Love Plays a Part

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  Kemble was obviously taller in stature than Kean. Even at this distance she could see that. Momentarily Samantha congratulated herself on acquiring her job at Drury Lane. From there she had a much better view. No wonder Byron and his friends preferred the pit. From this distance it would be difficult to make out the fine nuances of expression that Kean’s face registered so well.

  Kemble, she saw, had a noble Roman nose and a look of great dignity. At this distance the fact that he was a man well into his prime was not so noticeable, and Samantha did not give it much consideration. She had told herself repeatedly that she must keep an open mind about this performance, that she must not let her having seen Kean first in the part blind her to whatever beauties Kemble might impart to it. But immediately he began his soliloquy she found her resolve weakening. His performance was so different from Kean’s. So much - she sought for a word - so much stiffer. Inadvertently she remembered an old line from one of the reviews she and her father had read and reread; perhaps it had even been about Kemble. She could not remember. At any rate, it seemed to apply to this performance. The line read: “He played the part like a man in armour, with neither variableness nor shadow of turning.”

  Well, thought Samantha as the curtain fell for intermission, it was clear to her that Kean was by far the better actor and the School of Nature far to be preferred to that of Art.

  She spent the intermission silently gazing around her and considering what she had seen. Mr. Pomroy seemed similarly lost in his own reflections and did not offer to open any conversation with her. Very soon the curtain rose again.

  With every word he spoke, Samantha discovered fresh flaws in Kemble’s interpretation. When the afterpiece began, she could not in reality say that she had enjoyed herself. She had, she felt, seen for herself that the earl was correct in his critical comments. That was one thing, beside his dark good looks, that he could be admired for. And of course he really could not be credited for his looks.

  The afterpiece passed before her without engaging much of her attention, and Mr. Pomroy gazed at her rather quizzically when it had ended. “And how did you enjoy the great John Philip Kemble?” he asked as they rose and began to make their way toward the stairs.

  “I found the performance inferior to Kean’s,” she said. “But I am very grateful to you for the chance to see him. It is always better to see for one’s self.”

  A little frown puckered Mr. Pomroy’s forehead. “He is certainly of a different school of acting. But tell me, could you not discover any beauties in this portrayal? Did you not see in Kemble the scholar’s eye, the soldier’s spirit? Was there not in his presentation a retrospective air, an intensity and abstraction?”

  Samantha considered this all the way down the stairs and out to the carriage. Finally, after she was settled on the seat, she spoke. “I really would like to see the beauties you speak of,” she said. “But I cannot say that I do. I believe that Kemble is undoubtedly a great actor - of the old school - that unaffected Hamlet that is Kean’s that I cannot appreciate acting that depends on the artifices of conventionality.”

  “But convention is convention precisely because it is old and established. Kean seems to ignore it. He introduces his own points of business, points which no one has ever used before.”

  “But,” Samantha said, “didn’t someone once originate each of what are now conventions? Most of them are not actually written into the plays. They must have originated with someone.”

  In the light of the carriage lamps she could see Mr. Pomroy’s round face pucker in concentration. “Perhaps so. But still, a man must respect the rules - what has gone before. We build, after all, on the past.”

  “But genius,” cried Samantha. “Genius has the right to ignore the rules, to go beyond them. Surely you can see that?”

  Mr. Pomroy’s nod was slow in coming. “I suppose so. But I must really say that I enjoy each portrayal. Each actor brings out different facets of the Dane’s character. I can appreciate them both.”

  Samantha smiled. “You are a very fortunate man, Mr. Pomroy. I suspect you get the most out of everything.”

  “Thank you, Miss Everett. I find that it pays to keep an open mind.” The carriage drew to a halt. “And here we are at your door already. It is certainly convenient to live so close to the theatre.” He sighed. “But Mrs. Pomroy would never permit it. She must live out in the fashionable suburbs.”

  He opened the door and climbed out, then turned to assist her. “I must thank you again for your company,” he said politely. “I much enjoyed our conversation. And if you have not changed your mind about it, I should very much like to come to the greenroom night after next and meet the great Kean.”

