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Chapter Two

B eing part of a theatrical troupe, Madeleine was used to strange hours, when night became day and day was a time for sleeping and she did not see Marianne again until the following afternoon when the cast met to rehearse the new play to be put on the following week.

Although he sometimes put on burlesque or contemporary plays lampooning the government, Lancelot Greatorex was chiefly known for his revivals of Shakespeare’s plays to which he gave a freshness and vitality, often bringing them right up to date with modern costumes and manners and allusions to living people or recent history. The following week Madeleine would be playing Helena in All’s Well That Ends Well, which lent itself surprisingly well to such treatment.

In it, Helena, a physician’s daughter, cures the king of a mysterious illness and as a reward is allowed to choose one of his courtiers for a husband. She chooses Bertram, Count of Rousillon, but he maintains Helena is beneath him and though he is obliged to obey the king and wed her, he goes off to the wars rather that consummate the marriage. Later, Helena tricks him into bed by making him think she is another woman for whom he has a fancy and they exchange rings. When he realises what has happened, he accepts Helena for his wife.

Maddy did not like the play; she thought the hero a weak character and the ending even weaker and she questioned whether a marriage based on such a trick could possibly be happy. Now that she was contemplating a hoax herself, the question was even more pertinent. Not that she intended to trick anyone into her bed, far from it, but she did mean to deceive Society as a whole.

‘Madeleine, do pay attention,’ Lancelot said mildly, after she had missed her cue for the second time. ‘You have been in a brown study all afternoon. Whatever is the matter with you?’

Maddy pulled herself out of her reverie and peered down into the gloom of the orchestra pit where he was standing. She knew from past experience that his mild tone hid annoyance, and it behoved her to pull herself together. ‘I am sorry, Mr Greatorex. It won’t happen again.’

‘To be sure it won’t,’ he said. ‘Unless you wish to see your understudy in the role. Now, let us do that scene again.’

Madeleine looked across at Marianne who winked at her. She smiled back and began the scene again and this time it went some way to satisfying the great actor-manager. Nothing would ever satisfy him completely, he was such a perfectionist, but he knew just how far to go with his criticism before he had a weeping and useless performer on his hands. Not that anyone had ever seen Madeleine Charron weeping, not offstage, though she could put on a very convincing act on stage if it were required.

After the rehearsal, Marianne joined Madeleine in the dressing room they shared to prepare for the evening performance of Romeo and Juliet. ‘It is not like you to miss your cue, Maddy,’ her friend said. ‘Is anything wrong?’

‘No, not at all. I am a little tired.’

‘I hope you did not lie awake last night, fantasising about the Marquis of Risley.’

‘Now, why should I do that? He is one of the idle rich and you know what I think about them.’ Her answer was so quick and sharp, Marianne knew she had hit upon the truth.

‘Then why, in heaven’s name, did you find it necessary to deceive him?’

‘It just came out. It always does, when anyone asks me about my family.’

‘But why? You are admired and respected as an actress. Why cannot you be content with that?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose because I have always wanted a family of my own, someone to belong to, and if invention is the only way—’ She stopped speaking suddenly. Her reasons seemed so trite, so unconvincing, and yet Marianne detected the wistfulness in her voice.

‘You do have a family, my dear,’ Marianne said softly. ‘You have me and all the rest of the company; that is your family. Mine too, come to that.’

‘Yes, I know, but I can’t help wishing…’

‘We all have dream wishes, Maddy, the secret is to recognise them for what they are, and to be able to distinguish the attainable from the unattainable. You have it in you to be an outstanding actress, one of the few who will be remembered long after they have left this world behind, a byword for excellence. Surely that is better than being remembered for a short time for pretending to be something you are not.’

‘That is what acting is, pretending to be someone else.’

Marianne laughed. ‘You do like to have the last word, don’t you? I will concede you right on that, but you should not extend that into your everyday life.’

Madeleine was silent for a minute, during which they attended to their make-up, but if Marianne thought that was the end of the conversation, she was mistaken. Maddy worried at it like a dog with a bone. ‘You have met the Stanmores, haven’t you?’ she asked, apparently casually.

‘Yes, the first time was when I took part in an amateur production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream they put on at Stanmore House to raise funds for the Duchess’s charitable works. The whole family was involved, even the children.’

