Chapter Three

Chapter Three

The four noble friends were given accommodation adjacent to the Viceroy’s state apartments in Dublin Castle. Though it was neither picturesque nor had much architectural merit, at least they had good views of the Liffey and the Irish Sea. Though the castle was crowded to the rafters, they secured a dressing room where their valets could sleep, but their other servants had to make do in the Quadrangle situated in the lower castle yard.

They were welcomed by the Viceroy himself, Will’s father, the Duke of Devonshire. Before they even had a chance to unpack they were drinking his private stock of smoky Irish whiskey.

“Your Grace, allow me to be among the first to congratulate you on your new appointment as Lord Steward of the Royal Household.” John Campbell saluted William’s father with his glass.

“Why, thank you, John. Your grandfather, Argyll, was Lord Steward to King George I, if I remember correctly?”

“That’s right, Your Grace, and my father is Master of His Majesty’s Household for the Kingdom of Scotland.”

“That’s a heritable post that will come to you someday, isn’t it, John? Appointments handed down from father to son are more advantageous by far.” He drained his whiskey and continued, “We are in for some fun Friday evening—a command performance of David Garrick and Peg Woffington at Smock Alley Theater. The carriages leave at seven promptly. That Peg is a fine figure of a woman. She’s staying here at the castle and, by God, if Garrick didn’t watch her like a dog with a bone, I’d have a go, stap me if I wouldn’t!” He reached for the decanter. “Then Saturday night, to finish with a bang, we’re having presentations and the grand ball. Anything at all you need, just ask the Court staff.”

As they left the Viceroy, Henry Campbell jested, “I wonder what the staff would say if I asked for a strumpet on a crumpet?”

“Wouldn’t raise an eyebrow—they’d simply supply you with the address of the nearest brothel,” William murmured with a wink.

“Which happens to be the Brazen Bitch in Trollop Street,” Michael provided. “The Irish are so literal.”

“If we’re not attending the theater until Friday, why waste tonight?” Henry asked. “I’m ready for a command performance now!”

When the Gunnings finally arrived in Dublin, they made their way across O’Connell Bridge to the heart of the city that was dominated by Dublin Castle. They entered Temple Bar area, a maze of crooked, cobblestone nooks and crannies, and rented a room off Dame Street by the River Liffey. It had two beds, a wooden table and chairs, a wash stand with a tin tub, and most important, a small hearth.

As the girls set their carpetbags on a bed, Jack carried in a stack of what looked like dried sod. “Now you see why I helped myself to the Black Bull’s supply of peat. These streets by the river are damp even in August, but with a cookshop at one end and a pub at the other, we have everything we need. There’s no shortage of water, and we’ll even be able to heat it on the fire.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Bridget asked, thrusting a jug at Maria and a bucket at Elizabeth. “I noticed a pump up the street. You can use the tin tub to scrub yourselves, then we’ll use the water for our clothes. Every stitch we own needs washing.”

“My love, the girls are exhausted,” Jack protested. “Let them have a good sleep before you put them to work.”

“I want them to be spotless, with clean clothes and shining hair, when I take them to the theater. They’ll never get work on the stage unless they are looking their very best!”

“You are right as always, Bridget my love, but they won’t look their best with pinched faces and dark smudges of fatigue beneath their lovely eyes. Why don’t the three of you get your beauty rest, while I take the turnips to the market and get us our money? I’ve paid a week’s rent and, when I come back, I’ll pay for another week. You don’t need to scrub clothes or wash their hair until tomorrow to prepare for their visit with your friend Peg.”

Two days later, Bridget Gunning ushered her daughters into the famous Smock Alley Theater and asked to be directed to the dressing room of the leading actress, Miss Woffington. The girls’ dresses were freshly laundered, their beautiful tresses washed and curled to perfection, and their spirits high with expectation at meeting the greatest actress of their time. Their faces radiated pure joy.

When Woffington’s dresser opened the door to the visitors, Peg jumped up from her dressing table with a cry of delight. “Bridget Gunning, I’d know you anywhere—you haven’t changed one iota!”

