Daughters of England Page 13

  I was humiliated beyond endurance. I hated myself as much as I did him for allowing myself to be so easily deceived.

  What a fool I had been! A silly, innocent girl, meek, trusting, overawed by the first man who had noticed me. No wonder Kitty had thought fit to impress on me the danger of life in London.

  I hated him as he stood there, smiling cajolingly, trying to deceive me again.

  “Please leave this house,” I said, “and never, ever come near it again.”

  “Sarah, don’t be so dramatic.”

  “It is probably a familiar situation with you. How many trusting women have you betrayed? Did you boast of it with those friends who helped you plan your villainous deeds? I wish to God that I had never seen you. I loathe you, I despise you for the miserable rogue you are. I never wish to see you again. The least you can do after having done so much to ruin my life is to get out of it.”

  “You do not mean this, Sarah. It is a blow, I am aware of that. But really, you should have realized.”

  “Go!”

  “You will see sense in a day or so.”

  “I have already seen sense. That is why I ask you to go.”

  He lifted his shoulders and looked at me regretfully, bowed and said: “This is not the end, you know.”

  Then he was gone.

  I slipped into a chair and stared blankly before me.

  Maggie came in and knelt beside me.

  “So, he has gone,” she said.

  I nodded.

  “It is for the best,” she said. “Sarah, my dear Sarah, we will turn our back on it. We shall do our best to forget it has happened. And we shall go on from here.”

  At Whitehall Stairs

  I DO NOT KNOW how I should have lived through the weeks that followed but for Maggie. She was there all the time when I needed her. I had not realized until I had sent Jack away that it was all over, and I rejoiced that only a few people knew what had happened.

  Maggie had talked seriously to Martha and Rose. She had told them the truth because she felt it was better for them to know the full story, of which they already knew a great deal, and then they would draw their own conclusions. They were part of the family, she told them, and this was our secret.

  I scarcely went out during those days. I was afraid of meeting someone. I had the feeling that I wanted to crawl away and hide.

  Maggie understood. She helped me in every possible way and in the midst of my unhappiness I thanked God for this good friend.

  A few weeks passed in this state. I began to think of the theater and the thought excited me. Maggie brought in news of what was happening and who was playing in what. I knew some of the plays and would imagine myself in them. I went over the parts I had played; I felt the old excitement creeping back, and I wanted to be there, a part of it all again.

  I tried not to think of Jack. That was not possible, of course. I had wild fantasies in which he returned and proved it was all a mistake. We were truly married and he was begging me to go back with him.

  How foolish I was!

  “Forget it,” said Maggie.

  There were times when I felt the need to be alone. Then I would go outside sometimes at dusk in my hooded cloak so that I could not be easily recognized, walk past the theater and watch the people going in.

  I felt that if I could go back to work I might begin to be happy again.

  Sometimes I would talk to Maggie about it. She was in agreement with me. “You’ll make a fresh start,” she said. “If you were back on the stage you’d grow away from all this as time passes.”

  “Some will know what happened. They will laugh at me for a simpleton who was an easy victim.”

  “It has happened to others before you.”

  “I could not bear the sly looks.”

  “You cannot think Rosslyn has talked.”

  “No. I do not think so. Harry Fresham…”

  “They will not wish to expose themselves as such heartless villains.”

  “They might think they are very clever to have arranged such a farce.”

  “I think not. You will have to have courage. We will construct a story and keep to it. You have been away visiting your family in the country. Your mother was ill, perforce you had to stay and nurse her.”

  “As you did your sister.”

  “Exactly so.”

  “Perhaps one day, Maggie…”

  “When you are ready,” she said.

  So I took my evening jaunts past the theater and when I came back Maggie would be waiting for me. She was convinced that one day I should be ready to face anything that would take me back and she believed that the theater could be my salvation.

  There were times when I felt deeply depressed, when I lured myself into thinking that Jack would come for me and would explain everything. It was the old theme that there had been a terrible mistake. I found it becoming harder to convince myself, but I still went on dreaming.

  Maggie would quite rightly dismiss my fancies, but on one particular night I did not want to hear her do this. I wanted to go on deluding myself.

  It started to rain but I had no wish to return to the house. The gray dark skies and the rain on my face fitted my mood. I wanted to go on walking.

  The rain was falling fast but I was hardly aware of my damp cloak. There were few people in the streets. Who wanted to walk on a night such as this one? Only those like me who were deeply sunk in a life of never-ending regrets, of lost hopes and with a view of only the dismal future.

  At length I was cold and tired and I turned my steps homewards.

  Maggie shrieked when she saw me. They had been worried about me.

  She cried: “You are wet to the skin!”

  Martha and Rose were fussing round me.

  “Get those wet things off. Do you want to kill yourself? What have you been doing?”

  My teeth were chattering. Martha came up brandishing the warming pan and soon they had me in bed, still shivering—chilled, as Maggie said, to the bone.

  The next morning I was very ill.

  I believe that during the week that followed I came near to death. The shock of my discovery had had a deep effect on me, and I was vulnerable. I must have walked in the rain for more than an hour. There was a cold wind and I had already been suffering from a cold.