‘And they took you for a lady?’

‘Yes, but only because Sir Percival Ponsonby introduced me and vouched for me. He was the one who invented my history.’

‘He evidently did not mind deceiving them?’

‘It was in a good cause.’

‘And they never guessed?’

‘Oh, it all came out in the end, of course. We never meant to deceive them permanently.’

‘And they forgave you and the Duchess still receives you. I know you are sometimes included in her soirées.’

‘I go to entertain the company. It is in aid of the charity and I am pleased to do it, but the Duchess does not treat me as an equal, though we deal very well together.’

‘Will you take me with you next time?’

‘Maddy, don’t be a ninny. How can I? I go by invitation and they are not easy to come by.’

‘You could fix it. Offer them a performance that needs two players and take me to assist you.’

Marianne looked thoughtfully at her friend, wondering what was behind the request. ‘Perhaps I could, but the Marquis might not like his outside pursuits intruding on his home life; he might be very angry, not only with you, but with me for encouraging you.’

‘He cannot know that you know my story is not true. No one will blame you. At least it will make him notice me.’

Marianne burst into laughter. ‘He has already done that and you repaid him with whiskers.’

‘I know. But if he believed them, where’s the harm?’

‘Maddy, my love, his father will have the story checked, even if the son takes it at face value. You will be in a serious coil, if you persist.’

She had not thought of that, but then brightened. ‘What can he discover? So many Frenchmen came over during the Terror, there’s no keeping track of them.’

‘I think you would do better to own up and apologise.’

‘I will. When the opportunity arises. But the Marquis did not intimate he was going to ask me out again and I can hardly accost him in the street to tell him, can I?’

Marianne laughed. ‘No, but going to his home and confronting him will not serve either. Besides, he might not be there. True, he still lives at Stanmore House but that does not mean he is tied to his stepmama’s apron strings. Most young men of his age, married or not, have flown the coop long before they are his age.’

‘He said his papa was anxious for him to marry.’

‘No doubt he is. But you must face the truth, my love, he will not look at you for that role.’

Madeleine sighed, thinking of the play they had just been rehearsing. ‘If I were really a comte’s granddaughter, he would.’

‘If you were a comte’s granddaughter, my dear, you would not have led the life you have and you would not be nursing a grievance against the whole haut monde. And if you are thinking of exacting your revenge on Stanmore, father or son, then you are like to have your fingers burned, mark my words.’

‘I am not thinking of revenge. It is the haut monde I wish to study. I want to see the family together; I want to see how they deal with each other, if they are loving towards each other and how they treat their servants. You have taught me a great deal and I am sure there is nothing you do not know about acting the lady, but I want to see it for myself. I want to be among them just for a little while. It will be a great help to me when I have to play the great lady.’

Marianne looked at her with her head on one side, as if cogitating whether to believe her or not. ‘And you expect me to collude with you in this?’

‘Yes, dear Marianne, get me an invitation to the next soirée you go to, please, just this once. I won’t ask you ever again.’

She was not sure why she wanted this so much. It was not as if she hoped to promote herself in the eyes of the Marquis, let alone his family, but if she could make the story of the French comte convincing enough, the fact that she was accepted at Stanmore House might gain her entry to a few more social occasions and maybe she could establish herself in Society without having to delude some susceptible nobleman into marrying her. And perhaps, in time, she might meet someone who could know the truth about her and still love her.

Her imagination soared; she could see herself fêted and showered with invitations and being accepted. Yes, that was what she wanted most, to be accepted. She wanted to be seen at Stanmore House in order to set the ball rolling. ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘If you cannot ask her ladyship yourself, ask the help of Sir Percy. I believe he is a frequent visitor to Stanmore House. The Duchess will perhaps listen to a suggestion from him.’

Sir Percy was one of the few men who did not ask sexual favours for his patronage. Marianne said it was because he was in love with the Duchess of Loscoe and had been ever since she first came out, but she had married the Earl of Corringham and, after he died, the Duke of Loscoe. Having been rejected, Sir Percy had taken refuge in pretending to be an outmoded fop. He was far from that, as Madeleine appreciated, and if anyone could help her, he could.