Bridget preened at the welcome reception by her old friend and, taking her eldest daughter’s hand, propelled her to the center of the room. “This is Maria,” she announced with overweening pride.

“You are as tall as a man!” Maria exclaimed.

Peg laughed with genuine amusement. “Well, I haven’t grown since the last time I saw you, but you certainly have, child.”

Elizabeth blushed at her sister’s inappropriate remark. Peg was strikingly tall and slim, and though she was not conventionally beautiful, she had vivid Titian hair, expressive green eyes, and a vivacious personality that captivated in such a compelling way it was hard to pull your gaze away from her laughing face.

Peg held out both hands. “And you must be Elizabeth. What an enchanting poppet you were last time we met.” She twirled her about to get a good look, then drew up a wing chair for Bridget and sent Dora, her dresser, for tea and cakes before she turned her attention back to the Gunning girls. “I simply cannot believe it! Cannot believe it!” She threw back her head and laughed with delight. “It is rare when one is blessed with a daughter of exceptional beauty, but you have two such exquisite creatures!”

“I knew it was more than motherly pride, Peg, for people stare and gape at them in the street.”

“There are many beauties lauded in Society—and usually the larger the dower, the prettier the young lady in question—but your daughters are true beauties, natural beauties, without the artifice of dress, makeup, or fortune. ’Tis no wonder people stare at them. They stand out like two Thoroughbred racehorses among a stable of cart horses. Nay, a better analogy would be fine crystal vessels amidst a table filled with thick glass jars.”

“I am very proud of Maria’s hair. I’ve never seen more beautiful tresses in Ireland, or in London itself, for that matter.”

“Yes, she has the classic beauty of silver-gilt hair and oval face, giving her the angelic quality to which our society aspires, but Elizabeth I think has the more unusual and arresting beauty. Her hair is the color of molten gold, and her violet eyes in her heart-shaped face hint at a burning flame hidden deep within.”

“I want them to have the chance on the stage that I never had,” Bridget said passionately. “They can both sing and dance and act. They practice a play every night before bed and each has prepared something from Shakespeare for you.”

“How ambitious. You fair take my breath away!” The dresser came back carrying a huge tray of refreshments. “Let’s have our tea first, then you can both perform for me,” Peg invited.

Maria took a cake, ate it quickly, then reached for another. Elizabeth’s eyes shone with delight as she gazed at the tray of confections. Simply looking at them brought her pleasure; choosing one added to her enjoyment. Finally, she picked one that was smaller than the others, but its pink icing and silver balls marked it as the daintiest. As she bit into it she raised her eyes and saw that Peg was watching her, and her cheeks turned the same delicate hue as the cake’s icing and she lowered her lashes shyly. Her actions showed such vulnerability that Peg was enchanted.

When she poured the tea and handed round the cups and saucers she saw that the Gunning daughters could have been taking tea in the finest parlor in England. Their manners would have done them credit at St. James’s Palace, and Peg flashed her friend a look of admiration for teaching them how to acquit themselves well in company. When they were finished, Peg folded her napkin. “Now we are fortified, you may recite your Shakespeare, but pray don’t think of this as an audition. Try to enjoy yourselves!”

At her mother’s signal, Maria stood up and curtsied. “I would like to do Juliet for you.” When she saw that she had Peg Woffington’s full attention she clasped her hands together and recited:“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?Deny thy Father and refuse thy name;Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.’Tis but thy name that is my enemy;Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.What’s Montague? It is nor hand nor foot,Nor arm nor face, nor any other partBelonging to a man. O, be some other name!What’s in a name? That which we call a roseBy any other word would smell as sweet;So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,Retain that dear perfection which he oweswithout that title. Romeo, doff thy name,And for thy name, which is no part of thee,Take all myself.”

Though the delivery was rather unremarkable, Peg had to admit that Maria Gunning was surely the most exquisite-looking Juliet she had ever seen. If Maria were upon a stage, she would attract every eye in the house. “Even Will Shakespeare would have to agree that you are the very image of his Juliet,” she offered generously.

