Lament for a Lost Lover Read online

  Lucas had come down, and I whispered to him what was happening. “They will play for us!” he whispered. “We shall see a real play!”

  There were eight of them—three women and five men. They were heavily wrapped up against the weather, and their leader was a middle-aged man, bearded, thick-set and of medium height.

  He took off his hat when he saw me and bowed low. He had laughing eyes which almost disappeared when he smiled.

  “A merry good day to you,” he said. “Is the master of the house at home … or perhaps the mistress?”

  “I am the mistress of this house,” I replied.

  He looked surprised at my youth and accent.

  “Then whom have I the honour of addressing?”

  “Arabella Tolworthy,” I answered. “I am English. My parents are with our King, and I with my brother”—I indicated Lucas—“and other members of the family are staying here until we return to England.”

  His surprise was over. It was not such an unusual situation.

  “My request is that we may have a night’s shelter,” he explained. “We should have travelled to the nearest town but the weather is too bad. I doubt we should reach it before the snow comes. I and my troupe would pay you well with rich entertainment for a little food and a place to lie down … anywhere … just shelter from the weather.”

  “You are welcome,” I said. “You must be our guests and we would not ask for payment, but I confess the thought of seeing you play gives us a great deal of pleasure.”

  He laughed. He had loud, booming laughter.

  “Beautiful lady,” he cried, “we are going to play before you as we never played before.”

  The children had heard the arrivals and came running down. Lucas told them that the visitors were players and were going to play for us. Dick leaped high in the air as he always did when excited, and Angie joined him while young Fenn kept asking questions, trying to find out what it was all about.

  “Bring everyone in,” I cried, taking command of the situation, glowing with pleasure at having been called a beautiful lady and pleased as ever to show my authority as the châtelaine of the castle.

  They came. They seemed to fill the hall. Their eyes gleamed at the sight of the fire and I bade them to come and warm themselves.

  There was a middle-aged woman, who could have been the wife of the leader, and another whom I judged to be in her late twenties … and Harriet Main. Three of the men were bordering on middle age and there were two younger ones. One of these appeared to be very handsome, but they were so wrapped up that I saw little of their faces, and when I had brought them to the fire, I said I would go and see what food we could give them.

  I went to the kitchen and saw our two maids, Marianne and Jeanne, who had been bequeathed to us with Jacques to look after our needs and were all we had.

  When I told them what had happened they were gleeful. “Players!” cried Marianne, who was older than Jeanne, “Oh, we are in for some fun. How long is it since we had players call here? They usually go only to the big houses and castles.”

  “The weather has brought them to us,” I said. “What can we give them?”

  Jeanne and Marianne would put their heads together. I could rest assured, they said, that the eight players would be adequately fed and might they come to see the play?

  I readily gave my permission. We would ask the Lambards in to see it too. Our audience would be very small even so.

  I went back to the group in the hall. That was the first time I really saw Harriet. She had thrown off her cloak and was stretching her hands out to the fire. Even crouching over the fire as she was I could see that she was tall. Her thick, dark, curling hair released from the hood had sprung out to give a beautiful frame to her pale face. I noticed her eyes immediately. They were dark blue, rather long; mysterious, concealing eyes, I thought them; and their thick, dark eyelashes were immediately noticeable, as were her heavy black brows contrasting with her pale skin. Her lips were richly red, and it was only later that I discovered that she used a lip salve to make them so. Her forehead was higher than is usual and her chin pointed. So many people look alike that you see them once and don’t remember them. No one could ever have looked at Harriet Main and forgotten her.

  I found I was staring at her; she noticed this and it amused her; I expected she was accustomed to it.

  She astonished me by saying: “I’m English.” She held out her hand to me. I took it and for a few moments we looked at each other. I felt she was summing me up.

  “I have not been long with the troupe,” she said, speaking in English. “We are on our way to Paris where we shall play to big audiences … but we call at houses on our way and play for our lodging.”

  “You are welcome,” I said. “We have never had a troupe call before. We are all looking forward to seeing you play for us and will do our best to make you comfortable. This is not a grand place as you see. We are exiles and here only until the King returns.”

  She nodded.

  Then she turned to the players and said in rapid French that I was sympathetic and they must all give of their best this night as that was being given to us.

  I had decided that as soon as the potage was hot they should eat, so I summoned them to the table and the great steaming dish was brought in. The contents soon disappeared, and while they ate I was able to take stock of our guests, who were all colourful and all spoke in resonant voices, giving great importance to the most trivial comment.

  The leader of the troupe and his wife made much of the children, who were overcome with excitement.

  Then the snow started to fall, and Monsieur Lamotte, the leader, declared that it was fortunate indeed that they had come upon Castle Plenty in good time. I was apologetic about Castle Plenty, and, as I pointed out to them, we were so unaccustomed to guests that I feared we could not entertain them as we would wish.

  How exciting their conversation seemed. They talked of their plays and their parts and the places in which they had played, and it seemed to us all listening that an actor’s life must be the most rewarding in the world. Jeanne and Marianne, with Jacques, came and stood in the hall listening to the conversation which seemed to grow more and more sparkling as time progressed. I sent Jacques to tell the Lambards that they must come over to see the play. He came back and told me how excited they were at the prospect.

