mere figment of your imagination,’ I told him as sharply as I dared.

  ‘Besides which, do you not owe me considerable gratitude?’

  ‘I shall pay you in cash, as agreed. What would your new wife say were she to discover how you pursue me?’

  ‘Fortunately, my dear beloved does not control every corner of my life, try as she might. In any case, I believe it is you who pursues me,’ he airily remarked. ‘I cannot seem to go anywhere without running across you. I wonder why that is?’

  I longed to say because you never leave me alone, but could not quite find the courage. The tittle-tattle in the green room about Daly’s reputation for seducing young actresses was becoming common gossip. Many a girl had been unable to resist his advances simply because he was her employer, acting often her only means of earning a living. And he was nothing if not persistent. I, however, was determined that much as I feared losing my job, I would not succumb to these seduction tactics.

  ‘I believe you are anxious to repeat that little love scene, in very truth this time, rather than a mere rehearsal.’

  I tossed back my brown curls. ‘I am no such thing. I do assure you I have no wish ever to repeat the experience.’

  ‘Oh, come, shall we say one kiss to reduce the debt by one pound?’ he teased.

  I stared at him in astonishment. ‘One pound!’

  He chuckled. ‘Very well then, what value would you put upon a kiss? Two pounds? Three? I’m open to suggestions. But it must be a proper kiss, with feeling. Let me show you.’

  He pulled me close in his arms, his mouth again devouring mine, his tongue almost choking me this time as it probed and licked. Desperate to free myself, I gave him an almighty heave and pushed him away. ‘Leave me be. I vow I shall be obliged to tell your wife if you do not desist.’

  His laughter was harsh and cruel, for he knew as well as I that I would never risk such a thing.

  The new Mrs Daly was a good actress and well regarded. She loyally supported her husband in running the theatre, and her brilliance was the main reason Smock Alley had survived as well as it had this last year. But she was known to keep a tenaciously close eye on who her husband chose to play the best parts, and to be utterly ruthless with those who transgressed her trust.

  ‘You would not dare to tell her, my sweet. You know full well how fierce my Jenny can be with young actresses who stray on to what she considers to be her private territory.’ He smiled at me with that devilish, squint-eyed grin. ‘But perhaps you could offer a little more than a kiss? I would make it worth your while.’

  ‘Not while I have breath in my body to resist,’ I hissed, shocked by his audacity, yet needing to remind myself constantly that this man was my employer, and that my future career, nay, my family’s survival, lay entirely in his hands. His reputation as a tyrant in charge of his own minor universe was becoming increasingly evident, and as a gentleman he naturally considered himself above the law. My fears grew that I was indeed his next victim.

  ‘In point of fact, I pity your poor wife,’ I snapped, and sticking my chin in the air walked away, head high, fully expecting him to shout after me that I was sacked. But he only carried on laughing, as if biding his time for the next spat between us.

  In the months following I was kept busy with a variety of minor roles. I tried not to mind but was deeply disappointed not to be cast in quite so many good ones, with few leads offered. Other people should be allowed a turn, after all. Mrs Daly naturally took most of the leads, but then it was her money which ran the establishment and she was a gifted actress, so how could I object?

  Daly continued to tease and flirt in that mischievous way of his. ‘Why are you so cruel as to deny me a little of your time and attention? Can you not see how heart-sore I am for love of you?’

  ‘I see you are a rogue of the first quarter,’ I announced, growing braver in my efforts to put him off.

  Fortunately he made no serious advances upon my virtue as he became increasingly distracted by a newly pregnant wife who was constantly sickly. I rather hoped he had finally accepted my refusal, although I would sometimes find him watching me with that odd, squint-eyed stare. And occasionally, he would still hover in the wings and whisper to me as I passed by.

  ‘Have you reconsidered my generous offer?’ he would ask. ‘You cannot deny it is a good one. You know how I long for you. Why not pay me in kind instead? Think of the relief you would feel at being free of the debt.’

