BROWN'S.
When Mr. O'Mahony and his daughter stepped out of the train on the
platform at Euston Square, they were at once encountered by Mr.
Mahomet M. Moss. "Oh, dear!" ejaculated Miss O'Mahony, turning back
upon her father. "Cannot you get rid of him?" Mr. O'Mahony, without
a word of reply to his daughter, at once greeted Mr. Moss most
affectionately. "Yes, my bird is here--as you see. You have taken a
great deal of trouble in coming to meet us." Mr. Moss begged that the
trouble might be taken as being the greatest pleasure he had ever had
in his life. "Nothing could be too much to do for Miss O'Mahony." He
had had, he said, the wires at work, and had been taught to expect
them by this train. Would Miss O'Mahony condescend to take a seat in
the carriage which was waiting for her? She had not spoken a word,
but had laid fast hold of her father's arm. "I had better look after
the luggage," said the father, shaking the daughter off. "Perhaps
Mr. Moss will go with you," said she;--and at the moment she looked
anything but pleasant. Mr. Moss expressed his sense of the high
honour which was done him by her command, but suggested that she
should seat herself in the carriage. "I will stand here under this
pillar," she said. And as she took her stand it would have required
a man with more effrontery than Mr. Moss possessed, to attempt to
move her. We have seen Miss O'Mahony taking a few liberties with her
lover, but still very affectionate. And we have seen her enjoying the
badinage of perfect equality with her papa. There was nothing then
of the ferocious young lady about her. Young ladies,--some young
ladies,--can be very ferocious. Miss O'Mahony appeared to be one of
them. As she stood under the iron post waiting till her father and
Mr. Moss returned, with two porters carrying the luggage, the pretty
little fair, fly-away Rachel looked as though she had in her hand
the dagger of which she had once spoken, and was waiting for an
opportunity to use it.
"Is your maid here, Miss O'Mahony?" asked Mr. Moss.
"I haven't got a maid," said Rachel, looking at him as though she
intended to annihilate him.
They all seated themselves in the carriage with their small parcels,
leaving their luggage to come after them in a cab which Mr. Moss had
had allowed to him. But they, the O'Mahonys, knew nothing of their
immediate destination. It had been clearly the father's business to
ask; but he was a man possessed of no presence of mind. Suddenly the
idea struck Rachel, and she called out with a loud voice, "Father,
where on earth are we going?"
"I suppose Mr. Moss can tell us."
"You are going to apartments which I have secured for Miss O'Mahony
at considerable trouble," said Mr. Moss. "The theatres are all
stirring."
"But we are not going to live in a theatre."
"The ladies of the theatres find only one situation convenient.
They must live somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Strand. I have
secured two sitting-rooms and two bedrooms on the first floor,
overlooking the views at Brown's."
"Won't they cost money?" asked the father.
"Of course they will," said Rachel. "What fools we have been! We
intended to go to some inn for one night till we could find a fitting
place,--somewhere about Gower Street."
"Gower Street wouldn't do at all," said Mr. Moss. "The distance from
everything would be very great." Two ideas passed at that moment
through Rachel's mind. The first was that the distance might serve
to keep Mr. Moss out of her sitting-room, and the second was that
were she to succeed in doing this, she might be forced to go to
his sitting-room. "I think Gower Street would be found to be
inconvenient, Miss O'Mahony."
"Bloomsbury Square is very near. Here we are at the hotel. Now,
father, before you have anything taken off the carriages, ask the
prices."
Then Mr. Moss, still keeping his seat, made a little speech. "I think
if Miss O'Mahony would allow me, I would counsel her against too
rigid an economy. She will have heard of the old proverb,--'A penny
wise and a pound foolish.'"
"'Cut your coat according to your cloth,' I have heard of that too;
and I have heard of 'Burning a candle at both ends.'"
"'You shouldn't spoil your ship for a ha'porth of tar,'" said Mr.
Moss with a smile, which showed his idea, that he had the best of the
argument.