  Samantha nodded. “Of course I have not changed my mind.” The smile turned to a grin. “But please do not tell Mr. Kean how much you enjoy Kemble’s Hamlet!”

  Mr. Pomroy chuckled nervously. “Of course not. I am a man of the world, Miss Everett, a man of business. I know very well when to keep my tongue between my teeth.”

  Samantha returned a smile. “I’m sure you do. Thank you again, Mr. Pomroy.” She turned and made her way to the door, where Jake waited, and the solicitor returned to the carriage that would take him home to his wife. Someday soon, thought Samantha as she climbed the stairs and was readied for bed, she would have to meet Mrs. Pomroy, to see if that legendary spouse fit the picture her mind had drawn of her.

  Chapter 10

  The next two days passed quickly, and Samantha, back in her old routine, gave little thought to the gown of coral silk or the extravagant luxury of Covent Garden’s interior. She did think rather often of Kemble’s portrayal of Hamlet and contrast it to Kean’s. She even gave quite a bit of consideration to Mr. Pomroy’s suggestion that she might find beauties in both interpretations, but try as she might she could not feel that Kemble’s portrayal was as good as Kean’s.

  On Saturday, as she hurried about her chores, she thought often of Mr. Pomroy and wondered if he would take up her invitation to come to the greenroom. She had taken time to apprise Kean of this possibility, and he had smiled impishly and said, “I promise to be nice to your nervous friend, Samantha. At least he’s not a lord.”

  She smiled now at the memory and hurried on to the work room. Maria had been kind enough to have someone take her place on Thursday night, and she did not want to fall behind in her work. She speeded her steps, anticipation at the prospect of seeing Kean’s Shylock giving her added energy. As she entered the work room, she almost collided with Lily Porter, who was coming out. The lovely face was marred by a look of complete hatred and rage. Samantha drew in a sharp breath at the sight of it. Never had anyone looked at her with such terrible animosity. Then Lily was gone.

  Samantha slumped into a chair, her good spirits temporarily deserting her. “My goodness, Maria. How terribly she looked at me. And I’ve never done anything to hurt her.”

  Maria’s smile was knowing. “Perhaps not intentionally. But you have stolen Roxbury from her.”

  “But I don’t want him,” cried Samantha angrily. “This whole business is his fault. Why can’t the man leave me alone?”

  “He must think he has a chance at success,” said Maria, continuing to repair the tunic she held.

  “But he hasn’t.” Samantha rose from the chair and began to pace the floor distractedly. “I enjoy his conversation. That’s all. I would never, never become what he wants. It’s unthinkable.” She shrugged. “And I’m not as young and gullible as Lily Porter. I should never expect that the earl would marry me. He’s not the marrying kind anyway. And certainly not for -” She flushed. “What he must be able to get quite easily without the legalities.”

  Maria did not reply to this, merely continuing to stitch. A sudden suspicion rose in Samantha’s mind. “Was she complaining about me?”

  Maria nodded. “She’s already been to Mr. Arnold, but he refused to dismiss you. I collect Kean’s had a word or two with him.” Seeing Samantha’s distraught face, she a
dded hastily, “You got no cause to worry. The only important person Lily could get close to was his lordship. And he ain’t about to want you dismissed.”

  Samantha threw herself back in the chair with a great sigh. “Oh, Maria. I just don’t see why things have to be so complicated. All I want is to do my job. I’m not dangling after any man. You know that.”

  Maria nodded. “I know, but evidently his lordship don’t.”

  “But I’ve told him and told him,” she cried.

  Maria’s wrinkled face curved into an impish smile. “A real out ‘n’ outer like his lordship ain’t likely to believe such a tale. There’s hardly a lady in all of London, married or not, that wouldn’t be pleased to have the earl after her.”

  Samantha sighed again. “I wish he would find one of them. The other night Lily hid my cloak and I had a terrible time finding it. At least I think it was Lily,” she added. “I don’t like all this trouble. I know she talks about me too. I overheard her the other afternoon.” She twisted restlessly in her chair. “Tell me, Maria, what can I do?”

