Love Plays a Part (2 page)

“Poppycock! You’ve kept your looks admirable.” Hester’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Don’t look a day over twenty. Ain’t no need to advertise your age.”

Samantha shook her head. “No, Hester. I refuse to lead such a life. I shall never marry. I intend to spend my days in the theatre.”

Hester shook her gray head. “It ain’t natural, that’s all. A young thing like you.”

“Come, Hester. We must pay the reckoning and get back to our places in the coach. Natural or not, I have made my plans for the future. And they do not include a husband.”

A warning look silenced any further protests on Hester’s part, and she rose to follow her mistress out. Unfortunately the way to the door led past the table where the dark lord sat.

Samantha steadfastly kept her eyes straight ahead, but she could not control the rest of her body so well, and to her dismay, just as she drew abreast of the dark earl, she felt the color flooding her cheeks yet again. She was being absolutely ridiculous; she told herself so severely. This Roxbury surely had better things to do than to watch someone like herself. Yet, as she passed, she was clearly aware that the other man had turned to follow her with his eyes. “A pretty piece,” he said in a voice that was meant to be quite audible to her ears.

“Yes, but a trifle on the plain side,” replied Roxbury, a hint of laughter in his deep voice.

Samantha stiffened slightly at these words but continued to march on, out the door and toward the coach. Her face was still flushed as she climbed into her seat, and her fingers trembled slightly as she undid the ribbons that held her bonnet in place and laid it in her lap. Insolent lord! Plain, indeed! What did he know about such things? And then, quite suddenly, the ludicrous aspect of the whole incident struck her. How addlepated she was becoming, to let herself be flustered because some arrogant, toplofty lord thought she was plain. Far more sensible to be outraged because that other one had called her a pretty piece - a fine way to talk about a decent young woman.

She squared her shoulders; she had best learn how to deal with such men. From what she had heard from certain housemaids who had spent time in the city, such lords abounded there. And they were always on the lookout for pretty young women. Pretty and stupid. Well, she was not going to be taken for a woman of that kind. Not Samantha Everett. Let the arrogant lords set their traps and practice their wiles. She was far wiser than that. She knew exactly what she meant to do with her life.

* * * *

The rest of the trip passed rather tediously. The heat was oppressive and the company dull, but Samantha did not particularly notice. Again she had lost herself in contemplation of the future. When the coach pulled up in front of the Inn of the Two Swans, she was almost surprised that they had already arrived. Clutching at the parcel that held her beloved Shakespeare, she climbed down from the coach and looked around her curiously. The inn was alive with passengers coming and going, with post boys scurrying to and fro. The hustle and bustle seemed very loud to Samantha, accustomed as she was to the quiet of the Dover countryside. The landlord, a rather corpulent man, stood in the doorway, his broad belly banded by an apron that had once been white. Everyone seemed quite busy and purposeful, and it was with some trepidation that Samantha approached one friendly-looking maid and inquired how far it was to Leadenhall Street.

The maid smiled. “Down that way, miss, is a hack stand. Hire you a carriage there. It ain’t real far, but with your boxes an’ all -” She cast a glance down to where Hester stood guard over the boxes.

“Yes, that seems sensible.”

“I could send a boy, miss, if you was to give him a little something.
He can tell the hack driver to bring up a coach.”

“Yes,” said Samantha. “I’ll do that.”

And so some moments later they were moving through London’s streets. Samantha looked out the window of the hack with great interest. Papa had often told her tales of London, of its teeming streets and pulsing thoroughfares. But most of all she had loved to hear his descriptions of the theatres - Covent Garden and Drury Lane. Over and over she had begged him to repeat those descriptions of great stages and dazzling chandeliers, of gilt boxes and velvet sofas, of wealthy gentlemen and beautiful women. But most often she had begged to hear about the greenrooms and the dressing rooms, the greasepaint and the costumes, the portrayals by the great artists that Papa had been privileged to see act. The great Garrick, for instance. Papa said he was the greatest actor ever to walk the English stage. And John Philip Kemble, one of the greatest actors of all time. Samantha smiled in pure pleasure at the thought that soon she herself would be watching some greats.

“Lavender, lavender,” came the cry through the carriage window. Samantha looked out to see a pretty child of eleven or twelve crying her wares. “Mackerel, mackerel,” came another cry. “Chairs to mend, chairs to mend.” “Old clothes, old clothes.” “Knives to grind, bring your knives to grind.” “Flowers, flowers to put in your house.”