"It won't matter for one night," said Mr. O'Mahony, getting out of
the carriage. Half the packages had been already taken off the cab.
Rachel followed her father, and without attending to Mr. Moss got
hold of her father in the street. "I don't like the look of the house
at all, father, you don't know what the people would be up to. I
shall never go to sleep in this house." Mr. Moss, with his hat off,
was standing in the doorway, suffused, as to his face, with a bland
smile.
It may be as well to say at once that the house was all that an hotel
ought to be, excepting, perhaps, that the prices were a little high.
The two sitting-rooms and the two bedrooms--with the maid's room,
which had also been taken--did seem to be very heavy to Rachel, who
knew down to a shilling--or rather, to a dollar, as she would have
said--how much her father had in his pocket. Indefinite promises of
great wealth had been also made to herself; but according to a scale
suggested by Mr. Moss, a pound a night, out of which she would have
to keep herself, was the remuneration immediately promised. Then
a sudden thought struck Miss O'Mahony. They were still standing
discussing the price in one of the sitting-rooms, and Mr. Moss was
also there. "Father," she said, "I'm sure that Frank would not
approve."
"I don't think that he would feel himself bound to interfere," said
Mr. O'Mahony.
"When a young woman is engaged to a young man it does make a
difference," she replied, looking Mr. Moss full in the face.
"The happy man," said Mr. Moss, still bowing and smiling, "would
not be so unreasonable as to interfere with the career of his fair
_fiancee_."
"If we stay here very long," said Rachel, still addressing her
father, "I guess we should have to pawn our watches. But here we are
for the present, and here we must remain. I am awfully tired now, and
should so like to have a cup of tea--by ourselves." Then Mr. Moss
took his leave, promising to appear again upon the scene at eleven
o'clock on the following day. "Thank you," said Rachel, "you are very
kind, but I rather think I shall be out at eleven o'clock."
"What is the use of your carrying on like that with the man?" said
her father.
"Because he's a beast."
"My dear, he's not a beast. He's not a beast that you ought to treat
in that way. You'll be a beast too if you come to rise high in your
profession. It is a kind of work which sharpens the intellect, but is
apt to make men and women beasts. Did you ever hear of a prima donna
who thought that another prima donna sang better than she did?"
"I guess that all the prima donnas sing better than I do."
"But you have not got to the position yet. Mr. Moss, I take it, was
doing very well in New York, so as to have become a beast, as you
call him. But he's very good-natured."
"He's a nasty, stuck-up, greasy Jew. A decent young woman is insulted
by being spoken to by him."
"What made you tell him that you were engaged to Frank Jones?"
"I thought it might protect me--but it won't. I shall tell him next
time that I am Frank's wife. But even that will not protect me."
"You will have to see him very often."
"And very often I shall have to be insulted. I guess he does the same
kind of thing with all the singing girls who come into his hands."
"Give it up, Rachel."
"I don't mind being insulted so much as some girls do, you know. I
can't fancy an English girl putting up with him--unless she liked to
do as he pleased. I hate him;--but I think I can endure him. The only
thing is, whether he would turn against me and rend me. Then we shall
come utterly to the ground, here in London."
"Give it up."
"No! You can lecture and I can sing, and it's odd if we can't make
one profession or the other pay. I think I shall have to fight with
him, but I won't give it up. What I am afraid is that Frank should
appear on the scene. And then, oh law! if Mr. Moss should get one
blow in the eye!"
There she sat, sipping her tea and eating her toast, with her feet
upon the fender, while Mr. O'Mahony ate his mutton-chop and drank his
whisky and water.
"Father, now I'm coming back to my temper, I want something better
than this buttered toast. Could they get me a veal cutlet, or a bit
of cold chicken?"
A waiter was summoned.
"And you must give me a little bit of ham with the cold chicken. No,
father; I won't have any wine because it would get into my head, and
then I should kill Mr. Mahomet M. Moss."
"My dear," said her father when the man had left the room, "do you
wish to declare all your animosities before the waiter?"
