The Duchess of Drury Lane (5 page)

My heart skipped a beat. Climbing into a phaeton with Richard Daly at past midnight was not a prospect I relished, but I could see no escape. ‘My sister . . .’ I began.

‘. . . can surely see herself home for once. She is not a child, and you will not be long after her. I dare say you value your position at Smock Alley, do you not, Miss Francis?’

I cast Hester a pained look. ‘Hurry straight home. I won’t be long.’

‘I’ll wait for you . . .’ she began, but I shook my head, knowing there was no way I could refuse. I had evaded his attentions before and believed myself capable of doing so again. ‘Go home, or Mama will be worried. I shall follow shortly.’

She nodded, then put down her head and ran, hating to be alone in the dark. I offered my employer a bleak nod of assent and climbed into the carriage beside him.

Four

‘. . . our little arrangement’

If I had hoped that he would indeed conduct the conversation there and then, before releasing me to my supper and bed, then I was fooling myself. Daly snapped the reins and set off at a brisk trot, heading away from the town centre.

‘Where are you taking me?’ I asked, struggling to hide the tremor in my voice.

‘Somewhere I can have your undivided attention.’

‘I would rather you take me home at once,’ I insisted, furious at my own stupidity at climbing into the carriage with him, but had I not done so, he could as easily have dismissed me on the spot. And with nowhere to go now that Crow Street had closed, where else could I find employment to feed my family, and pay for the physician needed by Mama? Besides which, I had signed articles with Daly. There would be huge penalties to pay if I left, or if he dismissed me for insubordination, and I was already in hock to him. ‘Surely, whatever the problem is, it can wait till morning?’

His rumble of laughter was chilling. I clasped my hands tightly in my lap and sent up a silent prayer.

It was not answered. The horse clipped along at a pace that precluded any hope of my jumping out. The night was black and silent, save for the rustle of leaves, the creak of branches in the wind. We were soon far from the busy thoroughfare, and I could tell by the sound of the horse’s hooves we were now on unmade country roads rather than cobbles.
Where was he taking me?
Panic was clawing at my insides, rapidly turning to cold terror. The journey felt as if it had taken hours, although it was probably no more than twenty minutes or so.

When he finally stopped the vehicle I made a valiant attempt to escape but he leapt upon me, pinning me down with the weight of his body.

‘You’re the very worst sort of tease, do you know that?’ he snarled, ripping my gown at the neck in his eagerness to paw at my breasts. I screamed, although instinctively aware there was no one to hear me, let alone come to my rescue.

‘I swear I am not,’ I cried. ‘I have begged you time and again to stop pestering me. Please let me go. I don’t want this. Let me be.’

He wasn’t listening. He thrust a hand into the warmth of my bosom and squeezed it hard. Then he was pushing up my skirts, his fingers exploring my private parts, and in my shock and horror I knew all was lost. When he finally shoved his member into me, the pain was hideous. I was quite certain he was ripping me apart. And he kept on thrusting, over and over again, panting and gasping, and all the while grinning his squint-eyed leer at me. I was sobbing, screaming, fighting him with every ounce of my strength, but it wasn’t enough. My efforts were feeble by comparison with his lust.

When he was done with me, he thrust me aside, a sobbing heap in the corner of the carriage. Then he calmly adjusted his clothing, clicked on the reins and drove home at a much more steady pace.

By the time we had reached the door of my lodgings I had my gown in some sort of order. I was so desperately afraid of upsetting Mama were she to see me in this state that I’d even managed to stop crying, determined to regain control of my emotions. He flung open the door and I was only too eager to depart. Even then, at the moment of my release, he gave me yet further orders.

‘You will make yourself available whenever I call for you, at whatever hour. I may find us somewhere more comfortable than this small vehicle, but you will do as I ask, without question. Understood?’

I stared at him in horrified disbelief. Perhaps I had thought this violation was some act of revenge on his part for my resistance over the long months he had pursued me. Now I saw that it was but a prelude to a more devastating plan.

‘What is it you want from me?’ I asked, my voice cracking beneath the strain of what I had just endured.

