Филиппа Карр: Daughters of England

"It is because of what happened to me that I think of you. I can see myself in you. I see you staying here. There would be no easy way out for you. I feel a responsibility towards you. Does that seem crazy?"

"No ... no," I cried excitedly. "It seems good and kind and caring."

"I am not sure about that. But I think you will never truly be happy if you do not try that way of life for which you were born."

"How?" I cried. "How?"

"I told you I was going back. What would you think of coming with me?"

A tremendous excitement was overtaking me. I was trembling.

"It is something not to be decided hastily," she said. "You are very young. Perhaps I am wrong to suggest it. Yes, I am. I take too much upon myself. Forget I said it. I just came to tell you I shall be going away. You will not see me at Willerton House again."

"No, no," I cried. "Please do not forget it. I want to hear more. I must hear more."

She turned to me and smiled quite radiantly. Her moods changed from extremes m a very short time. She was so volatile. She was an actress, of course. I supposed that, in truth, she acted all the time. It was second nature to her. Perhaps I was a little like that myself.

She said; "Yes, of course, you must have your chance ... just as I did. I believe I should never forgive myself if I did not do all I could to help you. Sarah, are you going to live all your life here? Imagine it. You marry, you bring children into the world, you keep house, you give orders to your servants, life goes by, quickly, colorless, predictable, like the past when it was considered a sin to smile. Sarah, are you going to live your life ... regretting?"

"No!" I said vehemently. "No!"

"Then you are going to try your luck on the stage?"

"Yes," I said fervently. "Yes!"

She was smiling again. "Then ... how?"

"You are going to tell me."

"You could come to London with me."

I stared at her in disbelief.

"Your parents ... they would have to be told," she said.

"They would never allow it. At least, my mother never would. And the theater! She would think I was walking straight into Hell."

"Ah, there's the rub. How then, Sarah?"

"I only know they will never allow me."

"So you will 'let "I dare not" wait upon "I would"?' Then you are right to give up. What you will need in life, dear child, is something more than the natural gifts with which fate has endowed you. If you are to be successful there must be the determination to succeed. If you are going to turn away at the first hurdle, then, my dear Sarah, the best thing is to give up before you start. You need all the courage, all the willpower, everything you have, if you are to succeed in life and, believe me, one of the most difficult professions in which to succeed is that of the theater."

"Tell me what I have to do."

She looked at me steadily and I saw alarm in her eyes.

"Dear God," she murmured. "What have I done? I have meddled too far. I should have said nothing. She must work out her own salvation. What am I doing? I am acting God."

"No ... no ... you are kind. You are helping me. I am frustrated. I do not know what I should do."

"You must be sure of what you want, Sarah. You must think ... think seriously. Is this a passing fancy? I detect something special in you, or so I think, something that tells me you are not just a stage-struck girl seeking excitement, having an idea that perhaps you will make a grand marriage ... tired of life on this estate, with its occasional glimpses into a different way of living."

"I know in my heart," I said. "Please. Please help me. You understand what it means to me."

"Then," she said, "we must consider deeply and there is little time. Ask yourself. Is this thing vital to you? That is the heart of the matter. If it is, and you are old enough to know ... as I did at your age ... you must do all in your power to bring it to pass. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"I do. I want this more than I have ever wanted anything. If I missed it I should be unhappy for the rest of my life."

"If you are sure ... and only then we will plan."

"Please ... please ... let us plan."

"Then you must come to London."

"With you?"

"Of course. And I shall be leaving soon. I have to tell my husband. He will be sad, but he will recover. It is a task I do not relish, but it has to be done. He will understand, I think. He knows I fret for the stage. My dear Sarah, you must tell your parents."

"If I do they will never let me go."

"They should at least have a chance of denying you."

"They would most certainly do all in their power to stop me. I believe they might well do so."

"Then we shall have to make careful plans." She looked at me steadily. "It will be your first test," she went on. "You will have to be ready to tackle all the difficulties which will await you. Your career will have to come first with you. If it does not, there is little hope for you."

"You believe that I should tell them, I see. I know they will refuse to let me go."

"The decision is yours, not theirs."

"You mean I should run away from home?"

"We shall have to see. It depends on your determination. If they tell you they refuse to let you go and you accept that, you will have made a great discovery. You would never succeed in overcoming the difficulties which you would have to face. Therefore it is better that you do not attempt them and that would be an end of the matter. We are staying at Willerton only a few more days. Before I leave we must have made our plans. You must speak to your parents without delay. I shall be here at this time tomorrow. Come here and we will plan how we shall go on from there. Sarah, be absolutely sure in your mind. There must be no shadow of a doubt—then and only then shall we plan together. Only you can know how deep this determination is within you."

"I know my mother will be horrified."

"But she must have a chance to consider. I am sure it is right to tell her. If she persuades you or you are afraid to tell her, you must be glad that you have discovered the shallow depth of your desire in time."

There was no doubt in my mind. Life had suddenly become full of expectation and delight ... apart from the terrible ordeal which lay before me.

I let the day pass. I spent a sleepless night rehearsing how I should approach the subject. In the morning I arose exultant, yet filled with apprehension.

I had to see Kitty that afternoon, I had to, as she put it, have passed my first test by then.

I was very nervous; the time seemed to pass very slowly. Surely we were on our knees longer than usual that morning at prayers. Then they were over. Our two maids went to their work and my parents and I sat down at the breakfast table.

My father noticed my mood.

"Is all well, Sarah?" he asked.

I hesitated. Now was the moment.

I stammered: "I have been thinking of my future."

They were both attentive now and I went on: "I want to be an actress."

My father looked alarmed; as for my mother, she was staring at me in horror.

"An actress!" she said. "Whatever put such nonsense into your head?"

"It is not nonsense," I replied. "I am serious. I have an opportunity which I should be foolish to miss."

"Opportunities! Actresses! What are you talking about?"

"Please listen," I begged. "I know I can act. It is something people are born with, and if they have it they feel they must do something about it. They must use their talents ... as it says in the Bible," I put in triumphantly. "You remember the parable of the talents. People are never happy if they do not use them. And so, as I have a chance ..."

My mother turned to my father. "Do you understand this gibberish? What is the girl talking about?"

"I do not know," said my father. "Pray let her explain."