"Well, yes, I think I do. If we are to remain here it will be better
that they should all know that I regard this man as my schoolmaster.
I know what I'm about; I don't let a word go without thinking of it."
Then again they remained silent, and Mr. O'Mahony pretended to go to
sleep--and eventually did do so. He devoted himself for the time to
Home Rule, and got himself into a frame of mind in which he really
thought of Ireland.
"The first flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea."
Why should she not be so? She had all the sentiment necessary,
all the poetry, all the eloquence, all the wit. And then when he
was beginning to think whether something more than sentiment and
eloquence were not necessary, he went to sleep.
But Rachel was not sleeping. Her thoughts were less stationary than
her father's, and her ideas more realistic. She had been told that
she could sing, and she had sung at New York with great applause. And
she had gone on studying, or rather practising, the art with great
diligence. She had already become aware that practice was more needed
than study. All, nearly all, this man could teach her was to open
her mouth. Nature had given her an ear, and a voice, if she would
work hard so as to use it. It was there before her. But it had seemed
to her that her career was clogged with the necessary burden of Mr.
Moss. Mr. Moss had got hold of her, and how should she get rid of
him? He was the Old Man of the Sea, and how should she shake him off?
And then there was present to her alone a vision of Frank Jones. To
live at Morony Castle and be Frank Jones's wife, would not that be
sweeter than to sing at a theatre under the care of Mr. Mahomet M.
Moss? All the sweetness of a country life in a pleasant house by the
lake side, and a husband with her who would endure all the little
petulancy, and vagaries, and excesses of her wayward but affectionate
temper, all these things were present to her mind. And to be Mistress
Jones, who could look all the world in the face, this--as compared
with the gaslight of a theatre, which might mean failure, and could
only mean gaslight--this, on the present occasion, did tempt her
sorely. Her moods were very various. There were moments of her life
when the gaslight had its charm, and in which she declared to herself
that she was willing to run all the chances of failure for the hope
of success. There were moments in which Mr. Moss loomed less odious
before her eyes. Should she be afraid of Mr. Moss, and fly from
her destiny because a man was greasy? And to this view of her
circumstances she always came at last when her father's condition
pressed itself upon her. The house beside the lake was not her own as
yet, nor would it be her husband's when she was married.
Nor could there be a home for her father there as long as old Mr.
Jones was alive, nor possibly when his son should come to the throne.
For a time he must go to America, and she must go with him. She had
declared to herself that she could not go back to the United States
unless she could go back as a successful singer. For these reasons
she resolved that she would face Mr. Moss bravely and all his
horrors.
"If that gentleman comes here to-morrow at eleven, show him up here,"
she said to the waiter.
"Mr. Moss, ma'am?" the waiter asked.
"Yes, Mr. Moss," she answered in a loud voice, which told the man
much of her story. "Where did that piano come from?" she asked
brusquely.
"Mr. Moss had it sent in," said the man.
"And my father is paying separate rent for it?" she asked.
"What's that, my dear? What's that about rent?"
"We have got this piano to pay for. It's one of Erard's. Mr. Moss has
sent it, and of course we must pay till we have sent it back again.
That'll do." Then the man went.
"It's my belief that he intends to get us into pecuniary
difficulties. You have only got L62 left."
"But you are to have twenty shillings a day till Christmas."
"What's that?"
"According to what he says it will be increased after Christmas. He
spoke of L2 a day."
"Yes; if my singing be approved of. But who is to be the judge? If
the musical world choose to say that they must have Rachel O'Mahony,
that will be all very well. Am I to sing at twenty shillings a day
for just as long as Mr. Moss may want me? And are we to remain here,
and run up a bill which we shall never be able to pay, till they put
us out of the door and call us swindlers?"
"Frank Jones would help us at a pinch if we came to that difficulty,"
said the father.