‘Whatever takes my fancy, and I rather fancy you,
Miss
Francis.’ His emphasis on the ‘Miss’ was most derogatory. It implied that I was no more than a woman of the streets. ‘If you value your job, you will come when I say, without question. Oh, and I will reduce the debt by – um, shall we say five pounds for this night’s service, less interest?’ And with a final leer he drove off into the night, leaving me shivering with shock on the cobbles.

I made sure that neither Mama nor Hester were ever told of what had occurred that night. Where was the point in upsetting them, I thought. We were stuck here at Smock Alley, at least for the length of my contract. Years of servitude to Daly’s every whim stretched ahead and I shuddered at the prospect, my mind desperately seeking some way of release. Yet what escape could there be? If I walked away Daly could sue me, and my family would starve.

Later that day I spoke to him, quite cold and matter-of-fact, as if we were discussing a business meeting. ‘I will do as you ask, since I have no choice in the matter, but I would be obliged if you refrained from using Hester as a go-between. I have no wish for my family to be privy to this affair, or whatever you choose to call it.’

‘I was thinking much the same myself,’ he casually remarked. ‘I have no wish for my wife to hear of our little arrangement either, so I’ll find us a room in an hotel next time. I will let you know the day and time.’

And so began our ‘affair’, our ‘little arrangement’ as he termed it. Twice a week throughout that endless winter, he would take me to some seedy little hotel down by the quay. It stank of sewage and fish, and stale sweat, and I could hear odd little rustling sounds behind the wainscot. He would instantly strip to his under-drawers then order me to do the same while he watched. I always kept my eyes averted, not wishing to look at him, shivering as I peeled off my chemise, sick to my stomach with loathing. So much so that afterwards I would often physically vomit into the chamber pot. This always amused him, calling me his fragile little flower.

‘Are you sickening for something?’ Mama asked me one day in spring. ‘You seem oddly quiet and paler than usual. Where have your rosy cheeks gone, my dear?’ And she patted them in that gentle motherly way.

I managed a smile to reassure her. Mama herself had been unwell for some time, and I had no wish to add to her worries, and thereby risk making her worse. ‘I am simply tired with doing two, sometimes three plays a week. My head spins at times trying to remember all the lines.’ How could I tell her the true cause of my distraction?

‘Nonsense, you have a wonderful facility for learning. You are far more likely to forget to eat properly than not study your part.’

‘I confess I actually dried in the farce at the matinee today; my mind had gone a complete blank. It was alarming.’

She frowned. ‘That is most unlike you, Dolly. I shall coddle some eggs and stand over you while you eat them. And tonight I shall have Scotch broth waiting for your supper.’

But no amount of coddled eggs or Mama’s delicious Scotch broth was going to heal this sickness. I had not seen my monthly courses for some weeks now, and much as I might deny the fact, I knew, with a horrified certainty, that I was pregnant. Was I not familiar enough with the symptoms, having seen Mama through several of her own pregnancies?

I so longed to tell her, to seek her guidance and support, but dare not. Apart from the fragile state of her own health at this time, shame ate at my soul, even though I knew I should bear no guilt over what had happened to me. I’d had no choice in the matter but to do as Daly ordered or risk starvation for my family. Lucy was dead, and James was married, of course. Francis had joined the military and Nathaniel, a bright, intelligent boy, was at school receiving the kind of education that Mama had always dreamed of for him, his fees largely paid for by the small inheritance from Papa that had finally come our way via the Bland family. As both boys spent their leave or school holidays with Cousin Blanche, they cost me little. Even so, I sent what money I could, for all she insisted it was quite unnecessary and to look to our own needs first. Which indeed was true, as there was still Hester, George and Mama to be cared for out of my purse.

And soon there would be a fourth member of the family dependent upon me. A frightening prospect for a girl only just turned twenty.

My reward, if you can call it that, came in the improvement of the roles I was offered. Throughout that spring of 1782 I was given the choicest parts. I played Adelaide to John Kemble’s Count of Narbonne, Lady Anne to his Richard III, and Katherine to his Petruchio. My reputation began to rise as a result, soaring ever higher, albeit at only twenty shillings a week, which left little spare to pay off my debt, the interest increasing the outstanding sum faster than I could ever hope to reduce it.

