Jean Plaidy: Goddess of the Green Room

She had continually to watch Richard; he simply could not leave women alone. Only the other day she had heard the mother of a young Italian Jewess demanding that he stop pressing his attentions on her daughter. ‘What do you want with my daughter?’ she had asked. ‘You have a fine wife of your own.’

It was humiliating and embarrassing; but in her opinion Richard was so attractive that most of the actresses must find him irresistible.

His power to dismiss them was certainly proving effective and it was whispered in the Green Room that there was scarcely a woman in the company who had not yielded to him. There was one, however, who constantly evaded his advances and this exasperated him beyond endurance. Did she think she was such a draw that she could afford to flout him? He was determined to show her that he would not be flouted; and as the days passed he could think of little but Dorothy and was determined to make her his mistress sooner or later.

He pretended to change his tactics, laughingly accepting her refusal to become his secret mistress. The relationship between them was to be manager and actress; and he hoped, he implied, one of friendship. He appreciated her talents, and whenever he could without alienating Mrs Daly he would give her the best parts.

Kemble was one of the greatest actors she had known and it was an education to play with him; it was not that she wanted spectacular parts as much as a chance to learn; Kemble was a good teacher. Delightedly she played Anne to his Richard Ill; she was given Maria in The School for Scandal – not as important a part as Lady Teazle but a good one nevertheless; she was Katharine in The Taming of the Shrew with Kemble a stimulating Petruchio. And she was happier than she had been for some time because she believed that Daly had at last accepted her persistent refusal to accept his advances. She was constantly hearing of the seduction of this and that small player and Mrs Daly’s jealousy. Let them, she thought. It has nothing to do with me. I’m becoming a great actress and one day I shall play comedy all the time and shall succeed in convincing managers that what the public like from me is a song and a dance.

She was certain now that she had done the right thing in coming over to Smock Alley.

One day life changed dramatically. It was after the performance and she was about to return to her lodgings; as she came out into one of the corridors of that warren which was Smock Alley Theatre she heard her name called faintly. She paused. She did not recognize the voice but it sounded like one of the young girl players.

‘Miss Francis… oh… come quickly… up in the attic…’

She hurried up the narrow stairs to the top of the building.

‘Miss Francis…’

She opened the door of the attic; it was dark inside.

She called. ‘Who is it? Where are you? Wait… I’ll get a candle.’

She heard the sound of a key turning in a lock; and there was a chuckle from behind; she was seized in a powerful pair of arms.

She knew immediately. What a fool! she thought. Of course he could imitate one of the girls. He was enough of an actor for that.

‘Dorothy, you idiot,’ said Daly. ‘How long did you think you could say No to me?’

‘Let me go immediately.’

‘All in good time.’

‘Mrs Daly…’

‘Is not in the theatre tonight.’

‘You’re a devil.’

‘I don’t deny it.’

He was laughing as she hit out at him. She shouted and screamed, but he laughed. ‘No one can hear.’

‘I… I’ll kill you.’

‘You can try. Most of them want to smother me with their caresses.’

‘I will never, never do that.’

‘In time you will. Go on. Kick… scream. I like it. It’s a novelty… and it’s all useless.’

She fought until she was exhausted, but he was the stronger. Crying with rage, frustration and shame she was forced to submit to rape.

She crept into her bedroom. Thank God she did not have to share with Hester or Grace for if she had, how could she have kept this hideous secret? Her clothes were torn, her body bruised and battered, and she herself was bitterly humiliated.

She should have known. All that care she had taken in the beginning and then to be lulled into security, and caught like that. She would never forget; she would go on remembering every nauseating second.

And he had laughed triumphantly, knowing all the time that he would win.

What could she do?

Her impulse was to pack and leave. But how could she explain the reason to her mother? She pictured Grace’s terror. It was what she feared would happen to her daughters – only even she had not thought of rape.

I hate him, she thought. He’s a devil.

She wished she could stop thinking of it. The darkness of the attic, the losing battle virtue and decency had fought against brutal and bestial strength.

What chance had she had?

She could not stop thinking of him, brooding on him, hating him and yet… she would not admit it. She was not fascinated by him. She was not one of those silly little girls who were ready to run when he beckoned.

‘I hate him,’ she said aloud.

But what could she do? She took off her clothes and wrapped herself in a dressing gown. She could go into her mother’s room now and say, ‘We are leaving in the morning. I shall never go into Daly’s theatre again.’ She thought of the parts he had given her, playing opposite Kemble, and giving all that up. For what? To start again in England? Where? And who would give her a chance?

Time was what she needed. Time to think about the right course of action.

I have not only myself to consider, she reminded herself.

She saw him the next day and scornfully turned her head away.

‘Don’t be despondent, my dear,’ he said. ‘I’ll arrange another little rape for you very very soon.’

‘You’re loathsome,’ she cried.

‘I know.’

‘I wish I’d never seen you.’

‘My dear Dorothy hates me so vehemently that it’s almost love.’ he said.

She turned away, suppressing a great inclination to burst into tears.

She was careful never to be alone with him; but he was constantly in her thoughts. It must be so, she told herself, because she must be continually on the alert against him.

Once or twice when by some mischance he encountered her alone he would ask her to step up once more to their attic.

‘Never,’ she retorted, ‘and I am in a mind to tell Mrs Daly what has happened.’

‘She would believe you were very willing – in fact that you lured me there, for in common with every other woman in this theatre – including Miss Francis – she has a high opinion of my prowess in love.’

Dorothy turned away. There might be something in that, she had long decided. To have reported what had happened to Mrs Daly could well have meant her dismissal.

He was secretly amused because she had told no one of what had happened. That fact gave him confidence to proceed with his plans.

He ceased to pursue her. In fact he told her that he was sorry he had behaved as he had and he hoped the incident might not impair their friendship.

‘That which never existed could naturally not be impaired,’ she retorted.

And from that day she was no longer offered the best parts. She was not well known enough to insist; she was entirely in his hands; and naturally since she was not playing important parts she could not expect to continue with her salary of three guineas a week. It was promptly cut to two and, she was told ominously, even that was more than the parts warranted.

Grace was bewildered. What had happened? Dorothy had been doing so well. Why had it suddenly been decided that she should be given such silly little parts? Grace began to worry. Were the Dalys displeased? It was difficult to balance the household accounts. Worrying made her ill and it was necessary to incur doctors’ bills. They were in debt.