  Maria paused in her stitching. “Lessen you can get Roxbury to leave you alone and go back to her, I don’t see nothing you can do.” Her eyes twinkled. “And knowing his lordship as I do, I don’t think you’re likely to get him to give up the chase. His lordship, he most always gets his game.”

  “Well,” said Samantha defiantly, “this time his lordship has met his match.”

  * * * *

  She was thinking of this conversation that evening as she took up her station in the wings. No high and mighty lord was going to come along and ruin her life, make her a tawdry plaything. She wondered briefly how it was that Maria should feel so differently about this. Perhaps women of the lower classes, women like Maria and Lily Porter, took such things for granted. It certainly seemed that way - for the other seamstresses and the young actresses were always abuzz about the latest lord to be seen in the greenroom and which young pretty he was currently after.

  Samantha frowned and smoothed down her gown of drab brown. There would be no more wearing of pretty gowns to work, no more occasion for his lordship to think she was setting out lures. She had made that plain to Hester. She gazed expectantly toward the stage. This would be the first Shylock of the season, and she looked forward to it. This, after all, was the role that had made Kean a success, that had earned him the acclaim of playgoer and critic alike.

  Just then he went by, garbed in his long gabardine robe, Venetian slippers, and the black wig that had so scandalized traditionalists. Samantha wondered about conventions. How did they get started? Why should it be convention for the actor portraying Shylock to wear a red wig? That really did not seem to make a great deal of sense. Shylock’s people were not known for red hair.

  She shook her head slightly and went to peek out between the folds of the great curtain. There in the front row of the pit sat a beaming Jake and beside him a neatly turned-out Lord Byron. Samantha had not seen Byron backstage lately, but she had heard that he’d been visiting Kean again, no doubt to her friend’s dismay. As Samantha watched, another tall, dark figure threaded its way across the pit and stopped to talk to Byron. The Earl of Roxbury! The curtain fell from Samantha’s trembling fingers. So he was here. Well, that didn’t mean a thing. He obviously had his own box and could see the play from there. Or he might choose to join his friends in the pit. He probably would not come backstage at all.

  She turned away, seeking her accustomed place on the canvas. It was ridiculous for her knees to tremble. His lordship meant nothing to her except an enjoyable theatre companion. The trembling must be caused by the anger she felt toward him. After all, he had treated her quite rudely. She was being foolish, she told herself severely. Why should she tremble so at the prospect of seeing him? If he came back here, if he dared to approach her after such rudeness, she would simply cut him dead. Or perhaps it would be better to tell him how she felt - that such rudeness ill became a man of his position.

  But the curtain opened, and Roxbury did not appear to lend his comments to the performance. Samantha told herself firmly that this was exactly as she wished it, but she could not help being aware that she missed the man. When Kean’s Shylock asked, “Hath a dog money? is it possible/A cur can lend three thousand ducats?” Samantha felt the gooseflesh rising on her arms. With these brief words the ancient Jew took on new humanity. This Jew was more moral in his behavior than those Christians who treated him so inhumanely.

  “I see that you are in your accustomed place,” said a deep voice. Startled, Samantha turned to find the earl beside her. She immediately rose to face him, but before she could utter one of the cold, cutting words that sprang to her mind, he smiled contritely. “I am afraid that I owe you an apology,” he said. “My behavior the other night was rather rude.”

  “Quite rude,” corrected Samantha, striving for a firm tone. He needn’t think he was going to get off so easily.

  “Quite rude,” he conceded, his dark eyes gleaming. “The thing is, you see, I did not want those others poaching on my territory.”

  His smile was still bright, but Samantha frowned. “You mistake yourself, milord. This is virgin territory.” Her cheeks flushed as she realized the unintentional aptness of her words.

  The earl raised a quizzical eyebrow. “That I could see for myself,” he said cheerfully. “But you mistake the point of my metaphor. I only wish the right to hunt first, so to speak. After all, Byron is a poet; he has a great way with words. How can any woman resist such a man?”

