"I thought ..."
He took my chin in his hands and pressed his lips down hard on mine. His arms were tight around me ... possessive and strong. He was different from the man whom I had built up in my imagination. I was really frightened now. I felt I was alone ... helpless ... with a stranger. I knew now that this was just what Kitty had warned me of ... Maggie too. Oh, if only she were here!
I heard myself saying in a shrill, almost hysterical voice: "No ... no!"
"But you are fond of me, Sarah. Of course you are. You have shown it in a hundred ways."
"Yes ... yes. But let me go. Let us talk about this."
"Talk! I have done with talk. We have talked enough in those dreadful coffee houses. I have finished with talking, Sarah, and so will you."
"Please," I said. "Please!"
He did release me, and looked at me with a hint of annoyance in his eyes which I had never seen before in him.
"I just did not realize," I began.
"Oddsfish," he said. "You are not such a simpleton as all that. Of course you knew ... you thought you would have a little game with me. You would lure me on ... I know the game. Then ... no, no, no, I am too innocent." His anger seemed to pass as quickly as it had come. He was almost pleading now. "You like me, Sarah. You know you do. Why ... why?"
"I don't think I should be here ... like this."
He laughed.
"What a little Puritan you are! Come, little Roundhead, that went out of fashion some time ago."
"I don't think we see things in the same light."
"We will, Sarah. I know you are young ... and innocent. It is what I like so much about you."
"I think you are suggesting that we behave as though we were married."
He laughed. "So, if we were, you would be willing enough?"
"It would be different if that were the case. It would be right ..."
"So it was marriage you had in mind?"
I was silent.
He said: "I am old enough to be your father."
"I did not think of that."
I was afraid that the other mood I had glimpsed would return. I felt sick and foolish, and terribly afraid.
He put his hand to his forehead in a gesture of frustration, and I seized that moment. I snatched up my cloak from the bed and ran. I went down the stairs and out through the door. The cool air of the street enveloped me and I had no thoughts in my mind.
I ran and ran all the way home.
I was safe.
Martha was in the parlor.
I said to her: "I am going to bed. I am so tired."
I shut my door and sank on to the bed. I do not think I had ever been so wretched in the whole of my life.
A Ceremony in Knightsbridge
I LAY SLEEPLESS all through that night.
What a fool I had been! I should have known that from the beginning he had had but one thought in his mind: to make me his mistress. Men such as he was did not marry unknown actresses. But they often made them their mistresses. Some of my fellow actresses had their noblemen lovers. I should have understood that very well.
I remembered how Kitty had insisted on walking home with me that night at Willerton. Kitty had summed up the situation right from the first. She had warned me.
And what had I done? I admitted it now. I had allowed myself to fall in love with a man whose plans for me were dishonorable.
I had to look at this clearly. I had been warned, and yet I had refused to see what was obvious. What had I thought were his intentions? I had to be frank. I had thought he would marry me. Lord Donnington had married Kitty. He was much older than she was, and she was an actress and he a lord like Lord Rosslyn. The position seemed familiar, but I had deluded myself. Really, he was not to blame for assuming what he had. He had thought I was light, ready to allow him to seduce me. That I was just acting the innocent, so young and pure, and letting him wait a while before he achieved his goal. He had grown impatient and the result was that I had become scared and run away.
I had deluded myself. I had allowed myself to fall in love with him. He had brightened my life. He had made me forget my loss. I had been really happy when I was with him. If I were really truthful, I should admit that, in spite of my fear, my sudden awakening, I had wanted to stay with him.
If it had not been for Kitty, I believed I should have done so. But then, if it had not been for Kitty, I should never have known him.
He would not come near me again and I had lost him. I was bereft, lonely and wretched.
I spent a sleepless night and it was early morning before I dozed a little.
I wondered how I was going to get through the day.
I was at the theater that night, but I could hardly concentrate on the play. I was scanning the audience, hoping for a sight of him. He was not there. I was praying that he would be waiting for me when the play was over. What should I say to him if he were? "I will do anything to please you"? I felt that if he had been there, I might have done just that.
I need not have concerned myself. He was not there, and I feared I should not see him again. I had disappointed him. He was thinking I had led him to believe I would be willing to play the part he had prepared for me. He was frustrated and angry, and that anger was directed against me.
I had lost him. I had disappointed him. I should never see him again.
Yet every morning I arose with the hope that I should see him that day. But time was passing and he did not come.
I was invited with another of the actresses to go to Will's Coffee House with her and two gentlemen. I went. The company was merry enough, but it could not lift my spirits. All the time I was thinking of those occasions when I had been there with Jack Adair.
Several weeks passed. The weather had grown very hot. I was finding it difficult to sleep and when I did my dreams were haunted by memories of Jack Adair. I dreamed that he was my friend again. I was very happy. Then I would wake to the unhappiness of disappointment. Once I dreamed that I saw him in the theater while I was playing and I walked off the stage, calling to him. He looked at me with contempt and hatred and he cried, "Roundhead!" and all the people in the theater took up the cry. I woke with the word ringing in my ears.
It was the first day of September—a hot and sticky night, not conducive to sleep. I awoke in the early hours of the morning. I felt something was happening. I have been dreaming again, I told myself. But then I saw that there was a dull red glow in the sky. I sat up in my bed. I heard a cracking sound and a loud explosion, as though something heavy had been thrown to the ground.
It's a fire, I thought, a very big fire.
I got out of bed and went to the window. I put my head out. The wind was blowing fiercely. A fire on a night like this! I thought. This wind will make it difficult to control.
The household was stirring. I opened my door. Martha was descending the stairs.
"It woke me," she said. " Tis a mighty big fire somewhere."
We watched it. The flames seemed to grow greater rather than diminish.
"What can you expect in a wind like this?" said Martha.
People were coming out into the street. We put on a few clothes and went out.
"Big fire somewhere," said Martha to a man who was watching the blaze.
He said: "I heard it started in Pudding Lane ... a baker's shop."
"Baking bread, I suppose. I'll swear it is the last time he'll bake it in that shop."
"By the look of it, the whole street is ablaze," said the man.
"And the wind's not helping. It'll spread like wildfire. Come to think of it, that's what it is."
We went into the house. It was a hot night and the fire was making it hotter. We could hear the crackling of the flames.