Dara

Getting on to his feet, Charles decided this was the moment to discuss the question of my allotment.

'Well, James, friend of my schooldays, have you forgotten me?' he asked.

'Of course I haven't,' replied James quickly. 'Forgive me, I was so overcome that I had thoughts only for Dara. Accept my heartfelt thanks for bringing her back to me. I owe you a great debt of gratitude which I will never forget. Please allow me to pay all your household expenses while Dara is a guest at your home. It is the least I can do under the circumstances, my dear fellow.'

'Why, that's very decent of you,' said Charles with a smile. 'I'll instruct my solicitors to send you a monthly account. Now, what allotment are you going to bestow on your Lady Pulrose?'

James thought for a moment. 'Would ten thousand a year be adequate?' he asked tentatively.

Charles fixed his eyes on James' nose in a steady stare. He told me afterwards that this was his habit when he wished to make anyone feel uncomfortable.

'Twenty thousand?' James stuttered questioningly.

Charles didn't answer. The silence was painful as he continued to stare at the tip of James' nose.

'Tell me, what do you think would be an adequate allotment to settle on Dara?' James asked, appealing to Charles and squirming with embarrassment.

'One must take into consideration that a lady in high society has many expenses if she is going to mix with the nobility on equal terms,' answered Charles gravely. 'You are a man of great wealth, James. You wouldn't want your friends to think that your wife was living on slender means.'

'Would thirty thousand be sufficient do you think?' asked James doubtfully.

Charles pursed his lips. 'Yes, that is possibly the right figure.' Then turning to me, he asked, 'Will you settle for thirty thousand, Lady Pulrose?'

These large sums of money they were bandying about as if they were discussing pennies just left me dizzy and speechless. I could only nod my head in amazement at Charles' perspicacity.

'Good,' exclaimed James with relief that satisfactory arrangements had been made for my future welfare. 'Will you stay and have coffee with us?'

Charles, with polite apologies, explained that there was insufficient time as many arrangements had to be made before he departed for Australia.

James embraced me at the front door and extracted a promise that I would call again as soon as I had settled into my new home.

I was very upset when Charles departed for Tilbury Docks in the afternoon. Although I had known him but a short time, I was heartbroken at the thought that we wouldn't see each other again for a very long time and wept bitter tears when he kissed me goodbye on the doorstep. In less than twenty-four hours he had brought great changes to my lifestyle. His friendship and affection was something I would treasure in the conviction that destiny would somehow bring us together again.

Later that afternoon Billings, the butler, assembled all the servants, including Baldwin, the coachman, in the hall for my inspection.

'This, my Lady,' he said, pointing to a pleasant, plump woman, 'is the cook, Mrs. Wakeford,' and so went on down the line introducing maids and other servants. There were nine of them in all and everyone showed great respect in my presence. I could think of nothing to say so I dismissed them with a nod of the head and they went off downstairs to attend to their various duties.

PART SIX. MIDNIGHT LOVER

During the days that followed I revelled in the luxury of being waited on hand and foot and spent over eight hundred pounds on fashionable, expensive costumes and millinery. An even larger sum was spent on jewellery. I was delirious with excitement each time a package of clothing was delivered at the door and my personal maid, Tilly, helped me dress in my new attire. She fussed around me smoothing out the creases as I stood admiring myself in front of the bedroom mirror.

Some of the costumes were really beautiful and did much to enhance my appearance. My favourite was a rose pink walking out dress with a bodice that hugged my figure and open sleeves that revealed the puffed chemisette underneath. The skirt had a very wide base with broad white ribbon bands below the knee.

I was wearing this costume on the day I spied John Sweetapple in the vicinity of Westminster Abbey and invited him back to Cheyney House for coffee and a chat.

His was the first familiar face I had seen since Charles sailed for Australia. Now that the excitement of buying new clothes and jewellery had died down, there was little to occupy my time. Money and a title don't necessarily bring friends. Life had become tedious and boring and I longed for company and conversation for I am very gregarious by nature.

It was plain that John Sweetapple, a thin man with pale, watery eyes, didn't recognize me for there was a puzzled look on his grey, wrinkled face when I greeted him like an old friend. I had to remind him of the times when James and I first arrived in London and spent several evenings at his rooms listening to him reading his plays.

His face cleared as the memory came back to him, but, to my disappointment, he showed little desire to continue our acquaintanceship and was about to move on when I exclaimed, 'There have been great changes in our lives since last we saw you. Following his father's death, James has succeeded to the title of Lord Pulrose.'

It seems everyone loves a lord for this news brought about a tremendous change in Sweetapple's attitude to me. Stunned, he looked at me with great interest, admired my dress, shook my hand with enthusiasm and said in a deferential low voice, 'And you, of course, are Lady Pulrose… Er… How is… er… James these days?'

I explained briefly that we were living apart but remained good friends. By this time he was leading me by the arm in the direction he had been walking when I first approached him. Releasing my arm from his hold, I beckoned to Baldwin to bring the carriage alongside and asked Sweetapple if he was refusing my invitation to have coffee with me. The poor man was all confusion and apologies, tripped on the step of the carriage as he was getting in and nearly fell into my lap.

At Cheyney House, with fancy cakes spread out in front of him and a cup of coffee in his hand, he calmed down to tell me what he had been doing since we last met. I learned that he had given up writing his boring plays and had become an actor manager with his own theatrical company touring provincial theatres. His play-actors were pressing him to arrange another tour. Theatres in Manchester, Liverpool and Dublin were available to him; all that was lacking was the finance to set it all in motion.

I knew this talk was leading up to a request for money and was prepared with an answer. The intoxicating excitement of a group of theatricals on tour was still fresh in my memory. It was just what was needed to lift my spirits.

He eventually came to the point. 'Lady Pulrose… er… I wonder, er… if you have given thought to… er… being a patron of the arts?'

'Certainly not,' I snapped, 'and I have no intention of doing so. How much money do you want?'

Flustered by direct speech, he hummed and hahed. 'Er… a hundred pounds.' Seeing the smile on my face gave him more confidence. 'Er… that would be the rental for… er… the theatres.'

'John Sweetapple,' I said accusingly, 'you are not being entirely truthful with me, are you? I will finance your tour up to the sum of three hundred pounds on condition that, at one of the theatres, you put onRomeo and Julietand I play the part of Juliet.'

When he stopped gulping in surprise at this windfall of money that was coming his way, we discussed details of the tour and, because he had doubts about a Shakespearean play, it was agreed we would have two or three rehearsals before our first performance ofRomeo and Julietin Dublin.

This suited me perfectly. I would have the company of the other actors for two weeks without any responsibilities and, on the third week, realize an ambition I had nursed for a long time of playing Juliet.