Authors: Nina Coombs Pykare
Four days had passed since the evening that Samantha had sat enthralled through Kean’s performance of
Richard III.
Now, as they hurried toward the theatre, she spoke to Jake. “Tonight Kean is doing Othello. Oh, it’s going to be just wonderful.”
“Have you seen him since the other day?” asked Jake. The only place he behaved like a servant was in the privacy of her rooms. On the street he treated her as an equal, behavior that under the circumstances she did not discourage. They could never know when they might be seen by one of Samantha’s fellow workers. And seamstresses did not have servants to follow them about.
Samantha shook her head. “No, he did not play in
Man and Wife,
and of course, last night, since it was Sunday, there was no performance. But I can hardly wait to see him tonight. I do believe that the Moor is my favorite character in all of Shakespeare’s plays.”
“I ain’t never read no plays,” replied Jake, “seeing as how I can’t read. But I seen Kean do Othello last season.” He rolled his eyes, and his wrinkled face took on an expression of awe. “I ain’t never seen the like of it. The expressions on his face. He didn’t make it so black, you know. Not like Kemble. Just a lightish brown. Looks real good on him too, and he wears a kind of dresslike thing that shows his legs. I heerd say that’s the kind of rig a real Othello would wear.” Jake shook his head. “Poor fellers must’ve got chilly, running around in them kind of things.”
Samantha smiled. “I believe that in the Moor’s country the weather is rather warmer than here.” She pulled the shabby cloak closer around her. The October wind was getting chill.
“P’raps so,” acknowledged Jake. “But I got to pity any male critter what has to wear skirts.”
By this time they had reached the stage door. “I’ll be bringing along your supper as usual.” Jake grinned devilishly. “Sure wish I could get that Hester down here. She don’t know what she’s missing.”
“That’s true,” said Samantha, returning his grin. “But I don’t think anyone could get Hester anywhere near a theatre.”
Jake’s grin grew wider. “If she didn’t have such a tongue, I’d take a chance on fooling her somehow. But oh, that woman do know how to say the sharpest things.”
Samantha nodded. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to be patient with her.” She shivered as a gust of wind rustled her cloak. “Are you going to be there tonight?”
Jake nodded enthusiastically. “I sure am. In fact” - he lowered his voice and looked hastily in each direction - “I got me a new friend. He’s the ticket taker. So I’m gonna see the whole thing from the start.”
Samantha laughed. “Very good, Jake. You’re a man who knows how to make his way in the world.”
“That’s God’s truth, miss. I been getting along all right these many years, but now I figure to see a play ever night if I choose.” His smile stretched from ear to ear. “And I expect I’ll be choosing, all right. Me, I’m gonna get a seat right there in the front row of the pit. I hear tell Lord Byron, him as writes them po-ems, and his friend, Moore, likes to sit there. They’re really the best seats, ‘cause you can see and hear everything what goes on. That Kean, he does wonderful things with his face, and you can see ‘em best up close.”
Samantha nodded. “Well, enjoy yourself, Jake. I’ll meet you at the usual place.”
“Yes, miss.”
As Jake moved away, Samantha turned the knob on the stage door and stepped into the theatre, into the warm and wonderful world that she had dreamed of for so long.
She was hurrying along the dim corridor toward the room where she worked with the other seamstresses when the door to Kean’s dressing room opened and he stepped out.
“Oh!” Samantha barely stopped in time to avoid crashing into him.
“Whoa, there, little one.”
A shiver went over Samantha as the epithet reminded her of her encounter with Roxbury, but she drove that memory from her mind and forced herself to regard the great man. His black eyes gazed at her with friendly attention, and he ran his hand through his dark, unruly curls. “You’re the new girl, aren’t you?”
Samantha nodded. “Y-yes, sir.”
Kean smiled warmly. “You’re just the person I want to see.”
“I - I, sir?” In spite of all her efforts Samantha’s voice broke, and she felt the red color her face.
“Yes. Come now. Hang up your cloak and get your sewing basket. I’ve got a tear that needs mending.”
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”
“Samantha, that is your name, isn’t it?” His eyes laughed at her.
“Oh, yes, sir. But how could you remember?” Samantha stared at him in awe.
Kean laughed. “You forget. I’m an actor - a quick study. Now, why wouldn’t I remember a simple name?”