  To have walked through the rain in wet clothes as I had done was asking for trouble, Maggie pointed out. But I had not been aware of my wet clothes or the weather. I had been thinking of that last scene with Jack and that moment when, knowing it was useless, he had made no attempt to deny how he had deceived me.

  I was delirious on occasions that first day and, when I returned to reality, Maggie told me she had been very frightened.

  She brought a doctor to me. I was only vaguely conscious of what was going on around me. Maggie gave orders which Martha and Rose obeyed.

  I do remember Maggie’s sitting by my bed, holding my hand, talking to me. I was half aware of what she said. We would all be together, all of us. We had a great deal to look forward to.

  Had we, I wondered, and in my half-conscious state I thought I was with Jack and he was talking of the future. I was listening to him avidly but all the time a black shadow was hanging over me.

  The doctor came to see me several times. I had emerged from my hazy dream. I knew that I was very ill and I was in my bed in Maggie’s house, that I had gone through a mock marriage ceremony with Lord Rosslyn who had now gone away forever.

  Then I began to get better. Maggie looked happy; so did Martha and Rose, and I kept telling myself how lucky I was to have such friends. What should I have done without them? I tried to think, where should I have gone? I had very little money. What should I have done? Perhaps of necessity I should have had to accept Jack’s offer…the fine house…the life of a mistress whose lover came to see her when it was convenient for him to do so. I should not have been happy thus. I saw now that my upbringing had not fitted me for that kind of life. Although I had deplored the st
rict rules of my childhood home, and indeed had escaped from them, they had had some effect upon me. I could never be happy in the sort of life I should have had with Jack Adair.

  How grateful I was to Maggie.

  I will repay her, I thought. I will go back to the stage. As soon as I am strong enough, I will go to the theater and ask for a part. The thought cheered me considerably.

  I wanted to talk to Maggie about it.

  I did, and she listened.

  “Yes,” she said. “When you are well enough. It would be good for you. There is something I have to tell you, Sarah. It may be something of a surprise…but I think you will be pleased…when you really get used to it.”

  “Maggie, what is it?”

  She seemed reluctant to say, which was unlike her. If she had news—particularly if it were good news—she could scarcely wait to impart it.

  She cleared her throat and looked at me anxiously.

  “When the doctor was here…well, he examined you, of course…and he thought that you showed signs of…well, the fact is, he thought, and now he is sure, that you are going to have a baby.”

  I stared at her in amazement.

  “He did not think he was wrong, but, of course…”

  “Maggie,” I gasped, “it can’t be true.”

  “Why not? It’s likely enough. It’s a long way off yet…and, er, there’s time to plan.”

  I was speechless. A baby? Jack’s child. I had said this was an end, and it was really a beginning.

  The shock had passed. A baby, I thought, my own child. At first I was terrified and I began to think of all the difficulties. And then a sense of wonder overcame me. A child to contemplate…my very own child.

  I could see that Maggie was excited.

  “A child in the house,” she said. “That’ll liven us up a bit. I haven’t told Martha yet. I wonder what she’ll say. Fuss around, I’ll swear, but once the little one’s here…Sarah, you’re afraid. Don’t be. We will manage.”

  As we grew accustomed to the idea the excitement grew and Maggie and I could talk of little but the child.

  “We’ll have to change our ideas a little, I fear,” she said. “You had been home to your family, remember? That accounted for your absence. We’ll have to have a husband now. What of this? You went home and married a long-time sweetheart whom you had known from childhood. Soon after the wedding he was recalled to the army. He is a soldier. He’s serving with the army in Holland. When there comes a suitable time we shall have to kill him off. Yes, that’s the story. We don’t want our little one to be called bastard.”

  “And Martha and Rose…”

  “Oh, they know too much. So it will have to be the truth for them. We can trust them. They like to share the family secrets. It makes them feel at home. Leave it to me. All you have to do is get well. You’ll have to take double care of yourself now. Our baby has to have a good welcome when he or she arrives. Which do you want, Sarah, a boy or a girl?”

  “I had not thought of that. It does not seem of any importance. All I want is the baby.”

  Maggie nodded, contented.

  She knew, and I knew, that I had taken the first steps away from that disastrous farce of a marriage. Difficulties might lie ahead, but we could face them. The future would hold my child and that was more important to me—and to Maggie—than anything.

  Now that I was well, there was so much to do, announced Maggie.

  She had called Martha and Rose to her and talked to them very seriously, telling them that she expected their absolute loyalty. This was their home and they should not forget it. Then she explained about the baby. Their reaction was much as she had predicted. I knew that my baby would have a good welcome from all in this house.

  Martha’s comment was: “We shall need good fresh milk. I’ve always said that’s the best food to give a baby.”

  Maggie explained about the imaginary soldier who was in Holland in the King’s army. Martha nodded wisely. It would not be good for the baby if the truth were known. Maggie had settled that matter and now the whole household was eagerly awaiting the coming of the child.