I made every effort to keep out of Daly’s way, to avoid him and protect myself. But without fail the summons would come, and of necessity I would obey. I did my utmost to detach myself mentally from however Daly chose to use my body, or rather abuse it. Fortunately it never took him very long before he was done, and he’d then be anxious to return to the theatre in case his wife noticed his absence.

But after several weeks of this treatment I was finding it harder to tolerate his attentions. He was growing bolder by the day, and becoming ever more demanding. I think he enjoyed humiliating me, certainly didn’t see me as worthy of any kindness or consideration. On one visit to that miserable little room, he ratcheted up the degradation still further by insisting that I take his member in my mouth. I was so appalled, so ashamed, that I stoutly refused to perform what seemed to me a vile act.

‘I will not do it. I am not some street whore. You expect too much of me, and why is my debt still not settled? I have done all you asked, surely it should be paid off by now.’

‘
I
will say when the debt is settled, not you, some twopenny actress.’ He was so enraged by my refusal that he shoved me down on the bed and took me with such a fierce violence, I cried out in agony.

‘It was your own fault, Dolly,’ he warned, as afterwards I struggled not to weep. ‘Had you done as you were told I would never have lost my temper and accidentally hurt you.’

Hastily I pulled on my clothes, my anxious need to escape even more urgent than usual. ‘That was no accident, it was entirely deliberate on your part. You love to hurt and humiliate me. You are a sick, sad man and I hate you. The very fact that your victim is unwilling is what gives you the most pleasure! How much longer must this go on?’ I demanded somewhat recklessly.

‘Until I grow tired of you,’ came his calm reply, smilingly unruffled by my little tantrum.

I could not go on like this, behaving like a strumpet for a man I loathed.

But a week later he again issued his usual order to meet him that afternoon at two o’clock. I did not go. I bravely, or perhaps recklessly is a more accurate word, ignored his instructions. He was furious.

‘Where were you? I waited an hour and you did not come. How dare you disobey me?’

I stiffened my spine to stand as tall as I could before him. ‘I dare because I have nothing more to lose. For the sake of my family I have tolerated your ruining my career and my life, completely at your mercy as you stole my innocence and degraded me, but I will not willingly subject myself to violence. You are a cruel tyrant, a despicable, immoral man who cares for nothing but his own selfish desires. I don’t care what you do to me, I’ll have no more of it.’

I expected a tirade of fury but he showed no reaction at all, save for a slight tightening of the mouth, and his right hand falling to where his sword would hang, as if he were about to fight a duel. The silence went on for so long that I began to tremble with fear, my new-found courage quickly evaporating. At length, when I was praying for the ground to open and swallow me, he spoke. ‘Have you ever heard of a Mrs Eston?’

My heart began to pound, for of course the scandal had been common gossip in the green room at the time. The poor lady had been deserted by her husband, but she was young and pretty and Daly had been rather taken by her. It was said that at first he was most kind, lending her money to help her recover from her abandonment, but then had caused her to be arrested for non-payment of her debt. Had she too refused him favours? I wondered. Why had I not paid more attention to this gossip?

‘It was a most sad case,’ he said, his handsome face with its cock-eyed gaze as inscrutable as ever.

‘For which you were vilified in the
Dublin Evening Post
,’ I daringly challenged him.

‘The chit had some supporters, it is true,’ he agreed, somewhat dismissively. ‘But it didn’t greatly help her in the long run. The debt remained, you see, and although some may think me vengeful, I am surely entitled to be reimbursed for my generosity. As she could not repay the loan, then debtor’s prison is sadly where she ended up, as must you, my dear. One way or another the price has to be paid. You owe me a considerable sum, Dora dear, and if it is not settled . . . if you are unwilling to give me any sort of recompense for my kind generosity, then . . .’ He let out a heavy sigh. ‘. . . then the debtor’s prison it is.’

My knees went all weak and I very nearly collapsed. ‘You cannot seriously mean to have me arrested and put into prison? My family would starve.’

‘I do and I will. You have twenty-four hours, Dora, to consider your options. Be careful you make the right decision.’