Bella Poldark (52 page)

'And what is your reaction - so far, Christopher?'

Demelza asked. He hesitated. 'I have a great faith in her, but this beats my expectations.'

When he had gone she felt Ross put his hand over hers.

'So far . . .'

'I'm amazed, Ross. Is this our Bella?'

'Well, I saw her in Rouen, but I was not prepared for this.'

'Have they darkened her skin?'

Just a little about the chin. Very subtly, I may say.'

'The way she stands. And walks! Just like a man!'

'Some men. A hint of swagger, but not overdone. I think she is going to succeed.'

'I'm scared to death.'

'So am I. But of what particularly?'

'The fencing.'

'Ye-es,' Ross said. 'But it is only make-believe.'

'Do not forget the first Romeo.'

The play broke at the end of Act 2 Scene 2, when Romeo, having climbed the wall of the orchard behind the Capulets' mansion, makes contact with Juliet and swears his undying love. There are then the long and famous passages between the two, he mainly in the garden, she on the balcony. Here Bella spoke with real passion, occasionally missing a few words, but conveying her feelings with such vehemence and exaltation that the audience forgot to shuffle and stir, but listened with quiet breath. Charlotte Bancroft, not to be outdone, played her part beautifully as a child just come to an engulfing love. When the curtain came down for the interval there was a burst of applause.

Somehow the interlude was endured. The obligatory musical extract had taken place during the scene at the Ball:

singers had come on, and some dancers. This had received more catcalls than either of the plays. When the proper interval arrived there was total confusion both in the gallery and the pit; men and women pushed to get out, others pushed with equal urgency to get in, to improve their seating or their viewing. The ham-sandwich men and the pigs' trotter women and the boys with their trays of whelks did a fine trade. Presently a church-like bell was rung in the orchestra pit and this, repeated at regular two-minute intervals, presently persuaded the audience that the play was about to resume. The opening scene was in Friar Laurence's cell, and it began with a long speech by the monk before Romeo entered, which gave extra time for the seething multitude to settle down before the continuation of the story. In the ensuing scene Tybalt, not merely Juliet's cousin but master swordsman, picks a quarrel with Mercutio; they draw and in the swordfight which follows Mercutio is run through and dies a long and painful death. Romeo, who has striven to prevent the first fight, is now driven by grief to challenge Tybalt.

Now comes the crux of the swordplay and the duel between them, the one in which Arthur Scholes had been wounded in the eye. This audience cannot bear with obvious pretence. They must believe blood is spilt. In the street bounded by the sun-bright houses of Verona and surrounded more closely by a watching crowd, Romeo and Tybalt fought for their lives. Each evening Christopher had come to plan the contest, feints here and thrusts there, lunges and parries. In seven days he had worked wonders with the appearance of this fight. Even Fergus Flynn was an actor and not a fencer. Christopher had instructed them both, particularly on footwork, in how to stop-hit, how to riposte and parry and give ground at the same time, in the fleche and redoublement. He had even given them steps to learn so that they should come closer to each other, look in each other's eyes, challenge with strength of arm and then break apart to return to the thrust and parry. An old cart had been brought in so that Bella could dance behind it when apparently she was getting the worst of it. Then she took the offensive and drove Tybalt across the square to the steps up to the Capulets' mansion. Here she slipped, fell on the second step but catlike was up before Tybalt could draw his arm back. (This was an accident, Bella swore, but on McArdle's insistence it had to be repeated every night.) Back and forward they fought until, trapping Tybalt into a crude forward rush, point aimed at her, she danced aside and thrust her sword into the left side of his chest. Tybalt was slain. Benvolio's urgent warnings to Romeo to flee the country while he could were totally lost in the roar of approval from the audience at the brilliant audacity of the fight. Then on through all the mistakes and tragedies of Romeo's banishment, his short night of passionate love with his wife, their agonized parting, Romeo's utter despair, the schemes of Friar Laurence and the Nurse, contriving to help, Laurence's potion to send Juliet into a deathlike trance for forty-two hours, her taking the potion, the discovery by the Nurse and her parents that she had died in the night. Her burial, a further duel in the crypt between Paris, her parents' choice as husband, and a distraught Romeo, who finally, having killed Paris, kills himself, believing Juliet dead - her own recovery to find Romeo's body and resultant suicide.

