Aphra interrupted the action. “Stay, Mrs. Barry.” Billie was surprised at Aphra's use of Elizabeth's real name; she generally preferred to use pastoral nicknames for her friends, a convention Billie herself had only adopted towards Ravenscroft.
Oh, did everything have to remind her of that man? In an act of will, she concentrated on what Aphra was saying.
“You must show more passion at this discovery. You have fallen in love with a man who has sworn loyalty to you, and a few hours later he has lain with another woman. Could you repeat the lines, please?”
Elizabeth Barry lowered her dark head briefly, then raised it again, an expression of pain and impatience transforming her features. “I, I, 'tis he,” she repeated, an intensity and sincerity in her voice lacking before. “Oh how this vexes me!”
Billie smiled to herself. Aphra was good, no matter what the literary critics of her own time thought. While John Dryden created Literature, worrying more about fame than his audience or his company, Aphra was mistress of a good story and professional execution. At the same time, she still managed to make her audience think — those inclined to do so, that is.
Aphra was the reason Billie was here, not Edward Ravenscroft. She wanted to see the world premiere of The Rover, and she wasn't going to let some married Restoration rake take that away from her. It was an excellent play, one of the high points of Aphra's dramatic career, and Billie wanted the chance to share that success with her. By the end of the week she would be gone.
Betterton took Smith by the arm. “But then the little Gipsey is forgot?”
“A Mischief on thee for putting her into my thoughts; I had quite forgot her else, and this Night's Debauch had drunk her quite down.”
Elizabeth stepped out of the shadows and clapped her rover soundly on the back. “Had it so, good Captain?”
Billie chuckled out loud, and Aphra looked in her direction and smiled. Billie raised her hand from her sword briefly in acknowledgment.
Smith took Elizabeth Barry's hand. “Oh! You're a fine Lady of your word, are you not? to make a man languish a whole day —”
“In tedious search of me,” Elizabeth said dryly.
“Egad, Child, thou'rt in the right, hadst thou seen what a melancholy Dog I have been ever since I was a Lover, how I have walkt the Streets like a Capuchin, with my Hands in my Sleeves — Faith, Sweetheart, thou wouldst pity me.”
Elizabeth Barry gave a resigned sigh and turned in the direction of the pit. “Now, if I should be hang'd, I can't be angry with him, he dissembles so heartily.”
“Much better, Elizabeth,” Aphra called from the sidelines. “Continue.” Billie wished she had a director's chair to give her.
Elizabeth Barry's character, Hellena, flirted with the rover for a while, and then Nell Gwyn entered with her woman, played by Mrs. Leigh — the first person Billie had ever seen in this century. At the memory, Billie had to smile, and she realized the strange melancholy slowly creeping over her meant she had already begun taking leave, from these people and this time.
“Heavens, is't he?” Nell said. “And passionately fond to see another Woman?”
Mrs. Leigh shook her head. “What cou'd you expect from such a Swaggerer?”
“Expect!” Nell Gwyn exclaimed in theatrically passionate accents. “As much as I paid him, a Heart intire,
“Which I had pride enough to think when e're I gave
“It would have rais'd the Man above the Vulgar,
“Made him all Soul, and that all soft and constant.”
Billie shook her head in admiration. It was a stroke of brilliance! To give the whore the blank verse, it turned all the conventions on their respective metaphorical heads. Billie hoped passionately that particular gimmick had not been in Killigrew's Thomaso. She knew the character of Hellena had been created by Aphra, but she didn't know how much of the other characters was borrowed. Hellena was refreshingly original too, the virginal maid who showed herself more forgiving of infidelity, more understanding of what moved an unfaithful man, than the whore.
After the scene was over, the actors took a break, and Aphra joined Billie in the pit. “'Tis excellent, madam,” Billie said, planting a hearty kiss on the back of Aphra's hand.
Aphra laughed cheerfully, in obvious agreement. It was in her voice and her eyes and her walk, the conviction of her creation, and Billie smiled, moved. Yes, she definitely had to stay to see The Rover's success on the stage.
“Have you seen Damon?” Aphra asked.
