Madame Flirt
It was quite ten minutes before she was composed enough to enter the
cottage. Betty and her mother were tiptoe with excitement. The old woman
was too feeble to walk as far as the concert room, but her daughter had
gone and listened outside, and as it was a hot night and the windows
were open, she heard Lavinia's song perfectly.
"Mercy on me, child, why, an angel couldn't ha' sung more beautiful. La,
if it only be like that in Heaven! I'd ha' given anything for mother to
ha' been there. I see you come out with a gentleman, but I know manners
better than to stare at others as is above me."
"That was Mr. Gay, the poet. It was he who took me to the Duchess of
Queensberry. I told you how kind she was to me, didn't I?"
"Aye, so you did. Well, but sure how the folk did clap their hands and
roar for you to sing again. They loved to hear you purely an' no wonder.
I never heard anything like it. But bless me, Lavinia--beggin' your
pardon, which I ought to say Miss Fenton--you don't seem overjoyed."
"The girl's a-tired out," put in the old lady. "I mind it was just the
same with my poor mistress Molly. She sometimes couldn't move one foot
in front o' t'other when she comed off the stage."
"That's true enough," said Lavinia wearily. "It's the excitement. I
shall be myself again after a night's rest."
"Aye, to be sure. Some supper, as is all ready, and then to bed," cried
Betty.
The prescription was good enough, but so far as the supper was concerned
Lavinia could not, to use Betty's words, "make much of a fist of it."
She was glad enough to escape the clack of tongues and the fire of
questions and crawl to her room.
Slowly the hours crept by, and when the early summer dawn broke Lavinia
was still awake watching the faint streaks of pale gold through the
little latticed window.
The rest in bed had not brought repose. Her mind was troubled. Lancelot
Vane's unexpected appearance and the story of his persecution strove for
mastery with the recollection of her triumph at the concert and had
overpowered it. All the old tenderness, the joy of being near him
revived. It was useless to ask why, useless to call herself weak and
silly to be drawn towards a man who had no force of character, whose
prospects were remote, whose health was undermined. The impression she
once had that he was faithless had not wholly disappeared, and she tried
to banish it. Her imagination found for him all manner of excuses. Yet
she could not decide that she wanted to see him again. One moment it
seemed as though the blank which had come into her life since their
rupture had been filled up now that he had come back, the next that it
would have been better if he had not. She had gradually come to regard
her profession and all it meant to her in the future as the only thing
that mattered, and now in a flash at the sight of him all was
uncertainty and distraction.
But for the second time Vane had risked his life for her! Mr. Gay said
it was on her account that he had fought with Dorrimore, and Mr. Gay
would not tell an untruth. After all, this was everything. How could she
think otherwise than kindly of a man in spite of his faults, who was
ever ready to champion her? And she dropped off to sleep no longer
saying that she would not meet him.
CHAPTER XXV
"MR. RICH HAS GIVEN ME AN ENGAGEMENT"
Lavinia slept late and was only aroused by Betty hammering at her door.
"Get up--get up, Miss Lavvy. A fine gentleman's a-waiting to see 'ee.
'Tis him as I see go out with 'ee last night from the concert."
"Mr. Gay," said Lavinia to herself. Then aloud: "I won't be long. What's
the time?"
"Pretty nigh mid-day. I didn't wake 'ee afore 'cause I knowed you was
tired. He's a nice pleasant gentleman, sure. I wanted to hurry granny
out o' the room, but he wouldn't hear of it. I left 'em a-talking about
play matters. Once get mother on to _that_ she'll go on fur ever."
Lavinia sprang out of bed and hurried over her toilet. She presented
herself quite flushed and flustered. Gay received her with a smile and
noted her animation with pleasure. He unrolled a number of sheets of
music. The paper was rough and the notes, engraved and not printed as
to-day, were cramped and scratchy.
"You know some of these tunes may be, Polly; those you don't know you'll
soon learn. I'm going to speak to Mr. Palmer about your singing two or
three just to see how the people take 'em. The words will be the old
ones, not my new verse. You won't have to trouble about my words yet
awhile."
Gay ran over the titles of the old ballads--Purcell's "What shall I do
to show how much I love her?" "Grim King of the Ghosts," "Thomas I
cannot," "Now ponder well ye parents dear," "Pretty parrot say," "Over
the hills and far away," "Gin thou wert my ain thing," "Cease your
funning," "All in the Downs."
"Those are the principal songs," went on Gay.
"Yes, I know a few, but I've never heard of the others," cried Lavinia a
little dismayed. "How shall I learn the tunes?"
"You must come to my lodgings in the village and I'll play them over to
you on the flute. My friend, Dr. Arbuthnot, will be pleased to hear you
sing 'em. It will do him good--perhaps charm away his gout. The doctor
knows you."
"Does he, sir? I don't remember him."
"He was at Mr. Pope's villa the day you sang to us. I must have a
harpsichord and we must have Dr. Pepusch to tell us what he thinks."
Lavinia heard all this with great delight. She felt she was really not
only on the ladder of success but was climbing upwards safely.
Gay then fell to talking of other matters, and incidentally mentioned
that John Rich was back from Bath where he had been taking the waters,
and that he must be talked into engaging Lavinia permanently when the
season opened in October.
