Love Plays a Part

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  The earl put an arm across the shoulders of each of the men. “Come, let us adjourn to my box. We shall be less likely to disrupt the performance there.”

  Byron chuckled, and Brummell disengaged himself from the earl’s friendly arm. “You have never before been concerned about disrupting the performance,” said he. “We have seen Kean’s Hamlet too, my friend. But we are not Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and I for one do not intend to move from this spot until I have learned the name of your newest - friend.”

  By now Samantha was smoldering. So this was how poor, innocent young women were treated by the high and mighty lords - cozened by fair words and false promises into giving up their virtue and then spoken of loosely by the very men who had contributed most to their downfall! It was only with the utmost effort that Samantha kept her tongue between her teeth. If she said anything now, even so much as a word, she might let her secret out.

  “Her name is Miss Everett,” said his lordship, with something very like anger in his voice. Samantha stole a quick look at his face and found that he was frowning rather fiercely. She wondered if his pride was hurt at being found with a mere seamstress. She began to wish she had risen to her feet with the earl, but to rise now would only incur more looks from the men and, anyway, she could not leave this place until the afterpiece was over. No, the best thing to do was to remain seated and ignore them, these bad-mannered lords.

  Then the Beau looked down at her and said, “Good evening. Miss Everett. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  For a moment Samantha hesitated, but finally she forced herself to reply. Even if they were bad-mannered, she need not appear churlish. “Good evening, Mr. Brummell,” she replied coolly, raising her eyes to his.

  “Now,” said the earl quickly, “come along. I have several matters of moment to discuss with you.” Without so much as a glance of farewell to her he led the others away. She turned her face back to the stage, but though she could avoid looking at them, she could not avoid hearing Byron say, “A trifle plain for me, but then, each to his own taste.”

  His lordship’s reply, if he made any, was lost to Samantha’s ears as the trio moved on. Her nails bit into her palms as she fought to control the anger that was racing through her. How very insulting these high and mighty lords could be.

  A brittle little laugh from the shadows behind her caused Samantha to stiffen, but she did not turn. She knew that laugh. Lily Porter was standing there, and more likely than not she had heard every word of the degrading exchange. Samantha kept her head proudly erect and continued to watch the performance. She would never let that little snip see that she was embarrassed and, anyway, thought Samantha grimly, Lily Porter would fare no better with these lords. Except that she undoubtedly knew how to exchange banter with them in a way that was entirely foreign to Samantha. Samantha frowned. Probably Lily Porter would have jumped to her feet and gaily traded bon mots. She would not have been at all dismayed by Mr. Brummell’s familiarity. For the first time Samantha began to wonder if she had made a mistake in taking this place. If she were to be daily subject to such indignities -

  And then she put a rein on her emotions. She must not let herself be so carried away by indignation. Young women were undoubtedly treated like this all the time. No wonder so many of them ultimately fell victim to their pursuers. There seemed to be more dignity accorded an incognita than an honest woman!

  The afterpiece continued, but much of the humor was lost on Samantha, who was still fighting a battle with her rage. Just wait until his lordship showed up again. She would certainly give him a piece of her mind!

  The afterpiece was soon over, and its frivolity had not served to lessen her anger at all. She was put out with Brummell and Byron, but she was incensed at his lordship. She pulled her cloak tighter around her as she and Jake hurried through the dark streets. They had left somewhat later than usual because Samantha had had trouble finding her cloak. It was not where she left it, and she had had to search the whole of the work room before finding it, stuffed behind a trunk. This sort of thing could only be laid at the doorstep of Lily Porter. Samantha was quite sure the young actress had done it, but of course she had no way to prove that. And so, as she trudged along beside Jake through the dark - and by now almost deserted - streets, she was in a vile temper.

  “Lord Byron sits by you in the pit, doesn’t he?” she asked Jake.

  “Yes, miss.” Jake didn’t shorten his stride. “I saves him a seat.”

  “I see.” Samantha said the words crisply. It was becoming increasingly clear to her that no one would condemn those men for their rude behavior. No one at all. “What sort of person is Lord Byron?” she asked.

