Mr Bishop and the Actress (16 page)

‘There’s nothing wrong with my bonnet. I’m a respectable woman, sir. And I’m certainly not engaged to Mr Sloven.’

‘But, Sophie, my love—’ Sloven flings himself with a thud on to his knees, his pudgy frame trembling. ‘Sophie, was it not here we plighted our troth?’

‘You put your lecherous hands all over me, you mean. And then I hit you.’ She sits up and glares at us all.

‘True, I fear.’ Jake Sloven sighs. ‘Yet in that moment, like Paul upon the road to Damascus, I became a changed man. A white light shone about me and angel voices told me, “She is yours. Sophie Wallace is yours and will return to your bosom.” And so I have waited for you.’ He spreads his arms wide.

‘I regret I have no intention whatsoever of returning to your bosom.’ She unties her bonnet strings. ‘I did my very best to avoid your bosom and the rest of you too, Sloven.’

‘Not even to give your poor old father the chance for theatrical glory?’ Mr Marsden looks somewhat concerned.

‘Not even for that. Why didn’t you tell me where you’d gone, Pa?’

He draws himself up. ‘I hadn’t seen you for six months, my dear. Your old Pa wasn’t good enough for you. I was wounded, here in my heart.’ He strikes his chest.

‘You know why, Pa. Charlie was forever gazing into your actresses’ bosoms.’ She glares at Sloven, who is doing that exact same thing to her, and gets to her feet.

‘But come to your father’s arms, my child! Let me embrace thee!’ Despite his theatricality, I see some genuine affection between Marsden and his daughter.

Suspecting this happy reunion may be protracted, I go outside to tell Richard to take the horse home. We can walk the half-mile or so to the hotel.

When I return another personage has joined the group, a beautiful woman with dark curls tumbling down her back, flashing eyes, and a figure of generous proportions spilling from a spangled satin gown. Her skirts are hoisted to reveal pink tights and soft leather boots. Her beauty is enhanced and made even more extraordinary by a luxuriant black beard that spills upon her superb bosom. Hands on hips, she gazes upon the embracing father and daughter with deep suspicion.

Marsden extricates himself from his daughter’s arms. ‘Ah, my dear. This is my daughter, Sophie.’

‘Your daughter!’ She looks her up and down, lip curling. ‘Oh, of course she’s your daughter. I know you, Billy Marsden. Just like that niece you have backstage.’

‘Ma’am.’ I bow to her. ‘May I introduce Mrs Sophie Wallace. She is indeed Mr Marsden’s daughter.’

‘That’s never Sophie Wallace! Not the most notorious woman in London – or as of two months ago.’ She strokes her beard. ‘And who are you, sir? The Prince of Wales?’

‘Harry Bishop. Your servant, ma’am.’

‘Hmm.’

Sophie holds out her hand. ‘I’m most pleased to meet you.’

‘Yes, my dear,’ Marsden says, ‘Fatima, the Bearded Woman of Constantinople. I pray you will learn to love her and call her Mama.’

‘Sylvia Cooper of Wapping, in real life,’ she says. She looks upon Sophie with a somewhat less suspicious eye.

‘You should see her on the trapeze!’ Mr Marsden continues. ‘She is a goddess, revered by all. Such grace, such ease, such perfection of limbs . . .’

‘Ballocks. They want to see my thighs and my beard. I’ll fetch us some drink.’

‘A lovely girl,’ Marsden sighs as he watches her depart. ‘The beard took some getting used to, I must admit, but she has a heart of gold. Of gold, sir. Speaking of which . . .’ He casts an anxious glance at Sloven. ‘It is his word against yours, you know, Sophie my dear, and if you are not engaged, you will see your pa begging in the streets.’

‘Oh, nonsense.’

Sophie

I suppose I should be flattered that Harry Bishop looks so very out of sorts at the appearance of Jake Sloven; I am certainly out of sorts, in particular at the suggestion that Mr Sloven and I have some sort of understanding. First he appeared like a ghost – a moment I am sure Amelia would have appreciated, for it was positively Shakespearian – and frightened me to death, and then to tell my father that he and I are engaged! I almost wish the blow with the piece of scenery had been more effective.

And my father has a mistress with a beard. Well, that is odd, but she seems more pleasant than other ladies he has associated with. His choice in ladies, bearded or otherwise, is not my chief concern at the moment; I fear he has sold me to Mr Sloven to pursue pantomimes in this theatre.

Sylvia, true to her word, has returned with bottles and glasses, assisted by the boy who turned cartwheels upon the stage.

‘You have a cold, my dear,’ my fond parent pronounces. ‘I do not wish your ill humours to infect my players. Pray keep a little apart from me.’