Elizabeth glanced at her mother and saw she was like a dog with two tails at the praise Maria had received. She was in such good temper that Elizabeth dared to abandon her pretty recitation of Ariel, the Elemental, offering the chalice in The Tempest. She took the floor and bowed gravely. “I wish to do Henry V rallying his men at Agincourt.” She looked quickly away from her mother before she could glimpse her displeasure and spoke directly to Peg:“This day is call’d the feast of Crispian:He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,Will stand a’ tiptoe when this day is named,And rouse him at the name of Crispian.He that shall see this day, and live old age,Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors,And say, ‘To-morrow is Saint Crispian.’Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,And say, ‘These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.’Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,But he’ll remember with advantagesWhat feats he did that day. Then shall our names,Familiar in his mouth as household words,Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red.This story shall the good man teach his son;And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,From this day to the ending of the world,But we in it shall be remembered—We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;For he to-day that sheds his blood with meShall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,This day shall gentle his condition;And gentlemen in England now a-bed,Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here;And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaksThat fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.”

For a moment, Peg could not speak for the lump in her throat. The lovely golden girl had transformed herself into proud, young King Harry as he urged his men to fight for England. She was noble, passionate, and heartbreakingly vulnerable at the same time. Peg applauded. “I am absolutely thrilled that you don’t mind taking a male role. Often the best parts are written for men. I, myself, am playing the part of Sir Harry Wildair tonight in The Constant Couple. It’s such a fun part. You must stay and see it!”

“Thank you! It’s been ten years since we last saw you on stage, but I have never forgotten your performance. May we look around the theater?” Elizabeth asked with suppressed excitement.

“Of course. It’s a good idea to get yourselves familiar with the place if you intend to perform here.” Peg scribbled on a card and handed it to Bridget. “This tells management you are my guests and are to be given front-row seats. After the performance we’ll go for a late supper and celebrate!”

Buoyed by all things theatrical, Bridget squired her daughters backstage to view the props and the scenery that moved up and down by myriad ropes and pulleys. With great authority she pointed out the exits and entrances at stage left, right, and center, and explained the lighting and how to gain and keep the spotlight. They lingered in the makeup room, lined with mirrors, and inspected all sorts of fascinating pots containing rouge, white lead face paint, powder, patches, beards, and wigs. The girls, who had never been allowed to wear face makeup, found the smell of grease paint, mixed with spirit gum, quite exotic. Eventually, they were shooed out as the actors arrived to get ready for the upcoming performance. They skirted the wardrobe room where dressers were assembling the costumes for tonight and went down to the pit to see the musicians arrive to tune their instruments and set up their music stands.

They wandered up the aisles between the rows of seats and marveled at the theater’s acoustics that magnified their voices in the empty playhouse. Then they climbed to the balcony and, feeling extremely daring, entered a private box. Maria preened, pretending all eyes were upon her, while Elizabeth sat in a velvet upholstered seat and imagined how decadent it must feel to be able to view a play from such a luxurious setting. Finally, they climbed to a third level, known as “the Gods,” where the cheap seats were located and learned firsthand why it was necessary to cultivate a full-bodied stage voice that would carry up to the roof.

Shortly, the Smock Alley Theater began to fill up, and Elizabeth watched, wide-eyed, as the well-dressed Dublin patrons filed in and took their seats. She felt acutely self-conscious in her cotton dress and woolen shawl and was greatly relieved that the lamps were being lowered by the time they were shown to their seats in the front row. But from the moment the curtain went up and the actors stepped onto the stage, Elizabeth forgot about herself and was transported to the make-believe world of The Constant Couple.

The antics of Sir Harry Wildair soon had the audience rolling with laughter. Of course everyone in the theater knew that the principal role was being played by Peg Woffington, who was equally adept at comedy or drama. The play was farce, pure and simple, and Peg, full of vitality and wit, held the audience in the palm of her hand. Beth knew immediately what her secret was: Though she was an attractive, elegant woman in reality, she did not mind appearing unattractive or inelegant, and her audience adored her for it.

