The Cornish Lady

by Nicola Pryce

  A long line of carriages stood at a standstill, the coachman shouting and protesting as people pushed against the horses. The line led almost out of town, expensive hats leaning from the windows, feathers fluttering as angry shouts rang down the street. People were disembarking, deciding to walk rather than wait, and the coachmen were despairing. The crowd was growing by the moment, the excitement palpable.

  Everyone was laughing, smiling, dressed in their finest, linking arms as they walked up King Street and into High Cross. This was the new Truro: elegant houses with their large sash windows sweeping majestically up to the assembly rooms, curving round to St Mary’s church with its new iron railings. The queue to enter the theatre was thickening, everyone looking up at the symmetrical façade and imposing pediment, pointing to the circular reliefs of David Garrick and William Shakespeare. I pulled Molly aside. ‘Here, take your ticket. There’s a lot of people at the door – take care you don’t get crushed.’

  She nodded, her eyes wide with excitement. ‘I’d no idea there’d be such a crowd.’

  St Mary’s church was just in front of me, the steeple pointing sharply into the grey sky. The clock struck the half-hour and I knew I must hurry.

  I did not need to. Theodore Gilmore was waiting for me, smoking his pipe by the back door. ‘Oh, just wait till Kitty sees you.’

  He was just as I remembered him – tall and well built, a slight stoop to his shoulders. He shut the door, ushering me along the crowded corridor, his Irish accent conjuring up a host of memories. ‘Mind these steps…careful of this sharp corner – this shouldn’t be here but there’s no room backstage. A couple more trunks…squeeze your way past these costumes.’

  I dodged the painted sets, brushing against exotic velvets and furs. Rows of hats hung from hooks, swords sticking haphazardly out of boxes. The confined corridor smelled of grease and stale sweat, the heat making me catch my breath. People were calling, rushing from room to room. A young man shot past and nearly sent me flying.

  ‘Hey, steady on.’ Theodore shook his head. ‘That’s Geryn – he plays Tony Lumpkin. Kitty’s in here…’ He opened the door and stood smiling proudly. ‘Here she is…’

  Kitty Gilmore was at her dressing table and turned at my entrance. She was dressed as Mrs Hardcastle in a huge grey wig and an elaborately embroidered silk dress. Her face was painted white, her cheeks a livid red. She rose quickly, holding out her hands, and I lifted my veil.

  ‘Angelica, my dearest, let me look at you.’ She spun me round, tears in her eyes. ‘How you’ve grown these last years…’ Her voice softened. ‘Goodness, my dear, you’ve become the image of your mother.’

  I was lost for words, staring back at her. Mamma had loved her so completely. They were from the same small village in Ireland; they had run away together, been homeless together. They would have starved together, had it not been for Theodore Gilmore and his friends in the theatre. Both Mamma and Kitty had auditioned and both of them had been given parts. Kitty had soon married Theo but it was Mamma who had shone the brightest, Mamma who had taken London by storm. Seeing Kitty tore my heart.

  ‘Thank you for sending me the script. I have the play by heart.’

  Kitty Gilmore smiled with pleasure. ‘Just listen to that diction! You’re born for the stage, Angelica – born to recite Shakespeare.’

  ‘I wish I could…’ I stammered.

  Her dark eyes seemed suddenly wistful. ‘We’ve a full house. Theo’s even had to turn people away…’ She kept hold of my hands, drawing me back to her dressing table, staring at me from the mirror as she dabbed the perspiration from her top lip. The room was a jumbled mess: bottles and jars littered the table top, a pile of clothes spilled from her chair. It was cramped and crowded, two large vases of flowers in danger of toppling off the small table. The room smelled of lilies and greasepaint, the smoke from the tallow candles making it hard to breathe. ‘We’ve taken this play all round the country…Is Molly round the front?’

  I nodded as Theo drew out his watch. ‘Forty-five minutes till curtain-up. Just the last stragglers coming in – most have taken their seats. They’re enjoying the jugglers.’ He was in his late fifties but showed no sign of slowing down. Like Kitty, he wore heavy make-up and a large grey wig. The lines on his forehead cut deep into his greasepaint. ‘Flora’s late yet again. This has to be the last time. I’ll not be fooled with – there’s plenty can take her role.’ He snapped shut his watch, swinging round at the sound of running footsteps. ‘Is that you, Flora?’

