Love Plays a Part

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  “I am Samantha Everett, Mr. Elliston. I’m a seamstress.”

  “Ah, yes. I recall having seen you about backstage, and I wondered who the fresh-faced nymph from the country could be.”

  Samantha found it difficult to reply to this bombast. She felt rather ridiculous having this man, who was almost old enough to be her father, treat her with such exaggerated courtesy. She attempted to extricate her arm from his grasp but was not successful. She was beginning to feel real distress, for now memories long buried were surfacing - certain sad looks that Papa had worn when Elliston’s name had appeared in a review. When she had pressed for a reason for this look, Papa had simply said, “The man has two major weaknesses: the bottle and women. By the first he injures only himself, but by the second he injures many a hapless female.” This memory, coming as it did while she stood alone in a dim corridor with the man, was distinctly unsettling. Fortunately, just as he was about to lean closer, the stage door opened again and Maria entered.

  “Oh, Maria, there you are. I was wondering when you’d arrive. I need your advice on something.” She turned back to Elliston. “Excuse me, please, I must get to work.”

  “Of course, my fair beauty. Farewell.”

  As she hurried down a side corridor beside Maria, Samantha shivered slightly. Maria cast her a sage smile. “Ain’t no need to rush me like this. He ain’t gonna bother you.”

  “How did you know?”

  Maria smiled. “He don’t never quit acting, Mr. Elliston don’t. The whole world’s a stage for him. And he’s always playing a part.”

  “I don’t think I understand.”

  “He was playing the gallant young gentleman,” explained Maria. “They say he’s the best stage lover ever was.”

  Samantha shivered again. “Why can’t he just be himself?”

  Maria shrugged. “Maybe he ain’t got no self left. He been on the stage for some years. Sometimes players get a little strange.”

  Samantha considered this. “Well, I didn’t like it much.”

  Maria shrugged. “Elliston, he won’t hurt nobody. Anyway, round here all you got to do is yell. Someone’ll come to see what the fuss’s all about.”

  Samantha nodded. “Of course, I’m not afraid. Just uncomfortable.”

  Maria hunched her bent shoulders under the worn shawl. “There’s a lot in this world as makes folks uncomfortable. Speaking of which, you’d best look out for Miss Lily.”

  Samantha opened the door to their work room and allowed Maria to precede her before she asked, “Why, what’s happened?”

  Maria gave her a shrewd look as she settled into her old chair. “Miss Lily ain’t taking kindly to his lordship dangling after you. She thinks you’re poaching in her territory.”

  “Maria!” Samantha felt the color flood her cheeks. “I have no interest in his lordship as a husband or - or anything else. I was at my station. I really cannot help it if the earl persists in standing by me, now can I?”

  “I suppose not, ‘cepting Miss Lily don’t quite see it that way. She thinks you’re throwing out lures for his lordship.”

  “Well, I’m not!” Samantha was aware that her protest was somewhat excessive, but she was more than a little put out that Lily should be so stupid. Certainly Roxbury was his own man, and he could converse with whom he pleased. “His lordship knows a great deal about the theatre,” she said, trying to speak calmly. “He is a very interesting conversationalist.”

  “I’m sure he is,” agreed Maria with an impish smile. “But since it ain’t likely that he’s ever done that with Miss High an’ Mighty, she can’t hardly be expected to believe that that’s all he’s got on his mind with you. ‘Specially a man with the reputation that Roxbury’s got.”

  Samantha shrugged, still fighting to keep down her anger. “Well, I’m afraid that’s Miss Lily’s problem.”

  Maria frowned. “‘Fraid she’s gonna make it yours,” she said. As if to illustrate her fear, the door burst open and Lily Porter, obviously irate, entered, clutching the blue velvet gown. “Really, Maria,” she said petulantly. “I wish you would assign someone responsible to fix my gowns.”

  “I did that,” replied Maria matter-of-factly.