Billie didn't answer for a moment. “I will be leaving after the opening of your Rover. I can't stay.”
“What happened? What did Damon do?”
“He did nothing.” The sigh Billie had been suppressing finally escaped her. “But I had not known of his marriage.”
“And that bothers you?” Aphra asked with a shake of her head. “Why, she is nearly a hundred miles away!”
Almost, Billie wanted to laugh. They definitely were from different worlds. She looked down at the toe of one polished high-heeled shoe. “But he didn't tell me. And I didn't know.”
Aphra stared at Clarinda, who played the role of Will so well — and yet here she was, apparently devastated at the existence of a wife. Aphra would have to revise her opinion of Clarinda as the epitome of a female rake.
“Can we get on with the rehearsal?” Elizabeth stood in front of them, hands on her hips and affectionate impatience in her hazel eyes.
“Forthwith,” Aphra said, the conversation with her guest making her appreciate her leading lady even more. Clarinda had only learned of a wife, a rather mundane misfortune in the scheme of things; Elizabeth Barry had recently learned she was carrying Rochester's brat.
Nonetheless, both of them displayed strength of character in a difficult situation, something Aphra had shown too little of in the last few months. She looked at Clarinda and smiled sadly. “I think I understand. I will miss you, my friend. Will you return?”
“If I can.”
“Return?” Elizabeth Barry asked. “Are you leaving us?”
“I will be going home after The Rover opens.”
“I'm sorry to hear that,” a deep voice commented from the shadows. Ravenscroft strolled forward to join them. After a few quickly exchanged words of welcome, Aphra and Elizabeth withdrew, climbing the narrow stairs back to the stage. Aphra kept glancing backward at the pair of ostensible men of fashion, her heart torn. She wanted Damon to be happy, but on some level, she could understand Clarinda's predicament.
And she couldn't help admiring her pride.
29
Take back that Heart, you with such Caution give,
Take the fond valu'd Trifle back;
I hate Love-Merchants that a Trade wou'd drive;
And meanly cunning Bargains make.
I care not how the busy Market goes,
And scorn to Chaffer for a price:
Love does not one Staple Rate on all impose,
Nor leaves it to the Traders Choice.
A Heart requires a Heart Unfeign'd and True,
Though Subt'ly you advance the Price,
And ask a Rate that Simple Love ne'er knew:
And the free Trade Monopolize.
Aphra Behn, “To Lysander, on some Verses he writ, and asking more for his Heart than 'twas worth.”
Billie gazed at Edward Ravenscroft, wishing he hadn't come. “Did you follow me?” she asked, trying to keep her voice low. Rehearsals were resuming.
Ravenscroft shook his head. “There was no need. You come to the playhouse when you are troubled — not the worst place to go, I must admit.”
“It's over between us, Damon.” A better rebuff didn't immediately occur to her.
“I pray you, make no rash decisions,” Ravenscroft said, the plea in his proud golden eyes wrecking her resolutions. If she hadn't been dressed as a man, he probably would have taken her hand, and she would have been lost.
On the stage, the rover was trying to seduce yet another woman, less willing than the other tw
o. At Mary Betterton's cry of protest, Billie turned her attention with relief to the rehearsal.
“Prithee, dear Soul, let's not play the Fool, and lose time, — precious time,” Will Smith was babbling, a passable imitation of a drunk. “For as Gad shall save me, I'm as honest a Fellow as breathes, tho I am a little disguis'd at present.”
Billie gave a wry chuckle, ignoring the shallow feeling in her chest. “Is this persistence in rejection also yours, Ravenscroft?”
“Mine?” Ravenscroft asked, seemingly pleased at her change of mood. “You think Aphra's rover taken from me?”
“He has your high spirits,” Billie continued in the same vein. She had to keep him from pleading with her; she didn't know if she was strong enough for that.
“Heavens! What a filthy beast is this!” Mary Betterton cried out on the stage, trying to push Smith away.
Ravenscroft laughed. “I would hope I am not so persistent as that.”
Billie shook her head. “No. That perhaps is a touch of the Earl, don't you think?”
