by Sarah Burton
In the normal course of events I should have moved on, but something about him struck me as familiar, yet I did not recall ever seeing him at Mother Cresswell’s, though she did sometimes recruit casual bum-labour, like the citizens’ wives, when required. It is strange that when you recognise someone but cannot place the memory, sometimes a part of that memory comes with something associated with the face that recalls it – sometimes a place, sometimes other company that was there, sometimes the emotion you were feeling at the time. This face trawled up a feeling of great excitement and pleasure, and I had a flash that it was associated with the theatre. Yet I felt sure I had not seen him in the playhouse, and that this was a memory from a different field, and out of doors somehow. The more I tried to fathom out the rest of the memory, the more specific it became, and I recalled it having something particularly to do with something associated with the stage – properties or perhaps costume. I looked at him harder, as if to will his identity to the front of my mind, and as I did so, as though affected by the power of my thoughts, he fell over.
I ran over to assist him and discovered he had fainted. I did not know what to do and had seen salt of hartshorn administered on like occasions but all I had was a little bottle of perfume which I wafted under his nose and which seemed to do the trick.
“Thank you, sister,” he said, and the minute I heard that voice I knew him. This was Katharina! From The Taming of the Shrew! At the fair all those years ago!
33
Some rural personages may criticise my narrative as casting doubt on its own veracity by the occurrence of coincidental meetings and reunions such as these, but I must point out to my provincial reader that London (so I have read) is a city of about half a million people, in a country of only five million all told, so it is quite probable that if you are going to cross the path of anyone you know outside the place you first knew them, it is likely to be in London, though I willingly concede that meeting two people from one’s past in a matter of days in the same vicinity is going some. Still, it did happen, and I should be telling a lie otherwise, and real life is never as neat and reasonable as fiction. Real life is in fact downright untidy, and you do not even know which is the beginning, the middle, and the end, until it is all far too late.
I took Katharina (who was really called by the most un-Katharina-like name of Godfrey) to a nearby ordinary, for it turned out he had fainted of hunger, and when he came to himself he was delighted to know I had remembered him after all this time (which he calculated, to my shock, was only two years ago) and he said he thought he did recall a little girl with an odd name, and I reminded him that he had said one day he might see me upon the London stage, and we both laughed heartily at where fortune had brought us. We got along very well, and had one of the best meals I had had for a long time, not because the food was special, but, I later thought, because it was a long time since I had eaten, or spent any time, with a man who was a companion with no complications, and attended by no underlying anxiety of business to be accomplished or effort of games to be played.
In any case, Godfrey, as I must call him now, was still an actor, though not at this time working. He had hopes of a part in a new play at one or other of the theatres but at the moment was penniless. All this was on account, he said, of having been disappointed in a most promising situation. The promising position, it transpired, was that of lover to a duchess I may not name, but whose identity may be easily guessed at, who so famously fell in love with his ‘Alexander’ that she most shamelessly took him up and showered him with sweet promises, rich gifts and hard cash. Having been selected as a fit instrument for her abandoned pleasure he had become so happy in his circumstances that he had acted only at intervals (and this is not of course to mention the private performances he gave exclusively for my lady) and finally, in his pride (he admitted), had fallen out with the theatre management over certain issues, and quit the house with much ill feeling on all sides. Still, he had no longer needed the money, having become, thanks to the duchess, a gentleman of leisure.
Unfortunately the duchess in time tired of her conquest, and the river of endearments, presents and coin ran dry. Now Godfrey had a household (the house itself had been leased by the duchess for him) he could not afford to run, he had paid off and dismissed his servants, and rattled around a vast, richly furnished property in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, the rent on which was paid until the end of the year, but had not a crust to put in his mouth.
“Did you make no savings?” I asked Godfrey, but it transpired he had never hit truly hard times before so did not have my instinct for hoarding up treasures for future uncertainty, and had run up vast bills (as I perceived any young man with money did) at his tailor’s and vintner’s, not to mention other creditors, but at least he had calculated he could discharge these debts by selling almost everything in his house (the duchess had furnished it most elegantly), which he was in the process of doing. So he was to be free of debt but, as he put it, destitute and prostitute.
Having learnt how matters stood with me he wondered whether I might be able to put in a good word with him at Mother Cresswell’s for when she had occasion for a gentleman of his talents, and I said I certainly would, and thought inwardly that Mother would think him something of a catch, on account of his great beauty, nice manner and good clothes. As we parted, with many friendly adjurations to meet again soon, he told me his address at Lincoln’s Inn Fields and I told him mine at Clerkenwell, and slipped one of the guineas Kat had so wrongly acquired (which I intended to replace and return) into his hand, which he received with a wordless expression of the utmost gratitude, and we went our separate ways having assured each other of the pleasure we took in our reacquaintance, and I know not how he went home but I fairly skipped all the way.