Cries came from every direction, and Samantha wondered how anyone could tell what was going on with so much noise on all sides. But the people around her did not seem to mind the noise or the crowds. They moved with ease among the throngs, purposeful looks on their faces.

Samantha sighed wistfully. Soon she too would be able to move about London’s streets just as though she’d always lived here. “Look, Hester. Just look at the people. So many.”

“Humph!” Hester’s opinion of the city needed no more words. It was obvious that she had no use for such an iniquitous place.

“Now, Hester. You’re here and here to stay.” Samantha smiled at the old maidservant. “You might as well make the best of it.”

Hester snorted again. “I said as I’d come an’ I did. Can’t let you come to such a place alone. But I don’t got to like it. And I won’t.” And with this ultimatum Hester resumed her position of eyes straight ahead, back ramrod straight.

“I really do appreciate your coming with me,” soothed Samantha. “I can’t tell you how much.”

To this Hester made no reply, and Samantha said no more, once again giving her attention to the streets around her. And then the carriage drew to a halt.

Samantha climbed out and supervised the unloading of their boxes to the pavement. She gave the coachman his fee and then stood looking around. She was directly in front of number
36,
Leadenhall Street, where her father’s solicitor, Mr. Pomroy, kept his office. But it was not to that building that Samantha’s eyes were drawn, but to number 33. In the niche above the door stood a helmeted statue of Minerva leaning on a tall spear, shield in her other hand. Through the door came several well-dressed ladies who paused to nod at a pair of gentlemen on the pavement. Here was another of the London landmarks that her father had mentioned. “Look, Hester. It’s the building of the Minerva Press. Their lending library is there too.”

Hester looked, and what appeared to be a smile curved her thin lips. She had no use for the theatre, but the printed word was quite another thing. Hester’s only vice, if such it could be called, was the reading of romances. Samantha had at first found this appetite of Hester’s rather incongruous, but then, considering her own obsession, she had wisely decided to let Hester enjoy her kind of literature in peace.

A shop boy came running out of Mr. Pomroy’s office and tugged the boxes in. Samantha and Hester followed, and before long they were seated in the solicitor’s private office.

Mr. Pomroy nodded at Samantha. She had not seen him for several years, but he had not changed. He was still the short, stout, bald man who had been her father’s solicitor and her friend.

“Your letter did not give me any indication of the time of your arrival,” said Mr. Pomroy with a worried frown. “I would have sent someone to meet you.”

“That wasn’t necessary,” said Samantha with a warm smile. “I could not know for sure when we would arrive.”

Mr. Pomroy shook his head. “You do not understand the city, Miss Samantha. It is not a place for a young woman to go about alone.”

“I am not alone,” Samantha replied. “Hester has come with me.”

Mr. Pomroy shook his head, a worried frown creasing his forehead. “You are two women.  No insult intended to Miss Hester, but two women alone in the city -”

“I ain’t insulted,” said Hester firmly. “I been telling her the same thing myself.” Hester’s thin lips pressed together primly. “But she’s a stubborn one, won’t listen to nobody.”

Mr. Pomroy’s round face creased momentarily into a smile. “I’m afraid you’re right, Miss Hester. She is a stubborn one, but between the two of us perhaps we can protect her.”

“Humph!” Hester snorted indelicately. “I got my doubts ‘bout that. Wait’ll you hear what she’s planning to do.”

Mr. Pomroy looked slightly uncomfortable and wiped at his wet forehead with a large white handkerchief. “What exactly
are
you planning to do?” he asked Samantha.

“It’s really quite simple.” She smiled at him reassuringly. “I plan to devote my life to the theatre.”

Mr. Pomroy’s round face reflected dismay. “An actress! Miss Samantha, such a course of action is impossible.”

“No, no, Mr. Pomroy. I don’t wish to be an actress. I know that that takes an early start. I simply mean to get a job behind the scenes. Perhaps as a seamstress or a dresser. That way I can be backstage. I can know the actors and actresses. I can see the plays come to life.” As she spoke, Samantha’s eyes began to glow and her face to grow animated.

“Miss Samantha.” Mr. Pomroy seemed almost unable to speak. “You - you cannot take such a job. Why, why it would expose you to the worst elements of London.”

