Free Love in Disguise by Nina Coombs Pykare Page A

days found Fancy busy practicing her lines. The School of Reform was an addition to her repertoire and since she was also going to play Mrs. Kitely in Every Man in His Humour and had small parts in other plays, she had a great deal to do, reviewing her lines and refreshing her characters. Morning rehearsals, afternoon rehearsals, costume fittings, these things took time too.
    She did not go to the theater to see Mr. Shuffleton in John Bull on Friday, since she had no part in that play. Nor did she attend on Saturday, Henry and Ethel having prevailed upon her to stay home. As Ethel had so succinctly put it, “Ain’t no use asking for trouble. They don’t need you for nothing down there. No use in going.”
    So Fancy had remained at home, immuring herself in her lines. Knowing that soon she would be facing an audience again, she was able to handle her loneliness. Living in the great house, actually very much alone in spite of all the people surrounding her, did not suit Fancy’s temperament. From childhood she had known the hustle and bustle of stage life, always surrounded by busy, active people, always a part of something exciting.
    Here in this great house she felt very alone. Even Henry and Ethel, who had always been her friends, now seemed distant. Sometimes Fancy found herself wishing for the jolly old days in Bath when she had been just another struggling young player.
    It was in this not so joyful mood that Cooke found her when Henry ushered him into the little sitting room that she most often used. “Uncle George!” Fancy rushed to throw herself into his arms. He held her briefly and then stepped back. Fancy breathed a sigh of relief: he did not smell of gin. That day he had not been drinking. “Come and sit down, Uncle George. Or would you like to see the house first?”
    Cooke shrugged his shoulders. “A house is a house, though this appears to be a mighty fine one.”
    Fancy sighed. “It is. Mighty fine and mighty lonely.”
    “Then why do you stay here?” Cooke’s eyes regarded her shrewdly.
    Fancy shrugged. “It’s a very nice house, Uncle George. And I’ll get used to it. Besides, in a few days I’ll be acting almost every night. That’s what I need. To be on -”
    The look on Cooke’s face stopped her. “Uncle George! What is it? What’s wrong?”
    Cooke settled heavily into a chair. “They’ve closed the theater. Last night. You won’t be acting for a while, I’m afraid.”
    Fancy sank into a nearby chair. “How long?”
    Cooke shook his head. “We don’t know. Kemble felt it best to close. He canceled Catalani and the house will be closed till the accounts have been examined by competent gentlemen. There’s no sense in performing for a crowd like that. The rioting’s been bad every night. Though not quite as bad as Wednesday when -” He paused and looked embarrassed.
    Fancy hurried to reassure him. “Uncle George, please, you mustn’t feel bad. I wasn’t hurt at all. And it wasn’t your fault. Really, it wasn’t.”
    Cooke shook his head, but did not reply to this.
    “Why do they have to riot like this?” asked Fancy.
    Cooke shrugged. “Obviously the theatergoers are not the enlightened and liberal public that Kemble thought they would be on opening night.” He shook his head. “No one can continue acting under all that tension. The company was all nerves.”
    Fancy nodded. “I know. It was very bad.”
    Cooke sighed. “That’s one of the worst audiences I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen plenty in my time.”
    “So what did Mr. Kemble do?”
    “He addressed the audience, or tried to. He told them that the proprietors were most anxious to do everything in their power to meet the public inclination and restore the public peace. Personally, I don’t think anything’s going to work but a reduction in prices. So he said the proprietors were willing to have a committee of respectable gentlemen appointed to inspect things, including the profits. And to say whether or not