So to the final words of the Prince of Verona:

A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun for sorrow will not show his head; Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things. Some shall be pardoned and some punished; For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo

and the exiting in silence from the stage of the other actors, leaving the three corpses alone. All clearly was well with the audience. But when the curtains finally fell no one in the production was prepared for the rapturous storm of applause that greeted it.

When the approbation was at its height and the curtain was coming up for the fifth time Demelza burst into tears and for a while could not stop. It was a deeply emotional moment, but life for her had been tense and deeply emotional for more than a month and in ways she had had no reason to anticipate or expect. Little more than five weeks before Paul Kellow had attacked her and she had barely escaped with her life. It was less than two weeks since Valentine had died and Ross might well have died too - in a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions. Later there had been the coolness between herself and Ross, of which a trace still existed. She had become far too involved in the outcome of Bella's first appearance in London, and this astonishing success seemed too good to be true. She cried like a child, and Mrs Pelham put her arm round her shoulders and comforted her at the moment of her daughter's triumph.

They made their way out as best they could, since most of the audience was remaining to see the half-hour spectacle which would conclude the evening. They were eventually joined by Christopher and Bella, she mostly transformed back again into her normal sex and character. It was a cramped but joyous party that shared the coach (Christopher sitting up beside the coachman). They reached Mrs Pelham's house and went in to take a light supper together; it being well after midnight before they all dispersed.

Demelza expressed a wish to walk home. It was more than a mile, but she said she could not sleep yet and had a wish to unwind. A piece of old moon had risen since they went in, and the streets for the most part were all well lighted and no longer busy. She said: 'I have no fear of footpads. You are so tall you would scare anyone away.'

'What an evening!' said Ross presently. 'I am proud of all my children, but this one exceeds everything else that has ever happened.'

'She was so quiet after it!' exclaimed Demelza. 'Over supper. Much quieter than usual - you know how talkative she usually is. And she ate very little. Just sitting there and smiling and every so often taking a deep, deep breath.'

'She must have been drained,' Ross said. 'Apart from the nervous tension and the physical action, the passion!'

'I know. And those speeches to Friar - Friar Laurence! How did Bella know how to say it as if she spoke from her own soul - from a man's soul?'

'That is talent,' said Ross, 'of the highest order. Perhaps something more.'

A beggar came mumbling up, and Ross gave him a handful of coins. The old man was startled and showed his bad teeth in a joyous grin before retreating into an alley.

'Christopher is on air. He has done so much for her. Teaching her to fight a duel! I was terrified that she would get some disfigurement!'

'And all to do again tomorrow.'

'We must go again tomorrow, Ross! Can we get the same box?'

'I don't know if I can stand it. Supposing it did not go so well?' 'We must be there. I expect Christopher can contrive something.'

Ross said: 'I wonder if he has some special influence over Glossop? I overheard them speaking together tonight as we came away, and Glossop said something about how pleased he was that he had yielded to Christopher's pressure.'

'Do you mean . . . Well, pressure could just mean persuasion.'

'Of course. Of course.'

'Do you suppose it was more than that?'

'Mayhap yes. Mayhap no. Both Glossop and McArdle are astute businessmen - and very clever judges of an actor's potential into the bargain.'

'Does it matter?'

'Not really - in the event. Not in the least. When I get the right opportunity I will ask Christopher.'

Demelza stared up at the old moon scrutinizing them between the serried rows of chimney pots. 'I don't think I should do that, Ross.'

'Why not? Have you a special reason?'

'Well, it may be. Christopher has been some wonderful. He first got Edward to use his influence to provide Bella with a part. They did that. They gave her a tiny part. But nobody expected this accident to Arthur Scholes! The first was a small favour compared to the favour of taking her out of obscurity to play the lead - the leading man's part. Of course - of course they had in the meanwhile seen Bella, seen her in doublet and hose, been impressed with her potential maybe. But it was an enormous leap of faith. Would they have been willing to take this huge risk entirely on their own judgement?'

'But that is precisely what I suspect!' Ross said. 'That is why I question what might have been implied by what Glossop said! If Christopher had money enough of his own to propose some financial deal . . .'

'Then if he wishes to keep quiet about it, he should be allowed to. He is playing for high stakes.'

'Bella?'

'I do not know what their relationship is at present. It seems good. More than good. But if she marries him she should not feel she is doing it partly out of gratitude. And neither will he want to feel that gratitude towards him is why she prefers him to Maurice or some other young man that comes along. And I expect after this success there will be young men aplenty.'