‘Pa,’ I say, backing off as far as I can but still within whispering distance, ‘pray tell me what arrangement you have made with Jake Sloven concerning my person.’

‘My dear! You do not accuse me of pandering, I hope.’

‘I hope not, too, Pa.’ I wonder what Harry is about and look round to see him gazing at Sylvia and her beard with profound admiration.

‘The thing is, my petal, I would not have counted Sloven as one of my intimate acquaintances until a month or so ago. He suffered some sort of mishap and had his head bound up for a few days and emerged from his suffering a changed man; and, according to him, an engaged man, and engaged to you. The last thing he remembered before his fall was your acceptance of his advances. Naturally, I gave my consent, a formality only, for you are of age. I was surprised.’ My father glances at Sloven’s unlovely person. ‘He is perhaps not the most handsome of fellows, but he has a good heart, and you, my dear, should settle down, eh? No more gallivanting around in the height of fashion on the arms of your sprigs of the nobility, not at your advanced age.’

‘I am nine and twenty, sir!’

‘Precisely.’

I sink on to a bench, my head in my hands. ‘I do not believe this, Pa.’

‘Well, think about it, my dear. With your fall from grace – not precisely grace, I should say rather your fall from fashion – you may find your future uncertain. Why, I haven’t seen a mention of you in the newspapers for weeks. What have you been up to?’

‘I’ve been in the country. I have been a teacher of singing.’

‘Have you now!’ He regards me with paternal pride. ‘And why did you return?’

I shrug and decide to entrust him with the whole sorry story – I leave out the more lurid details of my association with Harry – and he shakes his head.

‘Dear, dear,’ he intones. ‘You should not imagine, my child, that every gentleman you meets pursues you. And who did, in fact, give you the shawl?’

‘Mr Bishop.’ Despite my whisper, that gentleman looks my way at the mention of his name.

‘He is an admirer, then?’

‘Yes. No. I don’t know. He proposed and I turned his offer down.’

‘At your age and with your reputation, my dear, you should not be so precipitate, yet since you have another suitor, indeed are all but married, it is just as well. I’ll tell Sloven we shall call the banns, then.’

‘No!’ But seeing my father’s look of dejection, I add, ‘Give me time to accustom myself to the idea, Pa. I don’t want to do anything to upset your financial arrangements, but I’m quite sure I don’t want to marry Sloven.’

‘I assure you, he will grow on you.’

I fall silent at the unpleasant images that come to my mind. For sure, Sloven had achieved a high degree of unpleasantness all on his own, but this new, reformed Sloven, the sentimental, sighing, adoring Sloven who gazes at me like a hungry spaniel – I do not want him, or any part of him, growing in any way in my presence.

‘But I have another surprise for you, my dear,’ my fond parent says. ‘Come with me. There is someone you must meet.’

‘You have sold me to yet another gentleman?’

‘Sharper than a serpent’s tooth!’ my father cries. ‘Oh, Sophie, how you pierce my heart.’

‘You might have a little more concern for mine before selling me to the highest bidder.’ Not a quarter hour in his company and already I am exasperated by my theatrical sire.

He casts a look of deep sorrow at me that does not affect me in the least. ‘Mr Bishop, sir, if you please, you should accompany us.’

Harry, receiving a juggling lesson, looks up at the sound of his name, and wooden balls fall and roll on the floor around him.

‘Now look what you’ve done, Billy,’ says Sylvia. ‘And he was doing so well.’

My father leads us backstage, rubbing his hands together with glee.

‘What is he about?’ Harry asks me in a whisper as we cross the stage. He has assessed my father and found him wanting, and I am infuriated that Harry should do so (while agreeing with his verdict).

I shrug. I think longingly of punch and a fireside and Mrs Bishop fussing over me, and a clean handkerchief.

‘And, behold!’ My father flings open a door.

Amelia sits darning stockings. When she sees us she jumps to her feet with a cry of joy and flings herself into my arms.

Sophie

O
h, you’re safe. Thank God.’ And then relief gives way to anger and tears from us both. ‘How could you do this, you foolish, foolish girl? We have been worried half to death over you.’

‘Forgive me. I am so sorry, Mrs Marsden. I know it was a mistake and I have been so lucky. I know now how wrong I was.’ She draws away from me. ‘How did you find me?’

‘Pure chance.’ In the one theatre in London I had hoped to avoid. ‘And you left behind your diary.’

She blushes, affronted. ‘Some of that was very private.’

‘But how did you arrive here?’ Harry says.

