Free! She remembered the first day when she came out of the prison to find her mother, who had managed to keep the home going, was waiting for her.
There was no need now to placate Mr Robinson and both women showed their contempt for him. He had her permission, his wife told him, to sleep with any servant girl he cared for; his visits to brothels were no concern of hers; all she asked was that he made no demands upon her, and that was something she would insist upon.
Mr Robinson replied that he was not at all sure of that; but he had to remember that his wife had brought about his release from prison and that she was not the pretty puppet he had imagined her to be.
She and her mother ignored him, although he inhabited the house. He had gone back to his clerking but it was not easy to live on his salary.
‘I want independence from him,’ said Mary to her mother. ‘I should like to walk out of this house and never have to see him again.’
That, Mrs Darby had to admit, would be a desirable state of affairs. But how could it be achieved?
‘I shall never make enough money from writing poetry,’ said Mary. ‘What a fool I was to reject the offer Mr Garrick made to me.’
‘You’ll never have another like it,’ sighed her mother sadly; the guilt was hers, she admitted freely. She should have known better. One could not expect a fourteen-year-old girl to recognize a rogue … but she was a woman and a mother! What would her husband think when he came home. She remembered his threats before his departure! But he did not come home and Mary was right. The need to find money was urgent, for if they did not they would be back in that prison which they had so recently left and they could not expect such opportune deliverance again.
‘Why should I not?’ demanded Mary suddenly.
‘But … Mr Garrick would never give you another chance. He’d think you were a fool to have rejected him before.’
‘I heard that Mr Sheridan is going to buy him out of Drury Lane and take over Mr Garrick’s share in the theatre and that Mr Garrick, now that he is getting old, will retire.’
‘But you don’t know Mr Sheridan.’
‘Not yet,’ admitted Mary. ‘But why shouldn’t I?’
Her success with the Duchess of Devonshire had given her confidence. Why should she not offer her services to Drury Lane? It was a way of life – an exciting way of life; she who was so startlingly beautiful, could dance and sing tolerably well, had had elocution lessons and could recite well – and above all had a strong sense of the dramatic. Surely she was a born actress. She was immediately beginning to believe she was and was already preparing herself to convince Mr Sheridan, and Mr Garrick if need be, of this.
‘I see no reason why I should not have another chance,’ she told her mother. ‘I will seek an introduction to Mr Sheridan.’
‘But how?’
‘Well, Mr Hussey introduced me to Mr Garrick, did he not? I think Mr Hussey would be inclined to help me.’
And he had been. The ballet master was a little startled when she called on him, but, in the manner of everyone else, completely enslaved by so much beauty.
‘A stage career. Why, with looks such as yours you could not fail.’
‘If you would do me the favour of introducing me to Mr Sheridan …’
‘It is Mr Sheridan who will be favoured.’
And so to the meeting which was to change her life and to bring her to this night when she could dream of dazzling possibilities which did not seem absurdly out of her grasp.
The Green Room at the theatre. She could see it so clearly. Was she not familiar with every aspect of it? But then it had been new to her and there was the handsome Mr Sheridan taking her hand, kissing it and being so charming because she was so beautiful.
So she wanted to be an actress?
Mr Garrick himself, she told him, had once offered her a chance.
‘And you didn’t take it?’
‘I married instead.’
‘The old man will never forgive you that. In offering you a chance to act with him he thought he was giving you the keys to heaven. And you chose … marriage.’
‘Unhappily.’
Mr Sheridan was alert. She knew now, because he had told her, that all the time he was weighing her up, and that almost at once he made up his mind that he wanted her … for Drury Lane and himself.
No need now to hasten over her memories, to close her eyes and glide over the thin ice which could break suddenly and plunge her into horrid memory. From now on it was success.
At the theatre Mr Sheridan presented her to Mr Garrick. He had aged since she had last seen him but he remembered her well.
‘I offered you a chance in the theatre and you refused it,’ he accused.
‘It was madness,’ she admitted meekly.
‘Madness, folly, stupidity. None of these is a quality that makes a good actress.’
‘I know.’ She was meek and forlorn; but she knew that he would not have bothered to come and see her if he had not thought her worth a little effort.
‘Do you know, young woman, that there are thousands of would-be actresses who would give twenty years of their lives for the chance you had … and threw away.’
‘I know it well,’ she said. ‘It was the biggest mistake of my life.’
He turned away from her as though in disgust and said to Sheridan: ‘And you want this young woman to play Juliet.’
‘At least she’ll look the part,’ answered Sheridan.
Without glancing at her Garrick muttered: ‘Let’s hear you. Begin here:
O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name …’
She knew it well. How many times since Sheridan had suggested she might play Juliet had she enacted the balcony scene before her mirror, seeing herself in some diaphanous garment leaning over the balustrade in moonlight, picturing the gasp of admiration from the audience when she appeared.
And as she began to say the words she was on that stage; she was the young girl in love for the first time.
‘Or, if thy wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.’
And the old man beside her was suddenly transformed. The most beautiful voice that had been heard in the theatre for years – perhaps the most beautiful ever – was answering her:
‘Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?’
She went on:
‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy …’
Perhaps she was not word perfect, but she was over-dramatic; she would need a great deal of coaching, but the fire was there. He carried her through the scene and then she heard him murmur in that glorious voice of his:
‘… all this is but a dream,
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.’
She knew that she must succeed; that she wanted more than anything to play Juliet and to play her as she had never been played before.
Romeo, as if by magic, had become Mr Garrick – no longer the passionate and romantic lover but a carping old man.
He said nothing and had started to walk away.
Sheridan walked after him while Mary stood trembling.
‘Well?’ said Sheridan.
Mr Garrick stood still and seemed to consider. Mary thought he was not going to answer.
She ran to him. ‘If you will give me a chance I will work, I will study … I will learn …’
‘You’ll need to,’ said Mr Garrick; and walked out of the room.