'I wonder if her voice will completely return?'

'It was brilliantly clear-spoken tonight, but deeper. That, I know, was put on. I do not know how she will estimate her success tonight against her appearance in The Barber.'

'The audience in France was very enthusiastic'

Demelza took a trembling happy breath. 'It is wonderful to succeed in two ways. I think - I dare think, Ross, that her personality plays a big part. The audience seems at once to - to take to her!'

'It will be more than interesting to see what tomorrow's papers have to say. Critics are much harder to please, and if an audience shouts its approval they will often take a contrary view.'

'When will the papers be out?'

'Early tomorrow. They may not all review it. I have ordered the most important four, and Mrs Pelham's lad will fetch them before breakfast.'

Excerpt from the Morning Chronicle, the ninth of December 1820:

London is renowned for the great fruit and vegetable market in Covent Garden. This is certainly the most famous in England, some would claim in the world. The best fruit available is brought there for our delectation: Strawberries from Sussex, Plums from Worcestershire, Pears from Dorset, Apples from Somerset, Cherries from Kent. But this week the Connoisseurs of our fruit supplies allowed a Peach, apparently brought from that dark and craggy county west of the Tamar, to slip through their fingers and be offered up not in Covent Garden, not even in Drury Lane, but in that relatively unimportant and minor theatre on the other side of the Thames, to be exhibited at one of the first attempts of the Management of the Royal Coburg to break away from their routine of Spectacular and Melodramatic trash; putting on a play called Two Lovers of Verona. This Mr William Shakespeare would no doubt recognize as akin to that little piece he once wrote called Romeo and Juliet, the name in this case having been changed -- and a few other things -- to comply with the threadbare and antiquated Law passed in the days of Charles II. What is this all about? First, but incidentally, it is to congratulate Mr Frederick McArdle and Mr Joseph Glossop on having produced a play which for staging, acting and general excellence would have done credit to either of the patent theatres. But chiefly it is all about a young lady who last night appeared as Romeo in this production. She has, it seems, appeared only once before on a public stage, where she 'starred' in the leading female role in The Barber of Seville at the Theatre Jeanne d'Arc in Paris. Indeed it has been advertised that Miss Bella Poldark is herself French - a natural distortion, we suppose, on the part of the Management to attract an audience; but in fact she seems to be as English as any full-blooded Cornish maid can be. The reason for her appointment to play such a plum part - a part we may say that is at the apex of the ambitions of most of our leading actresses - is because of an unfortunate accident which happened to Mr Arthur Scholes, scheduled to appear as Romeo, and which caused him to withdraw. So what do we see? A pretty girl quite out of her depth with her immortal lines and speaking them by rote? And too pretty to be a boy. But stay, are there not pretty boys? In our struggle to accept this subterfuge, we are quite quickly arrested by Miss Poldark's elan, her strong voice, the vigour and articulacy with which she utters every word, her sheer presence, which carries us along and presently swamps our disbelief. Not only does she look like a young man, she behaves like one, striding about the stage, leaping here and there with elastic elasticity. And, merciful Heaven, fencing like a master! Miss Charlotte Bancroft makes a charming and pliant Juliet; but in all justice we have to confess where our main interest was focused. We do not need to urge you to keep an eye on young Miss Poldark. If we are doing our job as critics I fancy a lot more will be written about her in the next decade or so. We personally would like to see her play, say, Portia, or Viola, or even Lady Macbeth! Yet may we enter a formal plea that she should not neglect her ability in taking a man's part. After all, in addition to her other attributes, she has the prettiest legs seen on the stage this century.

The Times of the same date carried a piece recording that

as a replacement for Mr Arthur Scholes, who had been seriously injured in rehearsals, the Management of the Royal Coburg Theatre, Waterloo, has introduced a singular young woman who quite took the house by storm. She created a young Romeo of consummate grace and skill, a fiery young gallant, who fights his duels with the same elegance and conviction as he brings to his poetic, gloriously masculine wooing of Juliet. It is a performance such as we have not seen in this part for many years. As an actress she must be celebrated as the find of the season.

The Morning Post headed its piece 'Arrival of an Actress'. It reviewed the play at length, while criticizing the unsatisfactory attempts to evade the Patent Law and prophesying that the management was likely to have to pay a fine for transgressing it. The review went on: 'Few Romeos in London's memory have looked young enough and passionately agile enough to be convincing.' And ended: 'The play's final scenes can only be seen through a mist of tears.'