“You may be right.” He faced her. “Will you not reconsider?”
Billie's eyes didn't leave the stage. By this time, Betterton had discovered Smith rudely courting his wife (in real life), and he was quite out of patience. “Must you be a Beast? — a Brute, a senseless Swine?” the actor raged.
“You must give me a few days,” Billie said. “Perhaps then I will be able to discuss the matter with you. Now if you will excuse me? Your servant, sir.”
She rose and turned to leave the theater. Behind her, Mr. Crosby admonished the rover. “Why, how the Devil came you so drunk?”
Will Smith clapped the other actor on the shoulder. “Why, how the Devil came you so sober?”
When Aphra returned home from the rehearsal, she found a letter waiting for her. Painfully eager and reluctant at once, she opened it quickly, her gaze skimming over the familiar handwriting. When she was done, she sank into a chair. How could the man reproach her for silence, when it was he who laid the silence upon her? When it was he who had started a trifling affair with her one-time friend, Emily Price — and who knew how many others?
Aphra thought of Elizabeth, proud and free with a brat in her belly; of Clarinda, unwilling to share her lover's attentions with a wife; and then she thought of herself, and the repeated humiliations her fiery, dark-eyed lover had put her through.
She sat down at her writing table and pulled out a piece of parchment. He would disturb her repose no more, and that was exactly what she would tell him.
On the opening day of The Rover, Billie entered the sitting room wearing jeans, blouse, high boots and silk brocade vest and jacket. She couldn't bring herself to wear the comical seventeenth century baggy pants back to her own time. The boots made her look old-fashioned in this era, but they covered most of her jeans, and the long vest and jacket covered most of the rest.
Aphra looked up, and their eyes met.
“May I leave my things in the tiring room during the performance?” Billie asked, putting her bag down on the floor. The traveling bag had cost her most of her remaining guineas, but she would no longer need them where she was going. She did need the bag, a roomy satchel big enough for a few souvenirs, including both lutes and the small guitar.
“Must you go without telling Damon?” Aphra asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Billie shrugged, smiling. “Because when he starts his banter, I cannot resist him.”
“And you would leave him, banter or no.”
“Yes.”
Aphra looked down at the bag. “If you go to the playhouse early, you can leave it with the actresses. Is that all you will take?”
Billie nodded. “What I left behind, Katherine can sell at the Exchange.”
“Did you have to choose that unfashionable apparel?” Aphra asked with a grimace.
“Where I am going, I have no need of fashionable apparel.”
“I will miss you, Clarinda.”
Billie strode across the room and pulled Aphra up in a friendly hug. “I will miss you too. You have helped me more than you can know.”
Aphra laughed weakly and pushed her back. “We will meet you at the playhouse.”
They made an uncomfortable foursome as they entered the Dorset Garden Theatre, three ostensible gentlemen and the playwright, all high-strung and not completely comfortable with one another. Billie knew Aphra was nervous about the reception her play would receive, and although she had not admitted authorship, rumors were already spreading.
They paid their two shilling, six pence apiece and entered the rapidly filling pit. Aphra was wearing a mask, but many eyes trained on their company regardless. They took seats on a bench close enough to the stage to be intimate, but not too close to be blinded by the candles. Billie was already sweating, from more than mere nervousness. With the packed mass of semi-washed bodies, the theater was hot and smelly, and the performance was not to begin for another ten minutes.
Suddenly a sigh went up from the audience, the kind Billie had experienced only once before. She now knew what it meant — the King had arrived. With the rest of the masses, she turned her attention to the royal box. King Chuck entered with the original rover, the Earl of Rochester, and Prince Rupert, who also had a mistress in the cast. His Majesty waved and nodded to his subjects, and took a seat. Aphra drew in a breath of triumph. Billie squeezed her arm, glad she'd stayed for this. Aphra's eyes shone behind the mask, and despite her own heartbreak, Billie felt a rush of vicarious joy. The critics of her own day could take much away from Aphra, but this moment of success was hers.
