however, still feel sustained by the triumphs of the previous day: Congrevance in all his unclothed glory, and my successful effort to ignore him at dinner, for every woman knows the way to attract a gentleman is to pretend indifference. The only problem was that he seemed to be ignoring me too, which was not my intent. Today, possibly, I shall unbend a little, and heavens, I shall have to pretend he is my lover (in the play, that is).
I have spent some little care on my appearance – a cotton gown, almost totally devoid of ornament, save for some pretty tucks at the hem, in a peach and white stripe, and a lawn fichu tucked around the neck. I look almost . . . virginal; the sort of woman a gentleman retired from foreign adventures might very well choose as a wife. I debate on whether I should wear a coral cross, but not wishing a thunderbolt to strike me, decide against it. The only ornament I wear is a pair of pearl bobs that would not look out of place on a miss fresh from a schoolroom. I can only hope I sustain the appropriate behaviour to match my appearance.
Fanny Gibbons is most correct, addressing us all formally, and after a mild tussle with Otterwell about who is to lead the rehearsal, she takes over. With a polite yet firm smile, she sends Otterwell to his library to finish his improvement on Shakespeare, since the whole first scene in the Athenian court has been cut. And so, since Oberon is busy chewing his quill in the library, Titania takes advantage of her consort’s absence to consult with her cook about dinner, and we begin at the scene where Hermia and Lysander are lost in the woods.
Fanny allows us to read from our prompt books, in which we may mark our directions on the stage. Congrevance is not half a dozen words into his speech before she stops him.
‘Mr Congrevance, please remember you are weary. You too, Lady Elmhurst. Start again, if you please.’
After three attempts, in which Mrs Gibbons tries to stop Congrevance striding on to the stage as though he were a lord surveying his estate, and orders me not to smile – I am sure she is wrong, all actresses smile – I actually manage to say the lines I drummed into my head yesterday.
‘Be it so, Lysander: find you out a bed; For I upon this bank will rest my head.’
‘Lie down, Lady Elmhurst.’
I dutifully write it in my prompt book.
‘Very good, Lady Elmhurst. Now lie down, if you please.’
‘I am afraid my stays do not allow me to do so, Mrs Gibbons.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘Short stays in future, please. Mr Congrevance, if you could be so kind.’
I look at the floor. ‘But it’s dirty!’
Congrevance removes his coat and lays it on the floor.
‘Very good, Mr Congrevance. We shall keep that, although you will wear a cloak in the play. Please make a note of it. Now, if you could help Lady Elmhurst lie down.’
His arm snakes around my waist, and his other hand grips mine. Goodness, how strong he is. He gazes into my eyes and, as he lowers me to the floor, murmurs, ‘Would I were my coat, madam.’
I giggle.
Fanny frowns at me. ‘On one knee, Mr Congrevance, for your next line.’
Still holding my hand, he kneels beside me, and I feel quite dizzy with longing.
‘One turf shall serve as pillow for us both; One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth.’
Oh heavens. My mind is a complete blank. It is as if no one in the room, the house, the word exists except we two. I swear the spiders pause on their cobwebs, a bee buzzing at the window stills, and we gaze into each other’s eyes as time slows and stops.
‘ Nay, good Lysander . . .’ pipes up Master Gibbons, our Puck, who has been appointed prompt for the moment.
My voice is breathless and wobbly.
‘Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear, Lie further off yet, do not lie so near.’
‘If we were in London, and you a more experienced actress, I believe you could read the line that way,’ Fanny says with great kindness after a short, embarrassing pause. I am
I have spent some little care on my appearance – a cotton gown, almost totally devoid of ornament, save for some pretty tucks at the hem, in a peach and white stripe, and a lawn fichu tucked around the neck. I look almost . . . virginal; the sort of woman a gentleman retired from foreign adventures might very well choose as a wife. I debate on whether I should wear a coral cross, but not wishing a thunderbolt to strike me, decide against it. The only ornament I wear is a pair of pearl bobs that would not look out of place on a miss fresh from a schoolroom. I can only hope I sustain the appropriate behaviour to match my appearance.
Fanny Gibbons is most correct, addressing us all formally, and after a mild tussle with Otterwell about who is to lead the rehearsal, she takes over. With a polite yet firm smile, she sends Otterwell to his library to finish his improvement on Shakespeare, since the whole first scene in the Athenian court has been cut. And so, since Oberon is busy chewing his quill in the library, Titania takes advantage of her consort’s absence to consult with her cook about dinner, and we begin at the scene where Hermia and Lysander are lost in the woods.
Fanny allows us to read from our prompt books, in which we may mark our directions on the stage. Congrevance is not half a dozen words into his speech before she stops him.
‘Mr Congrevance, please remember you are weary. You too, Lady Elmhurst. Start again, if you please.’
After three attempts, in which Mrs Gibbons tries to stop Congrevance striding on to the stage as though he were a lord surveying his estate, and orders me not to smile – I am sure she is wrong, all actresses smile – I actually manage to say the lines I drummed into my head yesterday.
‘Be it so, Lysander: find you out a bed; For I upon this bank will rest my head.’
‘Lie down, Lady Elmhurst.’
I dutifully write it in my prompt book.
‘Very good, Lady Elmhurst. Now lie down, if you please.’
‘I am afraid my stays do not allow me to do so, Mrs Gibbons.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘Short stays in future, please. Mr Congrevance, if you could be so kind.’
I look at the floor. ‘But it’s dirty!’
Congrevance removes his coat and lays it on the floor.
‘Very good, Mr Congrevance. We shall keep that, although you will wear a cloak in the play. Please make a note of it. Now, if you could help Lady Elmhurst lie down.’
His arm snakes around my waist, and his other hand grips mine. Goodness, how strong he is. He gazes into my eyes and, as he lowers me to the floor, murmurs, ‘Would I were my coat, madam.’
I giggle.
Fanny frowns at me. ‘On one knee, Mr Congrevance, for your next line.’
Still holding my hand, he kneels beside me, and I feel quite dizzy with longing.
‘One turf shall serve as pillow for us both; One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth.’
Oh heavens. My mind is a complete blank. It is as if no one in the room, the house, the word exists except we two. I swear the spiders pause on their cobwebs, a bee buzzing at the window stills, and we gaze into each other’s eyes as time slows and stops.
‘ Nay, good Lysander . . .’ pipes up Master Gibbons, our Puck, who has been appointed prompt for the moment.
My voice is breathless and wobbly.
‘Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear, Lie further off yet, do not lie so near.’
‘If we were in London, and you a more experienced actress, I believe you could read the line that way,’ Fanny says with great kindness after a short, embarrassing pause. I am
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