Love Plays a Part (13 page)

She applied it to her wet face. “Thank you, milord.” She felt his warm breath on her ear and grew even more aware of his closeness to her, but this time she did not think about drawing away. There was something strangely comforting about his presence, something that she did not care to submit to analysis. She hung on to the handkerchief during the rest of the performance, using it frequently. When the curtain fell on the last act, she turned to his lordship. “I do not always weep at the theatre,” she said softly. “But such emotion is overwhelming.”

To her surprise the earl did not greet this statement with his usual amused smile but merely nodded at her, his own eyes dark with feeling.

Samantha stared at him for some moments, wondering if this were the same man whose brash comments so embarrassed her at times. Finally she spoke. “You are a strange man, milord.”

One of his dark brows rose dramatically. “How so?” he asked, one side of his mouth twitching slightly.

Samantha forced herself to continue. “You - you seem almost like two people. Sometimes you are very kind and gentle, and at others you are -”

“Go on,” he urged. “Speak freely.’

She took a deep breath. “At others - when you are being rakish - you seem to have no consideration for another’s feelings.”

His lordship pondered this for some moments, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. “I will make no excuses for my behavior,” he said finally. “It has never before provoked anyone to speak so severely to me.” He raised a hand to still her protest. “But I will think about what you have said.” Slowly he drew on his gloves. “And now I shall leave you to your thoughts. Good night, Miss Everett.”

“Good night, milord.” Samantha, startled by this rather abrupt leave-taking, rose to her feet as his lordship did.

“Yes, I shall certainly weigh your words,” he said as he bowed low over her hand. His tone seemed to carry a little levity, but when he raised his head, his expression was perfectly sober. Then, without another word he marched away, leaving her to watch the afterpiece with unseeing eyes.

Chapter 7

The next two days passed rapidly. Samantha went busily about her chores, and if sometimes she paused in the midst of some task to consider the earl’s odd behavior, no one noticed but Maria. Whatever she thought of such behavior, the old seamstress kept silent.

Puzzle as she might over the earl, Samantha could not understand him, and finally she endeavored to keep the man from her thoughts. This was not a particularly easy task, as memories of his lordship had a habit of intruding into her head just as the man himself did into her life. Still, she went cheerfully about her duties, determined to do her very best at the job that meant so much to her.

The third afternoon after the performance of
Hamlet,
Samantha was passing down the corridor outside Kean’s dressing room when she was startled by the sudden opening of the door. “Since you’re in such a foul mood today,” she heard a male voice proclaim from just inside the room, “I shall take myself off. But I’ll be there Thursday next to see your Iago.”

A sort of mumbled growling issued from the room as the gentleman emerged and almost collided with Samantha. “Beg pardon,” he said, smiling down at her.

Samantha looked up into a pair of dark eyes and recognized the man she had seen next to Jake in the pit. “It’s all right, milord,” she murmured.

“Good.” The gentleman nodded toward Kean’s room. “If you’re going to see him, beware. He’s cross as crabs today.”

“Yes, milord.” Up close Samantha saw that the dark smiling eyes were set in a dark, attractive face. He ran a hand through unruly black curls and seemed to hesitate before he continued on his way. Then Samantha saw why. This man limped. There was a deformity in his foot that all his elegantly tailored clothes could not hide.

Samantha drew a deep breath. That must be Lord Byron! The one who wrote the poems that everyone was talking about. And to think that he sat next to Jake in the pit - and conversed with him!

She turned away, unwilling to watch his painful progress down the corridor. More mumbled grumblings issued from Kean’s dressing room, and Samantha moved timidly toward it. If Mr. Kean were ill, he should not be left alone. Carefully she stuck her head around the door. Kean was lying on the couch, his hair disheveled, his clothes rumpled. His back was to the door, and she still could not tell if he was ill.

She advanced softly into the room, unwilling to disturb him, yet fearful that something might be wrong. “Mr. Kean, are you ill?”

“Huh?” He rolled over and looked at her blearily. “Hello, Samantha. What are you doing here?” The words were quite distinct, but Kean’s face looked white and drawn.

“I was passing by, sir,” she replied, “and a gentleman came out. I believe it was Lord Byron.”

“You believe right,” said Kean. “I sent the man packing. Can’t stand him hanging around all the time.” He pushed himself to a sitting position and winced.