The Morning Herald contained a few comments, the critic probably not having been present, but said: 'At the end the house was raised to the wildest excitement.'

The second performance of Two Lovers of Verona went off as successfully as the first. Clearly word of mouth had been favourable, and the pit and the gallery, which had looked full last night, were now compressed to insufferable limits. But the audience suffered them, and this time applauded constantly throughout the play. Christopher Havergal was almost late for the third performance on the Thursday; he arrived at the theatre half an hour before the curtain was due to rise. When he tapped at the dressing-room door and was told to enter, he found Bella already clad for her part.

'Sorry, sorry, darling.' He kissed her. 'There was a minor crisis at Rothschild's and I could not excuse myself. But what wonderful news!'

'Christopher. I'm glad you're in time. I've been rehearsing this afternoon with Charlotte; just those speeches on the balcony and a few small points. You mean - wonderful news - you mean the letter?'

'Of course I mean the letter, you little silly! Do I not! Do I not!'

She said primly: 'I left it at the door for you.'

'I know you did, darling, and I have brought it with me in supreme triumph.'

'Explain it to me.'

'You don't need any. This speaks superbly for itself. Read it again! Read it out loud if you have the smallest doubts!'

She took the letter from him, shook it out between thumb and forefinger as if there might be some enclosure she had been missing.

'Go on!'

She read:

Dear Miss Poldark, I wonder if you could call to see me sometime. I would like to discuss with you a prospect I have of producing Othello at Covent Garden. The play is scheduled to open on Thursday, January 11. I already have the promise of Mr John Julius Booth to play the name part, and Mr Thomas Cobham to play Iago. If we can come to a satisfactory agreement on conditions and terms, I would be willing to offer you the part of Desdemona. This play will probably go into repertory and run possibly to ten performances. If you would kindly send me word I would make myself available to see you. Might I suggest about twelve noon on any day from Friday next onwards? Believe me, most faithfully yours, Charles Kemble

'Charles Kemble?' said Bella.

'He is the younger brother. He took over the management of Covent Garden a couple of years ago.'

'Do you think he has been to see this play?'

'You can bet your last guinea on it! He is too experienced to rely on press reviews.'

'I've heard of John Julius Booth, but not of the other man. Is he . . . ?'

'They're both top of the tree, only Kean being way above either of them. It would be a testing time for you. This has been your launch. That would be your first voyage.'

'A shipwreck?'

'Having seen you in this production I would say impossible.'

She showed a trace of dimples as she put a smear of dark stain on her chin.

'Unsinkable,' Christopher added, with a touch of humour.

'Oh,' Bella said, 'Mama asked if she might watch an act tonight from behind the scenes. I asked Mr McArdle and he said that he was quite agreeable.'

'Are you?'

'I? Yes, of course. When I get . . . get on I forget who is watching me and from where. But I was thinking - the wings get very crowded. Would you be about if she should need some help?'

'With the greatest pleasure. But I don't believe she will.'

'Well, she might perhaps--'

'Your mother is still a beautiful woman. I don't know if you've noticed that.'

'Of course I have. She is--'

'A lady who looks as attractive as she does is not likely to be jostled against or disregarded. I sometimes wonder . . .'

'What?'

'If you are not an amalgam, a mixture of your father and mother, partaking of the best qualities of both. You have the energy of your mother, the staying power of your father. You're too much like your father to be as pretty as she is. But you are full of her determination and strength. When you stand on the stage you attract attention like - like a magnet with iron filings. And I have always been in love with you from the moment I first saw you in the British Embassy in Paris in eighteen fifteen. Remember?'

She turned her eyes on him. Their conversation when they were alone together was often lighthearted, half teasing. But she knew when his voice changed.

'Of course I remember,' she said. 'You showed me Josephine's bedroom.'

'So I did,' said Christopher. 'So I did. A simple child you were then. But now

'Now?'

'Now you are dressed up as a man, acting as a man, behaving like a man. Yet to me this attire, this doublet and hose and shortened hair, this masculine shirt and flat heeled shoes and deliberately deepened voice: to me they all make you look more outrageously feminine than ever before. You won't let me down, will you?'

'Let you down?'

He half-smiled, revealing rarely shown teeth. But it was almost a wolfish smile. 'Bella, you have always bewitched me. I would kill for you!'

'Kill me?'

