Love Plays a Part (5 page)

Samantha nodded. As she pulled her cloak around her and tied her bonnet strings again, she was entirely unaware that the moment she had wished for earlier in the evening had arrived. From across the theatre came the hard, dark stare of the Earl of Roxbury but, happily oblivious to it, Samantha took Mr. Pomroy’s proffered arm and passed out of the theatre.

Chapter 3

The next morning Samantha woke with a smile on her lips. For one brief moment between waking and sleeping she had not recognized her surroundings, but then the happy memory had returned. She had been to Drury Lane and seen the great Kean!

This very afternoon she would go to the theatre and find the manager. She would get a job backstage if she had to beg for it on her knees.

She scrambled from the bed in a flurry of excitement and hurried to the wardrobe. She would wear a simple gown, something old and shabby. There should be no problem with that, she thought with a slight frown, remembering how even her best gown had looked dowdy and plain the night before. She looked through the line of gowns and chose one of a nondescript drab brown. She would wear her old cloak - it was certainly shabby enough. And with her hair pulled back and no bonnet or gloves, surely she would look the part of a young woman who had fallen on hard times. A smile curved her lips as she realized that she too would be playing a part. And the fruition of her dream depended on how convincing she was. She laid the gown on the bed and moved off toward the old cheval glass.

She tried to imagine how it would feel to be poor and friendless, to have to depend on one’s skill with the needle to keep starvation from the door. “Please, sir,” she said to the imagined man in the mirror. “I need the work, sir. I’m very good with the needle, sir. I’ll work for anything, sir. I need the job.”

A little twinge of conscience hit her as she uttered these words, but she hastened to tell herself that they were really the truth. She did need this job-to make her dream come true.

A brisk knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and she turned from the mirror. “Yes, Hester?”

The old maidservant pushed open the door and set down the pitcher of warm water she was carrying. “I come to wake you, Miss Samantha. That Jake, he’s going to the market with me to get something to cook. You going to be all right here?”

“Of course, Hester. Mrs. Gordon is below.”

“Promise me you won’t go to that terrible place while we’re gone. I want that Jake to go with you. Ain’t safe for a young lady alone.”

“I won’t be a young lady,” said Samantha. “But don’t worry. I’ll wait for Jake. They probably won’t be rehearsing until later in the day.”

Hester did not look altogether convinced, and she repeated, “You promise?”

“Yes, Hester, I promise. I won’t set foot out the door till you return.”

“All right, then. We’ll be back soon.”

Samantha could not refrain from smiling as Hester marched from the room. It was clear to her that her old servant really enjoyed the company of the man Jake. Their endless quibbling was just a form of recreation. But Hester seemed embarrassed by her feeling of friendliness toward the man and persisted in referring to him as “that Jake,” as though using his name alone might signify that he was more nearly of Hester’s own status.

With a shrug of her shoulders Samantha reached for the water pitcher. Hester had been a member of her father’s household for all of Samantha’s five and twenty years, and never had she known her to be on friendly terms with any male servant. Samantha smiled again. Perhaps life would change for Hester too.

Several hours later Samantha stood outside the door of the Drury Lane Theatre. “If I don’t come out in an hour, you’ll know I’m working, Jake. I’m going to tell them I’m very poor.”

Jake nodded enthusiastically. “I gets the drift, Miss Samantha. Just give ‘em a woeful sort of glimmer.” And Jake contorted his wrinkled features into what he considered the proper expression.

With great difficulty Samantha kept from bursting into laughter. “Yes, Jake, I intend to look properly woebegone. Wish me luck.”

“Oh, I do, miss. I do indeed. And I think it’s a whopping good idea you got. For a woman you got quite a good understanding.”

Samantha stifled another smile. “Thank you, Jake.” She took a deep breath. “Well, I suppose I should go in. It won’t be any easier for the waiting.” And she straightened her shoulders and moved toward the door. No time now for closer examination of the
basso-rilievos,
she thought with a little shiver. Though the sun was shining, the October wind bit through the thin material of her cloak and reddened the tip of her nose. She smiled at the thought. Perhaps it would make her look more pathetic.

