Anonymous - Dara

He raised his voice a little. 'Have you any appreciation of how much I'm depending on you to produce another heir for the Kennets?'

'Yes, Father,' I muttered.

Taking two envelopes from one of the drawers of his desk, he addressed me again. 'Tomorrow you sail from Liverpool for America where a cousin of your mother's farms land near New York. You will reside with him and work on the farm and there you will stay until you have proved your manhood. Get yourself a good wench soon after your arrival and bed down with her. I don't care how many women you have or how many bastards you produce, so long as you keep your proper distance from men.'

He paused to glance briefly at me. 'Do you take my meaning?'

I could only nod, miserable at the prospect of farming in America.

'In this envelope,' he said, handing it to me, 'is a letter for your mother's cousin giving him strict instructions to work you hard from dawn to dusk. The discipline will be good for you and keep you out of mischief. You will have no difficulty finding the farm, the address is on the envelope. And here is the other envelope, addressed to a New York bank, with a bill of credit and instructions to pay you monthly a sum of money that should be more than sufficient for your needs.'

The anger he felt was beginning to show on his face. 'Now get out of this house,' he shouted, 'you filthy, bare-arsed, pederast, milksop. And don't come back until you have proved your manhood!'

Needless to say, I never reported my presence to mother's cousin when I arrived in New York.

It was late in the morning before I awakened, but not too late for my appointment at the National Theatre at midday. Dara had arisen before me and had a cup of tea ready as soon as I opened my eyes. She had already extracted a promise from me that she could accompany me as she was just as keen as I to become a play-actor with some American theatrical company.

Jonathan Ede met us in the foyer and took us through the theatre to the stage. Introducing him to Dara, I haltingly explained her presence by saying, 'A good friend of mine from England whose dearest wish is to appear in an American play.'

Dara had the power to dazzle and stimulate any masculine acquaintance whenever she chose to do so and he visibly began to soften as she set out to charm him. He was of medium build, about forty, with a freckled face and reddish hair, confident and positive in action and speech and mildly bellicose if anyone dared to contradict him. Wearing an alpaca frock coat, silk cravat and a beige waistcoat, he could easily be taken as a man of business rather than as a man of the theatre.

'James,' he said, clapping me on the back. 'You will be pleased to hear that I have decided to find you a place in our company. We need a man with a strong English accent in two of the plays we are performing. I will have copies of the plays for you to read sometime next week.'

I was about to thank him but he turned to Dara. 'Well, young lady, what can you do? James says you are from England yet, if my ears don't deceive me, you sound more American than English.'

Dara smiled as if he had paid her a great compliment. 'I've been over here sometime now. As for what I can do, well, I can recite Shakespeare 'til the cows come home.'

He answered somewhat sharply, 'No doubt, but can you act and can you memorize your lines quickly? If you're going to be a member of my touring company you must be able to learn lines within twenty-four hours, as we will be putting on three or four different plays every week and often at short notice. Do you think you can do that?'

Dara looked doubtful. 'Yes, er, I think so,' she answered hesitantly.

'Do you know Gay's ballad “The Black-Ey'd Susan”?'

'No, but I'm sure I could soon learn the words,' she replied, confident and eager.

'Good! Here's a copy,' he said, handing a hand-written sheet to her. 'I am in need of a meal, but will be back here in less than half an hour. See that you are word perfect when I get back.'

With a gesture of farewell he disappeared through a side door, leaving Dara and me somewhat bewildered as to what to do next.

There was a very determined look on Dara's face as she made for a seat in the auditorium and began to read the sheet Jonathan Ede had given her. She looked up for a moment. 'Go away, James. I'll need to concentrate if I'm to learn these words in time for his return to the theatre.'

Jonathan was back in about twenty minutes and strode straight on to the stage. 'Come up here,' he shouted to Dara, 'and leave that copy of “The Black-Ey'd Susan” on the seat down there.'

When Dara joined him, he stood her in the centre of the stage and came down the steps to seat himself beside me.

Alright, off you go, young lady. And speak up so they can hear you at the back of the theatre.'

Dara gave a little nervous cough, announced the title of the ballad and commenced the first stanza:

'All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,

The streamers waving in the wind.

When black-ey'd Susan came aboard.

Oh! Where shall I my true love find?

Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,

Does my sweet William sail among your crew?'

Jonathan stood up and shouted, 'Very good so far, but raise your voice a little; I'm sure they wouldn't be able to hear you in the back rows.'

'William, who high upon the yard,

Rock'd with the billows to and fro;

Soon as her well-known voice he heard,

He sigh'd and cast his eyes below.

The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,

And quick as lightning on the deck be stands.'

Jonathan Ede was leaning forward eagerly to listen intently with admiration on his face. Here, I thought, was a girl whose intelligence and fine judgement told her when to pause for dramatic effect and when to raise the emotions by pitching her voice higher. Her delivery and sense of pathos matched her beauty so stunningly that even an old cynic like Jonathan was visibly impressed.

'The boatswain gave the dreadful word,

The sails their swelling bosom spread,

No longer must she stay on board;

They kiss'd; she sigh'd; he hung his head;

Her less'ning boat, unwilling rows to land;

Adieu! she cries, and wav'd her lily hand.'

Carried away by her emotions, there were tears welling up in Dara's eyes as Jonathan stood up and shouted, 'You're hired.' Making his way towards the door, he said, 'See you both Thursday week, here, at midday,' and then waved his goodbye.

Doctor Shepherd's burial took place the next day. What few possessions he had-gold watch, ring and clothing-had all been sold. The amount we got from these personal effects and the money I found in one of his jacket pockets was just enough to pay for the coffin, funeral expenses and a small headstone for his grave. It was a simple inscription engraved on the headstone as Dara knew so little about his family connections. The words on the stone, Dr Lionel Shepherd, died 2 April 1860. RIP., occupied my attention as the men lowered the coffin into the grave.

A blazing hot sun shining in a wide blue sky on this cemetery near Brooklyn had no effect on Dara's grief and sadness. I think right up to the moment that the grave diggers started shovelling earth onto the coffin to fill in the grave, Dara had held back from facing the realization of the doctor's death. There was something final about the soil covering the coffin that released the tears which began to stream down her face. Peerless Green Cemetery had leafy avenues of trees and green paths, but the warm sunshine and beautiful surroundings couldn't penetrate her grief. Racked with deep shuddering sobs, she clung to me as I led her away from the grave to a seat overlooking the bay to give her time to regain her composure.

Away from the cemetery, we were able to board a passing omnibus so crowded that it was standing room only. It swayed so violently that, although we were hanging on to anything we could clutch with our hands, there was a danger of being flung into the street as the vehicle lurched around bends. The driver, whipping up the horses to increase the speed as we rounded the bends, made matters worse and, when we reached our destination at Mill-Colonnes cafe, I alighted like a drunk who had lost the use of his legs.