Massonville 1897
The weeks that followed what Ophelia named the Morning of the Kiss were some of the happiest she had ever known. As a child of the theater, she was not as innocent as other girls of seventeen—although if her brother Horatio were to be believed, many of the demure maidens of Massonville's prominent families were not exactly virtuous. However, those members of the public who delighted in believing that all actors led lives of depravity would have found Ophelia Venable a grave disappointment. True, she had been enacting love scenes onstage for several years and declaring her undying devotion to men many years her senior. But her understanding of the words she spoke was vague. And she would never have done anything to distress her mother, as her brother Horatio did. It was Juliet's credo that the Venable family must never give offense to the good, churchgoing citizens of Massonville. The opera house depended on the town's goodwill.
But now Ophelia had been kissed. In some ways it felt as if nothing had changed. She and Edward still played silly little games when he helped her with her chores. He listened to everything she said, and he always laughed when she told a joke. As for the fateful kiss, sometimes it was repeated when they were alone, and sometimes it was not.
What do you expect? she asked herself. You are the daughter of his employer. He has to be cautious.
Of course, such a mundane factor would not have stopped the starry-eyed lovers in plays written by Shakespeare, Dumas fils, and Sardou, but Ophelia had always felt those characters were chuckleheads. Edward might not dash around ranting about love, but he woke up every morning, no matter how late he had gone to bed the night before, to carry her bucket full of soapy water. And sometimes the kiss was repeated.
At first, she and Edward had tried to conceal their new relationship. But a theatrical company is like a family, where keeping a secret is all but impossible. For a few days, Ophelia knew that she and Edward were the subject of fervent gossip, but the interest lessened quickly. It didn't die out completely—there was still speculation—but mercifully it didn't seem to have reached Juliet's ears. Until it did, Ophelia intended to keep on kissing Edward whenever the occasion presented itself. And talking to him. And listening to him.
Listening to Edward was better than going to school. He had a far-ranging mind, and he was a voracious reader; everything interested him, particularly new philosophies such as Darwin's theory of evolution and the recently discovered science of the mind known as psychology. But what he loved to talk about most was acting. He said he thought Ophelia was a natural comedienne.
“It's in your timing,” he explained one morning when they had finished cleaning the hotel and had wandered outside onto the lawn. “I once saw Georgiana Barrymore—you have the same lightness of touch.”
Being compared to a member of the theater's royal family was heady stuff indeed, but Ophelia was not one to get carried away. “I'm a good journeyman actor. Nothing more,” she told him.
“Oh, in the roles you play now, with all that high emotion, you are only adequate,” he agreed. “And there are times when you are barely that.”
Stung, she made a little face and dropped him a curtsy. “Merci du compliment,” she said.
“There!” he said eagerly. “That is what I'm talking about! You resort to irony when you are hurt, not tears. That is how a comedian—”
“Of course you were. You have talent that is not being well used, and it hurt you when I said so.”
“Perhaps you're wrong…. Has that occurred to you?”
She watched him consider it. “I'm not wrong,” he said finally. “Not about acting.” Then he seemed to hear himself, or perhaps he saw the expression on her face. Either way, he blushed and grinned. “I know I sound like a pompous fool, but … for people like us, to be the best we can is everything … and, you see, I've watched you.”
Again, it wasn't a passionate declaration worthy of a great love scene, but Ophelia's heart leapt. He had watched her—that meant he cared.
“Be honest,” he went on. “Do you really enjoy all that weeping and swooning you are called upon to do in The Prince of Zanzona?”
“You mean, do I like languishing on my sofa like an imbecile while you have all the good lines? Who would?”
“You know as well as I do that there are any number of dramatic actresses who would relish the role of the imbecilic princess. You're miscast. ”
He might be right about her acting, but he didn't understand her family business. “We run a stock company here—I fill in as I'm needed.”
“Your talent is being wasted and that is a sin.”