“Of course you would, sir.” To her surprise Samantha found herself smiling. “It’s - it’s just that - well -” She suddenly recalled herself. “Oh, you don’t want to hear about me. I’ll get my basket, sir.” And she scurried away, Kean’s chuckle following her.
She burst into the work room she shared with Maria, crying, “My basket. Oh, Maria, where’s my basket?”
“I expect it’s right where you left it.” Maria’s wrinkled face stretched into a smile. “Whatever has put you in such a taking?”
“It’s Kean. Mr. Kean. He wants me to fix something for him. I have to find my basket!” She wrung her hands in distraction.
“Now, now, Samantha.” Maria put down her sewing. “Take a deep breath. Do it now.”
Obediently Samantha took a deep breath.
“Now count to ten. Very slow.”
‘Mar-i-a!
He’s waiting!”
Maria shook her head. “You can’t go anywhere till you calm down. Just look at you. Why, you’re trembling like a leaf in a storm. How can you sew anything like that?”
“Yes, Maria. One, two, three!”
“Slower, slower. Take another breath.” Maria looked at her sagely. “Rehearsal ain’t for a while yet. And Mr. Kean, he’s got time. He’s a good actor, Mr. Kean is. But when you get to know him, he’s just as reglar as anyone else.”
“Yes, yes. I know, Maria.” Samantha took another deep breath. “I will calm down, Maria, really I will.” Samantha forced herself to stand still and breathe deeply. “There now, see? I’m perfectly calm.”
Maria chuckled. “Well, I guess you’re calmer than you was. Some calmer, anyway.”
The old woman looked at her so comically that Samantha broke into laughter. “All right, Maria. I admit that I’m being silly. But I can hardly believe that this is happening to me.”
“You’ll get used to it after a while,” said Maria wisely. “Now, your basket’s right there in the same place you left it yesterday. Just go along to Kean’s dressing room - and take your time. Hear now!” she called out as Samantha scooped up the basket and hurried out, shutting the door behind her. “Take your time!”
Samantha slowed her steps, but it was not because she was heeding Maria’s advice but because she had suddenly realized that she was soon going to be in Kean’s dressing room, holding one of his garments. Even sewing on it! She almost stopped dead in her tracks at the thought, but then she took a deep breath and forced herself to go on. She could not continue to behave in this ridiculous fashion. People would soon tire of such childish goings on.
Outside Kean’s door she stood for several moments, trying to gather her scattered courage. Finally, clutching the basket as though it were some talisman of good fortune, she knocked timidly on the door.
“Come in,” came Kean’s voice, and Samantha wondered that even this simple command could sound so thrilling. Taking another deep breath, she pushed open the door. Kean looked up from a table where he was studying the copy of a new play. “There you are. Come over here.”
“Yes, sir.” Samantha forced herself to move slowly. “What - what is it that you need mended?”
“It’s over there on my chair. My tunic for tonight’s performance. I tore it some way - don’t quite know how.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Kean. I’ll mend it right away. Right away, sir.”
“Take it easy, youngster. The play’s not for another five or six hours. Sit down and talk to me.” He swiveled around in his chair and faced her.
“T-talk, sir? What about, sir?” Samantha picked up the tunic and, holding it, settled into the chair.
“First,” said Kean with an exaggerated frown, “if you don’t stop calling me ‘sir,’ I shall talk to Arnold about having you dismissed.”
“Dismissed!” Samantha jumped to her feet, barely remembering in time to clutch the sewing basket.
He nodded. “I mean it. Unless you stop this miserable sirring, I shall take steps - drastic steps - to have you removed from the company. Now, do you understand that?”
“I - I - Yes, si - That is, I understand. I think.” Samantha settled back into the chair, still clutching the basket and tunic.
“Good. Now perhaps we can get to know each other. Be friends.”
“F - friends?” Samantha could hardly believe that any of this could be taking place.
“Yes, friends. Actors need friends too, you know. Actors are people. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, s - That is, of course I do. But - but you can go anywhere in London. Be welcome any place. Why, all the
ton
are eager to have you as a guest.”
Kean shrugged, his frown no longer make-believe. “The
ton?
Forget that. I don’t like to be gawked at like some freak in a raree show. I’m not comfortable with those people. They’re just not my kind.”
“But - but why me?” Samantha stared at him.
