Madame Flirt
near the Spaniards, aye an' lovemaking in the summer time by moonlight.
I dunno if it's a safe place for a mad young thing like you to be living
at when the sparks are roaming about."
"Pooh!" retorted Lavinia tossing her head. "I ought to know how to take
care of myself."
"Yes, you ought. But can you?"
"You silly old Hannah. Hampstead can't be worse for me than London."
"Perhaps not. If you couldn't be guarded at the Queen Square boarding
school with a female dragon as can use her eyes, why there's no place in
the world where the men won't chase you."
"Well, it's not my fault. _I_ don't chase _them_."
"There's no need for you to do that, you baggage. You've only got to
give any one of them a glance and he gallops after you."
"What am I to do if I can't alter myself?"
"Goodness knows. Things must go their own way I suppose. You can't stop
here, that's sure. It'll have to be Hampstead. But don't forget I've
warned you."
Then they both crept up to Hannah's room, and at six o'clock the next
morning they were astir, Lavinia making a hurried breakfast and
preparing to set out on her long walk. There was no conveyance as the
stage coach on the Great North Road through Highgate and Finchley did
not start until later in the day, and Hannah, a good hearted soul never
so happy as when helping others, gave Lavinia all the money she could
spare with which to pay her sister-in-law a small sum every week.
"I don't know what I should do but for you, Hannah dear," said Lavinia
gratefully. "It's shameful to take your money, but I swear I'll pay back
every penny, and before long too."
"Yes, when you've married a rich man."
"No, no. I'm not thinking of being married. I shall be earning money
soon."
"Tilly vally! How, miss, may I ask?"
"Ah, that's a secret. Mr. Gay says so and he ought to know."
"It's well if he does. Your Mr. Gay seems to be taking a mighty deal of
notice of you. I only hope it'll all end well," said Hannah with a
solemn shake of the head.
"End well? Indeed it will. Why shouldn't it?"
Lavinia laughed confidently, and her joyful tone and her face so bright
with its contrast with her desolate condition brought a furtive tear to
Hannah's eye, but she took care not to let the girl see it.
The morning had broken fair and by seven o'clock Lavinia was trudging
along Holborn on her way to Hampstead through what is known now as
Tottenham Court Road, then little more than a wide country lane.
At Great Turnstile she lingered and her eyes wandered down the narrow
passage. Great Turnstile led to Lincoln's Inn Fields, and in Portugal
Row on the south side of the "Fields" was the Duke's Theatre.
Association of ideas was too strong to be resisted. Thinking of the
theatre, how could she help also thinking of Gay's encouragement as to
herself--of Lancelot Vane and his tragedy?
Another thought was lurking at the back of her mind. She had gone to
sleep dwelling upon her promise to meet Vane at Rosamond's Pond. Did she
mean to keep that promise? She could not decide. She had given her
consent under a sort of compulsion. Was it therefore binding? At any
rate if she went to Hampstead the meeting was impossible.
It was this last reflection which made her linger. Reasons for altering
her plans chased each other through her brain. The poor fellow would be
so disappointed if he did not see her. How long would he wait? How
wretched his garret would appear when he returned disconsolate! His
despondency might drive him to break _his_ promise to her. Where was the
harm in keeping her appointment instead of going to Hampstead? No harm
at all save that she would be behaving ungratefully to Hannah. But
Hannah would understand. Hannah was never without a sweetheart of a
sort.
A sweetheart? That was the important point for Lavinia. Was Lancelot her
sweetheart? She wondered. She blushed at the idea. It agitated her. She
had not felt agitated when she ran away with Dorrimore--just a pleasant
thrill of excitement, a sense of adventure; that was all. Dorrimore had
made downright love to her; he had called her all the pet names in
fashion. His admiration flattered and amused her, nothing more. Vane
hadn't made love--at least it didn't seem to her that he had. But there
are so many ways of making love!
"Hampstead's miles away," she mused. "If I go there we shall hardly ever
see each other. At all events I ought to tell him where I shall be
living. It won't be a surprise. He thinks I'm a fine lady and it's the
fashion for fine ladies to go to Hampstead at this time of the year. It
might make him jealous though," she added thoughtfully, "if he knows of
the lovemaking by moonlight Hannah talked about."
She could decide upon nothing, and rather than loiter in Holborn while
trying to solve the problem she entered Great Turnstile passage and
presently was in the quietude of Lincoln's Inn Fields. At night she
would not have ventured to cross this big open space haunted as it was
after dark by footpads and pickpockets, but at that early hour of the
morning there was nothing to fear. Only a few people were about and in
the enclosure railed off from the roadway by posts was a horse being
broken in. The theatre was a link between her and Lancelot Vane and
thinking of him she walked towards it.
The Fields were crossed by two roads running diagonally from opposite
corners and intersecting each other at the centre. Lavinia took the road
which led to the southwestern angle. Close by this angle was the Duke's
Theatre.
Lavinia reached the plain unpretending structure which looked at from
the outside might be mistaken for a warehouse, and she gazed at its
blank front wondering if fate meant to be kind and give her the chance
her soul longed for. But in spite of Mr. Gay's encouraging hints it
seemed impossible that she would ever sing within its walls.