  “He’s a good sort. Once a while we talk about the plays.” Jake looked around him nervously. “If you please, Miss Samantha, we’d do better to walk and not talk. There’s a carriage back there that’s sort of suspicious. Been keeping pace with us for a while. It’s too far back for me to see if it’s got a crest. Since there’s not many folks about -”

  “Of course, Jake. Let’s hurry.” Samantha shivered inside her cloak, but she did not turn to look at the ominous carriage. That would only slow them down. The flat was only a short distance from the theatre, and she had never been frightened before. But the business with her cloak combined with the carriage did look rather suspicious, and Lily Porter was not above any kind of skulduggery. Samantha was sure of that.

  They arrived at the flat out of breath but safe. “I’m sorry if I scared you, Miss Samantha. But that carriage did seem kinder queer.” Jake closed the door behind them.

  “It’s all right.” Samantha took a deep breath. “It’s better to be suspicious when you needn’t be than not to be suspicious when you should.”

  As he turned to go off to his room, Jake paused. “Oh, yes. Miss Samantha, I almost forgot. Mr. Pomroy sent a footman today. He says he’s engaged a box for Covent Garden for Thursday next. Mr. Kemble’s a-going to do Hamlet. And Mr. Pomroy thought as you might enjoy to see it.”

  Samantha smiled. “I should very much like that. Please go in the morning and tell Mr. Pomroy so.”

  Jake nodded and looked at her with a little smile. “Mr. Pomroy says as how you should get a new gown, ‘cause this is a good box. To tell you the truth, miss, Mr. Pomroy sets up to be rather fashionable.” His eyes twinkled. “Allowing for his belly and all. And he were more than a little uncomfortable in the two-shilling gallery. Not that I was supposed to tell you that, you know.”

  Samantha suppressed a smile. “I see, Jake. Well, don’t worry. I shall order a new gown tomorrow - so you may set Mr. Pomroy’s fears at rest.”

  Jake smiled. “That I will, miss. Though I’d best be sort of delicate about it. His missus - she got so high in the instep she can’t remember when she used to be just an ordinary young woman.”

  Samantha nodded. “Very well, Jake.” As he went off toward his room, Samantha turned and made her way up the stairs.

  Chapter 9

  The ensuing week seemed a long one for Samantha. Finally Thursday arrived and she was being dressed for her visit to Covent Garden. As Hester helped her into her new gown of coral silk, Samantha thought back over the events of the last week. She had not seen Roxbury since the previous Thursday when he had gone off with Brummell and Byron, leaving her so abruptly. She had thought he might come to see Bannister play Sir David Dunder in Ways and Means the previous night, and she had been rather on edge, wondering how she should behave with him when he arrived. But the play had progressed without his lordship’s presence. Samantha had been forced to admit to herself that she missed his keen comments and his theatrical knowledge. The play seemed flat and dull without him. Still she was spared his rakish remarks and so should have been grateful. Why she was left then with a vague feeling of discontent she could not exactly say.

  She stood before the cheval glass regarding herself in the new gown. She had been right about the color; it suited her well. Of course, her own color was high b
ecause of her excitement over the coming evening.

  Hester brushed vigorously at her mistress’s chestnut hair. Then she began to twist it around her fingers and pile it high on Samantha’s head. “What are you doing?” Samantha cried, almost frightened by the woman who looked back at her from the glass. If his lordship saw her in this gown, he would never cease his pursuit, she thought, then banished the idea. She was not interested in his lordship this evening. Not the least little bit. She was going to the theatre to enjoy herself. Of course, she was bound to make comparisons between Kemble’s Hamlet and Kean’s. But that was as it should be. What a shame Roxbury would not be there to give her his critical insights. But she was thinking of the earl far too often. She must not let the man of taste and distinction blind her to the rake that inhabited the same body. As he himself had said, a rake could only be expected to behave like one.

  Hester finished the curls, and Samantha stared at them critically. “Are you sure this style is not too young for me?”

  Hester snorted. “You’re only five and twenty, you know. Ain’t as though you was carrying fifty years around.”

  Samantha frowned. “Yes, but I don’t want to look ridiculous.”