It was an unusually well-behaved Restoration audience that watched Mrs. Barry pace the stage in front of Mrs. Betterton and Mrs. Hughes. Elizabeth was dressed as a gypsy and complaining about the state of her heart. “Ah! — would I had never seen my mad Monsieur — and yet for all your laughing I am not in love — and yet this small Acquaintance, o'my Conscience, will never out of my Head.”
“I laugh to think how thou art fitted with a Lover, a Fellow that, I warrant, loves every new Face he sees,” Peg Hughes gloated.
“Hum — he has not kept his Word with me here — and may be taken up — that thought is not very pleasant to me — what the Duce should this be now that I feel?”
Mrs. Hughes gave Elizabeth Barry a sly grin. “What is't like?”
“Nay, the Lord knows — but if I should be hanged, I cannot chuse but be angry and afraid, when I think that mad Fellow should be in love with any Body but me — What to think of my self I know not — would I could meet with some true damn'd Gipsy, that I might know my fortune.”
“Know it!” Peg Hughes said, chuckling. “Why there's nothing so easy; thou wilt love this wandring Inconstant till thou find'st thy self hanged about his Neck, and then be as mad to get free again.”
Billie felt Ravenscroft's golden eyes on her, and she turned her attention from the stage to her neighbor. “Mad to get free again?” he murmured beneath the hilarity of the audience.
Billie gave a short shake of her head. Ravenscroft moved his elbow to rest casually in the crook of her arm, and she found it impossible to draw away.
“Then what is't?” His gentle voice tickled her ear, and she drew in a sharp breath. Aphra gave her a brief, penetrating glance and returned her attention to the stage.
“Art thou mad to talk so?” Mrs. Betterton said to Mrs. Barry. “Who will like thee well enough to have thee, that hears what a mad Wench thou art?”
“Like me!” Elizabeth Barry said, tossing her dark locks. She made a very good gypsy, despite her light eyes. “I don't intend every he that likes me shall have me, but he that I like: I shou'd have staid in the Nunnery still, if I had lik'd my Lady Abbess as well as she lik'd me. No, I came thence, not (as my wise Brother imagines) to take an eternal Farewell of the World, but to love and to be belov'd; and I will be belov'd, or I'll get one of your Men, so I will.”
“Just mad,” Billie finally murmured ba
ck. Ravenscroft chuckled, a chuckle that held the knowledge of imminent victory in it. His confidence was too close to the truth for comfort.
But her bag was in the tiring room, next to the magic mirror.
Aphra knew it had been a daring move to cast Nell Gwyn as the whore in a rage, since little Nellie was chiefly known for her comic roles. But it was paying off. Aphra had been in the theater business long enough to know the signs of a successful play when she saw them. And her Rover was a success.
Eleanor Leigh might have been able to carry the role of Angellica better, but Nell Gwyn was a great favorite with the public, and the audience listened to the complaint of the King's mistress attentively.
“He loves her,” Nell recited. “I know 'tis so — dull, dull, insensible —
“He will not see me now tho oft invited;
“And broke his Word last night — false perjur'd Man!
“— He that but yesterday fought for my Favours,
“And would have made his Life a Sacrifice
“To've gain'd one Night with me,
“Must now be hired and courted to my Arms.”
Eleanor Leigh made a grim face. “I told you what wou'd come on't, but Moretta's an old doating Fool — Why did you give him five hundred Crowns, but to set himself out for other Lovers? You shou'd have kept him poor, if you had meant to have had any good from him.”
Nell made an impatient gesture. “Oh, name not such mean Trifles. — Had I given him all my Youth has earn'd from Sin,
“I had not lost a Thought nor Sigh upon't.
“But I have given him my eternal Rest,
“My whole Repose, my future Joys, my Heart;
“My Virgin Heart. Moretta! oh 'tis gone!”
Next to Aphra, John Hoyle squirmed on the velvet-covered bench, but despite her awareness of him, she didn't spare him a glance. Perhaps there had been too much of herself in Angellica when Aphra wrote her, but no longer. Her Lycidas could squirm and look stern, it didn't matter. She had written out her love and pain, and now it was about to make her a tidy profit. Aphra smiled, finally free.
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