‘She might, but I doubt he will agree to hoax the Duke and Duchess.’

‘It is not exactly a hoax, is it? And he will do it if you ask it of him, he is very fond of you, he told me so when we were out in his carriage last week.’

Marianne chuckled. ‘Did he now?’

‘So, will you ask him?’

‘Perhaps, if the opportunity arises next time I see him, but I make no promises.’ She adjusted her powdered wig, stood up in a flurry of silk-covered hoops and took a last look at herself in the mirror. ‘Come now, put it from your mind and concentrate on the play. I can hear Lancelot calling everyone to their places.’

Madeleine’s performance as Juliet that night excelled anything she had done before and the applause at the end meant she had to take several curtain calls before they would allow her to go. Her dressing room was awash with flowers and she examined each bouquet carefully to see who had sent them, but none that she could see had come from the Marquis of Risley. It was evident he was not going to further their acquaintance; she would not give him the carte blanche he wanted and so he had lost interest. But she would not admit to being disappointed, not even to herself.

Duncan was sipping tea in the withdrawing room of Stanmore House, having dined at home with the Duke and Duchess and their guests, his sister Lavinia and her husband, the Earl of Corringham and the Earl’s sister, Augusta, and her husband Sir Richard Harnham.

‘Duncan, you really must put in an appearance at Almack’s at least once this Season,’ Lavinia said.

‘Why?’ he demanded. He loved his sister dearly, but ever since she had married James six years before and borne two lively children, she seemed to think she could bully him into doing anything. He gave a quirky smile; she had always tried to bully him, even when they were children; it was nothing new. ‘Why should I dress myself up in breeches and stockings and stand about like a liveried footman just for the dubious pleasure of dancing with some plain chit who thinks she can trap me into marriage?’

‘How can you be so cynical, Duncan? There are any number of very acceptable girls coming out this Season. How do you know that one won’t turn out to be exactly what you are looking for?’

‘I doubt it. They will either be missish and just out of the schoolroom, with silly giggles and no conversation, or spinsters at their last prayers who have been residing on the shelf for years and yet each Season they dust themselves off and launch themselves at every eligible man foolish enough to go near them.’

The Duke and the Duchess, their stepmother, had been listening to this exchange between brother and sister with amused tolerance, but now the Duchess smiled. ‘Duncan, don’t you want to marry?’

‘Not particularly, Mama, certainly not enough to jump into it simply because a young lady is considered suitable. Suitable for what? I find myself asking.’

‘Why, to be a marchioness,’ Lavinia said.

‘But it is no certainty that someone who might make a good marchioness will make a good wife. I want to have feelings for the woman I marry, feelings that last a lifetime. I am not prepared to shackle myself to a breeding machine with whom I have nothing in common. There is more to marriage than that.’

‘In other words, you want to love and be loved,’ Frances said softly.

He did not think his stepmother’s comment needed an answer. She understood him and had often in the past interceded for him with the Duke and he loved her for it, but if she was ranging herself alongside Lavinia in this quest to find him a wife, he was going to disappoint her.

‘Somewhere out there, in the ranks of the nobility, there is someone who will answer for both,’ Lavinia persisted. ‘You must give Society a chance.’

He smiled at his sister. ‘You were fortunate that your choice of husband was also suitable from the point of view of the haut monde, Lavinia dear, no compromise was asked of you. It does not happen often.’

‘Thank you very much,’ James put in drily.

‘You know what I mean.’

‘All I am saying is that you should attend those functions where you might meet suitable young ladies,’ Lavinia went on. ‘But if you do not go out and about, how can you possibly make a choice?’

‘I do go out and about, I am not a recluse.’

‘Oh, yes, you go about with your dandified friends and hover about stage doors dangling after actresses, but you won’t find a wife there, now will you?’

‘Vinny!’ her husband admonished her. ‘It is not for you to comment upon how your brother spends his evenings.’ He paused, curious. ‘How do you know so much anyway?’

‘Benedict told his sister and she told me.’

‘What did he tell her?’ Duncan asked, suddenly interested.

‘Oh, nothing of import, except that you were rivalling each other to take a certain actress out to supper. Felicity said there was a wager on it.’

