The Duchess of Drury Lane by Freda Lightfoot

and sister were witness to my embarrassment. I could sense Hester fidgeting beside me, jealous of the fact she was being overlooked.
    ‘Harrumph!’ Wilkinson muttered at last, also embarrassed by this outpouring of maternal pride and anxious to stop the flow. He appeared reluctant to take on the responsibility of an actress who looked so unprepossessing, and who could blame him? He turned to me at last and asked, ‘And what is your speciality: tragedy, comedy or opera?’
    ‘All,’ I said, too deeply depressed to be bothered to answer properly.
    He looked astonished, eyebrows raised in some surprise. ‘Well, I should need to reflect on the matter most carefully.’ Upon this remark he quietly withdrew, presumably to think of some excuse to be rid of us, and I turned upon my parent in a fluster. ‘This was all a terrible mistake. How could you embarrass me so, Mama?’
    ‘Be calm, my dear. He is a fair man and has not yet given us his verdict.’
    Nor did he immediately do so when finally he returned, bearing a bottle of Madeira and several glasses. He placed these on the table, then cleared his throat.
    ‘Normally, my response would be in the negative. I am most particular who I take on these days as business is not as brisk as it might be. But because of my fondness for you, Grace, my old friend, and the undoubted bond between us, I may well be prepared to offer your daughter a small part, just to try her out. That is, if I like what I hear, you understand?’
    ‘Oh, I do indeed, Tate, how very kind of you. That would be perfectly acceptable, would it not, Dora?’
    I said nothing.
    Mr Wilkinson smiled. ‘May I hear a sample of your work, my dear, so that I might taste the quality, as it were.’
    My throat was so choked with emotion, shame and fear, that I could barely speak. ‘I would rather have a proper audition on the boards at some other time, if you please, sir.’
    ‘Ah, would you indeed? Well, I dare say that could be arranged.’ Picking up the bottle of Madeira he began to pour a little into each glass. ‘But since I am here, let us drink a toast to friendship and to old times.’
    We each sipped our wine and soon he and Mama were laughing together as they shared memories of their youth. Mama regaled him with her own marital tale and he spoke fondly of his wife and five children. As the conversation moved back to their shared passion, the theatre, the wine was beginning to warm me, staving off the constant gnawing hunger we’d all endured these last weeks, and I began to relax a little and smile at some of their tales. George was asking questions about stage sets, and Hester urging him to say more about the famous actresses he’d met over the years. It was all most pleasant. Then he turned to me and again asked me to recite a few lines.
    ‘Choose something you know well. I’m not a harsh judge and will make all due allowances for the lack of a stage from which to project your voice.’
    I caught Mama’s encouraging smile and as the Madeira had boosted my courage a little, I agreed. ‘Very well. I shall do a speech from The Fair Penitent .’
    Nodding, he sat back, glass in hand, and listened most carefully as I recited the lines. When I stopped, there was a small silence. Not one of us dared speak, and I could hardly breathe. Even the volatile Hester had the sense to see that our family’s future rested on his answer, and held her silence.
    At length Wilkinson spoke, addressing his remarks directly to my mother. ‘Have you tutored her, Grace?’
    ‘Not excessively so,’ she protested.
    ‘If you have, then you are to be congratulated. I am astonished by the exquisite and plaintive melody of her voice, her distinction of articulation, as well as her truth and sincerity of feeling.’
    I actually gasped. Never had I been granted such high praise. It quite boosted my dull spirits. ‘If I can please you, the manager, then I should have no fear of pleasing an audience,’ I said. ‘And were I