  “Well then, she must have done it on purpose,” cried the irate ingénue. “This seam is so lumpy that I can’t wear the gown.” She cast a withering look of rage and scorn at Samantha. “She will have to do it over.”

  “Just leave it here,” said Maria, stretching out her hands for the offending article. “I’ll see that it’s fixed proper.”

  “I certainly hope so,” said Lily emphatically. “Or I shall have to speak to Mr. Arnold about her.” And with this she turned on her heel and stamped out.

  Samantha, having won her struggle to keep silent, heaved a great sigh. “My, my, but miss is in a rage.”

  “She is indeed,” agreed Maria. “Now, if she could only act that good -” She grinned. “But that weren’t acting. No, sirree.”

  “Would she really go to Mr. Arnold?” asked Samantha uneasily.

  “P’raps, but wouldn’t do her no good. You’d just need to whisper in Kean’s ear, if Roxbury hisself didn’t speak up.”

  Samantha was finding this discussion rather embarrassing. “Lord Roxbury is quite free to pursue Miss Lily,” she said firmly, ignoring the little voice inside her that insisted there was something very wrong with this arrangement. “I suffered his presence only because I had no other choice.”

  “I might believe that,” said Maria, holding a needle up to thread, “knowing what I do ‘bout your feelings for men. But nobody else is likely to. And I can’t really blame ‘em. Anyone with one eye can see that Roxbury is a prime article.” She chuckled. “If I weren’t an old lady, likely I’d be after him myself.”

  “Oh, Maria!” Samantha joined in the old woman’s laughter, but she certainly did not feel at ease about this situation. Back in Dover she had always treated everyone well and been treated that way in return. Having someone so upset with her was unpleasant. She did not like it.

  “Let me see the gown,” she said. “I know I did a good job on it.”

  Maria shook her head. “Don’t let her be bothering you. I’ll give it to one of the other girls. That way she won’t have no cause to complain.”

  “All right. Then tell me what else I should do.”

  * * * *

  Samantha filled the hours until Jake brought her a bit of supper. Then it was curtain time. The play, Rule a Wife, Have a Wife, by Beaumont and Fletcher, was not one that Samantha was familiar with. It was for that reason that she had elected to watch tonight, when she need not have worked. Though occasionally she and Papa had read these early writers - and Massinger and Ben Jonson - quite often Papa had pronounced the plays not fit for her eyes. Even the great Congreve was the product of what Papa called “a most licentious era.” Samantha felt a pang of longing. If only Papa could be here to see the great Kean in his matchless performances; but at least he was now at peace, no more tormented by the pain that had gnawed at his injured leg.

  Samantha looked out at the audience. Thus it was that they looked to the players. Over the brightness of the footlights rose row after row of faces like some many-headed monster, Samantha thought with a slight shiver, feeling quite grateful that she did not have to face such a fickle monster time after time, night after night. For fickle, audiences certainly were; they would hiss and throw orange peels just as easily as they would rise to applaud.

  Samantha found that her eyes were scanning the crowd, trying to find a familiar face - Roxbury’s face, she realized with an unwelcome clarity. She merely wanted to know if he were in the house or not, so as to avoid him if possible. His presence and his insistence on conversing with her were an inconvenience which she could not appreciate. However, he was well versed in the theatre, and there were undoubtedly things about this play - important and knowledgeable things -that he could tell her.

  Samantha sank down on a convenient pile of canvas. Watching O
thello, she had been too enthralled to feel fatigue, but she did not expect to feel that way this evening. Elliston might be a good actor, but he could never equal Kean. Never.

  Samantha smiled; at times it still seemed incredible to her that her dream should have come true, that she was really here, sitting in the wings at Drury Lane, watching the greatest players in London, and on familiar terms with them. The smile turned to a slight frown. She relished Kean’s friendship, but she did not really care to get any better acquainted with Elliston. How could one deal with a person who was never himself, who was forever playing a character? On the other hand, how could one know she was dealing with the real person? Which was the real earl - the languid, affected rake who stole forbidden kisses or the erudite gentleman who so knowledgeably discussed the theatre? Samantha sighed; it was all rather difficult.