  “I find him quite resistible,” said Samantha crossly.

  “You do?” The eagerness of his lordship’s reply caused her to eye him carefully. “That is capital, I must say.”

  Samantha shook her head. “You make no sense, milord.”

  The earl chuckled softly. “Au contraire, if you do not like Byron, there is no danger of his taking you from me.”

  Samantha sighed heavily. “No one is going to take me from you because you do not have me.”

  The earl continued to smile cheerfully. “Perhaps not yet. But I should warn you.” His expression changed and he drawled his words in that way of the rakes that seemed so lazy and yet held hidden tension. “I seldom fail in getting what I want.” His eyes roamed her so freely.

  “Perhaps, then,” she said icily, “you had better be prepared for a change. For I seldom do what I do not wish to do.”

  “Touché,” said his lordship. “But there is still the chance - however small - that you may change your mind and wish to give me that which I am seeking.”

  Samantha took a deep breath and opened her mouth to tell him off, but he stilled her lips with one gloved finger. “Hush, my dear, you may rail at me later, but now attend to the performance. You are missing some of Kean’s greatest scenes.”

  This was so obviously true that Samantha could only turn back to the stage. The earl was not worth arguing with. He was not going to get what he wanted. And that was that! She tried to focus her attention on the play before her, but in spite of Kean’s great performance, she could not concentrate. The earl’s words had stirred some curiosity within her, and for the first time she let herself really think about his offer. Not that she meant to accept it. She could never do that. But her imagination insisted on forming conjectures as to how life would be as Roxbury’s incognita. She did not spend much time considering the establishment or the gowns and jewels. Those things she could purchase herself if she desired them. But what would it be like to be Roxbury’s daily companion, to come to the theatre on his arm and sit in his box discussing the latest performance? And what would it be like to share a bed with him? Her cheeks flushed again.

  Finally she succeeded in focusing her attention back on the stage, and when the curtain fell for intermission, she had almost forgotten the forbidden things she’d been thinking. She rose to her feet.

  “Where are you going?” asked his lordship.

  “To the greenroom,” replied Samantha, without thinking.
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  In one fluid movement he was on his feet. “Good, I shall accompany you there.”

  “But - but - that is not necessary,” she floundered.

  His lordship’s eyebrow lifted. “Of course it is not necessary. But it might be pleasurable.”

  Samantha was now plainly flustered. She did not want the earl trailing behind her through all the company. Already he had made her conspicuous, the target of wondering eyes. “I would prefer to go alone,” she said finally.

  A strange look flickered in his lordship’s eye and was gone. “Of course,” he drawled lazily. “As you wish.” He bowed formally.

  As she made her way down the corridor, Samantha felt guilty. But why should she feel that she had wounded his pride? She could not hurt his lordship; he was incapable of being hurt.

  She pushed her way through the crowd of noble lords and looked about her for Mr. Pomroy. He did not appear to be in the room, and she wondered if he had lost his nerve. Just as she was about to give up and leave again, she felt a tentative touch on her arm. “Miss Everett?” She turned to find Mr. Pomroy, his round face shining with beads of perspiration as he mopped at it with a lace-edged handkerchief.

  “Mr. Pomroy! I’m so glad you came. Just follow me.”

  “Uh, Miss Everett, are you quite sure? I mean, I should not like to intrude.”

  “Nonsense. How can you intrude? Kean is expecting you.”

  “Expecting? Me?” Mr. Pomroy’s face reddened still further.

  “Yes.” Samantha nodded and took him firmly by the arm, making her way across the room.

  Finally they reached Kean. He was listening to a tall lean lord, but immediately he saw Samantha he began to smile. When the lord paused for breath, Kean cut in expertly, “That is very interesting, milord. Let’s discuss it later. If you’ll excuse me now, this friend of mine is waiting for me.” He turned to Samantha. “Good evening, Miss Everett. Is this the person you spoke to me about?”