THE WAX-WORK SHOW.
WHEN the cavalcade was ready to move on again, Lizzie found she was not
to occupy the parlour caravan where she had been all day, but was to
sleep in another van, on some sacks of straw that were stowed in odd
nooks between the wooden horses and swans of the steam roundabout.
In fact, it seemed that the whole company stowed themselves away for
the night among the various portions of the show and shooting gallery
that were packed in the wagons. Two or three other girls about her own
age shared the strange bed-room with Lizzie, one of whom had a bad
cough, and kept the rest awake a good deal.
Foolish Lizzie was too miserable to sleep. Her rough bed was not like
the comfortable one she had hitherto had, neither was she used to sleep
in her clothes as it seemed was the custom among her new friends. Then
her companions were rough, and jeered at her when they found she was
crying, so that altogether she really had very much to pity herself
over now.
But the rudest shock came when all was quiet, and when apparently the
rest were asleep. Lizzie was lying near the door of the van, and it
seemed as though one or two persons were smoking outside, from the
smell that came through the cracks of the door. They were moving at
a slow pace over a tolerably smooth road, so that there was not much
jolting, and Lizzie could hear pretty distinctly what was said by those
sitting outside.
"Well, missis, what do yer think o' this gal now?" asked a man's voice.
"Just what I thought before—she'll be worth her weight in gold to us by
and by, when she's broke in a bit."
"Ah! How do you make that out?" asked the man between the slow puffs of
tobacco smoke he emitted from his mouth.
"How? Why, just this way. Our Tottie is well-nigh broke up with being
among the wax-works so much, an' if she ain't soon took out of it,
she'll be ill. But took out now, as I mean she shall be, she'll soon
pick up enough of what I can teach her from the cards, and the lines on
the hand, to tell a good fortune, and that'll pay better than all the
wax-works, specially among the gents at the races, for Tottie'll pick
up good looks when once she's out o' that beastly wax-work van."
"Eh! You're a deep un, Mother Stanley," said the man with a short
admiring laugh.
"You've got to be in these days," said the woman.
"An' so you persuaded the little fool to join our company to release
Tottie."
"Ah! But I didn't tell her that," put in Mrs. Stanley.
Lizzie knew her voice now, and sat up on her sack of straw to listen
more intently. "I told her she'd be worth her weight in gold, but I
didn't tell her I should have the handling of it, and of course she
thought it would be for herself. I knew my lady the moment I set eyes
on her. I could see by the way she looked that Sunday night, she'd be
ready to do anything for the chance of getting away from steady work,
so I laid my plans according. Bless you, it wasn't much trouble to
persuade her, she was ready to swallow any bait and—"
"But I've heard you say you'd never take a gal away from her mother.
Ain't this one got no friends?" asked the man.
"None as she cares for, or she'd ha' been none so ready to run away,"
said the woman.
"And you think there ain't no fear o' them making a fuss about her?"
said the man a little cautiously.
"I didn't say that, now. If you asks me what I think, I say, keep a
sharp eye on her these races, and then we'll get as far off as we can
before we stops at another fair, and then we'll have to keep our eyes
open. My belief is, after looking over all her clothes, she's got a
good mother, and one as'll take no end of trouble to get her back,
though she don't deserve it."
"How do you know that, Mother Stanley?" asked the man.
"How do I know it? Did she ever once say she couldn't go away 'cos
of worrying her mother; not a bit of it. She thought more about the
fine duds I talked of than ever she did about her mother; and when I
see that, I thought to myself I'll have you, my lady, to save my poor
Tottie, and teach you a lesson too before I've done with you."
"There ain't no fear but what you'll do that," said the man laughing
again.
"No, there ain't; and you'll have to help me. You'll keep your eyes on
her when she's talking about the wax figgers, and see she ain't up to
no sly tricks with anybody. I've took care of her money, and I'll look
sharp after her," concluded Mrs. Stanley.
Lizzie sat and listened in horror-struck amazement to this revelation.
It was too dreadful to be believed at first. She felt sure Mrs. Stanley
must be joking, and then tried to persuade herself she was telling her
husband this tale just to induce him to let her remain with them for a
little while.
But although she whispered to herself half aloud, "It can't—it can't
be true," something spoke with more convincing power in the depths of
her own spirit, and a sickening sense that the woman had spoken the
truth stole over her, and well-nigh benumbed her faculties. She was too
wretched to cry and sob, or indulge in any outward manifestation of
sorrow, but her heart ached with a sense of desolation that well-nigh
overwhelmed her.
The voices ceased outside, and her companions snored, and groaned
sometimes as the clumsy vehicle lurched on one side as they passed
over an extra rough piece of the road; but smooth or rough, it made no
difference to Lizzie. The blessed relief of sleep came not to her that
night.