34
Over the next few days it became clear that Fricker had an idea I had designs on his little slave, as he did not let Joe out of his sight except to go off with a gentleman. And this gave me the idea of enlisting the assistance of my new-found old friend Godfrey. I had already enquired of Mother Cresswell whether she would like to make his acquaintance so I intended to kill two birds with one stone and made my way to his house, which was indeed a most handsome one, but when Godfrey answered the door to me I saw for myself that though it was indeed most richly furnished, he kept no servants, and the fact that there was a fire going in one room, was, he said, thanks to a part of my guinea. While Godfrey went to put on clothes he thought suitable for the interview I looked about me and imagined what it must be like to have so much money that you could rent a great place like this and not even use it.
He came down the staircase looking splendid and I believe, though I could not swear to it, that he had made a little use of black paint round his eyes, and I felt rather proud to be accompanying so handsome and fine-looking a fellow through the town, as heads turned in his direction wherever he went. And though people’s attention was caught by Godfrey’s beauty, they then inspected me with some interest.
“They are all wondering what a fine-looking gentleman like you is doing with a little slut like me,” I whispered to him.
“Not at all,” he whispered, smiling and bowing to a lady who was ogling him most boldly. “We make a fine couple,” he said, and as I caught sight of us both in a shop window, I could see his point. I continued to take great pains with my dress, which I now used to emphasise my figure (for this had improved as I had grown a little fatter) rather than to attract attention by garish colours. I also toned down the paint in the daytime and this made me look less alarming to the ordinary eye. A whore is a whore down to her very bones and has learned to look for profit in everything and I was no different, so as I considered this handsome-looking pair in the window, I began to wonder how I could turn this new discovery to my advantage.
As it turned out, Mother Cresswell seemed to have the same idea, as she said we were as fine-seeming a pair as any at court and might do very well for the gentlemen who like, as she put it, “a bit o
f both”. We left it that she would send me to fetch Godfrey when she had occasion to need either him, or us both, and after I had intimated to her his great present want she very delicately slipped him a sovereign as an advance. Before we left, I went to my room and counted out some coins from my money box. Ten guineas were to be returned to Aunt Madge with Joe and I purposed to give another to Godfrey in return for luring Joe away from Fricker, plus five shillings which I reckoned to be the very most Fricker would demand for Joe’s services, and another five shillings for any emergency.
We then set off for the playhouse and hatched our plot. Godfrey would solicit Joe’s services and once he had got him away from Fricker, would bring him to me at the Cock and Bottle in Fleet Street, and I would then deliver him to Cheapside.
I was beginning to get anxious that something had gone amiss when Godfrey and Joe finally arrived, out of breath, having run a lot of the way so as to get far away from Fricker as quickly as possible so that we should not cross him on our way. I thanked Godfrey and set off with Joe at once, with a thrilling feeling that I was accomplishing a very good deed which would make both Aunt Madge and Joe very happy, and compensate in some deal for the miseries they had passed.
The roads were unusually crowded on account of a bad fire further south, and we had to stand aside on one occasion to let a number of soldiers sent to put it out through. A sad number of people whose homes had been burned were to be seen with their households piled on carts, and one assembly struck me with great poignancy as the children of the family walked behind the cart, a small girl weeping and carrying her cat.
When we reached the west end of Cheapside I pulled Joe into an alley and sat him on a barrel to hear the lecture I had prepared. First I told him my address in Clerkenwell but said this was only for the direst emergency and he was on no account to tell it to anyone, nor to come visiting.
“Now, Joe,” I continued, “I will not see you after today, and you must not, absolutely must not, tell Aunt Madge that you have seen me since the night you left her house.”
“But why?” asked Joe, twitching unmercifully. “And why must I not see you again?” And as his eyes filled with tears, I had to work hard to control my own feelings.
“Now, Joe,” I continued, “you must be a brave boy. I cannot explain why, save to say that I can never go back to Aunt Madge, for I would bring her only shame and dishonour, and we love Aunt Madge too much to wish unhappiness on her, do we not?”
He nodded.
“So promise me, Joe, that you will not mention you have seen me.”
“I promise,” he said.
“All you know is that you told your story to a kind gentleman who brought you home.”
“Godfrey?” asked Joe.
“No, you must not say his name either. Say you don’t know his name. And give this to Aunt Madge,” and I gave him the purse with the ten guineas, “and just say the gentleman said it was not needed.”
“I told my story to a kind gentleman who brought me home and gave me this because he said it was not needed. I do not know his name and I haven’t seen Miss H.”
“Good boy,” I said, “but you must not mention me at all. Now think of this as a new life. When you walk through that door you must forget everything that has happened and begin again. Be a good boy and always be kind to Aunt Madge, for she loves you.” I was now almost in tears myself, so said, “Kiss me now and I will take you home.”
Joe kissed me and hugged me so long and tight I had in the end to disengage his little arms and lead him back into the street. As we arrived opposite Aunt Madge’s house I found a shop window which gave me a good view, by reflection, of the door to the house.
“Go now, Joe,” I said, “and don’t look back.”