  Maggie had said that I must give up all thoughts of acting until after the baby was born.

  “You’ll have to cosset yourself, especially after that illness you had. That could have weakened you a little. Mind you, you’re a strong girl. It’ll be all right. But we’ll take no risks.”

  I thought of Jack only rarely now. If he saw me now he would certainly not want me and I was sure he would not welcome the encumbrance of a child. Well, I could do without him. I had my very good friends whom I could trust completely. I need never think of him again.

  The story of my fictitious husband had been accepted by the few to whom it had been necessary to tell it. Life was going peacefully along. I was getting larger every day and they all regarded me with delight. I was pampered by everyone in the house. There was little talk of anything but the coming baby.

  The midwife whom Maggie had procured pronounced herself pleased with my condition.

  “I reckon it will be an easy birth,” she said.

  And so, on a warm June afternoon in the year 1667, my child was born.

  They held her up for me to see her as I lay exhausted after my ordeal.

  She appeared to have been well equipped with everything that a child should bring into the world.

  I held out my arms and they laid her in them. At that moment I could forget everything but that I had my child.

  I had said I wanted her named after Kitty, who had been Katherine.

  We called her Kate.

  She was indeed a lovely child. She was of good temper, more given to smiles than tears. She was bright and very soon knew each one of us. We adored her and wondered how we had managed to live without her. As for myself, I could not be unhappy since I had Kate and could not entirely regret anything that had given her to me. She dominated the household, and if Martha or Rose were missing one could be sure to find them with the baby, even if she were sleeping.

  Those first months after her birth were completely absorbed by her, but one day Maggie asked me if I had ever thought of returning to the theater.

  The idea had entered my mind. I wanted to earn money to pay Maggie for all she had given us, although she was always impatient when I talked of this. It was certainly not for that reason she suggested it. She knew what it had meant to me, and I think she felt that now Kate was not exactly a baby and there were three other people in the house whose greatest pleasure it was to care for her, there was no reason why I should not have a career in the theater as well as a daughter.

  “It is always well,” she said, “not to stay away too long. If you are building up a name you do it gradually and it does not help to have people forget you. You have had a year or so away. That could easily be remedied. It’s when it gets too long that it begins to be difficult to return. As Kate grows up she’d be proud of her famous actress mother, you know.”

  “There’s something on your mind, Maggie,” I replied. “I know you.”

  “Well, what do you think? I ran into Jenny Crowther yesterday. Have I ever mentioned Jenny Crowther?”

  “Was she not one of your old theatrical friends?”

  “Those were the days! She married and went to live in the country somewhere. Her niece is Rose Dawson. You’ve heard of her.”

  “Yes, of course. She’s playing at the Duke’s now.”

  “That’s right. Well, Jenny had it from her that Killigrew is putting on The Siege of Rhodes, and he’s looking for someone to play Iantha.”

  “That’s a good part.”

  “Well, why not go for the good ones? If I asked Jenny to get Rose to put in a word for you, I reckon Killigrew would see you. And you’d soon convince him that Iantha is the part for you.”

  I felt a tremendous excitement creep over me.

  “Rose is in high favor at the moment. She did well in The Rivals…you know, it was The Two Noble Kinsmen but Davenant and Pryde a
dded some songs and dancing. You remember ‘My Lodging Is on the Cold Ground,’ the song Moll Davis was singing when the King noticed her. And Nell Gwynne used to make a parody of it in her part over at the King’s. That sort of thing does something for a play…But what I’m telling you is that Rose’s recommendation would count for something.”

  “Maggie, it sounds exciting.”

  “Well, there is no harm in trying. I’ll speak to Jenny.”

  She did, with the result that I was interviewed and given the part.

  So I was back again. My tragedy had faded far into the past. I had an enchanting baby. True, I was an unmarried mother, which gave me considerable qualms, in spite of the fact that Maggie had endowed me with a husband who had been fighting in Holland and who had now been conveniently killed off by Maggie’s fertile imagination, and the past was safely buried. One cannot mourn forever, and Maggie, eternally optimistic, pointed out that as we learn a great deal from our mistakes, they are often blessings in disguise.

  Iantha was quite a success. Davenant was pleased with my performance, and I knew there would be other parts.

  Then one evening, to my dismay, when I was coming out of the theater I saw Jack.

  I stopped short. I wanted to run. I could not, of course. There was only one course to take. I must face him.

  “Well met, Sarah,” he said.

  “No,” I heard myself say, as coolly as I could. “I would say ill met.”

  “Sarah, try to understand.”

  “I have understood too well and I am in a hurry.”

  “You can give me a moment.”

  “I have no time at all to give you.”

  I was feeling calmer. It was the sight of his handsome face that brought the memories rushing back. I had loved him. I had been so happy with him—until I had discovered him for what he really was: a rake, a libertine, a man who would lie and cheat and not care what he did to other people merely to gain his own ends.

  “I just want a little of your time. You are not happy without me.”

  “You ever had a too high opinion of yourself. I am very happy to be away from you, thank you.”

  “I do not believe that.”