And the morning dawned and they drew up at the corner of a common to
give the tired horses some refreshment, and prepare a hasty breakfast
for those who had been up all night.
No notice was taken of Lizzie. She was allowed to wander about among
the dogs, horses, and children; but she knew she was being watched by
more than one pair of deep dark eyes, and that it would be useless for
her to try to escape even if she knew her road home again.
No; she could not escape in these ragged garments. She must wait and
watch, and try to get some of her own clothes back again. Ah! What a
fool she had been to give these up so readily. What would she not have
given to have the last few days of her life over again? She wrung her
hands in anguish as she walked up and down the common and thought of it
all.
They did not make a long halt at this place. Only long enough to
refresh the tired beasts, and the men who had been driving them all
night, and then they were on the road again; for they were to reach the
race-course by ten o'clock, and they still had several miles to travel.
If Lizzie had cherished any lingering hope that the words she had heard
in the night were not true in actual fact, she was quickly undeceived;
for just before they started on their journey again she was summoned to
the parlour van, where she found Mrs. Stanley busily sewing at the old
pink tarlatan dress previously worn by Tottie, but which the woman now
proceeded to try on her.
"Didn't I tell you that you'd be wearing a smart frock soon?" she said
with a grim smile as she proceeded to fasten the soiled tumbled dress,
which she had been enlarging so as to make it fit Lizzie's plump figure.
The girl looked at it with disgust. "I don't call this a fine dress,"
she said; "and it isn't the sort—"
A ringing box of the ears cut short this speech. "Take that," said the
woman, as she sent the girl reeling across the room from the blow.
"If your mother had given you a few tastes of this sort of thing, I
shouldn't be bothered with you."
Lizzie checked the tears that rose to her eyes, and was about to say
she need not be bothered with her, she would go home again, but a look
at the woman's face convinced her that it would be more prudent to
hold her tongue about this; and so she resolutely kept silent, and was
careful to stand still while the woman finished the work of fitting on
the dirty-fine frock.
When the race-course was reached, everybody set to work to help get the
shows set up, and the steam roundabout set going, and as soon as the
wax figures were dusted and set in their places, Lizzie was dressed in
the pink frock, and received her first lesson in the duties of her new
office.
Mrs. Stanley went round the show with a cane in her hand, with which
she pointed at the different figures ranged along each side, making
Lizzie repeat each sentence after her.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen," bawled the woman, "this is Lady Jane Grey,
who had her head cut off for trying to kill Queen Mary, and this is
Mrs. Manning who murdered another man in London. What!" she exclaimed,
as Lizzie touched her on the shoulder to suggest that the historical
information concerning Lady Jane Grey was not quite accurate.
"Lady Jane didn't try to kill Queen Mary," repeated Lizzie, who began
to think her lot might not be quite so hard.
"Perhaps you'll tell me Mrs. Manning didn't try to kill a man in
London, and wasn't hung in a black satin dress afterwards," said the
woman scornfully.
"I don't know anything about Mrs. Manning," said Lizzie shrinkingly, as
she caught sight of the angry glare in the woman's eyes.
"No, nor you ain't wanted to know anything," retorted Mrs. Stanley.
"You ain't wanted to teach them as has been in the show business nigh
on twenty year, but just do as you're told, and learn the lesson as
it's taught yer."
And then she resumed her march round the show, giving the various
figures names and characters in a jumbled-up fashion that perfectly
amazed Lizzie. For she could read, while no one else in the company
had ever mastered its difficulties beyond spelling words of three
letters; and so the account of those the figures were intended to
represent had been received verbally by Mrs. Stanley, when she bought
them second-hand of a man who was going out of the business. Whether
the original accounts at all agreed with those she now gave out, it
would be hard to decide. She stuck to it that her version was the only
correct one.
While Lizzie, who had read a good many of the books from the
Sunday-school library, had learned a very different account of the
various historical personages who were supposed to be represented at
this wax-work exhibition, and it was difficult to disentangle the true
from the false when it came to her turn to go round and repeat the
lesson she had received.
"Lady Jane Grey was beheaded on Tower Hill for—"
"There ain't nothing about Tower Hill in it," roared Mrs. Stanley. "You
nasty obstinate hussy, I'll give you such a taste of horsewhip, if you
don't mind what I say to you, that you'll be one big ache all over when
you go to bed to-night."
Lizzie looked at her tyrannical mistress and shivered, for she knew she
would not hesitate to put her threat into execution, and so she tried
harder to remember the garbled accounts delivered by Mrs. Stanley.
In the case of Mrs. Manning and other murderers, who figured largely
in the show, she had little difficulty in giving the exact account
delivered by her mistress, because she had no preconceived ideas to get
rid of, never having heard their names before, but when "Bloody Mary"
was credited with cutting the disputed child in halves, it was so clear
that the figure of Solomon had somehow disappeared from this scene,
that Lizzie once more ventured a remonstrance.