So intent had Ophelia been on their conversation that she had not noticed how far they had walked, until she saw the old dock in front of them and realized they had reached the riverfront. She looked around to see if anyone might have witnessed Juliet Venable's daughter brazenly walking alone in the company of a young man. The good people of Massonville must have known she was not always chaperoned when she worked with the actors in her mother's company, but those transgressions took place within the confines of the theater, where they could be ignored. Strolling along the banks of the river with Edward was definitely an activity that Mama would consider offensive.
“We should go back,” she said.
As they were walking up the front lawn, she glanced up to the windows of the family quarters on the second floor and saw her mother looking down at them. Ophelia could have sworn that Juliet was smiling.
Mama might not have been so sanguine if she had known what Edward was suggesting as they walked.
“Do you think your mother could be persuaded to mount a production of Twelfth Night for you?” he asked.
Shakespeare's comedies never brought in the public as well as the tragedies did, and Twelfth Night had only recently begun to gain in popularity. Still, Ophelia was entranced by the thought of starring in a production, and even more entranced by the fact that Edward thought she could. So even though she didn't think it would ever happen, she said, “It would have to be done next season. We already have our repertoire for this year.”
“I was thinking of the tour your mother is sending out next month. It would be the ideal vehicle for you.”
Mama risk her all-important tour on me? You don't know her.
“I've seen Twelfth Night done with the lead actress playing both Viola and her brother, Sebastian,” Edward went on.
Since Viola spent most of the play disguised as the page Cesario, that meant playing two breeches roles. It would be a difficult challenge for any actress. But one of Mama's biggest complaints about Ophelia had always been that she was tomboyish, and with her long lean legs there was no denying that she would wear the costumes well.
As usual, Edward was reading her thoughts. “Playing two boys would be a real tour de force,” he said. “But you could do it; you have the intellect and the spirit, and you have the wit. There would be some rewriting required toward the last act, but I could do that. And if I played your Duke Orsino, only think what a good time we could have.”
The plot had the duke becoming increasingly fond of Viola. He didn't realize he was in love with her until the end of the play when he found out she was a girl, but still it was a romantic involvement. Edward wanted to play a love story with her.
“Do you think your mother could be convinced?” he asked eagerly.
She was almost positive her mother could not be, but the double dream of touring with him and playing a lead in a production mounted especially for her was so seductive that she didn't stop him from talking to Mama.
“And if you would allow me to, I would play Duke Orsino,” Edward said when he proposed the scheme to Juliet the next day. “He is—”
“I know the play,” Mama broke in tartly, “and Orsino is one of the few idiots Shakespeare ever wrote.”
“I'd say rather that he's very young and in love with love—” Edward began, but Mama interrupted again.
“He's stupid. And while I'm impressed by your willingness to sacrifice yourself for my daughter's sake, I have other plans for you. What would you say to Othello?”
“You want me to play Othello for the opera house?”
“For one month here to finish our season, and then for an additional six on the road. If you are as good as I think you will be, we'll make it a permanent part of our repertoire.”
Ophelia watched Edward go to war with himself. She watched the side of his soul that cared for her battle with the actor side. It wasn't an even match. Mama's company might be small, but she had an excellent reputation, and playing Othello for her was an unheard-of opportunity for a performer who was just beginning his professional career. Edward would be a fool to do anything but say yes and offer up a prayer of thanksgiving. But miracle of miracles—and oh, how she loved him at that moment—he hesitated. Then Mama said, “I have hired Jonathan Tyrell to play Iago.”
Jonathan Tyrell was a cut above the caliber of actor that Mama usually hired. In fact, he was several cuts above. He'd made a name for himself touring the country with such star managers as Madame Modjeska and Edward's idol, Edwin Booth. Ophelia might have won against Othello in Edward's battle with himself, but Edwin Booth was too much to ask. Edward made one more plea to Mama for Twelfth Night, but Ophelia knew his heart wasn't in it. And when Mama, suddenly looking pale and weary, said, “I'm afraid I couldn't do without Ophelia to help here at the hotel while the company tours,” Ophelia's heart wasn't in the fight either.
She laid her dreams aside, and began cuing Edward on the lines of his new role. And when Jonathan Tyrell arrived in Massonville, she was waiting at the train station to welcome him to the Venable Opera House.