Daughters of England Page 9

  He was charming and gallant. He was the most interesting person I had ever met. In a few weeks he had shown me that without a doubt he cared a good deal for me.

  I lived in a blissful dream. I had scarcely given a thought to Kitty for days at a time.

  I was happy. He would be waiting for me after the theater. Because we had first gone to the Covent Garden Coffee House, coffee houses would always mean something special to him, he told me. So we visited others. We went to the Rainbow in Fleet Street—the first of them all—and Tom’s in Change Alley, but we came back to the Covent Garden, which had now become Will’s.

  How I wished I could tell Maggie about this wonderful friendship of mine. I expected her home at any time now. She would have seen her sister, had a reconciliation and have eased her conscience. That was all she had to do. Every day I expected that she would be back. But the days went by and I had to admit that I did not miss Maggie quite as much as I should have done if Jack Adair had not been there to beguile me. Also, I hardly ever thought of Kitty during those days. I was completely absorbed by this friendship with what was surely the most fascinating man in the world.

  He was always so courtly, so tender, and he paid me such delightful compliments. In fact, had he been younger, I should have thought he was in love with me.

  I told myself that he regarded himself as a father to me. He had never married. At least, he did not actually say he had not, but I assumed it was so and he did not say anything to the contrary. He had lodgings in London, and he referred sometimes to a place in the country, but he did not talk much about himself.

  It was the beginning of September when a man who had traveled from Dorsetshire on the stage wagon called at the house. Martha was full of excitement when I came in that evening.

  “He comes from Dorchester, and lives not far from Maggie’s sister, and she gave him this letter to bring to you.”

  “Oh,” I cried. “That is wonderful! It means she is coming home.”

  I opened it eagerly and while Martha and Rose looked on I read it.

  Dear Sarah,

  I dare say you think I am a long time coming home. Well, when I saw how things were here, I could not leave.

  Rachel is very ill. The apothecary says she cannot live long. There is no one here to look after her as she should be looked after. Abel does his best, but he has to work and you know what men are…so I must needs stay a while. I could not leave her thus. She is my sister. She rejoices that I am here.

  I do not think it will be long. My poor sister is very sick indeed, and all I know is that I could not leave her now.

  I shall be back as soon as I can get there.

  I miss you all.

  I read the letter aloud to Martha and Rose. We were all bitterly disappointed.

  In Will’s, the Covent Garden coffee house, I told Jack of the letter I had received from Maggie.

  “You miss her?” he asked.

  “Indeed I do.”

  “She was your watchdog?”

  “That is not a good way of describing her. She likes to look after me. She thinks a young girl needs someone to look after her in a city like this.”

  “And now she is away…do you enjoy your freedom?”

  “I miss her very much. I was so disappointed to hear she was not coming back yet.”

  “Do you not find it a little…irksome?”

  “Irksome?”

  “To have someone restricting your freedom.”

  “I have never thought of it that way. I have always been grateful to Maggie. She has been a wonderful friend to me.”

  He took my hand and said: “I would be a wonderful friend to you…if you would permit it.”

  I said: “I have your friendship now. I treasure it.”

  He gave me a rather wistful smile. Then he talked about the lodgings he had in London.

  “A pleasant enough place,” he said. “I take these rooms in this house. Below me live the good woman and her husband who look after my needs. I should like to show them to you.”

  “I should like to see them.”

  “Then you shall. Then you can picture me in my rooms, as I can picture you in the house of the good Maggie Mead. Why not this evening?”

  We left the coffee house, and he took me to those rooms. When I look back I can smile at my innocence, but it must be remembered that I had not been very long in London. I had never met anyone like this man before. His courtly charm, his good manners, made him seem like a knight of old, chivalrous, a defender of the weak, the perfect gentleman.

  He unlocked the door of his apartment and led me in.

  There were a sitting room and a bedroom, and some other rooms, all tastefully furnished.

  “I am well looked after here,” he told me. “I come and go much as I please. I have friends to stay when I wish.”

  “You have charming lodgings,” I told him.

  And then everything changed. He took my cloak from me and threw it on to the bed.

  “Sarah,” he said, and his voice sounded hoarse and different. “I love you. I’ve been very patient, but at last you have come to me.”

  I felt alarmed suddenly. It was almost as though Kitty were in the room. I could hear her voice…and the words she had said the last time I saw her alive. She was warning me…and with a sudden flash I understood, and suddenly I knew that this was what Jack Adair had been leading up to ever since he spoke to me that first time outside the theater.

  “I think,” I said, “I ought to go.”

  He stared at me.

  “Why, in the name of God and all His angels?”

  “It seems that I have not understood.”

  “Oh come, Sarah, you are not as innocent as all that. You must have known I wanted you from the first moment I saw you.”

  “I thought…”

  He took my chin in his hands and pressed his lips down hard on mine. His arms were tight around me…possessive and strong. He was different from the man whom I had built up in my imagination. I was really frightened now. I felt I was alone…helpless…with a stranger. I knew now that this was just what Kitty had warned me of…Maggie too. Oh, if only she were here!

