Love Plays a Part

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  Samantha rose swiftly. “Tell my cousin thank you,” she said. “I’ll be home after the play.”

  Jake nodded. “I’ll just be meeting you and walking you home. It’ll set your cousin’s mind at rest.”

  Samantha nodded. “Very well, Jake. I’ll see you then.”

  By the time she had finished the bit of supper, the players were beginning to arrive for the evening’s performance. Her arms full of mended gowns, Samantha followed Maria out into the corridor. They were moving toward the women’s dressing rooms when the stage door opened to admit a small man with dark eyes and curly black hair. Maria paused. “Good evening, Mr. Kean.”

  “Good evening, Maria. It looks like a good night.”

  “Yes, sir. Indeed it does.”

  As she realized the identity of the man at whom she was looking, the gowns slipped from Samantha’s grasp. “M-Mr. Kean?”

  A pair of brilliant dark eyes surveyed Samantha critically. “Who are you?”

  “M-me?” Samantha stared at the great man in awe.

  Kean’s mouth curved into a smile. “Yes, you. What’s your name?”

  “I - “

  Maria came to her rescue. “Her name’s Samantha, Mr. Kean. She’s just in from the country, and she’s a bit taken aback to see a great man like yourself in the flesh. Ain’t that right, Samantha?”

  “Y-yes.” Samantha strove valiantly to regain her senses. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that - For so long I’ve dreamed. And to see you so close. It’s - it’s like a dream come true.”

  “No need to apologize, girl. I’ve enough ham in me to enjoy admiration. But for your own sake you’d best retrieve those gowns. If our little Lily finds her gown on the floor, she’ll take it out of your hide.”

  “Yes, sir.” Samantha bent to pick up the gowns and was astonished to find the great man helping her. “Oh, sir!”

  Kean laughed. “Come, come, Samantha. Enough of this adulation. I’m a man like other men. I just happen to be reasonably good at my trade.”

  Samantha rose, her arms full of gowns. “Oh, but sir, I saw you on the stage.”

  Kean laughed again. “Come Maria, take the little innocent away. And tell her that I’m real.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Kean.”

  Samantha followed Maria as the old woman moved on. She was still in half a daze, but she was gradually regaining her senses. What a great man Kean was. To be so considerate of a newcomer. “Oh, Maria,” she breathed. “Such a wonderful man.”

  Maria turned to regard her helper. “Like he says, Samantha, he’s just an ordinary human being. Folks are good at different things. Kean’s just good at acting.”

  “Yes, Maria, I know.” She was just remembering how foolishly she had behaved in front of the great man, and the color flooded her face. “I expect I’ll get used to being around such people.”

  “You better had,” said Maria matter-of-factly. “You ain’t going to be able to work proper if you keep on just gawking at Kean.”

  Samantha nodded. “Yes, I understand, Maria. I’ll do better. Really I shall.”

  * * * *

  The next two hours passed even more swiftly than the afternoon had, and Samantha, hurrying here and there, had little time to think of adulation or anything else. She had never worked so hard in her life, she thought, as, grasping her sewing basket, she hurried from a dressing room toward the stage. Thank goodness, once the performance began she could stop to watch it from the wings. Maria had told her to take up her station there in case she should be needed.

  Hurrying around the corner, she had only a glimpse of a white marcella waistcoat and a corbeau-colored coat before she collided with it and was knocked breathless to the ground. As she fell, the sewing basket slipped from her grasp and scattered its contents over the floor. “Oh!” Samantha shook her head to clear it and looked up. Another “Oh!” escaped her lips as she met the dark laughing eyes of the Earl of Roxbury. She stared at him in amazement. Below his coat a pair of black silk Florentine breeches, black silk stockings, and black slippers completed his attire. Above the waistcoat rose a magnificently tied cravat.

  Samantha pushed at her hair, which had come undone from its knot. “You!” she sputtered.

  The earl extended a gloved hand. “Such a pretty miss shouldn’t be sitting on the floor. Come, let me help you up.”

