She liked to hear about the parts I played. I would rehearse with Maggie while she looked on. She would clap her hands and mouth the words as I said them, for she quickly had them by heart. Meanwhile Maggie would watch her with delight.

In due course Rose left to get married. She said she wanted "little 'uns" of her own. She was married to one of the traders in the market and would live close by so that we should not lose touch. In her place came Jane, a thin little creature of about thirteen years, the youngest of a family of ten who needed work and a good home. Greatly appreciating Maggie's bounty, she was very eager to please and soon became a worthy successor to Rose.

During those years I was progressing with my career. I had done well in several parts and was now quite well known in theatrical circles. There was a certain amount of gossip about me, as there was about most actors and actresses. Those such as Moll Davis and Nell Gwynne had made the profession somewhat notorious, though I have no doubt that some of these rumors were exaggerated and many of them were not so wild as they were made out to be. At the other extreme were Mrs. Better ton and later Mrs. Bracegirdle, who had a great reputation for virtue, with one or two others, including myself. Mrs. Betterton was married to Thomas Betterton and they played a good deal together; as for me, I had had a husband who had died in Holland and I had never looked at another man since. I had my child and that was enough for me. They sentimentalized about me, as they did about the Bettertons; but it was certainly true that I wanted no amatory adventures and was content to come home after the show to my daughter and friends.

Maggie had thought everything out so that there should be no embarrassments. I had kept my name. "Actresses often do," she said. "If you are making a name, you do not want to be known as Mrs. Campbell." Campbell was the name she had chosen for my fictitious husband. It was there if the need arose, said Maggie practically, "but Sarah Standish is the name for you. And so it shall be for Kate, for it is indeed her true name, and it is as well to keep to the truth if it is possible to do so." And no one thought to question why I should retain my maiden name.

Everything ran smoothly under Maggie's management and I never forgot that, had she not been called away to look after her sister, there would never have been that mock marriage with Jack Adair—but then no Kate either.

So the years passed. There was always something of interest happening.

We used to linger over meals at the table in the dining room and talk of things. Kate, at this time four years old, would listen avidly. Perhaps in a more conventional household she would have been in her bed. But she would have hated that. She loved to sit up and watch our lips as we talked and join in our laughter.

What happy days they were! Sometimes I would look round the table and tell myself I wished for nothing more. But I did, of course. I wished that I had been truly married, for whatever father we produced for Kate, her real father would always be Jack Adair, who was not married to her mother who had borne his illegitimate daughter. That saddened me. Everything should have been perfect for Kate.

Maggie tossed such nonsense aside when I told her.

"Kate will always fight her way through. She'll be all right. Her father is Frederick Campbell, lying on a battlefield, having given his life for his country. He's Kate's father until someone proves him not. And who could? My lord Rosslyn? Not a chance. He's quite content to take what he wants and leave the consequences to others. Nothing to fear, my dear Sarah. We've tidied it all up ... And if by chance something should come out, do not forget, we stick by Frederick Campbell."

Maggie had a way of making everything seem simple.

There was great excitement when Captain Blood attempted to steal the jewels from the Tower of London. I remember the occasion. It was May and we were already planning the celebrations for Kate's birthday next month. She would be five years old, but she was more like a girl of seven or eight.

I remembered how we sat at table, talking of this wild adventure of the daring Captain Blood. All London was talking of it, so we were no exception.

"Tell me about Captain Blood," cried Kate, and naturally Maggie obeyed.

"He tried to steal the King's jewels. They are in the Tower of London, all locked up, ready for the King when he wants to put them on."

"Yes," said Kate. "Yes."

"Well, Captain Blood came to the Tower. Mr. Edwards was the man who had charge of the jewels. He had the keys to the place where they were kept. Captain Blood was dressed as a priest, so they thought he was a good man."

"But he was only dressed as a priest," said Kate. "He wasn't a real one."

It was at moments like that that I had a twinge of fear. My thoughts were naturally taken back to that other occasion when a man had dressed up as a priest in order to deceive his dup>e.

Maggie went on describing the friendship which the Captain struck up with the keeper of the jewels, and how he brought presents for Mrs. Edwards.

"^"hat presents?" asked Kate, her eyes sparkling.

"There was wine for the gentleman and white gloves for Mrs. Edwards."

Kate repeated, "Wine and white gloves," while Maggie went on with the story of how Captain Blood wormed his way into the family's confidence by promises that his nephew—a young man of substance—might make a match with the Edwardses' daughter.

"So," went on Maggie, with dramatic effect, "the stage was set. Then the wily Captain asked Mr. Edwards, as a special favor, to show him the Crown Jewels. No one was supposed to go near the jewels unless there was a guard there too, but Mr. Edwards could not refuse this generous friend, particularly as his daughter was going to marry the Captain's nephew. Well, then it started. Mr. Edwards took him into the room in which the jewels were kept. The Captain had three friends with him and as soon as they were in the room he and his cronies overpowered poor Mr. Edwards and took the jewels. One of them put the orb into the pocket of his breeches. The Captain took the crow^n under his cloak, leaving poor Mr. Edwards groaning on the floor."

