His embraces! His compliments! So rare then, so commonplace now. His talk of marriage and the grand life they would have. He had known how to tempt Mary, and he had almost succeeded in seducing her. Not quite, she insisted, and shut her eyes tightly so that she could not remember too clearly. Then it had been discovered that he was already married, that he had told her lies, had no intention of marrying her as he promised to do, and his one goal was the seduction of this tender maiden.
‘A fortunate escape,’ murmured Perdita. ‘Oh, what a fortunate escape!’
Mr Darby, after having left his wife and family to fend for themselves, suddenly decided to be righteously indignant because they had done so. He would not have his wife and daughter working, so the school, which had begun to be fairly prosperous, was closed and Mary was sent to a school in Chelsea which was run by a Mrs Lorrington. This lady was fond of the bottle but when she was not under its influence she was a very good teacher and she took an immediate interest in the strikingly lovely young girl who was so eager to learn.
At Mrs Lorrington’s Mary worked hard, received encouragement and learned fast; not only did she work at her lessons, but in deportment and elocution, for both of which she had a natural flair.
Her mother watched her development with pride and the utmost interest. Mr Darby, too, was interested in his daughter and, with a little prompting from his wife, agreed that she should go to Mrs Hervey’s Finishing Academy at Oxford House in Marylebone. And there she had met … what was the name of the man? He in himself was of little importance to her, except for the fact that he was the ballet master at Covent Garden and had introduced her to David Garrick. Hussey! That was his name. He had taught dancing at Mrs Hervey’s school and had immediately singled her out as his most promising pupil.
She remembered the day he had brought in Mr Garrick. A somewhat irascible old man he had seemed to her, although she had been overawed by his fame. Very sombrely dressed in brown he did not look in the least like any of the great romantic roles he had played in the past. He had been running Drury Lane then, for it was just before Sheridan had bought his share in it. He had grunted at her and made her recite and sing and dance and then he had walked away as though disgusted with her. She had felt so depressed that she had gone home and wept and her mother had been very angry that Mr Garrick should have failed to appreciate her daughter.
But the next day Mr Hussey had called her aside from the other pupils and told her she could be a very fortunate girl if she was prepared to work hard because Mr Garrick – although he found her raw and in great need of tuition – thought that there might be a small talent in her and he was prepared to give her a chance.
What a different story she had to take home on that day. But Mrs Darby was immediately thrown into a fluster. The theatre! But was it the profession for a lady? She was not at all sure. She was in a terrible dilemma. Mr Darby had disappeared again, having gone to America, and before he had gone, so impressed was he by the beauty of Mary which was growing more and more obvious every day that he had threatened Mrs Darby with dire punishment if any ill should befall her.
‘I do not think ladies become play actresses,’ she reiterated.
‘But what should I become, Mother? What can I become? Should I teach in, school?’
‘No, that is no good either. Oh dear. With looks such as yours …’
‘Mamma,’ implored Mary, ‘we must be practical. Some actresses have done very well. If one is clever …’
‘You are not yet sixteen. I should die of fear every time you went to the theatre. You are too young.’
‘One must begin. It is really a great stroke of good fortune. Mr Hussey tells me that Mr Garrick said I might be trained to play Cordelia to his Lear.’
‘How I wish I knew what to do.’
And then Thomas Robinson appeared. Perdita did not wish to think of Thomas Robinson. How much happier she would have been if she had never heard his name. But at the time her mother had rejoiced in that young man because he seemed to provide the soothing answer to her fears.
Marriage was the answer – marriage to a man with good prospects, a man who would provide for Mary, give her a good establishment, servants, and keep her in comfort for the rest of her life. Then this dream of theatrical fame could be thrust aside without regret.
And Thomas Robinson would provide these.
Her mother had heard of Thomas Robinson through an attorney whom she had once consulted, a Mr Wayman. He assured her that Thomas Robinson was a man with prospects. Although he worked in a solicitor’s office he was no ordinary clerk and had excellent prospects. His father, Mrs Darby was assured, was a Welsh nobleman who had sent his son to London because he believed it would be good for him to have something to do. In due course he would inherit a vast estate in Wales and maintain a large establishment in London.
Mrs Darby’s eyes glowed at the thought. It was exactly what she would have chosen for her daughter. As the wife of rich Mr Robinson there would be no need for her to show off her beauty every night on a stage and have people make all sorts of proposals to her.
The first thing was to arrange a meeting with Mr Robinson, which the obliging attorney was prepared to do.
And Perdita? How had she felt? She liked to think now that she had viewed the prospect with horror, that she had flung herself on her knees and implored her mother to allow her to take the more honourable line and play for Mr Garrick. She liked to picture herself weeping stormily, declaring dramatically that she preferred to sell her talents rather than herself.
And over the span of years … it was not really so many yet … she had forgotten so much; she had coloured here, tinted there, and even she was not quite sure how it happened. Yet even she could not sketch in pretty pictures of what followed.
She saw the meeting at the Star and Garter at Greenwich. She remembered the dress so well. That was the one aspect which remained clear to her in every detail. It was more pleasant to think of the dress – an evening dress, long and flowing, of pale blue lustring; and a big chip straw hat swathed with the same material as her dress.
Thomas Robinson had taken one look at her and was in no doubt. He was conscious of the many eyes turned in their direction – all in homage to the young girl’s beauty. Endless possibilities, thought Thomas Robinson, whose greatest ambition was, she had quickly discovered, to live in luxury with the smallest possible personal effort. Through the rich clients who came to his office and a knowledge of the difficulties in which they became entangled he saw a way in which this way of life might be accomplished through a wife of such extraordinary beauty.
So he was eager for the marriage. He was chivalrous and attentive, not only to Mary but to her mother. He visited their home; he made casual references to the family estate in Wales; he talked of running an establishment in London and the names of certain well-known noblemen were scattered lightly throughout his conversation until Mrs Darby was all impatience for the wedding, and when Mr Robinson suggested it should take place immediately, she agreed with alacrity.
It was an April day – five years ago. Was it only five years Perdita asked herself. Could one live through a lifetime of misery, despair and horrific adventure in such a short time? It was a wonder that she had come through with her beauty unscathed – and in fact more dazzling than ever.
St Martin’s Church – and Mr Robinson looking elegant in clothes for which she later discovered he had not paid – a presentable bridegroom, she had thought then; and knowing little of the obligations of marriage she had not been unduly downcast.
And so she had become Mrs Robinson.
Before the wedding he had explained that his father would have to be prepared for his marriage. ‘Of course once he sees Mary he will be reconciled … enchanted as everyone must be. But just at first we had better not set up house together.’