"It won't be singing yet awhile Polly, so don't be disappointed if you
have to continue to walk on the stage and come off again. I'm told his
'Harlequin' hasn't finished its run so he'll open with that and go on
till my opera's ready. I'm all impatience to see you in it."
Then patting her cheek and chucking her under the chin Gay took his
leave.
It would have been hard for Lavinia to say how the day passed. She
walked on the heath for no other purpose, so she said, save to revel in
the sunshine and pure air. She had a secret hope that she might
encounter Lancelot Vane, but embarrassment was mingled with that hope.
It would be better not, she felt, yet she was disappointed all the same
when after strolling about for half an hour she saw nothing of him, and
banishing her vain thoughts she went on to the concert room to inquire
if she were wanted to sing that night.
"Yes, to be sure," said Palmer. "You're all the talk. I've seen Mr. Gay,
and he tells me he's given you some songs he would like you to sing.
Suppose you go over a couple now for me?"
A harpsichord was in the room and Palmer asked her to sing what she
liked and he would fill in an accompaniment as best he could as she had
not brought the music. She selected "Now ponder well ye parents dear,"
the tender pathos of which had always appealed to her, and "Thomas I
cannot," a merry ditty which she knew from her old experience as a
street singer would be sure to please. Palmer was delighted with both.
The first he said brought tears to his eyes and the second put him in
good humour.
"My dear, you could not have made a better choice. I expect a crowded
room and you'll conquer 'em all."
And so she did. There was no longer coldness--no longer indifference.
Everybody was agog with expectation, everybody was pleased. Lavinia's
triumph was complete. Night after night it was the same. Palmer had
never had so successful a season. He put money in his pocket and he paid
his new star fairly well.
Two or three times a week for over a month Lavinia went to Gay's
lodgings and rehearsed the songs she did not know and those also with
which she was already acquainted. The words Gay gave her to sing were
not those to which she was accustomed and she found the change
confusing. Moreover, at each rehearsal some alterations in the words
were made, occasionally by Gay, occasionally at the suggestion of Dr.
Arbuthnot. But she never wearied, and so she was sufficiently rewarded
for her trouble when Gay bestowed upon her a word of praise.
But Lancelot Vane?
He came not in spite of his earnest entreaty that she would meet him. At
first she was wounded, then she was indignant. She remembered how
faithless he had proved, and all her bitterness against him and Sally
Salisbury revived. Then came a revulsion of feeling. Why should he not
be ill? Nay, he might even be dead. Perhaps worse. If he had carried out
his despairing threat? She pictured him floating on the surface of a
Hampstead pond and a shudder went over her at the gruesome thought.
Finally she subsided into dull resignation and strove to think no more
about him.
It was September; with the colder weather came the waning of the
Hampstead season, the fashionable folk were returning to London and
preparing for masquerades, ridottos, the theatres and the opera. The
Great Room concerts were but thinly attended and for a whole fortnight
Lavinia had not sung twice. But this did not matter to her. She had been
written to by John Rich, and he had engaged her at a little higher
salary than he had hitherto paid.
Lavinia sang for the last time at Hampstead and quitted the Great Room
not without regrets and doubts. Would she be as successful at the Duke's
Theatre? Would she have her chance? She well knew the rivalries a
rising actress would have to encounter. But what disturbed her most was
that Gay's enthusiasm over his opera did not seem so keen as it had
been. She dared not ask him the cause of his depression. She could only
watch his varying moods and hope the melancholy ones would pass.
Hitherto Betty had always been waiting for her to accompany her across
the heath, but this last night she was not in her usual place at the
door. Lavinia was not surprised as Betty had a bad cold. She hurried
out, anxious to get home. Some one a yard or so from the entrance shrank
into the darkness as she passed out but not so rapidly that he was not
noticed and recognised.
Lavinia was full of generous impulses that evening. Everything had gone
so well with her, and the future in spite of her doubts was so bright.
"Mr. Vane," she cried and moved a step towards him. "Do I frighten you
that you don't want to see me?"
"No," she heard him say, but it was with difficulty for his voice was so
low. "I'm not frightened but I'm afraid of what you might say or think."
"You don't give me a chance of the one or the other," she retorted. "You
don't keep your own appointments. 'Tis a bad habit of forgetfulness with
women, it's worse with men."
"You're right, but in my case 'tis not forgetfulness. I've seen you
every time you've sung. I've not missed once."
"And you've never acknowledged my presence! Thank you."
"I was at fault there, I suppose. I kept my happiness to myself. I ought
to have thanked you for the joy of seeing and hearing you but I was
doubtful whether I should not be intruding."
"It would have been no intrusion," rejoined Lavinia her tone softening.
"Then I hope my admiration is not an impertinence."
"Oh, you're too modest, Mr. Vane. You've no confidence in yourself--save
when you've need to strike a blow."
"I've no confidence that I'm acceptable to you and--but may I accompany
you across the heath? I notice that your usual bodyguard is absent
to-night."
"Oh, you've noticed _that_. May be that bodyguard prevented what you're
pleased to call your intrusion."
"It made no difference. Had you been alone I should have taken care that
you reached home safely but you would not have known that I was within