  Hester grinned, her prim mouth bowing slightly at the corners. “That you ain’t. While you been at that awful theatre, I been keeping my eyes open. And believe me, tonight you look every inch the woman of quality. What jewels you going to wear?”

  Samantha shrugged. “Perhaps Mama’s pearls. I do not like to go about glittering.”

  “It don’t hurt none when you’re trying to attract a man.” Hester stopped, aware of Samantha’s rising anger.

  “I’ll just wear the pearls,” repeated Samantha. “There are matching eardrops too. I need my long kid gloves, the ones that were Mama’s. I remember Papa telling me how they used to dress for the theatre and how lovely she was.”

  Hester nodded. “That she were. A most lovely creature. And you got her good looks - her hair too.”

  Samantha was embarrassed by this praise. She did not feel she truly deserved it. Oh, she was passable enough, she supposed. Her features were regular and her skin was clear. She was not given to overeating either and so had maintained a neat figure. But she would never, by any stretch of the imagination, be a beauty. She could not even understand why the earl should seek her company as he did, especially as he had once made that comment about her plainness.

  Samantha clasped the pearls around her throat and put the loops in her ears. These would have to serve. That was all.

  “I shall take my mama’s good shawl,” said Samantha. “The theatre may be chilly.” She looked at her bare arms and shivered. “I am not used to such gowns.”

  “You look real nice,” said Hester with quiet satisfaction. “I just wish -”

  Whatever her wish, it was cut off by Jake calling, “Mr. Pomroy’s carriage is here and he’s a-waiting.”

  Samantha could not help smiling as she gathered up her things. Certainly Jake’s approach to serving was a unique one.

  Mr. Pomroy, waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, did not seem at all perturbed at Jake’s form of announcing him. Indeed, he was chatting quite amiably with his former servant. As she drew closer, Samantha realized that they were discussing the play.

  “I ain’t seen Kemble do Hamlet this season,” said Jake. “Ever time they does a different play, I got to be there to keep Lord Byron’s seat in the pit.”

  Samantha thought perhaps Mr. Pomroy would think this a Banbury tale, but he merely nodded. “I’ve heard that he prefers the pit.” Then he saw Samantha and beamed in approval. “There you are, Miss Everett. I’ve procured us a prime box. You look quite nice this evening. A new gown?”

  Samantha nodded and was amused by the quick exchange of looks between Mr. Pomroy and his former servant. Everyone, it seemed, was conspiring to get her into new gowns.

  “Thank you, Mr. Pomroy,” she said sweetly. “I’m greatly indebted to you for this evening.”

  The little solicitor shook his head. “No, no, the debt is mine. Mrs. Pomroy, bless her dear heart, has no use for the theatre. Part of the pleasure is the discussion that accompanies the play.”

  “Well, I am not exactly an expert,” disclaimed Samantha, “but I do enjoy talking theatre. I’m very interested in seeing Kemble’s Hamlet.”

  “Ain’t near as good as Kean’s,” said Jake.

  “That,” said Samantha, “is what I’ve been told. Now I intend to see for myself.” She took the cloak that Hester offered her and put it around her shoulders. “I’m ready if you are.”

  “Of course.” Mr. Pomroy led her out to his carriage, quite a nice carriage, she thought in passing. Mrs. Pomroy must enjoy riding about in it.

  “I expect we shall be there in time for the first act,” said Mr. Pomroy somewhat apologetically as they settled on the cushions. “I know that’s not fashionable. But then, I’ve never set up to be part of the ton.”

  “I do not understand the fashionable world at all,” replied Samantha, the dark handsome face of Roxbury rising in her mind. “They seem to have no reason to their lives. Except perhaps” - she hesitated, suddenly realizing that Mr. Pomroy was, after all, male -”pleasure.”

  His round little face turned rosy, but he nodded. “My clients speak often of suffering from ennui,” he said. “That is probably one reason so many of them frequent White’s. There, at least, they experience some excitement.”

  Samantha shook her head. “From what I’ve seen, such a life would not agree with me.”

  Mr. Pomroy smiled. “Not all the aristocracy lead such lives. Many men manage their own estates - a time-consuming operation, you can be sure.”