“Actors are now respected people,” said Samantha with a spark in her eye.

“I don’t speak of actors,” said Mr. Pomroy. “I speak of the bucks that congregate in the greenrooms.”

“I have no use for lords,” said Samantha. “I shall not be bothered by them.” This was not quite the truth, for the solicitor’s words had evoked in her mind a very vivid picture of the darkly handsome features of the Earl of Roxbury. It was not a picture designed to put a young woman at her ease, since her imagination insisted on presenting her with a picture of the earl when he had been regarding her with that strangely piercing look. Still, she meant what she said. She had no use for lords, Roxbury least of all!

Mr. Pomroy swallowed several times uncomfortably. “Please! Miss Samantha. You do not understand. You are a young woman - if I may say so - an attractive young woman. And these lords - they would not be aware of your rightful station in life.” He swallowed again. “One does not expect to find a young woman of breeding employed as a menial in such a place. You - you will be insulted.”

“Nonsense! I am quite capable of taking care of myself.” Samantha was not as convinced of this as she sounded, but she was not about to cry craven when she was this close to her goal. If any toplofty lord approached her, she would give him such a cool setdown that it would be months before he badgered a poor female again. She turned all her charm on the little solicitor “Really, Mr. Pomroy. I have quite made up my mind. You cannot dissuade me from my purpose. I am quite firmly set on it. Now! Will you help me find rooms, or must I do that myself?”

“My dear Miss Samantha.” Now Mr. Pomroy was plainly distraught. “Of course I will help you. You know whatever I say is for your own good.”

Samantha nodded. “Yes, my dear friend, I know that. Now” - she made her voice firm - “I want rooms as close to the theatres as possible. Someplace near Drury Lane - or Covent Garden.”

Mr. Pomroy looked about to protest but thought better of it. “Very well, Miss Samantha.” His forehead wrinkled again. “It would be much more sensible to take some rooms around Piccadilly or St. James’s Square. But perhaps we can find something suitable on Bow Street. I know of a respectable landlady there. Yes, yes. Bow Street it shall be. But Miss Samantha, please, you really must have a male servant on the premises. A lady in London simply cannot exist without a male servant.”

“All right, Mr. Pomroy, you may find me a male servant. But please, no young footmen who aspire to be more of a lord than their master. I want no such in my establishment.”

“No, no, Miss Samantha. I’ll send you one of my own men. Jake has been with me for a long time. He will serve you well. He’ll be company for Miss Hester, and he knows his way around the city.”

“Fine, Mr. Pomroy. You’re a true friend. I greatly appreciate your help in this matter.”

Mr. Pomroy almost beamed. “It’s nothing, nothing. I’m glad to do anything I can to be of assistance.”

He moved toward the door. “I will just inform my clerk that I am going out for a while. Then we’ll take my carriage to Bow Street. Let me see, her name is Mrs. Gordon, a fine woman, a widow. Her husband was a friend of mine. A good man, but a trifle impecunious. I helped her set up in this house, and she rents lodgings. A good woman.”

“That sounds fine,” Samantha replied.

* * **

Mrs. Gordon turned out to be a buxom, bustling little woman with a cheerful smile and a wonderful welcoming way about her. “Why, of course I’ve rooms for a friend of Mr. Pomroy’s,” she said, clasping her soft white hands over her plump stomach. “You just come right in, my dear. Right in. It’s just a lucky thing, my former tenant left a week past, and I hadn’t found anyone to replace her. It’s hard these days. I run a respectable house, you see. And so many young ladies these days -” Mrs. Gordon sighed deeply. “It’s just not like the old days. Young women wanting to receive gentlemen in their rooms!” She raised an indignant eyebrow. “It’s indecent, that’s what it is.”

“There is no need to worry about gentlemen as far as I’m concerned,” said Samantha strongly. “I know no gentlemen in London, nor do I intend to make the acquaintance of any.”

Mrs. Gordon seemed slightly taken aback by this statement. “Well now, I don’t mean to be overstrict. That is to say, if you want to receive a young gentleman, and your maid was to stand by - Why, I guess there wouldn’t be no harm in that.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Gordon, but really I don’t believe there will be any callers. I have not come to London to become a social butterfly. I am here to do some very serious work.”