She pushed open the door. The lobby seemed dark and silent without the throngs of beautifully dressed people. She stood silent for a long moment, then made her way down a corridor toward where she supposed the dressing rooms would be.

“Hey, you! What are you doing in here?”

Samantha found herself facing an old man, a doorkeeper, she supposed.

“I - I’m looking for the manager. I - I’m a seamstress. I want a position here.”

The old man eyed her for a moment. “Well, I guess you’d best come this way. Mr. Arnold’s back here.”

“Yes, sir,” Samantha replied humbly, and the catch in her voice was real. It had suddenly occurred to her that she knew nothing about asking for a position. She knew nothing about this kind of life at all. And if she did not succeed in this, she would never know. She followed the man through dark corridors to a small room.

“Yes, Henry, what is it?” The man behind the scarred old table looked up with a frown.

“It’s this chit,
Mr. Arnold. Says she’s looking for work.”

“Fine, Henry.” Mr. Arnold eyed Samantha closely. She forced herself to return his look as the man named Henry closed the door behind him.

“So you want work.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you think you can do here?”

The man seemed rather gruff, and Samantha felt herself bristle. This man needed a good set-down, but then she bethought herself of her reason for being here. “I can sew, sir. Very well. And I thought I could be a help to a dresser too, if that’s needed.”

Mr. Arnold was silent for some moments, and Samantha concentrated on looking woebegone and hungry. She had never really known hunger, and she found it difficult to feign, but casting about in her mind for something to induce a sorrowful expression, she encountered the memory of her father’s death. The resultant sadness that came over her was completely real.

“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly.

“Samantha Everett,” she replied. She would not lie if it wasn’t necessary. “I will work very hard, sir. Please, sir?” The plea in her voice was also very real. This was her dream she was begging for.

“Well - I’ll give you a try. Maria’s old assistant quit. Went off to be set up in keeping by some little lordling. Do you have such aspirations?”

Samantha felt the color flooding her cheeks. “No, sir. I - I don’t want anything to do with gentlemen.” She thought quickly. “One led my sister into - ruin.”

Mr. Arnold nodded. “You seem like a sensible young woman. You’re hired. That is - if you’ll work for a shilling a week.”

“Yes, sir, I will, sir.” Samantha tried to look properly grateful. She had really carried it off!

“Now go find Maria; she’s in the greenroom.”

“Yes, sir. Which way, sir?”

He gestured to his right, and Samantha nodded and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. The corridors which shortly before had been empty were now full of hurrying people. Samantha watched with wide eyes as young men and old, young women and old, all moved purposively past her. They knew where they were going; they all belonged here. And now she did too!

She touched the shoulder of a woman who was passing. “Please, I’m looking for the greenroom. For Maria.”

“This way,” the woman replied, and Samantha fell into step beside her. “Are you new?”

“Yes. I’m to help Maria. I just got hired.”

The woman smiled. “Perhaps you’ll be sewing for me.”

“Perhaps.”

“Do you know who I am?” the woman asked with a little smile.

“No.” Samantha felt embarrassed. “Should I?”

The woman laughed. “I am Sarah Bartley. Sarah Smith until last August.”

Samantha tried to smile. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bartley, but I’ve only just gotten to London. I saw
Richard III
last night. That was the only play I’ve ever seen.”

Sarah Bartley smiled. “And you came the next day to ask for a job?”

“Oh, I -” Suddenly Samantha remembered her plan. “I needed a job. And I do like the theatre.”

Sarah Bartley smiled. “I can understand that. Well, here is the greenroom, Miss?”

“Samantha - please call me Samantha, Mrs. Bartley.”

“Very well, Samantha. I expect I’ll see you around.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The fact that Sarah Bartley had not asked
her
to call her by her first name had not been lost on Samantha. There was definitely a hierarchy in the theatre. Seamstresses and the like were obviously not in the same class as actresses and could not expect to be on a first-name basis with them. She would remember that.

She pushed open the door to the greenroom. For a moment she paused to look around her. This room was well furnished, with elegant chairs and divans for the aristocratic patrons of the theatre who liked to go backstage and mingle with the theatrical greats. A huge mirror on one wall caught Samantha’s eye. Standing before it was a beautiful blond girl who was assuming different poses.

