A Most Lamentable Comedy (7 page)

‘Sir, am I to believe you are warning me to behave in an honourable fashion towards your former mistress?’

‘Precisely, sir.’ We resume walking. ‘Both of them. If you flirt too much with Fanny, you’ll have Darrowby to reckon with as well, although I’m inclined to think a little competition would do no harm. The two of them have put up obstacles in each other’s path for almost six years, and Philomena and I are finding it tedious, as fond as we are of both of them. Good God, Otterwell should take better care of his hedges – they are like forests. I suppose in the north you have more dry-stone walls than hedges?’

I wonder at the sudden change of topic, but it is explained by the appearance of Mrs Linsley, who has left the other two women to join her husband.

‘You’re gossiping about us all,’ she says with great affection, taking Linsley’s arm. ‘Gentlemen are such gossips, aren’t they, Mr Congrevance?’

‘Guilty as charged, madam.’

‘And what have you been saying about me?’

‘That you are a paragon of womanhood,’ I say.

‘Oh fie, you are a dreadful flirt, just as Fanny said. What is it, James?’

The small, persistent presence tugs at Mrs Linsley’s skirts. ‘Carry me, Mama.’

He’s a solid child, and she is such a small thing. I grab him by the skirts and swing him on to my shoulders, where he tugs my hair and squeals with pleasure. The Linsleys look upon me with great approval. Well, I have never objected to small children (other than six-year-olds who snatch pretty women from under my nose).

‘I suppose you intend to seek a wife now you have come back to England,’ Mrs Linsley says with the enthusiasm of a married person seeking to enrol all in that happy state.

‘Possibly. To tell the truth, Mrs Linsley, I haven’t given the matter much thought.’ Since I have usually sought other men’s wives, this is only too true.

‘Oh, sir. You should. Look how happy little James is with you.’ She laughs and lays one hand on my sleeve. ‘Nay, I will not tell you of the virtues of my sisters, for one is married and the other two fend very well indeed for themselves in society. I daresay we will find you someone at the ball after the play, unless you—’

‘Now, Philomena, leave the man alone. Don’t interfere,’ Linsley says.

‘Or perhaps even tomorrow,’ she continues. ‘Some of Otterwell’s neighbours are to dine with us, and doubtless there will be some eligible ladies.’

I mumble something non-committal, with little James’s feet kicking against my chest, and resolve to stop acting like a fool with Caroline. She is, after all, only a woman of little breeding, attractive fortune and passable looks, and her hoydenish streak and idiosyncratic fondness for small boys are of no consequence. It is her fortune I must bear in mind. I shall not need to associate with her for long, once I have what I need. My campaign begins in earnest tonight.

Thus it is that I make a point that evening of ignoring Caroline altogether, but flirt with Mrs Gibbons while Darrowby glowers. Bearing in mind Linsley’s theory, I assume it can only benefit the couple, as well as my own interests.

My campaign with, or rather against, Caroline continues in the drawing room, but I find it harder than I imagined not to watch her, her face animated and beautiful as she slaps cards on the table and rails at Otterwell for his bad play. Or as she performs some piece on the pianoforte, quite badly, to tell the truth. After producing a fistful of wrong notes, she stops, announces that she will not take the repeat as it bores her and surely will bore us all, and bangs out some concluding chords. For some reason her lack of accomplishment, and her honesty about it, is quite charming. I find myself looking forward to the rehearsal of our play the next day with great eagerness.

Lady Caroline Elmhurst

Another rude awakening at the crack of dawn – how I shall survive these next few days I do not know – another hastily grabbed breakfast, and so we gather at Otterwell’s theatre for our first proper rehearsal. I do, however, still feel sustained by the triumphs of the previous day: Congrevance in all his unclothed glory, and my successful effort to ignore him at dinner, for every woman knows the way to attract a gentleman is to pretend indifference. The only problem was that he seemed to be ignoring me too, which was not my intent. Today, possibly, I shall unbend a little, and heavens, I shall have to pretend he is my lover (in the play, that is).