  The footsteps stopped and Theo held the door open to a smiling young woman of about my age. Her dress looked shabby, a slight stain down the front; her hair was lank beneath her bonnet. She hiccoughed and laughed. ‘Only ten minutes late…ten tiny…tiny little minutes. I’ll be ready in no time.’

  Her flushed face and shining eyes were not lost on Kitty. ‘You’ve been drinking, Flora.’ She slammed down her brush. ‘What are the rules about drinking before a performance?’

  The girl rolled her eyes. ‘One drink…one tiny, tiny little drink an’ one plate of oysters. I just stepped out for some fresh air and, purely by chance, got talking to some gentry who were comin’ to the play. They said they’d bring me in their carriage and it was them that kept me.’ She stood staring at Theo, her full red lips set in a sullen pout. ‘I’ll get changed right away…’

  A bell clanged in the corridor and Theo frowned. ‘You’ve got thirty minutes.’ He held the door open, raising his eyes at Kitty. ‘Purely by chance,’ he muttered.

  Kitty’s mouth hardened. ‘The girl’s a fool. She’ll be out at the end of the season.’ She added more red to her lips, tweaking a curl in her huge wig and tapped her fingernails on the dressing table. ‘There, all set. That will just have to do.’

  Theo was fumbling with the buttons on his waistcoat. ‘I’ll go front of stage and see to the lamps. The wheels are mended on the garden set, so no harm done. Everything’s ready.’

  Kitty stood to help him, doing up the long line of buttons with nimble fingers. ‘Geryn back in good voice?’

  ‘Never better.’

  ‘There you are, then – nothing to worry about. We’ve worked hard for this.’ She patted him affectionately on his chest, reaching up to kiss him on the lips. ‘Off you go…we’ll be right behind you.’ She reached for her fan, stooping to smell the lilies, looking up at me through her heavy lashes. ‘For a moment then, I thought you were Hermia. Honest, Angelica, you’re her absolute image.’ She linked her arm through mine. ‘I still miss her, so much.’

  ‘So do I,’ I said, my tears welling. ‘She would have loved this – Father left this morning.’

  ‘Excellent. Mary Bohenna’s coming too…’

  ‘I haven’t seen Mary Bohenna since Luke won his bursary and they left for London. I used to see her every day.’

  ‘We were three Irish girls together, all of us as close as sisters. We were as poor as church mice, yet we never gave up hope. Mary was from the village twenty miles away – she had shoes, but your mother and I didn’t.’ She clasped her chest.

  ‘Kitty, are you all right?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Pre-theatre nerves…that’s all. I never tell Theo I get nervous…but the truth is it never goes away.’ She took another deep breath, exhaling through pursed lips. ‘It’s passing. Come, it’s time to check everyone’s in costume.’

  Kitty held back the curtain. I was standing where Mamma would have stood, seeing what she would have seen; peeping excitedly round the side of the curtain, gazing at the sea of expectant faces. I never imagined the noise, the heat, the roar of voices. ‘They’re a rowdy crowd, all right…but they’ll quieten once the music starts.’

  The assembly room was transformed into a proper theatre. The front floorboards had been lifted and five musicians were settling themselves in the pit. I could see the top of a harp, a cello, two violins and a bugle. The chandeliers had every candle burning and lamps burned in a circle round the stage. People were crowded togethe
r in the top corridor, seats crammed into every available space. I could see red uniforms, blue uniforms, rows of ornate silk dresses. There were a host of familiar faces – Father’s friends, the ladies from church, several from the hospital board.

  Kitty pointed to a row of seats. ‘There, those two in the middle. Look how far we’ve all come.’

  I searched the crowd and my heart swelled. Mary Bohenna looked happy and prosperous, elegantly dressed in a blue dress with a fine set of feathers dancing in her hair. Her smile was every bit as lovely as I remembered. ‘She looks so well… but…surely…that’s Luke? Oh my goodness, you didn’t tell me Luke would be here!’

  ‘He’s Dr Bohenna now, my love. They’ve left London and he’s set up practice in Falmouth.’

  I searched the face of my childhood friend. Seven years had changed him from a youth to a man – a serious man, with a furrowed brow and slightly receding hair. He had always looked studious but he had gained gravitas, a slight stoop to his shoulders. He was smartly dressed in dark but not sombre clothes, his white cravat tied in a simple bow. ‘Falmouth? Then I might be able to see them. Perhaps I can ask Lady Clarissa to invite them to Trenwyn House?’

