Jean Plaidy - Goddess of the Green Room

Perhaps it was for the best. It had been a hard life but a happy one until Francis had failed her. Until then everything had been worthwhile. Why had he done it? she wondered. But of course he had always been weak. In a way that had attracted her. She was thinking now of the day she had first seen him. He had sat in the theatre watching her and the next day he was there again and so it went on until she could not but be aware that the young army captain was interested in more than the play. And they had become lovers; Francis, fearing his father’s anger, dared not marry her. He was after all under age, and he came of a family which did not approve of actresses. So they would have to wait until he was older. Like Francis, Grace had no wish to wait until then before they took lodgings together and very soon Hester was about to be born. Grace had not called herself Mrs Bland but Mrs Francis. Poor Francis, he was so much in awe of his father that he was afraid of offending him, which he would most certainly have done if he had given the family’s name to an actress.

But it was impossible always to be known as Francis and sometimes she was called Bland and when Judge Bland, Francis’s irate father, discovered that his son was living with an actress he let him know that any marriage would mean that Francis would be cut off without a penny.

Poor Francis, what could he do! And Dorothy was on the way by that time.

So they had lived happily enough though Francis had had to resign from the Army. He had little money of his own so it was Grace who provided their main source of income because by that time she was a considerable actress. The children came regularly and Dorothy was followed by Nathaniel and Francis and George.

And so they would have gone on. How many children would they have had by now? But there were troubles in Ireland and the theatre had closed. Grace was once more pregnant and Blanche in Wales invited the family to stay with her for a while until everything returned to normal in Dublin. Francis had not been well and his mother, who had kept in touch with him, wished him to take a trip to the South of France with her in the hope that this would restore him to health. Grace, who was also anxious for his health, advised him to take the opportunity offered; she and the children would be well taken care of in Wales. And to think, she mused now, that I was never to see Francis again! It was the biggest blow of her life. But she had known he was always weak. She should never have consented to his going. She could not believe it when she had received his letter, full of remorse, full of apologies; but that would not keep her and her children – and the new baby had now arrived to swell their numbers.

Francis was penitent, but with him and his mother had travelled a young heiress named Catherine Mahoney; and his mother, with the help of Catherine, had impressed upon him what an excellent match this young heiress would be. Grace knew that he had been disappointed of his inheritance and in view of this he had allowed himself to be persuaded.

Thus was Grace with six children to keep – and there would have been seven but little Lucy had died in Wales – deserted.

Francis was not a callous man – only weak. He had continued to send them an allowance; and what they would have done without it, Grace could not have imagined. They had stayed on in Wales until, with Francis’s death, the allowance had stopped. Grace was informed of this by his wife Catherine who told her at the same time that she had no intention of continuing the allowance.

So they had returned to Dublin and Grace now being well into middle-age and not having won that fame, which would have made audiences regard her as ageless, was seeking to launch her eldest daughter on the stage.

It had been disastrous. Even Dorothy must realize this. They would never – any of them – forget that long-awaited moment when they had sat on the edge of their seats and waited in the old Crow Street Theatre for Hester to appear. Her name had been on the bills: Mr Ryder’s great discovery – the young, beautiful, talented Hester Bland.

Hester came on to the stage; the audience waited, indulgent because she was young and not uncomely; but when she opened her mouth no words came.

‘It can’t be,’ prayed Dorothy. ‘Oh, God, let her speak.’

But Hester’s fear had overcome her talents. She was suffering from acute stage fright and had completely forgotten the words she must say. Dorothy was repeating them under her breath, but how could she shout them to Hester in a crowded theatre. ‘Please, please,’ she prayed. ‘Let her remember.’

There was a titter in the audience.

Mr Ryder came on to the stage. He waved Hester aside and she ran into the wings. Grace looked as though she would faint.

A little hitch, explained Mr Ryder. His new actress was unwell. He craved the audience’s indulgence. Another actress would play her part.

Dorothy was sure she would never forget those moments: the hiss of conversation, the giggle here and there, the comments on young Miss who thought she could act; it wasn’t often they had the chance (the pleasure, thought Dorothy angrily) of seeing such a stage tragedy. She was angry herself; she wanted to go up on that stage and play the part. She could remember most of the lines because she had heard Hester say them so often and she would make up what she did not know.

The family rose and went back stage to collect a numbed and tragic Hester.

She wept all night; she had disgraced them all; she was useless; why had she thought she could act?

Grace said: ‘You can act. It was just stage fright. We all feel it but somehow we manage to overcome it in the nick of time. You didn’t. You’ll be better next time.’

‘Next time,’ cried Hester. ‘I’d rather die.’

Then she wept afresh. She would never forget the disgrace; that moment would live with her for the rest of her life.

There was no way of comforting her. The whole family tried; and Grace was wondering whether Hester could get back the job she had had in the milliner’s shop which she had left to go on the stage.

It was a morning of gloom. Mr Ryder, who was a kindly man and who knew the poverty of the family and knew also that what had happened to Hester did not mean that she was not an actress, called to see them.

He was immediately aware of the deep depression although he did not see Hester; Grace’s eyes, however, were red-rimmed with tears and sleeplessness.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘it was a bad business, Grace.’

‘I can’t think how it happened.’

‘Easy enough. She’s never faced an audience before. What are you going to do!’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Now look here, Grace, there might be some parts for you. You must be a bit out of practice but you could get that back… say a small part to begin with. And what about that other girl of yours?’

‘Dorothy?’

‘I’ve noticed her. There’s something about her.’

‘She’s a bit of a tomboy.’

‘She’ll grow up.’

‘She’s not as good-looking as Hester.’

‘By God, are you telling me you’re not going to let me try the girl in my theatre?’

‘Try her in your theatre! Why, she has never shown any inclination for the stage.’

‘Call her in.’

‘Good gracious me, I doubt she’s fit to be seen.’

‘Fit for me to see. I’m not looking for a tidy Miss but an actress.’

‘Dorothy an actress!’

‘Please may I see her?’

‘Dorothy,’ called Grace, ‘come here.’

She came. Ryder studied her. She had something. What was it? A gamin quality. She might have been an untidy schoolboy except for the fact that she was so dainty. Yes, there was some quality – latent perhaps, but he was sure it was there.