‘It’s very simple,’ Amelia says. ‘On the journey to London, I found a newspaper, only a couple of days old, at one of the inns and read that Mr Marsden planned a new production in the Theatre Royal in Poplar. So I made my way here and told Mr Marsden that I knew you, Mrs Marsden. I did not realize you were father and daughter.’

Indeed, no. Why should she? I had told her myself Billy Marsden and I were only distantly related and at this moment I wish it were so.

I turn on my father. ‘And you did not think to send word to anyone?’

‘These are the thanks I get? She is perfectly safe here and proves herself a treasure. And such a pretty singing voice. She will be an asset to the company.’ My father beams upon her. ‘Is this not a delightful surprise for you? She has told me all about you, and we have been expecting you. Why, but an hour or so ago we sent word to Bishop’s Hotel – a fine establishment, sir – that if anyone came seeking Miss Amelia, they were to come here directly.’

‘An hour ago!’ I cry.

‘I would not tell him where I came from before,’ Amelia says. ‘Does Lord Shad know? I fear he will be angry.’

‘Not yet,’ Harry says. ‘Someone, Miss Amelia, must tell him.’

I turn on him. ‘If anyone other than we three know of this she will be ruined.’

‘But—but I intend to stay here,’ Amelia says. ‘Mrs Marsden, this is what I want to do and you as much as suggested I should become an actress.’

Harry looks at me, eyebrows raised, and then back at Amelia. ‘You are Lord Shad’s ward, Miss Amelia. I am his lordship’s trusted servant and I should be derelict in my duties if I were to let you remain here. Mrs Marsden, I trust you do not suggest we lie to Lord Shad.’

‘If necessary, yes.’

‘I regret it has nothing to do with you, Mrs Marsden. You are no longer a member of the household.’

‘Miss Amelia, your guardian does not know you are here?’ my father says. ‘Dear, dear. This is not well done. I shall have to send you back home, you wicked girl.’ But he smiles as he says it.

‘I will not go.’ Amelia sits down in her chair and picks up her discarded darning.

‘What else have you done while you were here?’ I ask.

‘Yesterday I hemmed costumes,’ she says with great pride.

‘And has Mr Marsden offered you a contract? Or any money?’

She shakes her head.

‘Think of it as an apprenticeship in the theatre, my dear,’ my father says. ‘After all, Sylvia and I are supplying room and board, and that counts for something. You, my dear Sophie, spent years absorbing the art of the stage along with your mother’s milk – that woman of blessed memory, ah, how I miss her – and this is much the same.’

‘Oh, certainly, except that she is not your daughter and apprentices have a contract and some protection. How are we to know you do not expect Miss Amelia to darn your stockings for the next ten years?’

‘My dear, I think I have an eye, nay a gift for nurturing young talent. Why, she reminds me so of you when you were a girl, Sophie!’ He lays a paternal hand on Amelia’s head and she beams up at him.

‘Indeed? You intend to sell her when she is past her prime so you may stage a pantomime?’

‘Sophie, that was unworthy of you.’ My father heaves a sigh. ‘This child will in time progress to a small role and then greater roles, and meanwhile she learns about the theatre under the tender care of Sylvia and myself. And Sophie, if you would not mind, pray remember Amelia is my niece, for Sylvia is of a somewhat jealous temperament, and I value the peace of hearth and home. Or of our lodgings, rather.’

Harry says, ‘Mr Marsden, Amelia must come with us. She is a member of the family of Viscount Shadderly, related to the Earl of Beresford, and it is most improper for her to be here.’

‘Shadderly . . . Beresford. Well, well. Are either of those two gentlemen interested in the theatre, Mr Bishop?’

I answer for him, recognizing the avarice in my father’s eyes. ‘No, they are not. His lordship is certainly not interested in seeing his ward on the stage or being employed in a dubious capacity in the theatre. She has signed no agreement, Pa. You can’t keep her here.’ To Amelia I say, ‘Perhaps Mr Marsden omitted to mention that this theatre is not licensed to perform plays. He will have you, at best, in tights and performing in a pantomime.’

‘But Mr Marsden said . . .’ Amelia looks from me to my father and back to me. ‘Mrs Marsden, you said I was good enough to sing and act professionally.’

‘Well, there you are!’ murmurs my dear papa.

‘I did not say that exactly. I said with application and hard work you would be as good as anyone on the London stage. I certainly did not intend you to take this most unwise step, to run from those who love you and who have your wellbeing at heart. And for what? Not to become a respected Shakespearian actress, but to perform in low comedy . . .’ I stop, seeing the contempt on Harry’s face; he thinks I encouraged Amelia to take this rash action and I fear I may well have filled her head with all sorts of fanciful notions. Did I not advise her that one could be an actress and a lady too?