  Then, almost as a comment on her thoughts, a pair of legs clad in black silk breeches and stockings obstructed her view of the stage. Samantha did not need to raise her eyes to his face to know that the Earl of Roxbury stood before her. “Good evening.” He said the words courteously enough, but there was such a gleam of wickedness in his dark eyes that Samantha had an urge to scramble to her feet.

  Instead she forced herself to reply calmly, “Good evening, milord.” She found it rather uncomfortable craning her neck back to see his face, but she felt somehow that she must watch it - almost as though she might read something there, though what she looked for she could not have said.

  “Do not disturb yourself,” said his lordship. “I shall just join you on that pile of canvas.” He spread his coat tails and settled down beside her.

  He was rather too close for comfort and, remembering those kisses, Samantha shifted uncomfortably and half-turned to face him. Though she knew that watching would not forestall him, still she felt safer.

  “You have not seen Elliston do a comedy, have you?” he said pleasantly, and Samantha felt a little of the tension ease.

  “No, milord. Papa and I read his reviews, however, and I understand that he is quite good.”

  Roxbury nodded. “Yes, he is, especially in the type of juvenile or young lover.”

  Samantha regarded him seriously. “Though Papa and I followed the reviews very closely, there are some things about the theatre that are not quite clear to me.”

  The earl returned her gaze just as seriously. “I shall be happy to be of any assistance I can. Have you a particular question?”

  Samantha nodded. “Just now you said Mr. Elliston plays juveniles, yet he is clearly a man of some years. I have seen this word used in reviews, and I can rather guess what it means from the sort of character Elliston is in the habit of portraying. But I should really like to have the whole thing systematically explained to me.”

  “I shall be most pleased to do so,” said his lordship. “What we have here at Drury Lane, and at other theatres too, is a repertory company. Basically it consists of a more or less permanent, self-sufficient company of players, ready and able to act an old play or a new one on very short notice. The composition of this company has changed very little since the Restoration. There are certain acting specialties called ‘lines of business’ which determine the relationships of the characters in the play and also of the members of the company.”

  “You mean the two are related,” said Samantha.

  The earl nodded. “Yes. Now, every company has a leading man to take the principal roles in tragedy and melodrama.”

  “Like Kean.”

  Again the earl nodded. “It has a juvenile who also serves as a light comedian and who plays fine gentlemen and lovers.”

  “That is Elliston.”

  “Yes. Then there is a heavy, perhaps more than one, to play villains and middle-aged men; an old man or two; an eccentric comedian, who does odd characters; a low comedian, who does Tony Lumpkin and fellows of that sort; several walking gentlemen, who play very minor roles; and the utility men, who are useful precisely because they have no specialty and can cover any miscellaneous role.”

  Samantha nodded. “And you have told them to me in the order of their precedence in the company.”

  The earl smiled. “You have a quick understanding. For the female of the species the lines of business are similar, though not so numerous. The leading lady, such as Mrs. Siddons was and Mrs. Bartley is; the second lady, variously called the juvenile lead or ingénue; an old woman; a female heavy; a pert hoyden to do chambermaids, et cetera; a walking lady; a character actress; and a female utility. There are also certain supernumeraries whose number depends upon the play. But they are not regular members of the company.” His strong mouth curved into a boyish grin. “You may yourself be called upon to serve in such a capacity.”

  “Not I,” replied Samantha, thinking of her earlier perception of the audience as a great monster. “I should be quite terrified.”

  The earl continued to smile. “Supers have no lines, you know. They merely walk on, perhaps carrying something - a handkerchief or a spear.”

  Samantha shivered. “I doubt that I should even be able to walk. I wonder at how the players can face the audience.”

  The earl frowned thoughtfully. “You forget the adulation the crowd may bestow. Imagine having that great throng rise to their feet in tribute to your skill.”