Duncan muttered darkly under his breath. Trust Willoughby to empty the bag. If the object of the wager had been anyone but the delectable Miss Charron he would have answered teasingly, but there was something about their meeting the evening before that did not warrant that; it was the confidences they had shared, the private moments when they had not been flirting with each other, when he had been privileged to see the real Madeleine Charron hidden behind the actress. It was something he wanted to keep to himself; now that Benedict had made light of it, he was angry.

And disturbed. If that second wager were to become common knowledge, he would be in a coil, not only with Madeleine herself, but with his father, who would never countenance a lady being used in that way, actress or not.

‘Benedict Willoughby should keep his tongue between his teeth,’ he said.

‘Did you win it?’ James asked.

Duncan felt trapped. He could not be impolite to his brother-in-law, but he was aware that he was being forced into a corner. ‘Yes, a light supper, no more, and it has nothing to do with whether or not I go to Almack’s.’

‘Then you will come,’ Lavinia said, delighted her ploy had worked.

‘I suppose I will have no peace until I agree.’

‘Then we shall go on Wednesday week. It is a special occasion to mark the anniversary of Waterloo. I believe Wellington will be there.’

‘Oh, then I am safe; the ladies will be all over him and will ignore me.’

‘Duncan, I despair of you,’ Lavinia said.

But Duncan was not listening; he was employed in puzzling his brain into devising a way of making Benedict stay mum about their second wager without losing face.

The Duchess smiled. ‘Duncan, what are you doing tomorrow?’

‘Nothing I cannot postpone, if you need me, Mama,’ he said cheerfully.

‘Will you come to the orphanage with me? I have a pile of clothing I have collected and I need a strong arm to carry the baskets.’

It was typical of the Duchess to take them herself; she liked to be personally involved and the fact that the orphanage was not in the most salubrious part of town did not deter her. But she had promised the Duke she would never go unescorted, and as he was rarely free to go with her due to government business, she would ask Duncan or James or sometimes Sir Percy.

The mention of the orphanage reminded Duncan of Madeleine and the story she had told him, a story that had tugged at his tender heart. He really must stop thinking about her; it clouded his judgement. ‘Of course, Stepmama, I am at your service. What time do we leave?’

‘Ten o’clock—that is, if you can rouse yourself from your bed in time.’

‘I will be ready and, just to show you my good intent, I will not go out again tonight, but retire early.’ He was only teasing; he was quite used to staying up until the early hours, dawn sometimes, and he could still rise bright and early.

He was as good as his word and presented himself in the breakfast parlour in good time to eat a hearty breakfast and oversee the loading of two large laundry baskets full of donated clothes into the boot of the carriage before handing his stepmother in, settling himself beside her and instructing the coachman to take them to Maiden Lane.

‘You are thoughtful,’ remarked the Duchess when they had been going for a few minutes and he had not spoken. ‘You do not mind coming with me? I have not kept you from more pleasurable pursuits?’

‘No, not at all,’ he said abstractedly.

‘Then you are troubled about something else.’

‘No, Mama, not a thing,’ he said, falsely bright. They were crossing the square in front of St Paul’s and he had just spotted Madeleine Charron walking arm in arm with Marianne Doubleday towards the market.

Having spent a wakeful night trying to decide what to do about that disgraceful wager, he was unprepared for seeing her again so soon. The sight of her, laughing with her companion as if she did not have a care in the world, set his heart racing. If she knew what was going on in his mind, she would not be laughing. She would be angry.

His head was full of her and his loins were stirring with desire, even now, in this busy square. He had made a wager of which he was thoroughly ashamed and yet the fulfilling of it would give him a great deal of pleasure. One-half of him goaded him, telling him the pleasure would not all be his, he knew how to give pleasure too and he could be very generous to those who pleased him and what else could an actress expect? The other half of him knew that such thoughts were reprehensible and dishonourable and he ought to have more respect for her than that. Why, he would not treat the lowliest servant in that cavalier fashion.

The ladies had stopped and were looking towards the carriage and it was then that the Duchess saw them. ‘Oh, there is Miss Doubleday. I need to speak to her.’ And before Duncan could make any sort of comment, she instructed the coachman to pull up.

The carriage drew to a stop beside the actresses and Duncan had perforce to jump down and open the door for his stepmother to alight.