Elizabeth sat enthralled as she took in every nuance, every wink, every gesture and dramatic pause. Like a sponge she absorbed the tone, the timing, the timbre of the voices, the humor, both broad and sly, and the flawless delivery. She heard the words, the music, and the laughter. She smelled the perfume, the grease paint, and the sweat of the unwashed. She felt the magic and the wonder and the joy of the performance unfolding before her eyes, and she knew that this was one of the most deliriously happy nights of her life.

After the performance, Peg took them for a late supper to the Oyster House in Fishamble Street, where she told her guests to order anything they fancied. Elizabeth was hesitant at first, worrying about the cost, but when her mother ordered chowder followed by smoked trout and Maria boiled shrimp and crab, she decided to indulge with fried oysters and prawns. Peg and her mother were drinking porter, served in big pewter mugs, and Bridget gave her permission for the girls to have a small beer for the very first time. Elizabeth was amazed at how easy it was to laugh between delicious mouthfuls of food and drink. What a lovely place the world seemed with a full belly and replete appetite!

“I’m staying at Dublin Castle—a guest of the Viceroy, no less.” Peg drained her tankard and ordered another. “His Excellency has ordered a command performance for tomorrow evening. The whole Court will come in state. A retinue of eight or ten carriages will start from the castle and proceed according to the rank of the parties, and a file of cavalry with jingling accoutrements will form an escort to the colonnade of Smock Alley Theater.”

“The house will be crowded to the roof,” Bridget predicted.

“The Viceroy’s party will sit in the box we were in!” Elizabeth’s eyes were wide with wonder that she had actually sat in the state box where the Governor of Ireland would sit tomorrow.

“Exactly right,” Peg nodded, trying to contain her laughter. “The Court puts on a better bloody performance than we do. The theater manager, wearing a satin suit, leads the way, holding aloft a pair of wax candles, then, at the head of his glittering staff, the Viceroy enters, blazing in gold and Garter. The Court staff in regulation uniform—coats with gilt buttons and blue satin facings, with white waistcoats—stand stiffly in a miserable state of agitation while the orchestra plays ‘God Save the King’ and everyone tries to ignore the vulgar and piquant observations from the great unwashed sitting up in the Gods.” Peg wiped her eyes.

Bridget rubbed a stitch in her side from laughing. “You paint such an amusing picture. I can see it all in vivid detail.”

“Oh, I wish we could come to Dublin Castle and really see the Viceroy and the Court,” Maria said wistfully.

Peg put her head on one side thoughtfully. “Why not?” she said slowly as an idea began to form. “On Saturday, His Excellency is having a drawing room followed by a ball. It will be a grand affair to end the Season, where the débutantes are presented.” Her gaze was drawn to Maria and Elizabeth. “Why shouldn’t these beautiful young ladies be presented?”

Maria turned a radiant face to her mother. “Oh, could we?”

“It’s not possible,” Elizabeth said apologetically, trying to hide her humiliation. “We don’t have anything to wear.”

“Ah, I hadn’t thought of that.” Peg bit her lip, then smiled. “The theater has a whole wardrobe room packed with gowns and wigs. Come tomorrow and we’ll find something that fits you—you too Bridget. In the meantime, I’ll see that your names are put on the invitation list.”

Suddenly, Elizabeth dared to hope for what had seemed unattainable. There is magic in the air tonight, and Peg Woffington must surely be our Fairy Godmother!

When they arrived back at Dame Street, their father, who had been out to a gaming club, was there before them. Excitedly, they told him about Smock Alley Theater, the play they’d seen, the supper at the grand Oyster House, and saving the best till last, finally told him that Peg Woffington was going to arrange for them to be presented to the Viceroy of Ireland at Dublin Castle. “She’s even going to let us choose gowns from the wardrobe department!”

“Is all this true?” Jack asked his wife.

Bridget nodded. “I told you our luck was about to change! Peg was extremely impressed by our daughters’ beauty and talent. She sees no reason why they shouldn’t be offered small parts and begin their apprenticeship at Smock Alley Theater.”