Kean fingered his chin thoughtfully. “I can’t say exactly. There’s just something about you that I like. I can tell by your speech that you’re educated. Yet you aren’t of a class that makes me nervous.”
“Sir- That is, Mr. Kean. There’s something I should tell you.”
“Yes, what?”
“I - I’m not what you think I am. That is, Mr. Kean, I am wellborn. And - and I don’t have to work here.” She didn’t know what drove her to confess her secret, but she couldn’t stop. “I let Mr. Arnold think I was poor so he would give me work. You - you won’t tell him, will you?” She realized what she had done, and tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. “I’ve dreamed for so long, waited so long for the chance to see real plays, to be part of the theatre.” She wiped hastily at her eyes. “Please, if you tell him, he’ll dismiss me.”
“Simmer down, Samantha.” Kean’s chuckle was reassuring. “I won’t tell old Arnold anything. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“Thank you, Mr.-”
Kean shook his head. “No more Mr. either. With a secret like this between us, we must be on a first-name basis.”
“Oh, sir, I couldn’t.” Samantha clasped her hands together.
“Yes, you can. The name is Ned. Say it. Ned. Ned, Ned, Ned.”
“N-Ned.”
“Say it again. Ned, Ned, Ned.”
“Ned, Ned, Ned.”
“That’s better. Say it again. Ned.”
“Ned.”
“All right. You’ll get used to it.”
He smiled at her. “Thread up your needle, Samantha. There’s a rent in the front of the skirt.”
Recalling her conversation with Jake, Samantha giggled nervously.
“Well, and what is that about?” asked Kean.
“My manservant - he was telling me about your tunic. And he said that it must be awfully chilly for those poor creatures who have to wear it all the time.”
Kean smiled. “The thing is rather drafty, but it’s authentic, and that’s what we need. The idea of playing the Moor in a British officer’s coat is ridiculous in the extreme.”
As Samantha bent to examine the richly embroidered tunic, he continued. “So, you have a manservant.”
Samantha nodded. “Yes, Mr. Pomroy loaned him to me. My father’s solicitor – now mine.”
Kean scratched his ear. “And have you others in your establishment?”
“Only Hester. She was my maidservant back in Dover. She abhors the theatre, calls it an abomination. But she came with me to protect me. She’s the only friend I have.”
“Not anymore,” Kean replied with a winning smile. “Now you have me. But go on. Tell me about Dover and your life there.”
And so, as Samantha stitched up the tear in the tunic, she told the great man about the lonely years in the country. When she was finished, Samantha offered the tunic to Kean for inspection.
He shook his head. “No need for that. I trust you can sew.” He glanced at his timepiece. “I suppose you should get back to Maria and your other duties. And I have to get ready for rehearsal.”
He rose as she got to her feet and extended his hand. “But remember, Samantha, we are friends. From time to time I shall have things to be mended.”
Samantha nodded as she shook his hand. “All right.” She hesitated by the door.
Kean smiled at her. “Don’t fret yourself, Samantha. I’ll keep your secret, never fear.”
“Th-thank you, Ned.”
“You’re quite welcome.”
As Kean closed the door, Samantha moved off down the corridor. It was unbelievable that the great actor could be so kind and considerate. Actors were supposed to be temperamental. Highhanded. With their noses in the air. Puffed up with their own importance. That was what Papa had said they were often like. And, after all, they deserved to be treated differently. They were almost like another species, such talented people.
Samantha opened the door to the room she shared with Maria. She was almost pushed over as Lily Porter came swishing dramatically by and knocked against her.
“Excuse me,” said Samantha, but the irony of her exclamation was lost on the irate Lily.
Samantha continued into the room. “Whatever is the matter with her?” she asked Maria, who was holding a blue velvet gown.
“She wants to know why her gown ain’t taken in yet.”
‘But she doesn’t need it today, does she?’
Maria shook her head. “Course not. But that don’t mean nothing to her. When Miss Lily wants something done, she wants it
now.”
Samantha shook her head. “It’s a shame some little lordling doesn’t come along and spirit off Miss Lily Porter.”
Maria chuckled. “Ain’t no
little
lording going to satisfy that one. She got her eye on a prime article.”
“Really?”
Maria nodded. “Yes, sirree. She’s got the Earl of Roxbury dangling after her.”
Samantha felt the color flooding her face. “But would an earl marry an actress?”