  Samantha considered this. “I’m afraid I cannot. Oh, my mind recognizes the marvel of it, but I am quite unable to feel what it would be like.”

  The earl continued to look thoughtful. “That is a distinction I have not previously considered.” He was silent for several moments. “Perhaps that is what separates those actors of genius from the rest of us. They are capable of feeling what they have not experienced.”

  “I had not thought of it like that either,” said Samantha. “But I believe that might well be the case.” She did not realize that she was smiling warmly at him, but if she had, she would have defended herself by saying that it was very pleasant to hold conversation with a man capable of stretching one’s understanding.

  “Elliston is a capital juvenile,” said the earl. “Never have I seen a man give a more realistic portrayal of one in love. Indeed, on several occasions at least I have known him to be playing opposite a woman he abhors and yet do the job so well no one suspected.”

  Samantha shook her head. “I first really met him today. I -” She paused, not wanting to bring Lily Porter’s name into the conversation. “I - I tripped and he helped me.”

  The earl’s dark eyes narrowed, and his mouth settled into a stern line. “Then what happened?”

  “He paid me some compliment and we parted.” She felt the scarlet flood her cheeks at the memory.

  “Did nothing else occur?” asked his lordship rather too sharply.

  Samantha sighed. “No, but I felt uncomfortable, as though he were playing some part.”

  The earl nodded. “That is Elliston. He’s always on stage.”

  “I did not like the feeling it gave me.”

  Roxbury nodded again. “Perhaps because you did not know him. One of his favorite pastimes is to step to the footlights and by his histrionic ability persuade the audience of the most complete falsehoods. Once I saw him convince an audience that he had discharged a certain player because he was too given to his cups and did not do his duty by his wife and children. The poor actor was hissed out of the theatre and the town, when in reality he had no wife and children and no more fondness for the bottle than any man - less than Elliston himself.”

  Samantha found herself shivering. “Why do you suppose he does such things?”

  The earl shrugged. “Power is a heady thing. Especially if one is not used to it, it may well lead to excess and corruption.”

  “Well,” said Samantha softly, “I guess that is one thing I shall not have to worry about - being corrupted by power - since I have so little.”

  A strange look stole over the earl’s dark face, and then his features took on the lazy grin of the rake. “You are quite wrong there, little one.
Your power is perhaps of a different nature but, be assured, as a woman you have a great deal of power.”

  Samantha felt herself color up again. “I am a poor seamstress, milord. And I think it extremely unkind of you to mock me.”

  The earl frowned, giving his dark face quite a thunderous expression. “I do not mock you, Miss Everett. Not at all. And you know it.”

  Samantha was about to expostulate with him on this when she heard the swish of a velvet skirt and there stood Lily Porter. The hand that held her skirt up contrived, inadvertently one was supposed to think, to expose a slim ankle. “There you are, milord.”

  Lily’s voice was so sweet that Samantha was startled. Then she realized that she had never heard the girl speak nicely before.

  “Good evening, Lily.” The earl seemed quite at ease and, turning back to look at him, Samantha was sure she detected a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

  “I have been waiting for you in the greenroom,” said the girl, unsuccessfully trying to mask her anger with a smile.

  “Really?” His lordship seemed startled. “I was not aware that we had made arrangements.”

  “You said you were coming to see me perform.” Lily made the statement into a petulant accusation.

  “So I did and so I have,” returned his lordship calmly.

  “But - but I expected you to meet me there.” Rage and humiliation struggled with each other, both leaving their marks on Lily’s youthful features.

  “My dear child,” his lordship drawled, “it is certainly unfortunate that such a misunderstanding occurred. But it is doing it up too brown to lay the blame at my door because you misunderstood.”

  Lily was plainly close to tears now, and even the glance of rage that she threw at Samantha did not keep her from pitying the girl.

  “I - I must go check my makeup,” Lily faltered at last and marched away, head high.

  His lordship turned back to Samantha, who did not return his smile. “Why do you glare at me like that?” he asked.