  Daly’s constant harassment flustered and enraged me, making me come close to hating him at times. But I studiously ignored his persistent badgering and without fail relinquished five shillings each week, a quarter of my earnings, which barely covered the extortionate interest he was charging. At least Hester was bringing in a little money too now, if not as much as she would like. Following the death of Lucy, Cousin Blanche had asked for my brother Nathaniel to come and keep her company. She treated him as an adopted son, which was good for Nat, and meant one less mouth for us to feed. But Mama was still not well, which was of great concern to me. Better parts might lead to an increase in wages, so it was frustrating always to be the simple shepherdess.

  ‘You realize why Daly is reducing your parts,’ my sister warned me one day after a further disappointment. ‘It’s because you continue to resist him.’

  I looked at her askance. ‘He would surely not be so vindictive.’

  ‘Don’t be naïve, Doll. Richard Daly will allow nothing to stand in the way of his desire. And he wants you.’

  I ruefully admitted that she was most likely correct, and recklessly challenged him on the subject. ‘Why am I never given decent parts any more?’

  ‘All in good time,’ he said. ‘Such favours need to be earned.’

  ‘But you said I would be a part of Smock Alley’s success. What of the three guineas you promised me? Am I not working as hard as I can? Was not the theatre full on the nights I played the lead?’ I was learning to stand up for myself a little more, fighting for the facility to clear my debts and see my family secure.

  ‘Have you thought again of my offer? What price a kiss?’

  I scoffed at this nonsense. ‘If I am not allowed to play leading roles, how am I ever to gain the necessary experience?’

  He squinted darkly at me from beneath his tricorn hat, then leaned close to whisper in my ear, the gold tassels on his pea-green jacket brushing against my breasts. ‘I am not a man accustomed to spending my nights alone, so were you to be a touch more generous you would not find me ungrateful. I am quite certain you and I would do well together. When are you going to give in?’

  I turned on my heel and walked rapidly away, privately vowing never to mention the matter again, no matter how annoying it was to see others given preferment. I concentrated on improving my acting skills still further, resolute on learning my craft, on giving my utmost attention to every part, however insignificant it might seem.

  As Mrs Daly’s pregnancy advanced, like all actresses afraid of losing her favourite parts to rivals, she continued to appear on stage. But by November 1781 even the stalwart Jane Daly was forced to retire. Surely now, I t
hought, I would be granted better roles.

  One night Hester was waiting for me as I entered the dressing room. We’d been rehearsing all day, followed by two performances, and keeping up a level of concentration so that I didn’t miss the few lines I had was strangely tiring. I was eager to clean off my make-up and go home; the prospect of the warm soup Mama would have waiting for us was most appealing.

  ‘Mr Daly has sent for you,’ Hester told me, looking anxious, as she knew how fervently I avoided his presence.

  I groaned. ‘But it is almost midnight and I am bone weary. Whatever it is must wait for the morrow. Help me out of this gown, Hester, I ache for my bed.’

  Our lodgings were an easy walk from Smock Alley, and, as always, we hurried home arm in arm, giggling over whatever incidents had gone wrong on stage that night, as we so liked to do. There was always something, a door that had not opened when necessary, a knock not delivered on cue, or a blank moment when one of the older actors had forgotten a line and I had been obliged to cover it up by paraphrasing it for him. We were laughing over Benedick’s wig having fallen askew in the main production of Much Ado About Nothing, which had not at all been intended, when a smart phaeton drew up beside us.

  ‘Miss Francis, I believe I ordered you to my office.’

  I stared in dismay at my employer. ‘Mr Daly, it is late. I thought the morning would be soon enough.’

  ‘When I demand attendance from an employee I mean it to be at my convenience, not theirs. Pray, step aboard. Since you chose to disobey me, we must have our conversation here and now.’

  ‘But it is past midnight . . .’

  ‘Therefore my patience is thin. If you please . . .’

  My heart skipped a beat. Climbing into a phaeton with Richard Daly at past midnight was not a prospect I relished, but I could see no escape. ‘My sister . . .’ I began.