Anonymous - Dara

'If that is so,' I exclaimed in alarm, thinking of the five pounds that I owed Florrie, 'the theatre could close tomorrow.'

'Calm down,' a woman replied. A sleazy, backstreet theatre like this holds little interest for the Examiner of Plays. It will be weeks before he gets round to venturing into a notorious neighbourhood like Tottenham Street.'

The physical spectacle of women nude to the hips while a melodrama was being enacted on the stage created a sensation that brought in the crowd, including certain members of the nobility who were attracted to any place that offered something exceptional. The old 'Dust Hole' theatre was therefore enjoying a prosperity that, in my opinion, couldn't last for more than a few weeks. Every night the nearby streets were lined with rows of coroneted carriages and other expensive conveyances. We had been playing to full houses for over a fortnight. Surely it couldn't be long now, I thought, before news of our scandalous play reached the ears of the Examiner of Plays.

As it happened there was no cause to worry. Destiny had something else in mind for me. The commissionaire at the theatre entrance approached me one afternoon as I was about to go into the changing room. Could I spare him a few moments of my time, he asked politely, adding that he had a message of some importance for me. Intrigued, I accompanied him to a coffee house in Goodge Street where I was introduced to a Dr John Kersley. After shaking me by the hand, he passed over a fist full of sovereigns to the commissionaire who thanked him profusely, then made his departure.

Ordering coffee and cakes from an obsequious waiter, Dr Kersley then turned his attention to me. With a sonorous, authoritarian voice he declared, 'On the advice of a friend, I visited the Queen's Theatre last night with the sole purpose of seeing if you are the type of girl I am looking for to be a special attraction at my Palace of Health and Beauty in Pall Mall.'

He paused while the waiter placed on our table a pot of coffee and a plate of cakes. His tall, thin figure and elegant attire gave him the appearance of a man of some distinction. I must say I was impressed and a little overawed by the piercing dark eyes under a rather large forehead.

Viewing the cakes with some distaste, it's a poor assortment,' he announced. 'Would you prefer something else?'

On the plate were some 'Jumbles', thin crisp slices made from a mixture of treacle, butter and flour, and three-cornered puffs filled with sweet preserve.

'Not for me. “Coventrys” are my favourite cake,' I said, biting into the puff pastry and letting the delicious warm jam fill my mouth.

Handing me a steaming cup of coffee, he said, 'Now to business. I will give you thirty pounds a week for what you are doing for eight pounds.'

Astounded, my mouth full of pastry and jam, I gazed at him in wonder, astonished that anyone was prepared to give me thirty pounds a week, just for exposing naked breasts. There must be a catch in it somewhere, I thought. 'Just for showing my breasts?' I exclaimed.

'Well no. Not exactly. You will appear before my clientele with your skin covered in gold paint and completely naked but for a small piece of silk pasted over your vagina. For, make no mistake about it, you will be painted everywhere except on your back which will be covered by a rich, purple cloak, edged with white ermine.'

I sipped at my coffee, taking time to clear my confused thoughts. The idea of appearing before an audience without any clothes on didn't trouble me a great deal. After all, I wouldn't be completely naked, with a piece of painted silk covering my private parts. 'What will the Lord Chamberlain say to me appearing without clothing?' I asked doubtfully.

'He and his lackey, the Examiner of Plays, have no jurisdiction over medical establishments. There is nothing to fear from that quarter. We are not to be compared to a common playhouse,' he snorted with indignation. 'You will meet only the corps d'elite at my house in Pall Mall.'

It was clear from his angry expression that I had committed a faux pas and that I had better watch my P's and Q's in the future. 'The Palace of Health and Beauty sounds a grand place,' I said deferentially. 'When can I see it?'

Somewhat mollified by my change of tune, he replied, 'There is no time like the present. I will take you there now.'

'Oh! But I have to prepare for this evening's performance at the theatre.'

'Don't talk such nonsense, girl. They have no claim on you. You are working for me from now on. I will pay you for this week's work. Come along, there is no time to waste.'

In a hired Brougham drawn by two fine bay horses, the doctor confided that the display of live statues at the Queen's Theatre had attracted many of his clientele. The result of this had been an alarming reduction in the number of people who usually attended his lectures on health and beauty. Sir Charles Cheyney, a close friend, had seen me on the stage and had returned to Hebburn House full of enthusiasm for my physical charms. In a long discussion with the doctor that had lasted until the early light of dawn, they had come up with the idea of a Golden Virgin, and had worked out all the details of how it could be presented to the upper crust of society.

When the driver of the Brougham drove his carriage through the pillared entrance of Hebburn House I got my first glimpse through the foliage of the trees and shrubs of the impressive front of the Adam-designed mansion that was the Palace of Health and Beauty. On each side of the driveways that wandered across the spacious lawns of the front garden a number of elegant carriages were drawn up. Guarding the door were two very tall muscular porters wearing superb colourful liveries with large gold-laced cocked hats.

There were several ladies and gentlemen, attired in the height of fashion, conversing in the reception hall. Every room inside was set out in the most lavish style with magnificent furnishings. The walls were hung with long draped, ornate gilt mirrors and oil paintings of languid nudes displaying their beautiful bodies in most provocative poses.

A former banqueting hall was now used by the doctor for his lectures. About fifty carved mahogany chairs with rich red velvet seating faced a small stage at the rear of the room where there were two exquisite marble statues of the Greek goddesses, Hymen and Psyche.

I was taken to a sumptuously furnished, large bedchamber on the second floor where two women, seated before a glowing coal fire, immediately rose to their feet as the doctor entered. One of them, a handsome woman about forty, was introduced as the matron and housekeeper. After a few words with Dr Kersley she took her leave of us with a polite apology for her hasty departure. I was to learn at a later date that she had the honour of sharing the doctor's bed and had his authority to dismiss any member of the staff who didn't meet with her approval.

The other woman, Betty, was in her early twenties and a different class of person altogether. An overblown blonde, plebeian in looks and thoughts and, as I was soon to discover, prone to excitable, shrill laughter when a man was present. She was to be my personal maid when not working downstairs, so the doctor informed me.

The next morning and during the days that followed experiments were made with various shades of gold paint on my skin to see which would shine most brightly when dry. My first ordeal was of having a triangular piece of silk pasted over my private parts and, later, the pain of it being removed. It was not to the doctor's liking as the covering showed a marked line beneath the paint. He refused to have any further experiments until all the hairs at my armpits and crotch had been removed.

It took Betty and me nearly a whole day with small, metal tweezers to painfully pull out every hair on the parts affected. This harsh treatment left the skin inflamed and sore and another two days elapsed before I could bear to have the silk pasted on me again. The doctor was still not satisfied and, taking up the material, he cut out a small oval, pasted this miniscule of silk over my slot and insisted on a fold running down through the middle. The gold paint was then applied and he stood back, well pleased with his efforts to achieve the natural appearance of the nude female body and announced that invitations could now go out to the creme de la creme of high society for the first tableau of the Golden Virgin and her male attendants.