I have spent some little care on my appearance – a cotton gown, almost totally devoid of ornament, save for some pretty tucks at the hem, in a peach and white stripe, and a lawn fichu tucked around the neck. I look almost . . . virginal; the sort of woman a gentleman retired from foreign adventures might very well choose as a wife. I debate on whether I should wear a coral cross, but not wishing a thunderbolt to strike me, decide against it. The only ornament I wear is a pair of pearl bobs that would not look out of place on a miss fresh from a schoolroom. I can only hope I sustain the appropriate behaviour to match my appearance.

Fanny Gibbons is most correct, addressing us all formally, and after a mild tussle with Otterwell about who is to lead the rehearsal, she takes over. With a polite yet firm smile, she sends Otterwell to his library to finish his improvement on Shakespeare, since the whole first scene in the Athenian court has been cut. And so, since Oberon is busy chewing his quill in the library, Titania takes advantage of her consort’s absence to consult with her cook about dinner, and we begin at the scene where Hermia and Lysander are lost in the woods.

Fanny allows us to read from our prompt books, in which we may mark our directions on the stage. Congrevance is not half a dozen words into his speech before she stops him.

‘Mr Congrevance, please remember you are weary. You too, Lady Elmhurst. Start again, if you please.’

After three attempts, in which Mrs Gibbons tries to stop Congrevance striding on to the stage as though he were a lord surveying his estate, and orders me not to smile – I am sure she is wrong, all actresses smile – I actually manage to say the lines I drummed into my head yesterday.

‘Be it so, Lysander: find you out a bed; For I upon this bank will rest my head.’

‘Lie down, Lady Elmhurst.’

I dutifully write it in my prompt book.

‘Very good, Lady Elmhurst. Now lie down, if you please.’

‘I am afraid my stays do not allow me to do so, Mrs Gibbons.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘Short stays in future, please. Mr Congrevance, if you could be so kind.’

I look at the floor. ‘But it’s dirty!’

Congrevance removes his coat and lays it on the floor.

‘Very good, Mr Congrevance. We shall keep that, although you will wear a cloak in the play. Please make a note of it. Now, if you could help Lady Elmhurst lie down.’

His arm snakes around my waist, and his other hand grips mine. Goodness, how strong he is. He gazes into my eyes and, as he lowers me to the floor, murmurs, ‘Would I were my coat, madam.’

I giggle.

Fanny frowns at me. ‘On one knee, Mr Congrevance, for your next line.’

Still holding my hand, he kneels beside me, and I feel quite dizzy with longing.

‘One turf shall serve as pillow for us both; One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth.’

Oh heavens. My mind is a complete blank. It is as if no one in the room, the house, the word exists except we two. I swear the spiders pause on their cobwebs, a bee buzzing at the window stills, and we gaze into each other’s eyes as time slows and stops.

‘
Nay, good Lysander
. . .’ pipes up Master Gibbons, our Puck, who has been appointed prompt for the moment.

My voice is breathless and wobbly.

‘Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear, Lie further off yet, do not lie so near.’

‘If we were in London, and you a more experienced actress, I believe you could read the line that way,’ Fanny says with great kindness after a short, embarrassing pause. I am glad Otterwell is out of the room. It is bad enough that Linsley is there, smirking away, but I am glad to see Philomena kick him quite hard. What Fanny really means is that I apparently sound as abandoned as I feel at the moment. She continues, ‘However, Lady Elmhurst, Lord Otterwell and his neighbours would be shocked. Could you endeavour to sound more like an Athenian maiden?’

‘I thought I did,’ I say, thoroughly confused. Congrevance holds my hand still, and smiles at me – that rare smile that somehow hurts me and pleases me at the same time.

‘Watch,’ Fanny says. She runs up the stairs that lead on to the stage and sinks to her knees. There, she gazes at Congrevance and repeats the line with the touching innocence of a debutante who has received an invitation from a rake to waltz.

‘I’d feel a fool to say it that way,’ I say. Was I ever that young and stupid?

‘Try for something halfway between,’ Fanny says as she rises, brushing dirt from her dress. ‘We don’t want Mr Congrevance to forget himself, do we? Continue, please.’

With much stopping and restarting, we continue the scene. Master Will as Puck, word perfect and with very little encouragement from his mother, abandons his post as prompt and pretends to squeeze the juice from the magic flower into Congrevance’s eyes. And then Fanny and Darrowby join us on the stage, and things become quite different.

