No nonsense, thought Sheridan with a smirk. No flirting with the lady’s maid behind the lady’s back.
Then he forgot the maid because Mary had come in. He had to admit that every time he saw her she took his breath away. Her beauty burst upon the eye as the sunlight would after coming out of the dark. Mary was a dazzling beauty. Different from the handsome maid – whose looks were of a more subtle nature and had to be discovered gradually; Mary’s were so brilliantly obvious that their impact was immediate.
Conscious of the effect she had on people Mary always dressed for the part. Today she wore a pink satin gown, fashionably hooped and ornamented by a silver pattern. Her hair was dressed in loose curls and lightly powdered, her exquisite neck and bosom rather freely exposed.
Sheridan opened his eyes to express the wonder she expected to see in the eyes of any man; then taking her hand humbly kissed it.
Mary smiled; she was satisfied.
‘Sherry, my dear, dear friend.’
‘My angel!’
He would have embraced her but she lifted a hand. Mary gave herself airs now that she was a well-known actress.
‘What an unexpected pleasure to see you at this hour! What will you take? Coffee? Chocolate? Tea? Wine?’
He would take nothing, he told her; it was enough for him to drink in her charms.
She laughed – a little refined laugh. Mary was always anxious that she should be treated as a lady. She liked to think that she had brought refinement to the stage and as a good business manager he was ready to humour an actress who had the gift of bringing in the people. It was enough for them to look at Mary Robinson, irrespective of the play. And there was no doubt that she had brought in the nobility too. The Duke of Cumberland was an admirer, though Mary – wisely perhaps – had resisted all his offers.
‘What brings you, truly? You are not going to tell me that you could not wait for a glimpse of me at the theatre today?’
‘If I told you that it would be true too.’
‘Oh, come, come.’
Yes, she was a little imperious. Well, with beauty such as hers perhaps it was forgivable. Her dark hair was luxuriantly abundant; her brow was a little high and the deeply set eyes under the level brows, the straight nose, the perfectly formed lips, were touched with an air of haunting melancholy which made her face unforgettable. This was no mere pretty girl. This was beauty. The contours of her face were perfect; her body was beautifully proportioned; she moved with the utmost grace; she was conscious, Sheridan was sure, every minute of the day, of her beauty.
‘Well, my beautiful Mary, there is something else. I was determined to tell you first.’
‘A new play?’
He shook his head. A faint irritation had passed across her face. She had not really forgiven him for not giving her the part of Lady Teazle. ‘Mrs Abington is so … vulgar,’ she had declared. Always eager that her refinement should be acknowledged, she invariably called attention to the vulgarity of others. ‘Precisely so,’ he had retorted. ‘That’s why it’s Abington’s part. Don’t forget Lady Teazle was not of the ton. You, my dearest Mary, have only to walk on a stage and everyone knows you are a lady. And, bless you, you are not a good enough actress to hide it.’ Careful, he had thought. A backhanded compliment. But one thing he had been determined on: Abington was going to play Lady Teazle – and not even for beautiful Mary would he allow his play to have anything but the best. She had not been reconciled and continued to believe that she had been slighted.
Now he said quickly: ‘No, no. Guess again.’
‘You are deliberately keeping me in suspense.’ She moved to a sofa and holding out her hand bade him sit beside her.
‘Then I will do so no longer. His Majesty sent for me to tell me that there is to be a command performance.’
‘I see.’ She was pleased, and tapped lightly with long tapering fingers. A habit, he had noticed, to call attention to them. They were as perfectly formed as the rest of her. ‘And I am to play before the King and Queen?’
‘Of course. How could it be otherwise? And there is something else. The Prince will accompany them.’
There was no sign of melancholy in her face now. Her eyes sparkled. ‘What play?’ A terrible fear showed itself. It would be The School. Trust Sheridan to put on his own play. And Abington would have the better part!
‘Shakespeare, of course. His Majesty thinks the “fellow” wrote “sad stuff” but the people seem to think it’s all that’s suitable for royal consumption.’
‘Romeo and Juliet?’ Juliet had been her first part. He remembered how beautiful she had looked.
‘The Winter’s Tale. You will be Perdita.’
‘Perdita!’ She was not displeased, but she was apt to think Juliet would have been better.
Sheridan disillusioned her. ‘Young love in defiance of parental authority is a sore point with HM at the moment. You know the Prince is apt to give Papa anxious moments on that account.’
She laughed. Perdita. Innocent, wistful, beautiful Perdita. She was growing more and more excited every moment.
‘I have seen him now and then,’ she said. ‘He’s a pretty boy.’
‘I feel sure he will be delighted to see you.’
Her mind immediately went to costumes. She saw herself in pink … her favourite colour because it became her most. But blue, perhaps. Satin? Velvet?
‘We should go into rehearsal immediately,’ said Sheridan.
He was looking at her appraisingly. She was even lovelier animated than melancholy, and the most susceptible young man in the country was the Prince of Wales. Surely he would not be able to look on all this beauty unmoved?
Was that what Mary was thinking? She had refused the protection of many rich and notorious men. Suppose … But that was looking too far ahead.
He leaned towards her and kissed her lightly.
‘Well, think about it, and be at the theatre early. We’ll go into rehearsal right away. I want perfection. You must please their Majesties … and the Prince … Perdita.’
He rose to go and Mrs Armistead, who had been listening at the door, walked out of sight unhurriedly and with dignity just as he came out of the room.
‘Armistead,’ said Mrs Robinson, ‘Come here. I’m to play Perdita in The Winter’s Tale.’
‘Is that so, Madam?’
‘It’s not a bad part.’
‘No, Madam.’
‘There’s something special about this performance though. The King and Queen will be there with the Prince of Wales.’
‘That will be a triumph, Madam.’
Mrs Robinson sighed and looked at herself in the mirror on the wall. She always seated herself so that she could comfortably see into it.
‘I am not sure, Armistead.’
‘No, Madam?’ The cool raising of very well marked brows matched the voice. Armistead was merely respectfully polite to a mistress who wished to confide in her.
‘I should never have been a play actress. It is hardly becoming to a lady.’
‘No, Madam.’
Mrs Robinson looked surprised. She had expected contradiction.
‘Somewhat higher than a lady’s maid,’ said Mrs Robinson, a little tartly.
‘Certainly, Madam.’
‘And several of my friends have noticed you, Armistead. They say you look too good for a lady’s maid.’
‘Then, Madam, that makes two of us.’
Mrs Robinson was a little startled. But then Armistead did startle her now and then. But what an excellent servant she was! Always so discreet! Besides, she could not concern herself with Armistead now. She had Perdita to think of.