Love Plays a Part (12 page)

“Good evening, milord.” She hesitated to sit down because it forced her to look up to him.

“I see that you have made this spot your own,” he said, gesturing to the canvas.

Samantha nodded. “It is convenient, milord, and now everyone knows where to find me.”

His lordship’s dark eyes sparkled.
“I
shall not forget.”

Samantha was covered with confusion. “I -I did not mean
that.”

The earl moved closer. “I know you did not, but you color up so beautifully that I cannot refrain from an occasional sally.”

Samantha did not know how to reply to this and so remained silent.

“Tonight the great man plays the melancholy Dane. And you are all atwitter.” He smiled at her in amusement.

“I am excited,” admitted Samantha. “There is something about Hamlet’s character that fascinates me. I have seen him so many times in my mind, and now I am to see a performance for real. Isn’t that something to be excited about?”

“You are very fortunate to still derive such pleasure from such simple things,” said the earl softly, his dark eyes lingering on her flushed face.

“Simple! To be able to watch the greatest actor in the world perform Hamlet is no
simple
thing. I should certainly hope that I will never grow so cold and insensitive as not to appreciate such an opportunity.” She realized suddenly that her breast was heaving and she was glaring at him. What a singular effect his lordship seemed to have upon her.

“Easy, easy,” soothed the earl. “There is no need to tell the whole world your feelings.”

Again  Samantha was covered with confusion. The earl was quite right. “I beg your pardon, milord. I am rather excitable tonight, I fear.”

His lordship smiled easily. “That is quite all right. And certainly your feelings are admirable, though perhaps a trifle excessive.”

He paused as though waiting for her to agree, but she remained stubbornly silent. He raised a dark eyebrow. “You do not agree? Just a
trifle
excessive?” His eyes held hers and seemed to pull the reply from her.

“Perhaps, but only a trifle,” she admitted finally, dropping her gaze.

His lordship chuckled, a warm pleasant sound. “What a gem,” he said. “A woman who admits to being wrong.”

Samantha brought her eyes up quickly, prepared to defend her sex, only to discover that he was grinning widely. “I have seen you in a temper before,” he said with an amused smile. “But I still enjoy seeing you with flashing eyes and heaving - breath.”

His eyes dropped slightly as he paused before the last word, and Samantha felt an almost irresistible urge to strike him. “You are quite beyond the line,” she said stiffly, pressing a hand to her flaming cheek. “And if you cannot behave as a gentleman should, I will thank you to go away and leave me be.”

His lordship’s grin changed to a slight frown. “I intend to watch
Hamlet
from this very spot,” he said gravely.

Samantha did not reply but turned her attention to seating herself on the canvas. His lordship stood by until she was settled, and then he too lowered himself to the canvas. He seemed too close for comfort, but Samantha was already on the edge of the canvas and could not move away without getting entirely off it.

“You should enjoy this very much,” said Roxbury. “Hamlet is one of Kean’s best roles.”

“Have you seen it performed by others?” asked Samantha. “Mr. Kemble, for instance?”

The earl nodded. “Yes, I have seen Kemble do it often. I rather favor Kean, I’m afraid. It’s the same old argument of Nature versus Art. Does the best actor learn to portray emotion successfully from watching and studying its effects in real life or from diligently following the conventions built up and observed by other actors over the years?”

“That seems like an easy enough question to decide,” said Samantha.

His lordship’s mouth curved into an impish grin. “Really? Well then, suppose you tell me the answer.”

“It seems very clear,” Samantha replied, “that Nature is the best guide to such things. If one has not experienced the emotion in question, then it seems apparent that the next best thing is to watch someone who has. To merely copy the conventions which everyone takes to stand for certain emotions seems rather lazy on the actor’s part. Such conventions are even further removed from the original than the feelings of someone else.”

His lordship smiled. “My sentiments exactly. And quite well put, may I say.”

Samantha accepted this compliment quietly. “How is it possible for people to believe that convention is more important than conformity to Nature?”

