by Nina Mason
Thankfully, Louisa had good sense enough not to be taken in by Miss Stubbs’s transparent sycophancy. The Captain, too, appeared to have no use for the chit. He’d hardly looked up from his newspaper since the lady entered the house.
Poor Christian, meanwhile, looked to be excessively distressed by the lady’s presence and apparent fondness for the sound of her own voice. For Miss Stubbs had hardly drawn breath since Georgie came into the room.
“And where do you live, Miss Bennet? Not here at Greystone Hall, I should think.”
“She lives at Craven Castle, which is but five miles away,” Louisa answered before Georgie had the chance. “But my sister has been with us a few days now, on account of the snow.”
“Craven Castle. Goodness me. Is your home as grand as it sounds?”
“Craven is a castellated manor house, rather than an actual castle,” Georgie told her with a placating smile.
“Pray, what is the difference?” asked Miss Stubbs.
“A castellated house is one built in the style of a castle,” Christian answered. “With turrets and battlements, for example.”
“I do not understand,” said Miss Stubbs to Georgie. “If the house is called a castle, and has turrets and battlements, why is it not an actual castle?”
“That is a very good question, for which I have no ready answer.”
There was a silence before Christian said, “Though I have never been inside Craven Castle, I have often heard Captain Raynalds admire it excessively.”
“I think everyone must admire it,” said the Captain from behind his newspaper, “who has seen the place. For it is an exceptionally beautiful house.”
“I have always thought so,” said Georgie. “Though I do not suppose anyone can estimate its beauties as I do.”
“What say you, Mrs. Raynalds? You are only recently wed, I am given to understand. Have you missed living at Craven Castle since your marriage?”
“Not in the least,” Louisa replied. “For I have been far happier here at Greystone, with my wonderful husband and son, than I ever was there.”
“And what about you, Miss Bennet? Do you suppose you will miss living there after you are married?”
“I cannot say how I shall feel, Miss Stubbs,” Georgie said. “If or when I ever marry.”
“Do you have no beau then? I suppose you have not so many in this part of the country as we do in Portsmouth.”
“No, we do not.”
“I suppose your brother-in-law was considered quite the catch, Miss Bennet, when he moved to Much Wenlock, with him being so rich, and beaus being so scarce in this part of the world.”
“Upon my word,” cried Georgie, aghast. “I cannot tell you, for I do not perfectly comprehend the meaning of the word. But this I can say: My sister was lucky to get him, for Captain Raynalds is the kindest and best of men.”
“That being the case, she is a very lucky woman indeed to have caught herself such an agreeable husband.” Turning to Winnie, Miss Stubbs said, “And what about you, dear girl. Do you have yourself a young man? With your pretty face and genteel manners, I cannot imagine you want for admirers.”
The question caused Winnie to blush and the Captain to put down his newspaper. “My sister is still at school, Miss Stubbs. And far too young to be thinking of a husband at present.”
“School?” Miss Stubbs laughed heartily. “Upon my word. Whoever heard of a school for young ladies?”
Georgie eyed her with indignation. “For your information, Miss Stubbs, there are several such seminaries here in England and abroad. And, if you ask me, even they do not go far enough in the education of women.”
“Lord!” cried Miss Stubbs. “What strange opinions you have. For what does a young lady need to know except how to sew, clean, cook, and look after the household accounts and her children? And those things, I daresay, she can learn at home from her mother.”
“On the contrary, Miss Stubbs,” Louisa interjected. “A truly accomplished woman possesses a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages. She also knows how to walk, sit, speak, and behave at all times with gentility and decorum.”
“True enough,” Georgie said with pique. “But developing accomplishments and receiving a real education—in science, philosophy, mathematics, and the Classics, among other subjects—are two very different things.”
“Tosh,” said Miss Stubbs. “A woman need only know how to get herself a husband. And, in my experience, higher learning is not an allurement to which most gentlemen respond.”