Helena’s first few lines remind me rather uncomfortably of my state of mind when Mary and I escaped from London – that everyone else was better off than me, and I wandered lost in an unfriendly world.

Congrevance awakes – or pretends to – and hurls himself on his knees towards Fanny.

‘
And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake,
’ he declaims with great ardour, and he sounds absolutely convincing. At that moment I hate Fanny Gibbons as passionately as I ever did. Painful memories overwhelm me as I remember how seven years ago in London I was in love with Linsley and believed that Fanny was attempting to lure him back into her bed. Even though the play demands that Congrevance declare passionate love for her, I am furious that he sounds so convincing.

Congrevance continues.
‘Transparent Helena! Nature shows a That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart.’

Fanny utters a strangled shriek and crosses her arms over her bosom, and were I not so angry and sad I should have laughed. As it is, I have to pretend to sleep still, until the two of them have left the stage, when I wake and find myself alone. I speak my lines, of how I have had a nightmare, which when I memorised them seemed as silly as the rest of the play, but now have a new meaning. Hermia has dreamed of her imminent betrayal by her lover, and I realise how fragile is my connection to this man I barely know.

‘Very well done, Lady Elmhurst,’ Fanny says. She scribbles a note in her prompt book. ‘Would one of you gentlemen help Lady Elmhurst to her feet?’

I truly believe that if Congrevance had stepped forward I would have murdered him, so it is just as well Darrowby is the one to come to my rescue.

I know Congrevance is watching. I contrive to show a lot of ankle on my return to the vertical, and my lawn scarf drops carelessly away. Naturally Darrowby can see into my bosom. ‘Thank you, sir,’ I breathe, brushing up against him, my hand resting lightly on his sleeve.

He clears his throat and steps back.

Fanny looks furious; Congrevance’s face is like stone, and I have the great satisfaction of knowing I have made them both jealous.

Altogether it is a satisfying morning’s work and I have worked up quite an appetite for luncheon.

Mr Nicholas Congrevance

I
cannot help but notice during our rehearsals that Caroline does her best to make me jealous by flirting with Darrowby. I tell myself I should ignore it, but I cannot, and flirt with Fanny Gibbons. Shortly after luncheon we are let go for the day, most of us in poor spirits except for Otterwell, who returned triumphant with his verse after a couple of hours summoning up the spirit of Shakespeare. Even I can tell it is poor stuff. I am much in sympathy with Master Will, who sits, wriggling and screwing up his face, occasionally mouthing some gibberish in the manner of da-
dum
-da-
dum
-da-
dum
-da-
dum
.

Given the tensions between the players, we are all relieved to go our own ways thereafter. I stroll around the grounds, taking care to avoid any of the others, and eyeing various spots that might be useful for the art of seduction (the maze, certain secluded paths and so on).

One thing I have learned about Caroline is that she does not like a rival, so that evening I set out to charm the daughters of Otterwell’s guests. They are a group of toothy gigglers, overdressed and overcurled, Miss Clark and Miss Julia Clark, and Miss Eggham. I cannot tell one from the other. Neither do I care. I produce the same tired compliments that have served me well in the past, forcing the shallow words out; thegiggle; and so on. After dinner (following some sensible male conversation) we join the ladies in the drawing room, where I make a point of helping the three misses choose music to play and assisting them with their shawls.

I am heartily sick of it and bored almost to death.

I have sworn once again I shall not look at Caroline. So I find myself Orpheus to her Euridice, although naturally she does not call to me, or follow behind me, but every atom of my being is aware that she is nearby. I am also aware that at some point I must make the first sortie in my campaign, and I have no idea how to go about it.

Nicholas Congrevance seems to be an entirely clumsy oaf, as incompetent as he ever was at the age of sixteen, the last time I used the name. I regret ever having brought him to life again. My other manifestations would have handled the situation far better.

The Reverend Tarquin Biddle:
Madam, as a younger son I am in no position to offer you anything other than my heart, which will be yours for eternity. Alas, my meagre allowance is spent on my ministry among the poor of Naples . . .