Anonymous - Dara

That was how I was known throughout the tour. Nellie Clifden, an actress who had recently returned to England after a lengthy tour of the theatres in America. I enjoyed myself immensely and impressed everyone at rehearsals, including John Sweetapple, in my role as Juliet. By the time we got to Dublin for my debut at the Theatre Royal, I was word perfect. Judging by the applause and the three curtain calls made at the insistence of an enthusiastic audience on our first night's performance of the play I was undoubtedly a great success.

The following morning, taking a stroll around the harbour, I came across a Manx fishing boat moored to the dockside. The crew were busy preparing to sail back to the Isle of Man but not too busy to chat to someone from their island. It was good to hear the Manx tongue again and I took the opportunity to ask news of my family in Baldwin Valley. They had little to tell me except that my brother, Simon, had emigrated to New Zealand with the intention of working his own farm. I was reluctant to leave them and waited at the dockside until they had left the harbour and set sail for the open sea.

Simon was the eldest in our family. We were very close, there being only one year's difference in our ages. I had no regrets about leaving the island but would have liked to have kept in touch with him. Simon was the only one who truly cared about me. Returning to the hotel my mood became sad at the thought that now he was living on the other side of the world it was unlikely we would ever see each other again.

Removing the greasepaint from my face after the curtain had fallen that night, I heard a discreet knock on my dressing room door. Upon my call to enter, there appeared, to my surprise, a handsome young man in the full-dress uniform of an officer in the British Army.

'Lieutenant Stanley at your service,' he announced, giving me a half salute.

I viewed him up and down for a moment. It is not uncommon for young gents to enter the dressing room of an actress with an invitation to dinner in the fond hope of a sensual reward afterwards.

'What can I do for you, Lieutenant?' I enquired casually.

Receiving no reply I turned to face him.

'The Devil take me,' he said. 'Now that I am here I don't know what to say.' Picking at an imaginary speck of dirt on his sleeve, he got his message out in a great rush of words. 'The fact is the Prince of Wales attended the theatre last night. He was in a state of excitement and interest each time you appeared on the stage. By jove, he couldn't contain himself. He has done nothing but talk about you ever since. Most distressing.'

'I'm very flattered,' I said, 'but, if that's all you have got to say, you can go now… and… oh, yes… tell the Prince I thank him for his interest and regard.'

'You don't understand,' he protested fervently. 'His Royal Highness is in a frenzy of desire for you and doesn't know what to do with himself. I have a cab waiting in the street to take you to Curragh Camp.'

Outraged at his impertinence, I cried out, 'How dare you make such a proposition to me. If you think that because I am an actress I am freely available to any gentleman who desires me, you are very much mistaken.' Opening the door wide I gave him a withering look of contempt and said in an ice cold voice, 'GET OUT!'

After he had gone I changed my clothing and was about to don my cloak when the Lieutenant popped his head around the half-opened door. 'Please, Miss Nellie, may I say I'm deuced sorry?'

He looked so miserable and down in the mouth that I took pity on him and invited him to be seated. 'Tell me why you have undertaken the task of procuring girls for the Prince of Wales?' I asked sternly.

'By jove, that's a cursed unpleasant way of putting it,' he protested with an expression of indignation. 'Please be patient with me, Miss Nellie. I'm not very good with words but I want to try to explain my mission.'

'Alright,' I replied, 'I'm listening.'

“The Prince has been my friend since boyhood. All his life he has been under the constant surveillance of someone or other, never getting an opportunity to meet girls of his own age. I'm one of the few friends he can confide in.

'To complete his military education he has been sent to Curragh Army Training Camp under the supervision of his “Governor", Colonel Bruce, who has been entrusted by Queen Victoria with guarding her son from all temptations of the flesh. With the result, here he is, nearly twenty years of age and still a virgin.

'You are not just an actress to him. You have aroused deep emotions of sincere affection in His Royal Highness. Please take pity on him, Miss Nellie.'

His appeal on behalf of his friend touched my heart. The more I thought about it, the more attractive the invitation became. To be the first woman to be intimate with the Prince of Wales was as tempting as a delicious apple hanging from a tree waiting to be plucked by whoever saw it first. I remembered him as he was on Emigrant's Wharf in New York, with his fresh complexion, light brown hair, and the most pleasing smile he gave me when I shouted, 'God save the Prince of Wales.'

On impulse, I arose to my feet and said, 'Very well, Lieutenant, take me to Curragh Camp.'

In the cab on the way to the camp I became concerned about the ever-watchful Colonel Bruce and learnt that, as he was addicted to card games, some fellow officers had been induced to keep him playing whist in another part of the camp until it was time for him to retire to his bed. The Lieutenant stressed how important it was that if Royal wild oats were to be sown they must be sown discreetly.

Quietly and stealthily we walked along dark corridors until we came to my companion's quarters. After lighting a small oil lamp he left me to inform the Prince of my arrival. I removed my cloak and was about to kick off my shoes when the Prince quietly entered the room.

I had been instructed by Lieutenant Stanley how to address this illustrious person but what was one to do with a young man who was so dithery that all he could say was, 'Oh, Nellie! Oh, Nellie!'

It was obvious that he was extremely embarrassed and suffering from the turbulent lust that gathers force in a young man's blood and drives him mad with storming emotions. I could see the agony in his eyes as I stripped off and exposed my naked body to his gaze. His youthful naivete appealed to the woman in me and I said in almost motherly tones, 'Come, dear boy; it will be alright,' and began to help him undress.

When I got his clothes off I threw back the bed coverings and turned to him. He trembled at my touch; beads of sweat began to form on his forehead, his eyes were beseeching me for help. 'Oh, Nellie! Oh, Nellie!' he whispered when I brought him to the bed and manoeuvred myself underneath him. He had worked himself into such a state that he couldn't get it in me. Folding my hands around his cock I guided it into my giny. It was just as well I did for he emptied himself with the first thrust upwards. Hot and breathless, he rolled off and onto his back.

After a while his breathing became more even and he hesitantly touched my breasts. 'Oh, Nellie!' he whispered once more and moved closer to me.

'My name is not Nellie,' I burst out somewhat irritably. 'It is just a name I've borrowed for the week while I'm playing Juliet. I couldn't very well appear on the stage as Lady Pulrose. It wouldn't do.'

Startled, he sat up and gazed at me in doubt and confusion. 'Lady Pulrose-James Kennet's wife? How could that be? He isn't married to anyone as far as I know.'

I spent some time telling him how James and I had met in America. He was so delighted when convinced that he was actually in bed with a titled lady that I couldn't help thinking he was a little bit snobbish and that he hadn't been altogether happy in his intimacy with what he thought was a woman of plebeian origin.