Her father and Miss Stubbs, Georgie thought resentfully, would have seen eye to eye on the issue of women’s education. For she had begged him repeatedly to send her to a proper school—or, at the very least, to secure for her a tutor to lead her in her studies. But, alas, he’d refused, telling her that, if she did not take care, she would be labeled a bluestocking and live out her life as a spinster.
“Women’s delicate constitutions and sensibilities are ill-suited to serious scholarship,” he’d said, to her considerable vexation. “They also should be discouraged from reading novels and poetry. Otherwise, they may become overly romantic in their expectations with regard to marriage, losing sight of its real purpose: to forge alliances to improve the fortunes of both parties, and their line of descendants. Books on piety, housewifery, and cookery, therefore, are the only ones safe for the female mind, as are such pursuits as dancing, drawing, riding, and gardening, when undertaken in moderation.”
Miss Stubbs was still espousing her ignorant opinions. “Acting, on the other hand, is an excellent way for a young lady to exhibit her charms to a broad array of prospective suitors,” she was saying to Lt. Churchill. “Is that not right, sweetheart?”
Georgie cringed at her use of the endearment, as Lt. Churchill replied with evident disdain, “I am sure I know not what you mean.”
“You wicked man!” Miss Stubbs replied with pique. “For I daresay you know exactly what I mean.”
“Good Lord, Miss Stubbs,” Georgie said, also comprehending her uncouth meaning. “Do not be vulgar!”
Miss Stubbs, saying no more on the subject, began admiring the house and furniture once more, effusively complimenting everything she saw.
Georgie had seen enough to convince her that the scheming minx was unworthy of Lt. Churchill in every conceivable way. From the freedom and folly of her opinions and conversation, to her want of elegance and artlessness, to her backwardness and obvious ignorance, it all added up to this: Countess material the low-born slattern was not.
Claiming a sudden headache, Georgie left the room more determined than ever to do everything within her power to help Christian escape the engagement with as few consequences as possible. She had not yet figured out how, but she hoped to seize upon an idea very soon.
* * * *
Though Christian envied Georgie her escape, he could hardly follow her example and quit the room himself. Much as he longed to do precisely that. For as insufferable as he found Miss Stubbs’s company, he could not scruple to foist her upon his friends to a greater extent than he had already.
Not that he’d invited her to Greystone, but that made little difference. She was there because of him and, therefore, his responsibility to chaperone and entertain.
He thought of the play. It would probably be better to give it up than attempt to cast Miss Stubbs. Especially if she insisted upon playing Amelia to his Anhalt. And of course she would, even if Georgie did not give up the role voluntarily.
“Miss Stubbs,” said Mrs. Raynalds. “We have been rehearsing for a play we mean to put on—a private theatrical for our own amusement. Unfortunately, all the female parts have been cast, but you are welcome to participate in other ways, if you wish. Sewing costumes, for example, if you are handy with a needle…or prompting those of us who forget our lines in rehearsal. Would either task be agreeable to you?”
“Of course. I will gladly be of service wherever I can be useful. I would, of cour
se, rather have an acting role…as I aspire to be as great as Sarah Siddons one day and, therefore, welcome any opportunity to hone my craft.” With a smile Christian suspected was false, she added, “May I ask which play you have chosen to perform?”
“Yes, of course. We have chosen Lovers’ Vows. Do you know it?”
“Oh, yes. Very well. Very well indeed. For I have acted as understudy for the role of Agatha—at the Portsmouth Theatre. I’ve also portrayed various dramatis personae in The Rivals and the School for Scandal by Mr. Sheridan; The West Indian by Mr. Cumberland; and, of course, The Grecian Daughter by Mr. Murphy. You may not know this, but the latter is one of the few in which a woman is the principal figure, although, sadly, the role offers few opportunities for histrionic fireworks.”
At that, Miss Stubbs launched into a dramatic recitation of a speech from the play: “Lo! A wretch—the veriest wretch that ever groan’d in anguish—comes here to grovel on the earth before thee. To tell her sad, sad tale, and implore thy aid. For sure the pow’r is thine, thou canst relieve My bleeding heart, and soften all my woes.”