“Excuse me, miss,” said Samantha. “Can you tell me where to find Maria?”

The blond girl turned and surveyed Samantha haughtily. “Do I look like a seamstress?” she asked in icy tones. “Find Maria yourself.”

About to snap a sharp reply, Samantha remembered her new station in life and backed away. Clearly the theatrical world, like the larger one, contained all kinds of people. She would have to keep that in mind.

“Miss?” came a wavering voice from a corner where an old woman sat stitching on a green velvet gown. “Was you looking for Maria?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Samantha moved toward her.

“I’m Maria. What is it you want?”

“Mr. Arnold told me to find you. He hired me today. I’m to be your helper.”

The old woman smiled. “I’m glad to have more help. One of the last girls left. She found a better life with a young man.”

Samantha could not help smiling a little at the differing points of view voiced on this subject by Mr. Arnold and Maria.

“She were a pretty young thing,” Maria continued as she stitched. “Can’t blame her for wanting nice things and a better life.”

“But how could she leave all this?” Samantha asked in bewilderment.

Maria looked up from her work and chuckled. “Young girls got hearts for love. How can the theatre beat that?”

Samantha smiled. “I’m not a young girl any longer. And I have no use for men.”

“What’s your name?” asked Maria, obviously not believing Samantha’s words, but choosing not to continue the subject.

“My name’s Samantha,” she replied. “Is there work for me to do this afternoon?”

Maria nodded. “I could use some help, all right. A couple girls have took sick too.”

Samantha reached for her cloak lacings. “Just tell me what to do.”

Maria looked toward a pile of white satin. “That gown’s got a rip in it. Mrs. Bartley needs it for
Hamlet
next week.”

“I met Mrs. Bartley in the corridor,” said Samantha. “She showed me how to get here. Does she always play tragedies?”

“No. Sometimes she plays comedies. Myself, though, I think she’s better in the tragic parts. Her Teresa in
Remorse
was real good. She’s got a good face. Noble-like. And when she’s playing a tragic part, her voice is real melodious. Mr. Hunt, him as was the critic on the
Examiner,
says she’s second only to Mrs. Siddons.”

Samantha selected a needle and thread from the basket by Maria’s side and applied herself to mending the rip in the gown. “She seemed like a rather nice person.”

Maria nodded. “Most people around here is fairly easy to deal with unless you’re trying to steal their roles.” She sighed and shook her head. “Then it can get real nasty-like.”

Samantha nodded. “I can imagine. Tell me, Maria, how do certain roles get to ‘belong’ to an actor or actress?”

“That’s easy,” said Maria. “They usually belong to whoever gets ‘em first. That’s why Mrs. Bartley, when she was still Miss Smith, didn’t make a go of it at Covent Garden. Ain’t no way easy to go against Mrs. Siddons.”

Samantha considered this. “No, I suppose it isn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t get to see Mrs. Siddons. My papa used to talk about her and the great Kemble.”

Maria nodded. “Two of the greatest,” she agreed. “Now that Mrs. Siddons has left the stage, Mrs. Hartley’s like to do real well. ‘Less some other tragic actress comes along that’s better.”

Samantha smiled. “Yes, I see.”

The door shut with a loud bang as the young blond player left the room. Maria shook her head. “That one now, she’s a different story.”

“She did seem a little peevish,” said Samantha, concentrating on her seam.

“A
little
peevish?” Maria frowned. “That one’d bite your head off as soon as she’d step on a bug.”

Samantha suppressed a shiver. “Who is she?”

“Name’s Lily Porter. This is her first season in London. She’s just in from Bath.”

“Is she good?” asked Samantha.

Maria shrugged. “She’s pretty and she knows it. Can’t act at all. But that don’t matter none. As long as she keeps her looks, she’ll do all right.”

“But when she loses her looks?” Samantha could not keep from considering that prospect with just a little relish.

Maria looked up, her bright eyes sparkling. “By that time she’ll have found someone to set her up in an establishment. She can give up the stage before anyone cares how bad her acting really is.”

Samantha nodded. “I suppose she’s after a lord too.”

Maria nodded. “Why not? It wouldn’t be the first time. Lords has married players afore. And will again, no doubt.”