But a sharp cut with the cane that Mrs. Stanley still carried, soon
reduced her historical knowledge to a quiet acquiescence in the dictum
of its latest exponent, and the next being murderers again, Lizzie got
on better.
One more round, and then Mrs. Stanley, with a critical eye to Lady Jane
Grey and Bloody Mary, pronounced her deliverance "pretty well."
These two, however, had to be repeated, and then Lizzie was left to
make a further acquaintance with the hideous waxen effigies, while Mrs.
Stanley went off to superintend the preparations for dinner.
Lizzie had had nothing but a few slices of bread and dripping by way of
food since the previous Saturday, but to-day she had a good dinner of
beef-steak and new bread, and felt better prepared for the opening of
the show after she had eaten it.
This corner of the race-course, where they had taken up their quarters,
was just like the fair-ground she had visited the previous week. She
recalled the disgust she had felt when standing outside the faded red
curtain across the doorway, and first smelt the sawdust and paraffin
fumes with which the atmosphere was charged. Now that the lamps were
all alight, and the back door closed, and the show ready for business
to commence, the recollections of that scene was brought forcibly back
to her recollection by the smell that almost immediately pervaded the
place.
What a fool she had been! She did not need anyone else to tell her,
that in trying to escape from the duties of her own station in life,
she had thrown herself into a slavery that was ten times worse than
anything she could have imagined possible when she was in a comfortable
place of domestic service.
She might have relapsed into tears of self-pity over the plight she
had brought herself into, but there was Stanley at the door, and if he
took a less active part in the management of affairs than his wife, he
would not fail to tell her of anything Lizzie might do that was not
calculated to promote the "business."
Now, tears in the attendant at a wax-work show, whose lot in life is
supposed to be as rosy as her gaudy dress, would never do; and when the
man, thrusting his head behind the curtain, saw Lizzie sitting down in
one corner looking very woe-begone and tired, he roared out:
"Come now, that won't do! Just jump up and be brisk, and look lively,
not like a monkey going to be hung!"
Then the curtain dropped, and above the loud bawling of, "Walk up, walk
up, ladies and gentlemen, and see the best sight at the races," she
could hear the clatter of feet outside, and the rattle of halfpence,
and the next minute a little knot of rough boys, laughing and chaffing
each other, pushed their way into the show, and Lizzie's work began.
But her voice trembled now that she was in the actual presence of her
first audience, and she faltered so much that one of them called out:
"Come, speak up, young woman."
The next minute, Stanley's head was pushed in, and he said sharply:
"Come, be brisk there, and show the gentlemen round the show."
"I am," gasped Lizzie; but she was obliged to seize hold of the
rail behind which the figures were ranged, to support herself for a
minute or two. But the faintness went off, and Lizzie went on with
her description until this party of visitors had gazed their fill at
the glass-eyed, wooden-faced monstrosities, and by the time they had
departed, another party had gathered and were waiting to be admitted,
and when they had filed in, Lizzie began again, and once more detailed
how Lady Jane Grey tried to kill Queen Mary, and "Bloody Mary" ordered
the child brought before Solomon to be divided.
She could see a grim smile on the faces of one or two visitors as
they listened to these wonderful details, but she did not dare alter
her statements in the least, for fear of the horsewhipping that would
certainly follow upon such a breach of discipline, and so she repeated
the words at last in the same mechanical tone Tottie had adopted, and
scarcely knew what she was saying before the weary day came to an end.
Round and round she went, repeating the words to various parties of
visitors; for they were new-comers to this race meeting, and the
wax-work show was a novelty that everybody wanted to see. So business
was brisk all day, and far into the night, to Mrs. Stanley's great
satisfaction and her victim's intolerable disgust.
Her head ached, her back ached, her feet ached, her throat was sore and
parched from bawling incessantly amid the fumes of paraffin, and when
at last, the hour of release came, and she could take off her tawdry
finery and lie down on the sack of straw that was thrown in at the back
door as soon as the last visitor had departed, she could only stretch
out her arms and sob out:
"Oh, mother! I wish I had died before I ran away from you."
Mrs. Stanley was well pleased with her day's work and the store of
pence that had been collected at the entrance, and she set open the
back door that Lizzie might have some share in the feasting and
merry-making that always went on among themselves after a good day's
business.
But Lizzie had no heart for merry-making, and the coarse jests and
riotous laughter would rather have disgusted than pleased her, even
if she had been well. Neither did she care for the bountiful supper
of tripe and onions that was handed up to her. She felt too sick and
sore to eat; she only longed for rest, and to be able to go back to her
mother and the situation she had so rashly left.
But the next day, the same dreary round had to be gone through, and the
next, and the next, for a sort of fair was held after the races were
over, and then they journeyed on again, farther and farther from the
spot to which the runaway was longing to return.