The earl frowned slightly. “It is possible for people to believe
anything.
The longer you live, the clearer that will become to you. One thing that seems often to operate in matters like these is the force of custom. The human animal is a creature of habit. That which he sees first is oftentimes imprinted on his brain as a standard by which to judge. Consequently, anything that deviates from this standard is seen as wrong.”

“But that’s stupid,” said Samantha.

“I did not say it was intelligent - or even right,” said his lordship with a brief smile. “I merely said it was so.”

“If this is true,” said Samantha, “how can you account for Kean’s popularity, which surely has something to do with his espousal of the natural method of acting?”

His lordship stroked the chin above his high cravat. “Fortunately, at least in this case, human beings are also, the majority of the time, followers. Therefore, when the critic proclaims a player to be great, the theatregoers will follow. Also, in Kean’s case one must admit to the very real force of his personality and talent. Any observer not entirely dependent on Kemble must be swept away, at least on occasion.”

Samantha smiled. “Sometimes when I think about all the great and memorable characters Shakespeare created, I wonder that one man could achieve so much.”

“When the man is one of talent, there appears to be no limit to his achievements,” said the earl, removing his gloves.

For some reason Samantha found this simple act strangely disconcerting. It seemed to speak of an intimacy that did not really exist between them. She found herself staring at his hands, long slender fingers, very artistic looking. The hands of a sensitive, creative person, which was not the way she saw him at all.

She looked up to find his lordship’s eyes upon her. “You are looking quite lovely tonight,” he said softly.

“Milord!” Samantha flushed. “I wish you would not say such a thing to me.”

His lordship raised a black eyebrow. “I don’t know why not. It’s the truth.”

Samantha shook her head. “No, it is not.”

Roxbury grinned brashly. “Just because you try to hide under a faded gown and pull your hair back severely does not mean that I cannot see your beauty.” With one hand he reached out and softly pulled a tendril of her hair that had escaped its pins. “Your hair is quite lovely. In another style it would do justice to the beauty of your face.”

His hand brushed her cheek as he released her hair, and a tremor ran over her body. Surely he would not dare to kiss her again in front of everyone!

“Please, milord. It’s unseemly to talk this way in public.”

The earl’s mouth curved in amusement. “I should be quite happy to do so in private, my pet, if you would but grant me that opportunity.”

“Milord!” Samantha did not quite know how to deal with his lordship when he spoke in this vein.

He continued to grin at her with lazy amusement. “Come, Samantha, you have been too long in the country. London women are used to trading
bon mots
with lords such as I. They find it very amusing.”

“I do not know about other women,” said Samantha, “but I am not used to it and I do not like it.”

“What
do
you like?” asked his lordship, still wearing that amused grin.

“I like to talk about the theatre,” said Samantha frankly. “When you speak of actors and plays, you are very interesting, but when you behave like a rake -I do not like you.”

“I see.” His lordship nodded gravely, but merriment twinkled from his dark eyes. “But you must understand, my dear, I
am
a rake. How can you expect me to be other than what I am?”

“I do not
expect
anything of you,” said Samantha somewhat stiffly. “I am sure you do exactly as you please, and have done so for many years.”

Roxbury chuckled. “You are certainly frank, little one. Most women would be more circumspect with a man in my position.”

“I came to London to see the plays. I had no desire to make the acquaintance of gentlemen in your position.” Samantha said the words quite firmly and was surprised to hear his lordship chuckle.

“Quite refreshing,” he replied, “if not particularly original. Everyone knows that the best way to get a man is to appear
not
to want him.”

“Milord!” The color in Samantha’s cheeks, already high, surged higher. “You mistake my intentions.”

“Never mind,” said his lordship cheerfully.
“Your
intentions are immaterial. What really matters are
mine.”
He gave her a look of smoldering desire that made her knees begin to tremble.

Fortunately, at that moment the players began to take their places, and Samantha turned her attention to the stage. She did not want to miss a single moment of Kean’s performance.

When he took his place upon the boards, his fine sensitive face seemed to show the marks of great suffering. Samantha found she was holding her breath.

“Note the plain sable clothes,” whispered Roxbury, his lips disturbingly close to her ear. “They fit the part much better than those of Kemble with the tawdry decorations he insists on wearing, including a Danish order that did not exist until hundreds of years after the story takes place.”