  Samantha glared at him. So now she was a “pretty miss.” He didn’t even remember the incident at the inn. It had been nothing to him.

  She disdained the outstretched hand and, getting to her knees, began to pick up the scattered needles, pins, and thread.

  “So, the pretty miss isn’t speaking tonight.” He knelt on the floor and began to help her pick up her supplies. “You must be new. I haven’t seen you around before.”

  “That’s because I just began today,” she snapped, accidentally pricking her finger with a recalcitrant pin. “And if you do not get out of my way, I shan’t have my job for long.”

  The earl laughed. “Don’t fuss yourself about that, little one. Old Arnold will keep you on as long as I say so.”

  His gloved hand captured her wounded finger, and before she knew what he was about, he had raised it to his lips. She drew it back abruptly.

  The earl grinned wickedly. “Have you never heard of something being kissed to make it well?”

  “Of course I have,” she replied curtly.

  “I shall be glad to apply that remedy to any portion of your anatomy which has suffered from our accident.”

  The red flooded Samantha’s cheeks, and her hand trembled as she pushed again at her tumbled-down hair. “You - you are quite beyond the bounds.”

  The earl did not take offense. “Indeed, little one. You must be new in from the country to be such an innocent. Do you mean that I’m the first to notice your charms?”

  “I am not interested in such things,” Samantha snapped. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Indeed.” The earl chuckled. “It’s very clear that you’re from the country. Little innocents like you don’t last long on London’s streets. Better to become a dasher to a lord than to some fat cit.”

  “Milord!” Samantha scrambled to her feet, her bosom heaving under her old gown. “You insult me!”

  Roxbury rose gracefully to his feet and drew near her. Samantha took a step backward, and the earl laughed. She braced herself to face him; she would run from no man. “Here, little one. Here’s your last spool of thread.”

  He pressed it into her hand and then, before she knew what he was about, he had pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers.

  It was the first kiss Samantha had ever known, and the shock of it traveled over her body in a shuddering wave. It was not at all what she expected a kiss from Roxbury would be like. It was gentle and easy, tender and persuasive. For a moment Samantha was lulled by it into semi-surrender. And then she realized what was happening, and her anger returned full force. She pushed roughly at his waistcoat, but before he released her, his tongue traced a gentle curve around her lips. From deep within her some strange thing stirred and wanted to respond.

  Then his lordship held her away. His eyes slid familiarly over her face. “You’re not a chit anymore, my dear. You’d do well to remember that.”

  Anger left Samantha momentarily speechless, and she could only stare at him.

  One finger touched the fabric of her old gown. “You should have better gowns than this, a pretty thing like you. Gowns and jewels. And a nice little establishment.” He reached out to finger a loose strand of hair. “A maid all your own. A dresser. A butler.” He traced a warm line down her cheekbone. “You’ll find I can be very generous. You should be able to squirrel something away for a rainy day.”

  Finally Samantha found her voice. “You mistake me, milord, I have no wish for a - a protector.” She forced the word out.

  “Nonsense. Every young woman needs a protector. London is a wicked city, especially for a sweet thing like you.”

  Roxbur
y was plainly laughing at her indignation, and Samantha felt her rage rising. How terribly insolent the man was. Insolent, toplofty, arrogant. And very disturbing. She tried to ease out from under his hands, but his grip did not lessen. “You’d not treat a lady like this,” said Samantha angrily.

  Roxbury grinned. “Of course not, little one. But then, I’d have to marry her - unless she was already married. In which case I should serve her, in a slightly different capacity.”

  “Oh!” The blood flooded Samantha’s cheeks again. How she longed to tell this arrogant bully what a terrible mistake he had made. But she dared not. She dared not let him know her real station in life. It would cost her her dream. She would simply have to put up with this indignity. There was no other way.

  “You’d best listen to me, little one.” Those dark eyes probed deep into hers. “I’ve been on the town these many years, and I’ve seen a lot of young women like you. They end up one of two ways. Either they marry some poor laborer, or they become some rich man’s dasher. It’s inevitable.”