Kate's eyes were wide with excitement.

"Ah," went on Maggie, "but that was not the end of the story, was it?"

"Was it not?" asked Kate.

Maggie shook her head.

"Who had just come home from Flanders, where he had been fighting for his King and country? Why, Mr Edwards's young son. And poor old Mr. Edwards had not been hurt as much as the robbers thought. He was able to shout for help."

"What did he shout?" demanded Kate.

Maggie shouted: " Treason! The crown is stolen!' And young Edwards came and saw his father lying on the floor. Now, the jewels were very heavy and not easy to carry, and the young soldier had time to rouse the guards, and they caught the villains before they could leave the Tower."

"And what was done to them?" Kate wanted to know.

"Now, this is the odd part of the story. It is not a moral tale for the ears of little ones."

Kate hunched her shoulders and looked appealing.

"Only," Maggie cautioned, "for very special ones."

Kate laughed joyously, and Maggie went on: "Well, he was a very merry gentleman, this Captain, and His Majesty the King is a very merry gentleman too. The King is clever with words, and he likes people who are like that too. When the Captain was brought to the King, he expected this would be the end of him. There he was, caught with the crown under his cloak. There could not be greater proof than that, could there?"

Kate shook her head vigorously and continued to gaze expectantly at Maggie.

" 'Well,' said the Captain. 'It was a very bold thing to do, I admit. But do not forget, Your Majesty, I did it for a crown.' Well, the King himself had done bold things for his crown, and it was like saying, 'You did the same, Your Majesty.' This made the King laugh instead of being angry. And there is nothing the King likes more than to laugh. Well, thought the King, he hasn't got the jewels ... and it's all over and it made me laugh. So what do you think? The Captain was pardoned. Not only that, he was given estates to the value of £500 every year and the King became his friend."

"And what happened then?" asked Kate.

"For that," added Maggie, "we shall have to wait and see."

That was a typical scene during that time.

It seemed then that there was always some dramatic happening going on to give us exciting topics to discuss.

Maggie certainly had dramatic talents and there was nothing she enjoyed more than using them for Kate. She told her stories with the dramatic skills of an actress and her reward was Kate's obvious enjoyment. But the gossip we heard was not always as lighthearted as the affair of Captain Blood.

A few months before, there had been a notorious brawl in the streets, of which Kate had been told nothing. It was an ugly scene and concerned the Duke of Monmouth.

We heard a great deal about Monmouth during those days.

The Queen had not so far produced an heir and that meant of course that, if the King should die, the Duke of York, his brother, would be the next King.

The Duke was charming—though not as charming as the King; he was a good sailor whose love affairs were as numerous as those of his brother, but although he was a good and kindly man, he was not noted for his wisdom.

An instance of this was his frank and open admission of Catholicism. That would not have been so important but for his position. There was a tremendous aversion to the Catholic faith throughout the country, and it had been so ever since the reign of Mary Tudor, who had sent so many of her subjects to the stake because they did not share her beliefs. Never again, the majority of the people said; and here was the man who could well inherit the throne publicly announcing his adherence to the Catholic faith.

It was a foolish thing to do. But it seemed that, to a man of James's faith and honesty, it was necessary to make this known. This might be laudable from some points of view, but it was causing a great deal of disquiet in the country.

And because of this, the King's son, the Duke of Monmouth, was showing himself more and more to the people. He was stressing his devotion to the Protestant faith, and implying that they need have no fear, for if the King died without leaving a legitimate son or daughter to follow him, there was always his natural son— the Duke of Monmouth. Indeed, there were many who wanted to believe that there had been a marriage between Charles and Lucy Walter, the Duke's mother, in which case was he not the true heir to the throne?

Sometimes I was aware of the uneasiness in the streets of London. The people did not want another civil war—it was not so very long since the Cavaliers and Roundheads had destroyed the peace of the countryside and brought death to many Englishmen with their battles.

I had never forgotten my first, and at that time only, glimpse of the Duke of Monmouth when he had visited the theater. It seemed years ago now. He had staged his entrance, and had arrived immediately after the King so that all might be aware of him, for he had glanced familiarly up at the royal box and the King had smiled on him.

Now he had been involved in a vicious brawl, about which Maggie felt terribly indignant. She could not have made a light-hearted charade of this as she had of Captain Blood's escapade.

It was a custom among some of the young men of the court to roam the streets after dark in search of adventure and there was a great deal of gossip at this time concerning the King's interest in actresses—in particular Moll Davis and Nell Gwynne. The government was proposing to levy a tax on playhouses and the theaters had come under discussion in Parliament. During the debate. Sir John Coventry, Member for Weymouth, commented that he wondered where the King's pleasure in the playhouse lay—was it in the plays or in the women who acted in them?

Although everyone was aware of the King's delight in these ladies—and others—Sir John's remark was considered an insult to the King and many thought Coventry should not be allowed to talk in such a manner. Monmouth was among them, but he did not confine his indignation to words. Like so many whose claim to royalty was somewhat flimsy, he was particularly assiduous in his desire to defend it.