“But what about attending this drawing room the Viceroy is giving at Dublin Castle? Don’t you have to be somebody to be put on the invitation list?”

“We are somebody! Are you not the son of Lord Gunning, and do we not live at Castlecoote? It certainly sounds like a castle and none need know otherwise! You girls get to bed; you’ve never been up this late in your lives.”

Maria and Elizabeth did go to bed, but they couldn’t sleep for hours. Instead they lay whispering about what it would be like to attend a ball. “We must practice our dancing tomorrow, in case someone asks us to dance,” Maria decided.

“No one will ask. We don’t know anyone,” Elizabeth whispered.

Try as she might, she simply could not visualize herself in a ball gown, yet, when sleep finally did overtake her, she found herself wearing a beautiful dress and, to her utter amazement, a gentleman asked if he could partner her in the dance. His face was blank and in the dream he had no discernible features, yet, strangely, there was something dangerously familiar about him.

The following morning, much to their delight, the Gunning females spent hours in the wardrobe room of the Smock Alley Theater. Neither Maria nor Elizabeth had had the least notion that dressing for a formal affair was so involved and complicated. The things that went beneath a gown were every bit as important as the dress itself, perhaps even more so.

First and foremost came stockings, and Elizabeth was astounded when the dresser in charge brought out all her boxes of hose. They were dyed every color of the rainbow and made from many different materials. She chose a pair of ecru lace, crocheted in a flower pattern, then, to her great delight, the dresser opened her boxes of garters. Elizabeth realized that choosing garters was much like selecting cakes from a tray of confections. Some were beribboned, others were embroidered with beads or sequins, while yet others were adorned with huge flowers or bright birds. Maria immediately picked garters decorated with brilliant red poppies, but Beth lingered long over her choice and finally decided on a pair made from a delicate shade of green ribbon and embellished with snowdrops.

When she drew the stockings up her long, slender legs and fastened on the pale green garters, a sudden feeling of longing came over her. They transformed her girl’s legs into the lovely limbs of a lady, and she wished she could keep them on forever.

Next, they had to be fitted for corsets, something they’d never owned. Their mother had a corset, of course, but it was nothing like these delicate garments with fine whalebone and fancy laces. Bridget fitted one around Maria’s midsection and began to pull on the laces. Peg chose one of white silk for Elizabeth that reached from her hips up to beneath her breasts, and as Beth cupped her hands over her exposed bosom, Peg began to draw on the laces.

When she was done, she called to her dresser, “Dora, bring a measuring loop! I’ve never seen such a tiny waist in my life. It cannot be more than eighteen inches!”

Dora measured Elizabeth’s waist. “Seventeen inches, ma’am!”

“My darling girl, your figure is perfection. Every female in the world will envy, hate, and detest you. How bloody marvelous!”

“Oh, Peg, I don’t want other females to hate me,” Beth replied.

“Well, I’m afraid they will. Your face alone will guarantee that, my darling girl. Let’s see if we can find a gown small enough. It must be white, so that will cut down on our selection.”

When both sisters were dressed, their gowns were quite similar in style. Each had a low neck, short sleeves, a tight waist, and a full skirt that opened down the front to show the stiff petticoat. Maria had chosen white satin brocade while Elizabeth’s was made of delicate white tulle.

They undressed with care, and Dora provided the girls with cloth bags to protect their garments, hung them on a rack, then wheeled it all into Miss Woffington’s dressing room for safekeeping until the appointed time. “Don’t forget to come early on Saturday—you will need makeup and wigs. Here’s your mother. Let’s see what she’s picked.” Bridget had chosen royal blue lace. “Good choice. It has a look of class, which will be most apt since I put you down on the Viceroy’s invitation list as the daughter of Viscount Mayo, whoever that may be!”

“Viscount Mayo?” Bridget looked alarmed.

“His family name is Theobald Burke, and Burke is your maiden name, so it seemed convenient. Not to worry, County Mayo is clear across Ireland.” Peg looked at their worried faces and raised her arm in a regal gesture. “You’ll carry it off—you are actresses!”