  I heard myself saying in a shrill, almost hysterical voice: “No…no!”

  “But you are fond of me, Sarah. Of course you are. You have shown it in a hundred ways.”

  “Yes…yes. But let me go. Let us talk about this.”

  “Talk! I have done with talk. We have talked enough in those dreadful coffee houses. I have finished with talking, Sarah, and so will you.”

  “Please,” I said. “Please!”

  He did release me, and looked at me with a hint of annoyance in his eyes which I had never seen before in him.

  “I just did not realize,” I began.

  “Oddsfish,” he said. “You are not such a simpleton as all that. Of course you knew…you thought you would have a little game with me. You would lure me on…I know the game. Then…no, no, no, I am too innocent.” His anger seemed to pass as quickly as it had come. He was almost pleading now. “You like me, Sarah. You know you do. Why…why?”

  “I don’t think I should be here…like this.”

  He laughed.

  “What a little Puritan you are! Come, little Roundhead, that went out of fashion some time ago.”

  “I don’t think we see things in the same light.”

  “We will, Sarah. I know you are young…and innocent. It is what I like so much about you.”

  “I think you are suggesting that we behave as though we were married.”

  He laughed. “So, if we were, you would be willing enough?”

  “It would be different if that were the case. It would be right…”

  “So it was marriage you had in mind?”

  I was silent.

  He said: “I am old enough to be your father.”

  “I did not think of that.”

  I was afraid that the other mood I had glimpsed would return. I felt sick and foolish, and ter
ribly afraid.

  He put his hand to his forehead in a gesture of frustration, and I seized that moment. I snatched up my cloak from the bed and ran. I went down the stairs and out through the door. The cool air of the street enveloped me and I had no thoughts in my mind.

  I ran and ran all the way home.

  I was safe.

  Martha was in the parlor.

  I said to her: “I am going to bed. I am so tired.”

  I shut my door and sank on to the bed. I do not think I had ever been so wretched in the whole of my life.

  A Ceremony in Knightsbridge

  I LAY SLEEPLESS ALL through that night.

  What a fool I had been! I should have known that from the beginning he had had but one thought in his mind: to make me his mistress. Men such as he was did not marry unknown actresses. But they often made them their mistresses. Some of my fellow actresses had their noblemen lovers. I should have understood that very well.

  I remembered how Kitty had insisted on walking home with me that night at Willerton. Kitty had summed up the situation right from the first. She had warned me.

  And what had I done? I admitted it now. I had allowed myself to fall in love with a man whose plans for me were dishonorable.

  I had to look at this clearly. I had been warned, and yet I had refused to see what was obvious. What had I thought were his intentions? I had to be frank. I had thought he would marry me. Lord Donnington had married Kitty. He was much older than she was, and she was an actress and he a lord like Lord Rosslyn. The position seemed familiar, but I had deluded myself. Really, he was not to blame for assuming what he had. He had thought I was light, ready to allow him to seduce me. That I was just acting the innocent, so young and pure, and letting him wait a while before he achieved his goal. He had grown impatient and the result was that I had become scared and run away.

  I had deluded myself. I had allowed myself to fall in love with him. He had brightened my life. He had made me forget my loss. I had been really happy when I was with him. If I were really truthful, I should admit that, in spite of my fear, my sudden awakening, I had wanted to stay with him.

  If it had not been for Kitty, I believed I should have done so. But then, if it had not been for Kitty, I should never have known him.

  He would not come near me again and I had lost him. I was bereft, lonely and wretched.

  I spent a sleepless night and it was early morning before I dozed a little.

  I wondered how I was going to get through the day.

  I was at the theater that night, but I could hardly concentrate on the play. I was scanning the audience, hoping for a sight of him. He was not there. I was praying that he would be waiting for me when the play was over. What should I say to him if he were? “I will do anything to please you”? I felt that if he had been there, I might have done just that.

  I need not have concerned myself. He was not there, and I feared I should not see him again. I had disappointed him. He was thinking I had led him to believe I would be willing to play the part he had prepared for me. He was frustrated and angry, and that anger was directed against me.

  I had lost him. I had disappointed him. I should never see him again.

  Yet every morning I arose with the hope that I should see him that day. But time was passing and he did not come.

  I was invited with another of the actresses to go to Will’s Coffee House with her and two gentlemen. I went. The company was merry enough, but it could not lift my spirits. All the time I was thinking of those occasions when I had been there with Jack Adair.

  Several weeks passed. The weather had grown very hot. I was finding it difficult to sleep and when I did my dreams were haunted by memories of Jack Adair. I dreamed that he was my friend again. I was very happy. Then I would wake to the un-happiness of disappointment. Once I dreamed that I saw him in the theater while I was playing and I walked off the stage, calling to him. He looked at me with contempt and hatred and he cried, “Roundhead!” and all the people in the theater took up the cry. I woke with the word ringing in my ears.