  “Lord Roxbury,” said Samantha with all the dignity she could muster, “please unhand me. You - you are -”

  “Beyond the bounds,” he said with a wicked grin. “You have already told me that.”

  “It appears that telling you anything does very little good,” replied Samantha curtly.

  “You’re a spunky little thing,” the earl said with a lift of a dark eyebrow. “I have to admire that, though it’s foolish of you to resist me.”

  “I suppose that does annoy you,” said Samantha crisply. “But then I suppose even a lord can learn that everything doesn’t always go his way.”

  The earl shook his dark head. “AU contraire, little one. I find that resistance piques my interest. A little challenge.” A sardonic smile curved his lips. “I should warn you, though. I always win in the end.”

  Samantha drew herself up proudly. “I suggest, milord, that you are mistaken this time. I do not intend to be a challenge or to pique your interest. I only intend to do my job here. That is all.”

  She wriggled loose from his hands. “And I will thank you not to interfere.” With that she gathered all the dignity that she had left, whirled on her heel, and stalked off. The effect of this was rather dramatic, but it was somewhat marred by the sound of the earl’s laughter, which followed her in mocking echoes down the hall. “That’s it, little one. Make the chase an interesting one.”

  Samantha slammed the door to the work room behind her and stood panting with her back pressed to it. Her legs were trembling under her old gown, and she realized belatedly that she had left the sewing basket on the corridor floor. She scrubbed angrily at her mouth. The insolent beast. Who did he think he was?

  He thought he was a lord, a part of her replied, and, even more to the point, he thought she was just a poor young woman. How fortunate that she had not completely lost her temper and revealed the truth, though more than once she had been tempted to do so. The things that Maria had told her were quite true. Samantha was beginning to see that life in the city was much more complicated than she had imagined it when she’d been secluded in the Dover countryside.

  She took a deep breath and willed herself to relax. The earl was gone now; in a little while she would retrieve the basket. He would be merely an annoyance, but once he realized that she meant what she said, that she was not interested in finding a protector, he would undoubtedly leave her alone.

  Somewhat calmer, she pushed herself away from the door. How strange that he did not remember that incident at the inn. And now he found her pretty. She was entirely unaware that a little smile curved her lips at the thought. Then she opened the door and went to retrieve her basket and take her place in the wings for the scheduled performance of Man and Wife.

  Chapter 4

  The next several days passed swiftly. At noon Jake walked Samantha to the theatre for rehearsals; later, around five, he showed up with a little something from her “cousin” for supper. Loquacious and friendly as he was, Jake soon began to talk as though the theatre had become his life too. Samantha barely refrained from laughing aloud as he spoke familiarly of Kean and Elliston, Wroughton and Rae, as though he had known them all his life. Poor Hester, bedeviled by two people who were dazzled out of their senses by that terrible abomination, the theatre, could only look grave, shake her head, and sigh dolorously.

  Samantha, though she did not feel quite so proprietary as Jake, did begin to feel at home. The dressers and seamstresses, already overworked, were always glad to welcome another to their ranks, and Samantha fit in smoothly. She was especially careful not to take offense at being ordered about, a situation which occurred rather frequently, since she was the newest addition to the company.

  Four days had passed since the evening that Samantha had sat enthralled through Kean’s performance of Richard III. Now, as they hurried toward the theatre, she spoke to Jake. “Tonight Kean is doing Othello. Oh, it’s going to be just wonderful.”

  “Have you seen him since the other day?” asked Jake. The only place he behaved like a servant was in the privacy of her rooms. On the street he treated her as an equal, behavior that under the circumstances she did not discourage. They could never know when they might be seen by one of Samantha’s fellow workers. And seamstresses did not have servants to follow them about.

  Samantha shook her head. “No, he did not play in Man and Wife, and of course, last night, since it was Sunday, there was no performance. But I can hardly wait to see him tonight. I do believe that the Moor is my favorite character in all of Shakespeare’s plays.”