'No!To get you!'

Her eyes did not waver. 'Christopher, dearest. You will not have to.'

It had been a fancy of Demelza's that she should view at least one act from the wings. When no objection was raised, she chose to go behind for the ballroom scene in the earlier part of the play. Her interest, she had told herself, was largely cheerful curiosity. She wanted to watch the scene shifters at work, see how they could transform a stage in a few hasty minutes, how the actors could be trained to assemble and be in exactly the right place when the curtain went up again. In the big scene of the ballroom this should be specially interesting. But when it came to the point she discovered that all her attention was centred on her daughter. After all, she was playing the lead. How had it come about that Bella, whom she had suckled as a baby, succoured as a little girl, nursed through a few mild childhood ailments and one serious illness earlier this year - how had it come about that she was playing one of Shakespeare's greatest roles in London in front of a concourse of people who now applauded her at the end of every scene? Just as when Julia and Jeremy died it had torn a piece out of her heart, now it seemed to warm, to burn, to stupefy, to enchant her heart that this other child of hers should be elevated and celebrated and almost feted in this bizarre setting. She stood amid the crowd in the wings when Bella came from her dressing room, beamed at her mother, kissed her, waited for her cue, changed her expression, then strode out like some power upon the stage - then to watch this whole scene from the side, watched it develop, change, tense up, become more complex, resolve itself. Ten minutes of magic, then Bella came off to more applause, stood in the wings, went out again, returned and took her mother's hand. Demelza could feel the girl was strung up, her nerves taut, breathing deep as if after a race, her whole body, it seemed, in a high even glow. She listened with a charming modesty to whispered congratulations, put her head briefly on her mother's shoulder, then accepted a warm shawl from a dresser and made her way back to the dressing room to prepare for the next scene. When at the interval Demelza was shown back to the box, Ross said: 'You look as if you have seen a vision.''I have.' She settled into her chair, holding tight to her impressions, as if afraid someone might steal them. Then the curtain went up again, and silence reigned in the box. When the curtain fell Ross said: 'Have you seen who is sitting in the box opposite?'

She looked. 'Heavens! It is Clowance and Edward! Heavens! They were not here when I left!'

'They were late. They sent a note over. Their coach broke a wheel. They wanted it to be a surprise.'

'Oh, how lovely!' She caught Clowance's eye and waved. They waved back.

'Mrs Pelham,' Demelza said. 'I do not know how we can possibly thank you enough for all you have done for Bella.'

'It has been the greatest pleasure, my dear.'

'You are good to say that. But even if it is true, and I trust it is, that does not repay the - the obligation, as you might say.'

They were taking supper together on the following night at Edward Fitzmaurice's apartment in Lansdowne House. The time was already eleven. They had told Bella she could be excused, but she said, rubbish, she would sleep on in the morning. It was just Ross and Demelza, Bella and Christopher, Sarah Pelham, Edward and Clowance. The newly-weds had come home in haste, having seen a copy of Wednesday's Times in Norfolk, and left early to catch a performance of Two Lovers of Verona before it came off. When they reached London -- late anyway -- they found that, owing to the play's success, it was prolonging its run by four performances, the last being next Wednesday. Demelza continued: 'You being so generous has made all the difference right from the very beginning. By having Bella to stay for so long - compared to what her life would have been like if she had been living in a boarding house! Christopher has been wonderful, but without you none of this might have happened at all!'

Mrs Pelham patted her hand. 'Believe me, it has all been such a pleasure.'

'And now,' Demelza said, 'I am planning this Christmas party. It would give us all such pleasure-- in return. Ross and I and Bella are leaving for home next Thursday. Christopher will come down with Edward and Clowance on Saturday. Dwight and Caroline will certainly join in with their children. Then my daughter-in-law Cuby - who I think you have never met - with my granddaughter, will certainly be there

Mrs Pelham was still holding Demelza's hand. She gave it a little squeeze.

'You know, my dear, you must know how often Caroline has pressed me to stay with her in Cornwall. I have always pleaded that I belong in city life. I have always said that I have never travelled further west than Staines! It is true. Now, now, aside from preference, I am too old to travel. I am seventy-eight - though pray do not tell my friends! I shall see much more of you in the next few years; you must come more to London -- with one of your daughters married to a Fitzmaurice and the other destined to be famous on the stage! ... I think I must pray to be excused the journey and be allowed to look forward to your next visit here.'