  Kitty pinched my cheek. ‘I’ll speak plainly, my dear. Mary and I have had you in mind for Luke from the moment you were born.’ She sounded so like Mamma with her lovely Irish lilt. ‘It’s time you were married – if your dear mother was still alive, she’d have seen to it long ago. But we’re here and she’s not, so it’s time to take matters into our own hands. What is it, my dear?’

  I shook my head, smiling, shrugging, feeling strangely like crying. ‘I love Luke…I’ll always love him, but I can’t marry him.’ Her face slackened beneath her make-up and I knew I must tell her my good fortune. ‘Kitty, promise you won’t say anything – promise you’ll keep a secret?’ She leaned forward and I whispered in her ear, ‘It might be that I’m to marry Lord Entworth. He asked Father if he could present his suit.’ I know I was blushing. On top of a very hot room, my face was on fire. ‘Lady Clarissa is to act as my chaperone. He’s to visit me at her house and—’

  ‘Lord Entworth…Lord Entworth? Sweet Jesus!’ She was clearly overwhelmed but I could see she was thrilled. ‘Your mother’s dearest wish was for you to marry gentry, but Lady Entworth? Sweet Jesus, Angelica – it’s…it’s…’ She reached for her handkerchief, dabbing her eyes. ‘No. No tears…or my make-up will smudge. Just wait till Theo hears of it. I can tell him, can’t I?’

  Panic filled me. ‘No, not yet…not until Lord Entworth has asked me. And…Kitty, can you call me Alice, or something like that?’

  She nodded, dabbing her eyes again, ‘Of course…Well, Alice my dear, we must make tonight count – there’ll be no coming backstage when you’re married to Lord Entworth!’ She pinched my cheek. ‘We’ve ten minutes till curtain-up. You’ll not be in the way if you stay here…just keep back to stay out of sight.’

  The stage had been transformed into the chamber of an old house. The players were lining up, Theo giving them last-minute instructions. Some had their eyes shut, others were taking long, deep breaths. Miss Hardcastle was to be played by an actress called Hannah Hambley; Miss Neville by the hapless Flora. I could hardly breathe for excitement. This was how Mamma must have felt; how Mamma must have stood. It was in my blood, my bones, my very soul.

  Two men had lowered the chandeliers, the candles being slowly extinguished. The expectant hush made my heart thump harder. The musicians had stopped playing; it was growing darker, only grey faces where there had been such colour. Thin plumes of smoke curled from the lanterns, shadows dancing across the closed curtain. Theo nodded to an actor who flung back his head and parted the curtain. He stepped into the lamplight.

  ‘Excuse me sirs, I pray –’ he boomed.

  Chapter Four

  I watched in awe, unable to stop my laughter, enjoying the howls of mirth and stomping of feet. Geryn finished singing and the audience started yelling for more.

  ‘I don’t get paid to sing it twice,’ he shouted back. The stomping grew fiercer, a shower of coins raining down on him. He stooped to pick them up, placing them in a small leather pouch. ‘Well…all right then, seeing as it’s you…but don’t tell Mr Hardcastle – you know what an old skinflint he is…’

  The crowd roared their approval and more coins landed by his feet; it was so loud, so boisterous, so completely thrilling. Kitty was smiling broadly; she put her hand on my shoulder. ‘He’s got a way with them – knows just how to get them going. Once he’s got them laughing, they’ll laugh the whole way through.’

  It was everything I imagined – the heat, the glare of the lamps, the sea of faces. Sweat trickled down my back, my cheeks flushed, my heart racing. The audience was entranced and I laughed with them, squeezing out of the way as painted sets were wheeled back and forth. It was so cramped, yet somehow everyone avoided a collision. The third act was over, the set-change taking place. Behind the curtain, Theo’s frown deepened. He shook his head.

  ‘Where is she, for God’s sake? She missed several lines… What’s wrong with the woman? She looks half-dazed.’

  Kitty was also frowning, glancing over her shoulder. ‘She needed the privy. Hannah’s gone with her.’

  Hannah ran from round the back of the stage. ‘Flora’s got the gripes. She feels sick.’ She began pulling off her maid’s costume, stepping quickly into the elaborate silk dress Kitty held ready.

  ‘Sweet Jesus.’ Kitty tied the ribbons on the bodice, fluffing out the silk petticoats. She beckoned to Theo. ‘You’ll have to tell the orchestra to play – Flora’s sick.’