Marianne took a step towards them and curtsied. ‘Your Grace, good morning.’

‘Good morning, Miss Doubleday,’ the Duchess said. ‘I hope I find you well.’

‘Oh, exceedingly well, my lady.’ She smiled, almost mischievously. ‘My lady, may I present my friend and colleague, Miss Madeleine Charron.’

Frances turned towards Madeleine, while Duncan stood silently behind her wondering what was coming next. ‘I am pleased to meet you, Miss Charron, though I would have known you anywhere. You are become quite famous and rightly so. I saw your performance in Romeo and Juliet and it moved me almost to tears.’

‘Thank you, my lady.’ Madeleine made a curtsy, though she always maintained she would never bow the knee to anyone just because they were aristocrats, but she did not want to embarrass Marianne, nor alienate the Marquis. And her ladyship was not behaving like a top-lofty aristocrat at all, getting down from her carriage to speak to them.

Her ladyship indicated Duncan with a movement of her gloved hand. ‘This is my stepson, the Marquis of Risley, a keen theatre-lover.’

Duncan held his breath, half-expecting Madeleine to say they were already acquainted, but she simply smiled coolly at him and inclined her lovely head. It was not a bow, simply an acknowledgement. ‘My lord.’ When she looked up again, he saw the merriment in her violet eyes and found himself smiling back at her.

‘Miss Charron,’ he said, doffing his hat. ‘I am honoured.’

If the Duchess noticed the conspiratorial look that passed between them, she ignored it and instead turned back to Marianne. ‘Miss Doubleday, I am glad we are met, I wanted to have a word with you about a little musical evening I am planning. If you are free of engagements, I should be very grateful if you would perform for us.’

‘I will deem it an honour, my lady. But it would depend on the day. A Thursday would be best. We have no evening performances on Thursdays.’

‘Yes, I know. I will bear that in mind and send you a note.’

‘Then I shall look forward to hearing from you, Your Grace.’

‘I leave the choice of offering to you,’ the Duchess added. ‘I am sure you will think of something suitable.’

‘I will give it some thought, my lady.’ She jumped as she felt Madeleine’s fingers digging into her back. ‘Perhaps a dialogue, my lady, that is, if you would allow Miss Charron to accompany me.’

‘An excellent idea.’ She looked at Madeleine and smiled. ‘Do please come, Miss Charron. It is all very informal and having both of you at once will be a great draw. Don’t you think so, Duncan?’

‘Oh, without doubt,’ he said promptly, aware that Miss Charron was looking at him with a strange light of mischief in her eyes, as if she were bamming him. She was up to something and he hoped she was not going to put him to the blush in front of his family and the top-lofty friends his stepmother invited to her soirées. But she could not possibly know whether he would be present or not. He seldom attended his stepmother’s routs; they were more often than not exceedingly boring and he usually had to be coerced into putting in an appearance.

‘Then it will be my pleasure, my lady,’ Madeleine said.

Having made their adieus, the Duchess and Duncan returned to the carriage and were carried away, leaving the two actresses staring after them.

‘Well,’ Madeleine said, letting out her breath, which she suddenly realised she had been holding. ‘I never thought it would be so easy.’

‘And I am not so sure I shouldn’t make your excuses and go alone,’ her friend said. ‘I am afraid you will stir up a hornet’s nest.’

‘No, I will not. I will be the embodiment of decorum, you will be proud of me.’

‘How can I be proud of you, when I know what a deceiver you are?’

‘One tiny fib, that’s all I told, and it harms no one. Besides, I told you I would confess, if I ever find myself talking to the Marquis privately again.’

‘Oh, there is no doubt you will, I saw the way he looked at you. And you smiling back at him, like the temptress you are.’

‘I am not!’

‘Oh, my dear, I sometimes think you do not know when you are on stage and when you are off it.’

“‘All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players”,’ Maddy quoted, remembering Lancelot Greatorex’s words the day she had first met him. You don’t need to tread the boards to play a part. We all do it from time to time. Do you tell me you have never had a fantasy, never pretended to be other than you are? Oh, she had certainly done that.