Joe hesitated before running across the road and up the steps. I watched in the window until the door opened and then quickly turned and began walking away, but heard Reg’s cry of delight when he saw Joe, and then when I was safely out of Cheapside, I stepped into a doorway and wept very hard.
35
On my way back to Clerkenwell I found I was in the train of many people leaving the city and it reminded me a little of the great exodus during the plague the year before, except that on that occasion it had been the rich who left, but here people of all walks of life were herding their families through the streets and the extent of the possessions of some was quite pitiful. One family carried all their possessions in a wheelbarrow; others carried nothing but little bundles. When I got to Mother Cresswell’s I heard many conflicting reports of the seriousness of the fire, Mother herself being of the opinion that the Lord Mayor should be hanged, drawn and quartered and it was the incompetence of the authorities which made decent people like herself wonder why they should pay their taxes.
She told me that I had a gentleman waiting (who turned out to be my sea captain, back from his travels), but that if he hoped for satisfaction the next day also I should arrange to see him early as she had an engagement for Godfrey and myself later in the evening. She had evidently not been slow to put out word of her new acquisition and I must say you could never fault Mother Cresswell for her business acumen.
I satisfied the captain, and then another gentleman I did not know, and was glad finally to have my bed to myself, as the events of the day had been exhausting. I had difficulty sleeping that night, however, due to the noise all night of people coming out of the city and setting up camp in the fields behind our house. At one point I rose and looked out of the window, and could easily see the light in the sky from the great fire, though it was so far away, and thanked God I was safe in my little room. I imagined Joe safe in his bed and pictured Aunt Madge smiling in her sleep and with these thoughts finally slipped into sleep myself.
We were not very busy the next day due to the disruption caused by the fire, so Mother had us make soup and take it out to some of the people in the fields and this kept us busy enough. It was pitiful to see them huddled together, for it was cold, and I heard a number of older people had died in the night, due to the shock and the cold combined. Alarming reports of the spread of the fire arrived all day, and I began to feel concerned about my family in Cheapside, but was assured by others that it was far enough away, and that the authorities were making fire breaks and it should soon be out.
In the afternoon I went to fetch Godfrey and he told me that he had been to Drury Lane and deliberately put himself in the way of Fricker, who had asked him what he had done with his boy. Godfrey said he gave one of his best performances, stating that Sooty had left him at such and such a time, and affecting great indignation that Fricker should accuse him of doing anything with his boy. Fricker immediately backed down, but asked if Godfrey had seen where he went and whether he met a little slut, and described me. Godfrey said he had seen no one but assured Fricker he would be the first to know should he see Sooty anywhere. Fricker seemed greatly cast down at the loss of his apprentice, but to accept Godfrey’s version of events. We agreed that we had better not be seen in each other’s company round Drury Lane as Fricker would easily put two and two together.
Then as we went on our way, Godfrey asked me what I knew of our assignment for the evening and I suddenly remembered the sea captain was coming early and we had better hurry. The truth was, I was feeling rather apprehensive about our joint appointment and what we would be required to perform. I had dealt with more than one gentleman in the past, but they had been customers merely and Godfrey was my friend and I was distinctly ill at ease, which I believe Godfrey sensed, for he said, “Are you worried about anything, Doll?”
I started to say I was thinking about the fire and whether it would spread to Cheapside, and he let the matter drop and talked of other things as he knew I loved to hear stories of the playhouse, and he told me one which he said was true, of the days soon after the Restoration when women had not yet been trained for the stage and they were still using boys for the women’s parts. On this particular day the King had arrived at the theatre a little ear
ly, so everyone was running about to get ready, as you did not keep the King waiting, and when His Majesty enquired as to the reason of the delay, the manager had to come out and explain that he was sorry but that the Queen was still shaving.
“He meant the actor who played a queen in the play,” said Godfrey, as I did not react at the end of his tale. “Well, I thought it would amuse you.”
“I’m sorry, Godfrey,” I said, stopping him and taking his hands in mine. “The truth is I am not sure what to expect this evening.”
He looked baffled for a moment and then laughed and gave me a little hug and took my arm and walked on, saying, “You are a comical baggage, Dollie.” And then he laughed again.
“Why do you keep laughing?” I asked, not a little put out.
“Because you are such an intrepid little thing, and yet you are afeared of some old fool who can’t make up his mind whether he likes boys or girls.”
I thought about this and agreed that it did seem foolish, but he could see my anxieties were not allayed.
“Look, Dollie,” he said, “it’s just a game. It’s all just a great game. Just make it up as you go along. And anyway, I’ll be there, so you needn’t worry.”
There seemed no merit in admitting that that was precisely the nature of my worry, so I resolved to grin and bear it.
36
I disposed of the sea captain in about half an hour, while Godfrey took tea with some of the girls, and then I set my room straight, washed and treated myself to clean linen, and changed into my handsomest dress, and repaired my paint, all the while telling myself this was nothing whatsoever to do with Godfrey. When I went into the parlour he was clearly already a great favourite with the sisters.