Free Skylark by Jenny Pattrick Page A

the lines quickly and imitating as best I could the style of the actress in question. So I played dying heiresses, surly country wenches, haughty countesses and sometimes raggedy young boys, all under the name of whoever had fallen ill. To change the name on the programme would have been too much bother for the busy Mrs Foley.
    Audiences loved her. Her name on the billboards and in the newspaper advertisements was always writ bold and large. She was cheered as she made her grand entrance on stage, no matter if it was a tense dramatic moment, requiring the rest of the cast to wait mid-declamation. Often she would hold up the drama to sing a favourite song, quite unsuitable for the sense. The audience loved it all.
    Once, I recall, a rough fellow brought his dog into the two-shilling  benches. The man was clearly drunk and the dog in a frenzy of yipping and growling. Of course we were used to rowdy audiences and drunkenness, but this was more than Mrs Foley could accept. She broke off in the middle of a dramatic scene, where she was about to be abducted by the villain, played by Mr Marriott. One moment her hand was to her forehead as she fell into a screaming faint, the next she was fully recovered and striding down to the footlights.
    â€˜This play will not go on,’ she projected in her most ominous tones, ‘until that lewd fellow and his dog are removed from My Theatre!’
    The crowd, made restless by the rude antics of the man and the noisy dog, fell silent immediately. All eyes turned to the fellow, who wagged his silly head, but sat down again. Mrs Foley waited. The crowd began to growl. Slowly the fellow staggered out, aided none too gently by several of the audience. Even then Mrs Foley would not continue. She strode from the stage, stating grandly that she was too upset to continue.
    Mr Marriot appealed for calm. He was a real gentleman, James Marriott, quietly spoken, very handsome and wonderful in dramatic roles. I saw him do a whole evening of Shakespearean characters once; he had me in tears from start to finish. Well, he rushed Mr Ackroyd on stage to do a couple of his comic songs, while backstage Mr Marriot sweet-talked the bad mood out of the lady. Finally, the celebrated Mrs Foley consented to finish the melodrama. Oh, yes, my dears, she was Queen of the Theatre, no doubting that.
    About a month after we had arrived, near Christmas I think it was, Jack turned up, bright as a penny, sitting in the three-shilling seats and clapping and cheering, just as he’d done at the circus. I was struggling with a Scottish accent, playing Mrs Heskitt in the Highlander’s Revenge, or, the Fatal Prophet! One of the lady amateurs had fallen ill at the last moment. It was not a big part, but Jack cheered me on and off stage, to Mrs Foley’s annoyance. Naturally she played Martha McAlpine, though she was far too old for the heroine. In the interlude Jack called for a song from the ‘LadyAmateur’, as my part was billed. Mr Marriott gave me the nod: Mrs Foley was backstage having her ‘nip’. So I sang ‘The Lost Child’ for Jack, as sweetly as I could. His admiring face was a pleasure after all Mrs Foley’s frowns.
    Fancy him giving up his good position with Doctor Ingram to follow me to the city! I told him he was foolhardy, as Mrs Foley had a keen eye for money, and would likely be moving north or south as soon as the Wellington audience found our fare growing stale.
    â€˜But Lily,’ he cried, ‘I have a good position here, at the Baron’s. I can take you away from all this sordid life. We could get married at once.’
    â€˜Sordid!’ I wouldn’t speak to him for a week. He came to the theatre when his tasks allowed, and enjoyed our entertainments; he clapped and cheered along with the rest. And drank his pint. And hissed the villain. What did he find sordid, I wanted to know, when I finally spoke to him again?
    â€˜It’s not a proper life for