  It was the first day of September—a hot and sticky night, not conducive to sleep. I awoke in the early hours of the morning. I felt something was happening. I have been dreaming again, I told myself. But then I saw that there was a dull red glow in the sky. I sat up in my bed. I heard a cracking sound and a loud explosion, as though something heavy had been thrown to the ground.

  It’s a fire, I thought, a very big fire.

  I got out of bed and went to the window. I put my head out. The wind was blowing fiercely. A fire on a night like this! I thought. This wind will make it difficult to control.

  The household was stirring. I opened my door. Martha was descending the stairs.

  “It woke me,” she said. “’Tis a mighty big fire somewhere.”

  We watched it. The flames seemed to grow greater rather than diminish.

  “What can you expect in a wind like this?” said Martha.

  People were coming out into the street. We put on a few clothes and went out.

  “Big fire somewhere,” said Martha to a man who was watching the blaze.

  He said: “I heard it started in Pudding Lane…a baker’s shop.”

  “Baking bread, I suppose. I’ll swear it is the last time he’ll bake it in that shop.”

  “By the look of it, the whole street is ablaze,” said the man.

  “And the wind’s not helping. It’ll spread like wildfire. Come to think of it, that’s what it is.”

  We went into the house. It was a hot night and the fire was making it hotter. We could hear the crackling of the flames.

  “It must be near,” said Martha.

  “Or it is so big that we can hear it from some way off. The wind would carry the sound.”

  “I’d be looking out for my property if I was anywhere near there,” said Martha.

  We did not go back to bed. Sleep would be impossible. We had to all wait until the morning, but we were also eager to hear more news of the fire.

  It was very disturbing when we did hear. It was true that it had started in Pudding Lane, but by morning it had traveled far. The streets near the Thames were caught in the fire, which had spread right down to London Bridge.

  The Great Fire of London had started.

  No one who lived through those four days could ever forget them. It was something which had never been experienced before, and I trust will never happen again.

  London was a blazing inferno. There was a reddish glow in the sky, the sound of crackling wood and falling masonry was constant and the air was full of the acrid smell of burning thatch and timber.

  This was no ordinary fire.

  There was pandemonium in the streets. People stood in knots, fearful and bemused. They watched the fire’s voracious appetite as in a very short space of time it consumed one building and, with the help of the wind, leaped to devour the next. Everywhere houses were burning, homes were destroyed. The ancient Cathedral of St. Paul’s lay in ruins and other churches throughout the city were burning.

  The river was full of small craft into which the more fortunate had been able to load some of their possessions. They stood among them, staring bewildered from the safety of the river at the flames as they destroyed their homes.

  The fire was triumphant. There seemed no way of halting its progress as it leaped from street to street. The narrow byways, the wooden houses had made its task the easier. There was much to give fuel to the flames when the fire reached the City’s warehouses, in which were stored all kinds of goods, among them pitch, tar and oil, and as the victorious blaze went its way, the hearts of the people were clearly sinking in despair and despondency.

  No one had ever seen such a fire before. Something must be done.

  At last, when more than half of the city had been destroyed, the idea was put forward that there was only one way to call a halt to it. Gaps must be made in the buildings, so that the fire could not spread so easily. This entailed blowing up buil
dings and so halting the progress of the flames. People gathered in small groups to watch this.

  It was indeed a sight not to be missed. The King and his brother, the Duke of York, cast aside their royalty and joined the workers in the streets. It was necessary, when buildings had been blown up, to clear away the rubble so that when the fire reached a certain spot there was nothing combustible for it to burn, and so was halted in its progress. Fires were isolated in this way and could be more easily dealt with.

  It was strange to see our elegant King and his brother wigless, sleeves rolled up, sweating and working with the rest.

  It was a new image of him, but he was more lovable in such a role than he was in that of the elegant, witty King sauntering through the parks.

  And the strategy worked. The fire, though still raging in some parts of the city, was subsiding. It had inflicted a terrible disaster on our city, for, in addition to St. Paul’s, which had always been regarded as one of the landmarks of the city, it had destroyed eighty-nine churches and thirteen thousand dwellings.

  When there could be no doubt that the fire was really under control, people thronged into the streets to watch the flickering flames as they died away. Everyone seemed eager to relate his or her adventures, mostly dire misfortunes. How had it started? What could it mean? Had the Papists started it? There were always those ready to attribute every disaster to the Papists. Of course, there were others to declare it was another example of the vengeance of the Lord on the wicked city. Had He not already shown His anger with the visitation of the plague? All this was talked of.

  I was standing in the Piazza at Covent Garden watching the distant dying fire, which I was able to see easily because of the missing houses in between, when I became aware of someone standing close to me.

  A voice said: “What a disaster! Has there ever been such a one?”

  I swung round sharply. Lord Rosslyn was standing very close and he was smiling at me.

  I felt dizzy with emotions I could not describe. I suppose the chief of them was delight because he was here again.