  Samantha nodded.

  “These men,” continued Mr. Pomroy, “are usually more responsible about their substance. Often, too, they become concerned in the affairs of their workers, those who till their fields and work in their great houses.”

  Samantha found this much more palatable. “That is more like my papa. When he died, he left all his old servants pensions.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Mr. Pomroy. “It was I who arranged them.”

  “Of course.”

  The carriage pulled to a halt outside Covent Garden, and Mr. Pomroy descended and offered Samantha his gloved hand. For the first time she noticed his black breeches and stockings, his dark coat and chapeau bras. Essentially he wore the same kind of clothes as the earl. But while on Roxbury these clothes looked normal, as though this were his inherent mode of dress, on Mr. Pomroy they verged almost on the ridiculous, as though he had accidentally donned someone else’s garments.

  Then Samantha’s feet reached the pavement, and she ceased to think of clothes. The crush of people was not particularly great, not like it had been outside Drury Lane when they went to see Kean. Yet it appeared that there would be sufficient audience to make Kemble’s performance a satisfactory one for the management.

  Some moments later Mr. Pomroy was leading her through a mahogany door and into a box. “This is quite grand,” she said.

  Mr. Pomroy beamed. “It is one of my few extravagances. Mrs. Pomroy being averse to the stage as she is, I usually have to come alone.”

  Samantha continued to look around her. The prevailing background color of the auditorium seemed to be pink, and the usual gilding and elaborate chandeliers gave it an appearance of great richness and luxury. She sighed happily and turned to her companion. “Thank you again, Mr. Pomroy. This is a rare treat for me.” She smiled. “Often at Drury Lane I forget that there is any audience at all. I begin to think that the performance is for me alone.”

  “I have often wished to be allowed backstage,” said Mr. Pomroy earnestly. “But alas, I am not a member of the ton, and I haven’t sufficient money to make myself acceptable otherwise.”

  Samantha considered this. “Really, Mr. Pomroy, I see no reason why you shouldn’t come back to the greenroom some time. Of course, you must not let on how you know me. I’m sure Mr. Kean w
ould speak to you. He’s a friend of mine.”

  “Oh, Miss Everett! Are you sure? I mean, I should greatly enjoy that. But - but I should not like to intrude.” Mr. Pomroy’s face shone with eagerness.

  “Mr. Pomroy, you are too self-effacing. After all, you are a man of substance in your field. You have as much right in the greenroom as anyone. Please, I insist on it.” She smiled at him sweetly. “You have been such a help to me. Let me do this little thing for you. Kean is playing Shylock on Saturday. Say that’ll you’ll come to the greenroom at intermission. I shall tell him you are coming.”

  “Oh, Miss Everett. No mortal man could resist such an offer,” said Mr. Pomroy with such enthusiasm that several people in adjoining boxes looked curiously in their direction. Samantha, however, did not notice. She was too enthralled with everything around her.

  Experiencing the theatre in this way seemed very different to her. That first night at Drury Lane she had been far too excited to notice very much. Now, with eyes aglow, she looked all around. The boxes were full of elegantly dressed gentlemen; their tall starched cravats threatened their ears, and they stared out over the crowd with a gaze of elegant boredom. Finely dressed ladies, ablaze with jewels, whispered to their neighbors or surveyed the pit below. Down there fashionable bucks paraded up and down, displaying their finery and their figures. Samantha suppressed a smile at the antics of several young bucks who preened themselves and eyed each other exactly as the roosters had in the barnyard at Dover. Orange girls hurried here and there with their wares, and a general hum of noise rose from below. Samantha settled happily into her seat. This would be an evening she would long remember.

  Then the curtain rose, and the noise leveled off. Samantha, her eyes glued to the stage, waited for her first glimpse of the great John Philip Kemble. The man who came forward was dressed in a suit of black, but Samantha immediately registered the fact that he also wore some chains of gold and something else that she took to be the order Roxbury had spoken of. For a moment she felt such a pang of longing for his company that she was quite startled by it, but she dismissed it quickly. She could not always have the earl by to make comments. It was time she used her own critical judgment.