Following a brief interval (did she expect applause?), she said, “I was only an understudy, alas, but to the great Sarah Siddons herself, who is known for the role.”
“If I am not mistaken,” Louisa rejoined, “she is much better known for her portrayals of Lady MacBeth.”
“Indeed, Mrs. Raynalds,” Miss Stubbs replied. “How clever and well-informed you are. In theatrical circles, Mrs. Siddons is hailed as the Queen of Tragedy—a title well-deserved, I assure you. Once, when playing Aphasia in Tamburlaine, after seeing her lover strangled before her eyes, so terrible was her agony that she fell lifeless upon the stage. The audience believed she was really dead, and only the assurance of the manager could pacify them. Can you imagine?”
Christian, of course, knew something of Miss Stubbs’s acting ambitions, but had failed to mention it to his friends by design. For actresses were barely above prostitutes in the eyes of polite society. Yes, as a profession, acting was becoming more respectable for women, but only if they vigilantly minded their Ps and Qs.
“Oh! And I also have appeared in hippodramas.” Turning to the Captain’s wife, Miss Stubbs then asked, “Have you ever seen a hippodrama, Mrs. Raynalds?”
“I do not believe I have,” Mrs. Raynalds stiffly replied.
“Oh, you poor dear,” gushed Miss Stubbs. “You must insist that your husband take you to see one as soon as may be. Such clapping! Such cheering! Such prancing, neighing, and fighting! You have never seen the like, I promise you!”
“I am sure you are right,” Mrs. Raynalds returned. “For I do not even know what a hippodrama is.”
“It is a play in which real horses appear on the stage,” Christian explained, finally getting a word in edgewise, “in battles, stampedes, and rescues. A very dangerous undertaking for the actors, who must appear on stage with the animals. Injuries from flying hooves are a common occurrence, as I understand it.”
“Yes, that is true,” said Miss Stubbs. “But nothing can compare to its effect on the audience.”
“I do not speak of it often,” the Captain interjected, “but I am no stranger to playacting. When I was on half-pay several years ago, I attended Gosport Naval Academy, which provided its students with a play room, at which public performances were occasionally given. In one such play, I acted the part of Polydorus in Thermopylae, as well as recited the epilogue.”
“I should have liked to see your performance very much,” said Mrs. Raynalds with a sidewise smile for her husband. “Especially if the actors were as scantily dressed as were the Spartans in the actual battle.”
“You are aware, I presume,” Christian offered wryly, “that the Spartans and Greeks fought their battles in the buff.”
“Oh, Captain. Lord bless me,” said Miss Stubbs, feigning shock. “Did you really appear on a pubic stage without any clothes on?”
“I most certainly did not,” the Captain reposted indignantly. “All the actors, myself included, were quite respectably costumed in tunics and cloaks.”
There was a lull in the conversation until Miss Stubbs spoke again. “Pray, who is to play Agatha in your production of Lovers’ Vows?”
“I am,” Mrs. Raynalds told her.
“And who is your Amelia—you, Miss Raynalds?”
“No. I am to play Cottager and wife. Miss Bennet is to be our Amelia.”
“I see.” Turning a suspicious gaze on Christian, Miss Stubbs asked, “And pray, what role will you portray?”
He cringed at the question, knowing she would instantly see through his little charade. “Anhalt, the clergyman.”
A troublesome look came into her eyes. “Anhalt? Not Frederick or the Count?”
“No indeed,” he said, the worm of guilt squirming in his gut. “We are saving those roles for my brother—the choice of them, I should say. For Benedict is much more of an acting enthusiast than am I.”
“Your brother?” Her eyebrows pricked up. “And what, pray, is his situation?”
“He is at Oxford at present, studying the law…in between dramas.”
“Dramas?” asked Miss Raynalds with a playful smirk. “Of the personal or theatrical variety, do you mean?”
“Both, I suppose.”
“We expect him any day now,” the Captain’s wife interjected.
“And I, for one, cannot wait to meet him,” added Miss Raynalds.