She turned away sorrowfully and came cheek by jowl with a slenderly
built thin-faced man whose eyes twinkled humorously, and with mobile
lips that somehow suggested comicality. He stopped and stared;
apparently trying to recall some remembrance of her. She recognised him
at once. He was Jemmy Spiller the most popular comedian of the day.
Everybody who had any acquaintance with Clare Market knew Jem Spiller.
So much so that a tavern there was called after him.
"Faith, young madam, I've seen you before," said he. "Where, pray, was
it?"
"I've sung inside the 'Spiller's Head' more than once a year and more
ago," returned Lavinia with the demure look which was so characteristic
and at the same time so engaging.
"What, are you that saucy little baggage? By the Lord, let me look at
you again."
Spiller's laughing eyes roamed over her from head to foot and his shrewd
face wrinkled into the quizzical expression which had often times sent
his audience into a roar. Lavinia laughed too.
"Aye, you haven't lost the trick of sending a look that goes straight as
an arrow to a man's heart. Tell me, was it not you that Mr. Gay took
under his wing? At the 'Maiden Head,' wasn't it?"
"Yes. I've much to thank Mr. Gay for and you as well, Mr. Spiller. You
and your friends from the market saved me from a clawed face."
"Why to be sure. That fury Sal Salisbury had her spurs on. She'd have
half killed you but for us coming to the spot at the right time. But,
child, what have you been doing? Hang me if you haven't sprung into a
woman in a few months."
It was true. When Spiller last saw her she was hardly better than a waif
and stray. She was thin and bony, her growth impeded by insufficient
food, irregular hours and not a little ill usage. At Miss Pinwell's she
had lived well, she was happy, she had had love illusions and Nature had
asserted its sway.
Lavinia coloured with pleasure. To be complimented by Spiller, the idol
of the public--an actor--and she adored actors--was like the
condescension of a god. She dropped him a low curtsey.
"Oh, and you're in the fashion too. How long have you been a fine lady?"
Spiller's voice and manner had become slightly serious. Lavinia was too
familiar with London life not to understand the inference.
"I owe it all to Mr. Gay," she answered quickly. "He is the kindest
hearted man in the world. You see he spoke to her Grace the Duchess of
Queensberry about me and she sent me to school in Queen Square."
"What, you've rubbed shoulders with the quality, have you? How comes it
then that you talk to me--a rogue and a vagabond?"
"You a rogue and a vagabond! Indeed you're not. I--I'm afraid, though,
I'm one. I doubt if her grace would notice me now."
"The devil she wouldn't! What's happened then?"
"Oh, it's a long story. I should tire you if I were to tell you."
"A pretty girl tire me? What do you take me for, Polly? It is Polly,
isn't it?"
"Mr. Gay called me Polly, but it isn't my right name."
"Good enough for me, my dear. But what have you done? A harmless bit of
mischief when all's said, I'll swear."
"I don't know," rejoined Lavinia slowly. "I didn't mean any harm but I
suppose I was very silly."
"Well, let me have the catalogue of your sins and I'll be judge."
CHAPTER XVIII
"SOME DAY YOU'LL BE THE TALK OF THE TOWN"
As the two paced up and down in front of the playhouse Lavinia told the
actor the whole story. Spiller smiled indulgently at the love portion of
the narrative, but was impressed by the test Lavinia had gone through at
Pope's Villa and by Gay's belief in her future.
In Spiller's opinion there was no reason why Lavinia should not succeed
as a comedy actress. Her want of experience was nothing. Her natural
vivacity and intelligence were everything. Experience would soon come.
What actress who in those days became celebrated had had much training
before she went on the boards? Where was the opportunity with but four
theatres in London and one of them devoted to opera?
People were still living who could remember Kynaston the beautiful youth
as the sole representative of women's parts before actresses were known
on the stage. Nell Gwynne came from the gutter, and Nance Oldfield from
a public house in St. James's Market. Mrs. Barry had possibly had some
training under Davenant, who secured her an engagement, and she was at
first a failure. She was destined for tragedy and tragic actresses are
not made in five minutes, but comedy demanded little more than inborn
sprightliness and high spirits. Lavinia had both, and she could sing.
Spiller, comedian as he was, possessed what we now call the artistic
temperament. He was not contented with the mannerisms which provoke a
laugh and because they never vary--the characteristic of many comedians
who like to be recognised and applauded directly they step upon the
stage. Spiller bestowed the greatest pains upon his "make up", and so
identified himself with the part he was playing as completely to lose
his own personality, and bewildered his audience as to whether he was
their favourite they were applauding. He had the art of acting at his
fingers' ends.
"Child," said he when Lavinia had finished, "Mr. Gay and Dr. Pepusch did
not mistake. You've but to observe and work and some day you'll be the
talk of the town."
"Do you really mean that, Mr. Spiller?"
The girl's voice was tremulous with delight. Spiller's praise was of
greater value than Gay's. He was an actor and knew.
"I shouldn't say so if I didn't. I mustn't lose sight of you. A pity
you'll be staying at Hampstead. I'd like to take you to Mr. Rich. You
ought to be near at hand."
"But I don't want to go to Hampstead. I hate the very notion," cried
Lavinia breathlessly. "If I could only find a lodging in town!"
"That might be managed. There are lodgings to be had in the house in
Little Queen Street where Mrs. Egleton lives. But have you any money?"