“Garrett here saw Kean as Shylock,” Father tells Edwin. No introductions take place, but only one of these men is old enough to have seen Edmund Kean act. “In New York,” Father adds, “not London,” as if an important distinction has been made.

The arm of the chair grows less comfortable. Edwin shifts his weight, which his father takes as inattention. The reprimand comes in the form of Father’s fingers, a vise closing over Edwin’s arm.

Edwin recalls that Kean had gone to New York when the scandals surrounding his affair and divorce drove him from London, but found the audiences of the New World even more prudish than those of the Old. Father’s own scandal is still more of a whisper than a roar and Edwin wonders at this. Perhaps his long-established madness has provided some inoculation. Perhaps being a famous atheist who carries a murderer’s skull in his trunk has reduced bigamy and illegitimacy to the realm of ho-hum.

“Of course, Kean was a magnificent Shylock,” Father says, all generosity. He raises his glass with such enthusiasm he splashes bourbon down his front, the smell momentarily eclipsing the cigars, sweat, and horseshit. Father drops Edwin’s arm to pull out his handkerchief, pat at his vest. Edwin sees this for what it is—a nice bit of stage business creating a pause, a pause that could be filled by someone complimenting Father’s own Shylock. No one does. “Perfect part for him. Being himself such a vengeful man,” Father adds, the moment of charity over.

What follows is a convoluted tale of two theaters—Covent Garden and Drury Lane—the two most prestigious venues in London. Father was under contract at the first when Kean lured him away to play at the second. Kean professed himself quite dazzled by this new young talent. But it soon became clear that Kean’s real motive was to forestall any competition Father might have provided. He was kept in supporting roles, frequently sent out to play parts he was unprepared for, and in all ways, at all times, meant to show to disadvantage against the great Edmund Kean. “He came not to praise, but to bury me,” Father says.

First, Covent Garden declared Father in breach and when he left Kean’s employment to fulfill that earlier contract, Drury Lane did the same.

At that time, Kean had a group of rabid supporters who called themselves the Wolves Club. Rumors began to circulate that they intended to drive Father from the stage. Kean responded by taking offense. The gentlemanly Wolves would never behave in such a way and the club had been long disbanded besides.

In the mirror, Father turns his head towards his own reflection. His dark eyes catch the lantern light and shine like a cat’s in the dark. His voice sharpens. “Someone was baying for my blood,” he says.