“Does he perchance bring a friend?” asked Miss Stubbs. “If so, they could each take the part of their choosing—and also balance the number of ladies and gentlemen in our little party.”
“Oh, would that not be divine?” cooed Miss Raynalds excitedly. “For we could then have dancing after dinner.”
“It sounds to me like a very crowded house,” grumbled the Captain.
“There are rooms enough, I daresay,” Miss Raynalds told her brother. Then, frowning at a new thought, she added, “Oh, but who would play for us all while we dance?”
“You and my sister could take turns dancing and playing,” Mrs. Raynalds suggested. “And Miss Stubbs, too, if she plays. Do you, Miss Stubbs?”
“Only the Jew’s harp and penny-whistle, and very ill in both cases,” she said, blushing modestly. “For there were no funds at home for music lessons, I’m afraid—or even an old spinet upon which I might have taught myself. Though, having perfect pitch, I flatter myself I would have played very well had I been afforded the opportunity to learn.”
Christian did not doubt she had natural talent—for acting, at least. Because he knew perfectly well all of this was a performance aimed at ingratiating herself to his friends. Not that he believed them fooled for a moment.
Loudly clearing his throat, he called her gaze to his with malevolent intent. “My dear Miss Stubbs, you do know, I hope, that you will have to give up the theatre after we are married.”
“But…why should that be when there are numerous married ladies on the stage?”
“Name one.”
“Mrs. Siddons.”
“Who was from a family of theatre people and married an actor from whom she has lived apart for these many years.”
“Mrs. Edwin, then,” she offered. “What have you to say about her?”
“Only this: she is also the daughter and wife of actors.”
“Well …,” she said, tapping her chin. “I suppose then it will not further my case in the least to mention Mary Darby Robinson.”
“Who left her husband, useless and bankrupt though he was, to enter into a notorious affair with the adolescent Prince of Wales? I should say not.”
“What about Fanny Abingdon? Surely you can find no fault with her. For despite her humble origins and unhappy marriage, she held a distinguished position in society.”
“Mrs. Abingdon, whose ‘humble roots’ included a stint as a prostitute?” he asked sarcastically. “No, indeed. What fault could I ever find with such a distinguished personage?”
Miss Stubbs
loudly scoffed and folded her arms across her bosoms. “Oh, you are impossible! Just as all men are.”
“If you wish to be released from our engagement,” he said purposefully, “you need only say the word.”
“And give up the chance to be Lady Wingfield? Ha. You will not get rid of me quite so easily. For I only took up acting to catch myself a rich husband.” Turning to her hostess, who wore a look of aghast, she asked, “And have I not caught myself a prize fish, Mrs. Raynalds?”
There was a brief silence before Miss Raynalds said, “Lieutenant Churchill, how is it you know so very much about irreputable actresses?”
He cleared his throat and reversed the cross of his legs while attempting to formulate a suitable answer. Finally, awkwardly, he said, “One hears rumors when one goes to the theatre as often as I do.”
“Or invites as many actresses into his bed,” Miss Stubbs muttered disdainfully under her breath.
* * * *
All but her rival’s sotto voce remark, Georgie heard from the top of the stairs. The only thing that surprised her was that the conniving little bawd had not mentioned Elizabeth Farren, the celebrated Irish actress whose situation had much in common with her own.
Not that doing so was likely to advance her case with her betrothed (Georgie bristled at the thought of her prior claim on Christian), since Miss Farren also came from a theatrical family. Both her parents were actors and, as a child, she acted with her mother and sisters in juvenile parts. She first appeared on the London stage in 1777, as Miss Hardcastle in She Stoops to Conquer. The following year, she appeared at Drury Lane, which, along with the Little Theatre in the Hay, became her primary venues for the rest of her career.
She had over one hundred characters in her repertoire, including Shakespeare and various contemporary comedies and dramas. With regard to her talents, she was often compared to Fanny Abington, her only real rival. Her last appearance was in April 1797, two months before her marriage to Edward Smith-Stanley, Twelfth Earl of Derby, an interesting character in and of himself.