He was secretly amused because she had told no one of what had happened. That fact gave him confidence to proceed with his plans.
He ceased to pursue her. In fact he told her that he was sorry he had behaved as he had and he hoped the incident might not impair their friendship.
‘That which never existed could naturally not be impaired,’ she retorted.
And from that day she was no longer offered the best parts. She was not well known enough to insist; she was entirely in his hands; and naturally since she was not playing important parts she could not expect to continue with her salary of three guineas a week. It was promptly cut to two and, she was told ominously, even that was more than the parts warranted.
Grace was bewildered. What had happened? Dorothy had been doing so well. Why had it suddenly been decided that she should be given such silly little parts? Grace began to worry. Were the Dalys displeased? It was difficult to balance the household accounts. Worrying made her ill and it was necessary to incur doctors’ bills. They were in debt.
‘You’re looking scarcely yourself, my dear,’ said Daly one day when she saw him alone. ‘I’m getting concerned about you. Mustn’t lose your bloom, you know. The audiences won’t like it.’
She tried to push past him but he detained her and said gently: ‘I hear that your mother has been ill. Is it doctors’ bills and invalid’s fare?’
‘My mother has been ill,’ she admitted.
‘In debt?’
‘It’s my affair.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong, my dear. My actresses’ good looks are my affair. And I feel guilty. You haven’t been the same since our little adventure. You worry too much. I’m sorry. I was under the impression it was what you wanted. I didn’t understand that you really meant what you said. Dorothy, will you accept a loan?’
She hesitated. She must find the money. And after all why shouldn’t he help?
‘I’d rather have my old parts back with my old salary.’
‘Have the loan first, settle your affairs… and then you’ll be able to concentrate on work.’
‘You owe it to me in any case,’ she said.
‘That’s the spirit. More like the old Dorothy. I’ll lend you a hundred pounds. You can pay me back when you’ve got it. Come to my office tomorrow and I’ll get it all signed and sealed.’
So she did and she paid the bills and she told Grace how kind Mr Daly had been. That cheered Grace considerably. ‘He must think highly of you, Dolly,’ she said. ‘I expect that wife of his is jealous.’
‘Jealous?’ said Dorothy sharply. ‘Why should she be jealous?’
‘Of your success, of course.’
Dorothy sighed. Grace must never know about that frightful scene in the attic.
A few weeks passed. True to his word Daly offered her a better part; her spirits rose. It was going to take a long time to pay off her debt but that would come.
Wherever she went she seemed to see Daly’s eyes upon her. She became alarmed because she knew that it was not true that he had lost his interest in her.
When the ultimatum came she was not unprepared for it. The kind Mr Daly disappeared and there was the rogue, whom she had learned so tragically how to distrust, with another proposition. He wanted her to come to him willingly this time; he had no intention of using physical force.
‘An anti-climax,’ he told her. ‘The first time… that was exhilarating. But we don’t want a repeat performance. I have rented a place for us; we will go there whenever I say and you will be pleased to come, my dear, I promise you.’
‘And I promise you that you can keep your little places for others.’
‘I’ve had a surfeit of others – by no means enough of Dorothy.’
‘You are insufferable.’
‘I know it. And you are fascinating. That is why I must go to such lengths to win you. For you are too cold, my dear. I could never abide frigid women. That’s something we must change – and I think we shall. I have a notion that that experience we shared was not as repulsive to you as you would like to delude me and yourself into believing.’
She turned away, but he caught her arm. ‘Don’t forget you owe me money. I can have you sent to the debtors’ prison.’
The debtors’ prison! The shadow which overhung the poor of every class! The descent into despair from which so often it was impossible to escape. He laughed to see her turn pale.
‘No need to be afraid, my dear. Be kind instead. It’s all I ask.’
‘You promised that you would allow me to pay you back by degrees.’
‘I’ve changed my mind.’
‘But…’
‘I want the money now. Don’t be a fool, Dorothy. You don’t have to pay your debt in cash.’
‘Oh… you are…’
‘Insufferable! You’ve already said it. Don’t repeat yourself, my dear. Shall we say after the theatre tonight? I’ll give you the address. It’s close by. Stop being Miss Prude. It doesn’t become you because you’re not, you know. You were meant to enjoy life and by God you shall. You be there tonight, kind and loving, and I promise you you’ll have no fear of either debtors’ prisons or small parts. You’ll come well out of this, Dorothy, my dear. All you have to remember is that it does not pay to flout the manager.’
He gave her an affectionate little push. He was sure of success.
Dorothy walked away blankly.
What could she do? Run away with the family. Where to? Grace was not fully recovered. This would kill her.
Whereas if she gave way Grace would know nothing… She would get her big parts back…
What can I do? she asked herself.
From that day she became Daly’s mistress.
There was a clever likely lass,
Just come to town from Glo’ster;
And she did get her livelihood
By crying Melton Oysters.
She bore her basket on her head
In the genteelest posture.
And every day and every night
She cried her Melton Oysters.
And now she is a lady gay,
For Billingsgate has lost her
She goes to masquerades and Play,
No more cries Melton Oysters.
So sang Dorothy on the stage at Smock Alley and the audience roared its applause. It was not the banal words of the song nor the simple melody; it was Dorothy Francis, small, dainty, provocative, looking for all the world as though she might have carried a basket of oysters on her head at one time and now was the lady who went to masquerades and plays.
Now that she was getting better parts her fame was growing and on the nights when she appeared the theatre was full; when she sang one of her songs the audience would not let her go immediately after but insisted on several repeats.
There was no doubt of Dorothy’s popularity. Mrs Daly grumbled a little. ‘Must that young woman have all the best parts, Richard?’ ‘No, my dear, only those that wouldn’t become you. Dorothy’s a comedy actress. She lacks your dignity. Let her have the light-weight parts. You have the real drama.’ And Mrs Daly was not discontented with that. She had given up being jealous of Richard. It was well known that he was the lover of almost every personable young woman in the company, and she had grown tired of protesting about that. What she cared about was that the best parts should be reserved for her – and if that were so and the money came in, let Richard amuse himself.
The winter and spring had been a trying time for Dorothy. She despised herself and the position into which she had fallen; and her hatred of Daly, who had put her into it, was growing so intense that she felt she could not accept her position at Smock Alley for much longer.