Samantha nodded but did not take her eyes from Kean’s face. Though she appreciated his lordship’s comments, she did not want to miss some significant moment.

“There are several new points of stage business that Kean has added to
Hamlet,”
his lordship said some minutes later. “Note the position of his sword in this scene.”

Samantha watched as Hamlet pointed his sword toward his friends to keep them from interfering when he followed the ghost. “What is so different?” In turning to ask this question, Samantha found her face disturbingly close to his lordship’s and quickly turned back toward the stage.

“The usual custom has been to point the sword toward the shade of his murdered father.”

“But why?” asked Samantha, her head still turned away. “He has no reason to fear his father.”

“So Kean evidently felt,” replied his lordship with a soft chuckle.

As she watched enthralled, it seemed to Samantha that everything that Kean did was perfect. The solemn and impressive tone of his voice, the magic of his black, black eyes, and the wonderful expressions of feeling on his face were more than she could ever have imagined. When, in the scene with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, he took them one under each arm, as though in jovial comradeship, when he was merely playing with them, Samantha could think of nothing more appropriate and was pleased to have his lordship whisper, “That point too is of Kean’s originating.”

As the curtain fell on the long soliloquy at the end of the second act, Samantha let her breath out in a great sigh. “That was worth anything - to see that!” she exclaimed, turning back to him. His face was still far too close, but she felt it rather silly, now that the play was no longer in progress, to talk away from him. She moved to the further edges of the canvas, and though he smiled in amusement, he did not press closer to her. Samantha sighed again.
“He must be the greatest actor ever to have lived.”

“Be sure the stars in your eyes do not blind you to reality,” said his lordship dryly.

Samantha raised startled eyes to his. “How so, milord?”

“Just remember, there have been other greats before him - Garrick, Betterton. And Kean is only a mortal man, with a man’s weaknesses and failings. If you make a god of him, you will only be hurt when you discover - as you inevitably must - that his feet are made of clay.”

“But he is a great actor,” insisted Samantha.

“Of course he is,” agreed his lordship. “But that does not make him a great
man.”

Samantha pondered this distinction. “I think
Mr
.
Kean is a very nice person,” she said finally.

Roxbury wrinkled his aristocratic nose. “You may believe so, though much of London does not. But
nice
and
great
are certainly not synonymous. If one wishes to speak of a great man, he” - he grinned wickedly - “or she, should speak of someone like Charles James Fox, the late Whig leader. Now there was someone great.”

Samantha shook her head. “I know nothing of politics. Papa and I spoke only of the theatre.”

Roxbury bowed slightly, a rather difficult thing to do with dignity while seated on a pile of canvas, but he did it quite gracefully. “Then we shall not discuss politics. The theatre is far more interesting anyway. Now that Boney has been finished off for good, politics is a dull subject.”

As Samantha considered how to reply to this, the curtain rose again and Hamlet launched into his soliloquy on death. The expression of sorrowful melancholy on his face caused Samantha to hold her breath in awe. It seemed so fitting, so well thought out, that nothing could have made it better.

Then came the scene with Ophelia. Mrs. Bartley looked a trifle old for such a heroine, Samantha thought. She had always imagined Ophelia as very young and very innocent. Mrs. Bartley, on the other hand, though she had a noble and expressive face, seemed more mature. But perhaps the company had no one else suited to the task. Certainly Lily Porter was incapable of such a role. But when Kean began to speak, Samantha forgot about Mrs. Bartley’s face and figure; so engrossed was she with his portrayal of Hamlet that nothing else seemed to matter. The whole scene was done with so much tenderness that her eyes filled with tears.

As the scene ended and Kean was about to leave, he turned suddenly, the expression of his face changing, as if he were struck by the pain he was inflicting. Coming back from the edge of the stage, with his face showing great sorrow and tenderness, he kissed Ophelia’s hand. Samantha swallowed hastily over the lump in her throat as the tears flowed unheeded down her cheeks. She felt a warm hand on her own as the earl pressed a clean cambric handkerchief into her fingers.