“Are you ill, sir?” Samantha hurried closer.

Kean waved her away.
“Of course not,” he said rather impatiently.

“Is there something I can get you, sir? A drink of water, perhaps?”

Kean’s fine features wrinkled in disgust. “Lord, no, girl. Are you trying to poison me? There’s nothing you can do for me unless you’ve got a flask of blue ruin about you.”

Samantha took a hurried step backward. “Oh, no, sir. I never - imbibe.”

Kean laughed and then put his hands to his pounding head. “Come, girl, close the door and sit down. You’re better company than that lord any day. Sit down, I say!” His voice rose on the last sentence, and Samantha hastily sank into a chair. She did not know quite how to behave.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a man after he’s had too much?” he said, watching her intently.

Samantha shook her head. “I’m afraid I haven’t, sir.”

“I thought we were going to be friends,” said Kean accusingly.

“I - I forgot that, si - I forgot,” she repeated.

“And you were supposed to call me Ned. Remember?”

“I -I remember. But you seem so different. Not yourself.” Samantha found it difficult to look at him.

Kean frowned, and for a moment she feared she had offended him, but then he said in a voice of great feeling, “I suppose my poor Mary feels that way to. I’m not the man I was when we married.”

Samantha felt a little reassured by this and relaxed somewhat. “But s - Ned, I don’t understand. All the lords and ladies are eager to make your acquaintance. Why, you must have dinner invitations to all the great houses in London.”

“We do, we do,” Kean nodded. “But it’s like I told you before. I’m not comfortable there. These lords - and ladies - they talk politics and the state of the economy, and taxes.” He shrugged eloquently. “It all means nothing to me.”

“But the theatre,” cried Samantha. “They love the theatre.”

Kean frowned. “They may say that, but when they talk about the theatre, it’s such terrible nonsense. Even my little Charles would know better.” He sighed heavily.

“But Lord Byron,” protested Samantha. “Surely you must be able to talk to such a creative man? He’s an artist too.”

“He only writes the words,” said Kean with a glitter in his dark eyes. “The actor makes the words
live.”

“Besides,” he continued, “I can’t reach the
real
man. Byron himself is an actor, playing a part.” He dropped his face into his hands. “It’s only when a man’s at his lowest level, Samantha, closest to the animal nature, that he dares to be himself. That’s where I was last night - drinking gin with my friends the thieves and pickpockets. They never look down on a man.”

“But -” Samantha began again.

“No more about that.” Kean leaned back against his pillows. “Your presence is making me feel somewhat better. Tell me, did you enjoy last night’s performance of
Policy?”

“I found it an indifferent play,” replied Samantha, deciding to humor him. “Even with the efforts of Mr. Elliston and Mrs. Glover.” She paused and added truthfully, “But I am not a very good judge. I have only read Shakespeare and a few others. That must necessarily leave me biased toward plays which might well have seemed good to me had I never known the master’s work.”

Kean smiled. “You’ve a deal of understanding for a woman,” he said. “In fact, even for a man.”

“Thank you, N-Ned.” Samantha still had trouble with his name. “I conversed with Papa a great deal. But only about the theatre.”

Kean’s smile grew larger. “An excellent man, your father.
He equipped you quite well to live in the
ton
.”

Samantha shook her head. “I don’t wish to live in society,” she said. “I like my life here.”

Kean’s smile turned impish. “You like it now, but when the arrow of love pierces your heart, you will change your mind. Cupid does that.”

Samantha shook her head. “I know nothing of love. Nor do I wish to.”

Kean’s smile did not fade. “You can hardly reject forever what you know nothing about. Mark my words, Samantha, the fat little cherub will get you sooner or later.” Kean’s eyes began to sparkle. “Haven’t I seen Roxbury hanging about you?”

“Yes, but he is merely amusing himself. He talks to me about the theatre.” Belatedly she remembered Kean’s opinion of lords’ knowledge of the theatre and paused.

“Never mind, Samantha. Go on. Roxbury knows something about the stage, all right. Knows enough to let an actor be, too. Doesn’t come toadying around just because I’m famous. He minds his business and I mind mine.” Kean nodded. “That’s the kind of lord I like.”