  “I ain’t never read no plays,” replied Jake, “seeing as how I can’t read. But I seen Kean do Othello last season.” He rolled his eyes, and his wrinkled face took on an expression of awe. “I ain’t never seen the like of it. The expressions on his face. He didn’t make it so black, you know. Not like Kemble. Just a lightish brown. Looks real good on him too, and he wears a kind of dresslike thing that shows his legs. I heerd say that’s the kind of rig a real Othello would wear.” Jake shook his head. “Poor fellers must’ve got chilly, running around in them kind of things.”

  Samantha smiled. “I believe that in the Moor’s country the weather is rather warmer than here.” She pulled the shabby cloak closer around her. The October wind was getting chill.

  “P’raps so,” acknowledged Jake. “But I got to pity any male critter what has to wear skirts.”

  By this time they had reached the stage door. “I’ll be bringing along your supper as usual.” Jake grinned devilishly. “Sure wish I could get that Hester down here. She don’t know what she’s missing.”

  “That’s true,” said Samantha, returning his grin. “But I don’t think anyone could get Hester anywhere near a theatre.”

  Jake’s grin grew wider. “If she didn’t have such a tongue, I’d take a chance on fooling her somehow. But oh, that woman do know how to say the sharpest things.”

  Samantha nodded. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to be patient with her.” She shivered as a gust of wind rustled her cloak. “Are you going to be there tonight?”

  Jake nodded enthusiastically. “I sure am. In fact” - he lowered his voice and looked hastily in each direction - “I got me a new friend. He’s the ticket taker. So I’m gonna see the whole thing from the start.”

  Samantha laughed. “Very good, Jake. You’re a man who knows how to make his way in the world.”

  “That’s God’s truth, miss. I been getting along all right these many years, but now I figure to see a play ever night if I choose.” His smile stretched from ear to ear. “And I expect I’ll be choosing, all right. Me, I’m gonna get a seat right there in the front row of the pit. I hear tell Lord Byron, him as writes them po-ems, and his friend, Moore, likes to sit there. They’re really the best seats, ‘cause you can see and hear everything what goes on. That Kean, he does wonderful things with his face, and you can see ‘em best up close.”

  Samantha nodded. “Well, enjoy yourself
, Jake. I’ll meet you at the usual place.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  As Jake moved away, Samantha turned the knob on the stage door and stepped into the theatre, into the warm and wonderful world that she had dreamed of for so long.

  She was hurrying along the dim corridor toward the room where she worked with the other seamstresses when the door to Kean’s dressing room opened and he stepped out.

  “Oh!” Samantha barely stopped in time to avoid crashing into him.

  “Whoa, there, little one.”

  A shiver went over Samantha as the epithet reminded her of her encounter with Roxbury, but she drove that memory from her mind and forced herself to regard the great man. His black eyes gazed at her with friendly attention, and he ran his hand through his dark, unruly curls. “You’re the new girl, aren’t you?”

  Samantha nodded. “Y-yes, sir.”

  Kean smiled warmly. “You’re just the person I want to see.”

  “I - I, sir?” In spite of all her efforts Samantha’s voice broke, and she felt the red color her face.

  “Yes. Come now. Hang up your cloak and get your sewing basket. I’ve got a tear that needs mending.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

  “Samantha, that is your name, isn’t it?” His eyes laughed at her.

  “Oh, yes, sir. But how could you remember?” Samantha stared at him in awe.

  Kean laughed. “You forget. I’m an actor - a quick study. Now, why wouldn’t I remember a simple name?”

  “Of course you would, sir.” To her surprise Samantha found herself smiling. “It’s - it’s just that - well -” She suddenly recalled herself. “Oh, you don’t want to hear about me. I’ll get my basket, sir.” And she scurried away, Kean’s chuckle following her.

  She burst into the work room she shared with Maria, crying, “My basket. Oh, Maria, where’s my basket?”

  “I expect it’s right where you left it.” Maria’s wrinkled face stretched into a smile. “Whatever has put you in such a taking?”

  “It’s Kean. Mr. Kean. He wants me to fix something for him. I have to find my basket!” She wrung her hands in distraction.