‘That may be true,’ Marianne said. ‘But we can only play the role for which we have been cast…’

‘You played the lady,’ Madeleine interrupted her. ‘You went to Stanmore House and deceived the whole company, so why can’t I?’

‘The reasons for doing it were very different. I was enrolled to help catch a blackguard who meant to harm Lady Lavinia.’

‘You never told me that.’ Madeleine was glad to divert the conversation away from her own motives; if Marianne continued to question her about them, she would be hard put to answer truthfully because she did not know what they were herself. Was she still nursing a grievance against the whole nobility? And how could making a fool of the Marquis of Risley assuage that?

Was it simply that she wanted to see what it was like to be a lady of consequence? Or was she so ashamed of her past that she had to invent one nearer to her liking? But that must mean she was ashamed of her darling mother who, poor as she was and without a title, had been a gentlewoman in the truest sense of the word. Such a thing was inconceivable; she was proud of her mother. But oh, how she wished Mama had told her something of her father. But he was a shadowy figure, a wraith, with no substance.

Perhaps it was envy that the Marquis of Risley could trace his forebears back generation after generation while she did not know who she was. Her name wasn’t even Charron, it was Cartwright. But could she even be sure of that? Her mother might have fabricated that too, just as she had invented the French émigré. And having brought him into existence, she was stuck with him.

Marianne smiled. ‘Maddy dear, you have gone into another of your daydreams. If you do not keep your wits about you, one of these days you will be run down by a coach.’

Her words pitched Madeleine back fifteen years. She was standing outside a haberdashery shop and her mother, who had just come from the shop, was pulling on her gloves and saying something about getting home. She heard again the clatter of horses’ hooves, the sound of carriage wheels, the yells as the driver tried to pull the horses up. She saw his contorted face as the carriage careered out of control and then her mother wasn’t beside her any more. She was lying in the road, white and still, and a small trickle of blood was coming from under her head and growing wider. Maddy could still hear her own screams.

‘Maddy! Maddy! Whatever is the matter?’ Marianne’s voice came to her, loud and insistent. ‘You are white as a sheet.’

Madeleine gave a huge shudder and looked about her. She was back in 1827, in front of the colonnaded arcade of Covent Garden. The traffic flowed past her; there was no one lying in the street and her friend was tugging on her arm.

‘I was thinking of my mother.’

‘Oh, Madeleine. The Lord smite me for the fool I am. I forgot. I am sorry. Will you forgive me?’

‘There is nothing to forgive.’ She smiled at her friend and took her arm. ‘Come, we had better be going.’

But the memory remained at the back of her mind, as if she needed a reminder of why she was what she was and why she had to break free from the constrictions of the past. And it had been her mother who had invented the name of Charron, so it was her mother who was guiding her now. It made her feel better.

‘You did not tell me you were arranging a musical soirée,’ Duncan said, as he and the Duchess continued to their destination.

‘Is there any reason why I should have? I have them regularly and you have never shown the slightest interest in them before.’

‘Yes, I have. I attended the last one.’

‘Only under extreme duress and you only stayed fifteen minutes.’

‘Perhaps I had another engagement.’

‘Oh, undoubtedly. At White’s or Boodles, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Mama, you make me sound like a regular gamester, and you know I rarely gamble.’

Frances smiled, remembering how he had played truant from school and gone to a gaming hell when he was only fifteen. The Duke had rung a peal over him and extracted a promise not to visit such places again. Oh, she knew he went to the gentlemen’s clubs, but he had matured enough not to gamble more than a few guineas, which he could easily afford to lose. ‘So, I collect, you wish to come to my next gathering. Could it, perhaps, have something to do with the delightful Miss Charron?’

He looked startled. ‘Now, why do you say that?’

‘Because I know you very well and I know you cannot resist a pretty face.’ She paused. ‘Was she the one you and Benedict were wrangling over?’

‘We were not wrangling. He challenged me to take her out to supper without telling her who I was, that was all. I wish now I had not.’

‘Why?’

‘It seemed an ungentlemanly thing to do.’

‘And so it was.’

‘She told me her history and I felt so ashamed. She comes from a good family, Mama, her grandfather was a French comte who fled the Terror. Her father was killed in the late war and her mother was run down by a carriage when she was nine years old. She has been forced into acting by a need to earn her own living.’