  ‘Christ, that’s all we need. I’ll get Geryn to sing again – five minutes…tell her she’s got five minutes.’

  I felt their panic. Where there had been quiet efficiency, there was now definite nervousness. Geryn understood at once and nodded, stepping out through the curtain with an exaggerated smile. He held up his hands, raising his voice. ‘’Tis my opinion you’re rather a quiet lot here tonight!’ Laughter filled the theatre; there were cheers, rowdy shouts. ‘See what I mean…quiet as a mouse…now, how about I get you singing?’

  Flora appeared behind me, unsteady on her feet. Her cheeks were scarlet. Kitty rushed to help her, but just one look at her flushed face and Theo shook his head. ‘Four lines missed and your words muddled.’

  Flora lifted up her chin; her lips were glistening, strands of the heavy blonde wig clinging to her flushed cheeks. ‘I’ve been sick…but I’m better now. I can go on…’ Her voice sounded thin, a slight quiver as she spoke. In front of the curtain, the audience were singing. ‘Let schoolmasters puzzle their brain, with grammar, and nonsense, and learning…’

  ‘You look unwell.’ Kitty put her hand on Flora’s forehead. ‘You’re feverish…you can’t possibly go back on.’

  Flora’s eyes filled with fear. She wiped a handkerchief across her face. ‘I’m better now…I can go back on…honest – I’m better.’ She twisted the handkerchief in her hands.

  Kitty’s urgent look made my heart pound. ‘Flora hardly appears in the next scene – not for very long anyway. Perhaps she should carry on?’

  ‘And have her vomit on stage?’ Theo shook his head, more in exasperation than disagreement. ‘This is all we need,’ he said again. Beads of perspiration covered his forehead. He must have been burning up under his heavy costume and large grey wig. ‘I’ll not have you ruin this production. I’ll not—’

  Flora cut him short. ‘Please, Mr Gilmore – I’m fine. Honest, it’s already passing…’ She looked resolute, knowing her job was at stake.

  Theo picked up his cane. ‘Just this act, then we’ll see. Come, we’ve wasted enough time – and no more missed lines.’ He stamped his cane loudly on the stage, his voice booming from behind the curtain. ‘Lumpkin?’ The orchestra stopped and he shouted again. ‘Where’s that good-for-nothing, idiot boy? Up to no good, I warrant.’

  From the wings, I watched Geryn stop singing and glance over his
shoulder. He lifted his hat, leaning forward to draw the audience into his confidence. ‘He calls me idiot, but I’ll get the better of him…’ He paused. ‘’Tis Act Four, by the way, in case you’ve just woken.’

  The audience roared their approval, but behind the curtain, I could feel the anxiety growing. The furrow on Theo’s brow deepened. He was clearly reluctant but nodded for the curtain to rise. The actor playing Hastings stepped forward, taking Flora’s arm.

  She took a deep breath. ‘I think ’twas the oysters. I’ve been sick with oysters before.’

  She seemed to be doing well, the scene progressing with no mishap; her three lines were soon over, spoken clearly, and I felt myself begin to relax, but once off the stage, she gripped her abdomen, bending over in pain. ‘Get a bowl… a bucket…quick.’ Her cheeks were even redder, her eyes feverish. ‘No…’tis passing. I’ll be all right.’

  Theo’s face was like thunder. Hands on his hips, he shook his head. ‘Kitty, someone must take her place.’

  ‘But everyone’s twice her size and half her height. Sweet Jesus – what about Elspeth?’

  ‘No, Elspeth’s too old and they’ll recognize her as the maid. This performance mustn’t end in farce – our reputation’s at stake. One mishap, just one critic ridiculing our performance…’

  Flora grasped her hands as if in prayer. ‘I can do it… honest…I can get through this next scene – and I say next to nothin’ in the last scene. I can hold out.’

  Kitty must have read my mind. ‘You said you had this play by heart?’

  I nodded, my heart thumping.

  ‘Ye know what I’m thinking, don’t ye, my love? Flora has hardly anything left to say. She only comes on at the end – she has, what, three, maybe four lines? It’s next to nothing.’ I heard the plea in her whisper.

  ‘But, Kitty, what if I’m recognized?’

  ‘In her costume? Under that wig? Angelica, you’re her exact shape and size – you’d look just like her. No-one will notice because no-one will know. Could you remember four short lines?’