Samantha could not help but smile at this simple speech, but her expression soon changed as Kean continued. “You could do worse than let Roxbury set you up.”

Samantha shot to her feet. “Mr. Kean! Such a thing to say! I should never stoop to such an abominable thing.”

Kean smiled. “Ah, yes, Samantha. I forgot your delicate background. You play the part of poor country girl so well. But still, it needn’t be financial necessity that moves one into such a situation. Roxbury is quite an attractive man. He could teach you a lot.”

“Mr. Kean!” Samantha backed toward the door. “I cannot listen to such a terrible thing. This - this is very embarrassing for me.” She paused with one hand on the knob. She really did not want to leave him, yet such talk made her extremely nervous.

Kean chuckled slightly. “Very well, Samantha. Very well. Come back and sit down. I will discuss only subjects that you approve.” His features shifted into a pleading smile. “Please? I need a friend this afternoon.”

Samantha hesitated. “Well, if you promise to stay away from the subject of Lord Roxbury. I find it extremely annoying.”

“You have my promise, Samantha,” said Kean. “Now close that door and come sit down.”

“All right.” Samantha shut the door and settled herself again in the chair.

“Talk to me,” said Kean.

“I do not know what to talk about.”

“Tell me about your childhood,” said Kean, a strange intent look on his face.

Samantha was bewildered. “There is nothing to tell. I had my nurse and my toys. My mama kept me often with her.”

“Were you never hungry?” asked Kean.

“Hungry!” Samantha’s startled tone reflected her disbelief. “Of course not.”

“Nor cold, nor wet?”

Such despair hung in Kean’s voice that Samantha’s reply was tempered. “No, Ned.”

He sighed heavily. “And you lived all your life in one place, with a mother who loved you.”

Samantha nodded. “Was it not like that for you?”

He looked at her with eyes full of pain. “My mother deserted me when I was a babe and did not reappear until I could do readings and imitations to bring coins to her pocket. Then she dragged me around the countryside from fair to fair, show to show.”

“She - left you?” Samantha could hardly say the terrible words. “She left her baby?”

Kean nodded. “Babies that cannot perform are useless to women like my mother.” His eyes softened. “But I survived. Thanks mainly to Aunt Tidwell.” He smiled suddenly. “But enough of this feeling sorry for myself. I’ve achieved my dream.” He looked around him. “And sometimes I cannot believe it.”

Samantha nodded. “I can understand that - a little at least. When I think of all the years I spent imagining London and the theatre, it’s hard for me to realize that I am
really
here.”

“
Do you find the theatre as wonderful as you expected?” asked Kean.

Samantha considered. “It seems very exciting to me, Ned. But I am not an actress, so I do not know about that part of it.”

Kean’s eyes gleamed, and his fine mouth curved in a slight smile. “The stage is a demanding mistress,” he said, evidently unaware of the embarrassment his choice of metaphor caused her. “She’s fickle and frivolous and moody. Always demanding more and more.” A strange look crept into his eyes. “But she gets in your blood like a madness, and the more you have of her, the more you want. Until you wake one morning to discover that you’re no longer your own man. You belong to her - body and soul.” He sighed and turned to face her. “And yet you can’t
really
be sorry. Deep down you know you’d do it all over again, exactly the same way.”

Samantha sat silent, pondering on this. It was clear that the theatre was Kean’s very life. “I think I understand just a little,” she said finally.

Kean laughed. “Don’t let me bother you, Samantha. As you can see, I relish my madness and would not part with it for all the world.” He raised a hand to his head. “It’s only now and then that I seek to escape in the Lethean depths of blue ruin - knowing that such escape is only of the moment, and tomorrow I shall be as firmly enchained as ever - a willing slave.”

Samantha nodded. She did not quite know how to respond.

“Do not look at me with such compassionate bewilderment,” said Kean with a slight chuckle. “If you could only reproduce that look on call, what an Ophelia you would make.”

“Me!” Samantha almost jumped from her chair. “Oh, no! I should be absolutely terrified to face all those people.” She shivered slightly.

“I used to be afraid of the audience,” he said. “But it can be tamed. And when the crowd is with you - really with you -” He rose suddenly and stretched his arms toward the ceiling. “There’s nothing in the world like it. You can
feel
the power coming into you. You seem to grow and grow as more and more power reaches you.”