  Harriet was less talkative than the others. I saw her looking around the hall as though judging it—comparing it I suspected with other places in which she had lived. Then I would find her eyes on me, watching me intently.

  She was seated next to the very handsome young man—whom they called Jabot. I thought he was a little conceited because he always seemed to demand attention. When Angie went to him and, placing her hands on his knees, looked up in adoration at his face and said: “You are pretty,” everyone laughed, and Jabot was so delighted that he picked her up and kissed her. Poor little Angie, overcome with shyness, immediately wriggled free and ran out of the hall, but she came back to stand some distance away where she could not take her eyes from Jabot.

  “Another admirer for you, my boy,” said Madame Lamotte, and everybody laughed.

  Fleurette, the other female player, her lips tightening I noticed, said: “We must tell the little one that Jabot is constant to none.”

  Harriet shrugged her shoulders and replied: “That is a commonplace,” then she started to sing in a deep rich voice:

  “Sigh no more ladies,

  Men were deceivers ever …”

  And everyone laughed.

  They sat a long time at the table and I went into consultation with Jeanne and Marianne. We must give them supper after the play, which was to take place at six o’clock, and we must make sure it was a good supper. What could we do?

  They were determined to provide the best possible supper in the circumstances. Jacques was already busy bringing their trappings into the hall. The children stared on in wonder at the carpetbags in which tawdry garmen
ts could be seen—but they did not seem tawdry to us then. The players had brought an enchantment with them.

  They would sleep in the hall, they said. They had rugs and blankets, and they would be off next morning as soon as it was light. They must not be late for their engagement in Paris.

  I protested. They must not sleep on the floor. The château was not grand by any means, it was little more than a farmhouse, but at least we could put a few rooms at their disposal.

  “The warmth of your welcome is like a hot cordial on a cold day,” declaimed Monsieur Lamotte.

  That was a night to remember. The candles were burning in their sconces and what an entranced audience we were. The tall Lambard sons, usually so vocal, were silent in wonder, and the rest of us shared in their awe. The children sat cross legged on the floor. By good luck there was a dais at the end of the hall and this they had turned into a stage.

  The play was The Merchant of Venice. Harriet was Portia, and of all the players she was the one from whom I could not take my eyes. She was clad in a gown of blue velvet with something glittering round the waist. Daylight would show the velvet to be rubbed and spotted, the girdle some cheap tinsel stuff, but candlelight hid the imperfections and showed us only that beauty in which we were only too ready to believe.

  This was magic. We had never seen real players before. We had dressed up now and then and played our charades, but this seemed to us perfection. Jabot was a handsome Bassanio; Monsieur Lamotte was a wily Shylock with a hump on his back and a pair of scales in his hand. The younger children cried out in horror when he appeared in the court scene, and Angie wept bitterly because she thought he really was going to take his pound of flesh. “Don’t let him, don’t let him,” she sobbed, and I had to console her and tell her to wait and see how Portia was going to make it all come right.

  How she declaimed, how she tossed her head. And how incredibly beautiful she was! I shall never forget Harriet as she was that night, and they could never played before a more appreciative audience than we were. We were all so innocent and inexperienced. Jacques watched, his mouth agape, Lucas was in ecstasies and the little ones were amazed that there could be such wonders in the world.

  When the last scene had been played and Bassanio united with Portia, the children embraced each other and laughed with joy and I think we all felt a little bemused.

  Monsieur Lamotte made a little speech and said he thought we had enjoyed his little play and as for himself he had never played before a more appreciative audience—which I imagine was true.

  The maids scurried to the kitchens, and props were cleared away and very soon we were sitting down to a meal such as, I was sure, had rarely been served before in Château Congrève.

  There was magic abroad that night. Dick whispered to me that our good fairies had sent the snow so that those wonderful people could come to Congrève. The Lambards stayed to supper and Madame Lambard brought in a great pie full of chicken and pork topped with a gold-brown crust. She had heated it in the oven, she said, and had she known how we were to be honoured, the crust should have been made to represent a stage, for, she confided, she was a dab hand with a bit of pie crust.

  Monsieur Lambard brought in a cask of wine. This was an occasion we should never forget.

  The children were too excited to be sent to bed and I said that as a special treat they might stay up … even Fenn. Though it was true that before long he was fast asleep on Madame Lamotte’s lap.

  They talked … all of them at the same time, for it was clear that they preferred talking to listening, so there were several conversations going on, which annoyed me as I could not bear not to hear all that was being said. Monsieur Lamotte, as the head of the group, had taken the place on my right hand and he engaged me in conversation, and he told me of the plays which he had acted in and the towns throughout the country where he had played.

  “My ambition is to play before King Louis himself. He is a lover of the theatre, which is what we would expect of one of such talents, eh? What they want is comedy, I believe. We need good comedies. There is enough tragedy in the world, little lady. People want to laugh. Do you agree?”

  I was ready to agree with anything he said. I was as bemused as the rest.

  Harriet was seated halfway down the table next to Jabot. They were whispering together and she seemed angry. … I noticed that Fleurette was watching them. There was some drama going on there. I was very interested in what Monsieur Lamotte was saying but I was intrigued by Harriet. I should have liked to know what she and Jabot were quarrelling about.

  I was glad when the conversation became general and they all started talking of their plays and acting little bits for us. Harriet sang—most of them songs we knew from Shakespeare. She sang in French and then in English, and the one I remembered particularly was:

  “What is love? ’tis not hereafter;

  Present mirth hath present laughter;

  What’s to come is still unsure:

  In delay there lies no plenty;

  Then come and kiss me, sweet and twenty,

  Youth’s a stuff will not endure.”

  She had a lute, and as she sang she played it so sweetly, and I thought I had never seen anyone as lovely as Harriet was with her black hair falling over her shoulders and her eyes a luminous blue in that pale strange face.

  “There should be more singing on stage,” said Madame Lamotte, caressing Fenn’s soft blond hair. “The audience likes it.”

  “You have a beautiful voice,” I said, looking straight at Harriet.

  She lifted her shoulders. “It passes,” she replied.

  “What wonderful lives you all must have!” I cried. They laughed and I could not quite understand the glances which passed between them. I knew later they were a little cynical.

  Monsieur Lamotte said: “Aye, it is a grand life … I’d take no other. Hard at times. And for the English players now … life is a tragedy. What a barbarian this man Cromwell is! There is no longer a theatre in England I understand. God help your poor country, little lady.”

  “When the King comes back there will be theatres again,” I said.

  “People will not want the old Globe and the Cockpit,” said Harriet. “They will want new playhouses. I wonder if I shall ever see them.”

  Then the talk became general. More wine was drunk and the candles guttered, and although I did not want the evening to end, my eyelids were pressing down over my eyes as though they refused to stay open any longer. The children were all asleep and Lucas was finding it hard to keep awake.

  I told Jeanne that the children should be taken to their beds and they were carried off, Mrs. Lamotte insisting on carrying Fenn.

  This broke up the party, and it was Madame Lamotte, back in the hall after kissing Fenn and all the children fondly, a fact of which they were too sleepy to be aware, who announced that they should get some sleep as they had a heavy day’s travel ahead of them.

  The servants and I took them to the rooms we had assigned to them—the three women were in one and the men in another. I apologized for the scantiness of the accommodation at which Monsieur Lamotte declared “It is princely, dear lady. Princely.”

  Then I went to my room, undressed and tried to sleep, which was quite impossible after all the excitement.

  I felt depressed because tomorrow they would be gone. The château would settle down to its normal routine which I now knew was intolerably dull. I should never again be able to delight in its simple pleasure as I had before. I wanted to be an actress like Harriet Main. She had stood out among them all.

  How magnificently she had played and how I should have loved to see her act the part in English. What we had seen had been a French translation much abridged … and losing a great deal in the translation as must be expected. Monsieur Lamotte had said that it was one of the most popular of Shakespeare’s plays and that was why it had been translated into French. Perhaps they should have done a French play, but they had played Shakespeare as a compliment t
o us.

  How gracious I thought them! How charming! Of course they were acting all the time, but how pleasant that was!

  I went into a reverie then. I imagined that King Charles was restored to his throne, that he opened theatres all over the country and that our parents came to take us back to England. We were at Court and there was a play for the King’s entertainment in which I was chosen for the principal role.

  It followed on naturally from that wonderful evening.

  Then I heard voices. I sat up in bed. They were in the corridor … low hissing voices.

  I put a wrap about me and, going to the door, opened it slightly.

  Two women were standing in the corridor. One of them was Harriet Main, the other Fleurette.

  “I’m sick and tired of your jealousy,” Harriet was saying.

  “Jealousy! I wouldn’t be in your shoes. Today’s favourite is tomorrow’s outcast.”

  “You should know,” retorted Harriet, “having lingered long in the second part.”

  Fleurette brought up her hand and slapped Harriet’s face sharply. I heard the contact distinctly.

  “Don’t dare lay hands on me,” said Harriet, returning the slap.

  “You English slut,” was the answer, and to my horror she lifted her hand again. I saw Harriet catch her wrist and shake her. Then Fleurette suddenly wrenched herself free and Harriet stepped backwards. Behind her were three stairs. It was a good thing it was not the main staircase. She toppled and fell.

  “That’ll teach you,” hissed Fleurette. “That’s what you needed. A fall … before Jabot drops you. It’ll prepare you for what’s to come.”

  I was half out of the door, ready to go and see if Harriet was hurt, then I realized that I should only cause embarrassment if they knew I had been eavesdropping, so I hung back. I saw Harriet get to her feet and come tottering back up the three stairs.

  “Go on,” jeered Fleurette. “You’re not hurt. You could have a wall fall on you and you’d come bobbing up. I know your kind.”

  “Then,” said Harriet, “you should be careful not to anger me.”

  Fleurette laughed and went into the room I had prepared for them. A few seconds later Harriet followed.