"I wouldn't take a shilling from Frank Jones. Frank Jones is all the
world to me, but he cannot help me till he has made me his wife. We
must go out of this at the end of the first week, and send the piano
back. As far as I can make it out, our expenses here will be about
L17 10s. a week. What the piano will cost, I don't know; but we'll
learn that from Mr. Moss. I'll make him understand that we can't
stay here, having no more than twenty shillings a day. If he won't
undertake to give me L2 a day immediately after Christmas, we must go
back to New York while we've got money left to take us."
"Have it your own way," said Mr. O'Mahony.
"I don't mean to remain here and wake up some morning and find that I
can't stir a step without asking Mahomet M. M. for some money favour.
I know I can sing; I can sing, at any rate, to the extent of forty
shillings a day. For forty shillings a day I'll stay; but if I can't
earn that at once let us go back to New York. It is not the poverty I
mind so much, nor yet the debt, nor yet even your distress, you dear
old father. You and I could weather it out together on a twopenny
roll. Things would never be altogether bad with us as long as we are
together; and as long as we have not put ourselves in the power of
Mahomet M. M. Fancy owing Mr. Moss a sum of money which we couldn't
pay! Mahomet's 'little bill!' I would say to a Christian: 'All right,
Mr. Christian, you shall have your money in good time, and if you
don't it won't hurt you.' He wouldn't be any more than an ordinary
Christian, and would pull a long face; but he would have no little
scheme ready, cut and dry, for getting my body and soul under his
thumb."
"You are very unchristian yourself, my dear."
"I certainly have my own opinion of Mahomet M. M., and I shall tell
him to-morrow morning that I don't mean to run the danger."
Then they went to bed, and slept the sleep of the just. They ordered
breakfast at nine, so that, as Rachel said, the heavy mutton-chop
might not be sticking in her throat as she attempted to show off
before Mr. Moss on his arrival. But from eight till nine she passed
her time in the double employment of brushing her hair and preparing
the conversation as it was to take place between herself and Mr.
Moss. When a young lady boasts that she doesn't "let a word go
without thinking of it," she has to be careful in preparing her
words. And she prepared them now.
"There will be two of them against me," she said to herself as she
made the preparation. "There'll be the dear old governor, and the
governor that isn't dear. If I were left quite to myself, I think I
could do it easier. But then it might come to sticking a knife into
him."
"Father," she said, during breakfast, "I'm going to practise for half
an hour before this man comes."
"That means that I'm to go away."
"Not in the least. I shall go into the next room where the piano
lives, and you can come or not just as you please. I shall be
squalling all the time, and as we do have the grandeur of two rooms
for the present, you might as well use them. But when he comes we
must take care and see that matters go right. You had better leave
us alone at first, that I may sing to him. Then, when that's over,
do you be in waiting to be called in. I mean to have a little bit
of business with my trusted agent, manager, and parent in music,
'Mahomet M. M.'"
She went to the instrument, and practised there till half-past
eleven, at which hour Mr. Moss presented himself. "You'll want
to hear me sing of course," she said without getting up from the
music-stool.
"Just a bar or two to know how you have improved. But it is hardly
necessary. I see from the motion of your lips that you have been
keeping your mouth open. And I hear from the tone of your voice, that
it is all there. There is no doubt about you, if you have practised
opening your mouth."
"At any rate you shall hear, and if you will stand there you shall
see."
Then the music lesson began, and Mr. Moss proved himself to be an
adept in his art. Rachel did not in the least doubt his skill, and
obeyed him in everything as faithfully as she would have done, had he
been personally a favourite with her. "Allow me to express my great
delight and my strong admiration for the young debutante. As far as
Miss O'Mahony is concerned the word failure may be struck out of the
language. And no epithet should be used to qualify success, but one
in the most superlative degree. Allow me to--" And he attempted to
raise her hand to his lips, and to express his homage in a manner
certainly not unusual with gentlemen of his profession.
"Mr. Moss," said the young lady starting up, "there need be nothing
of that kind. There had better not. When a young woman is going to
be married to a young man, she can't be too careful. You don't know,
perhaps, but I'm going to be Mrs. Jones. Mr. Jones is apt to dislike
such things. If you'll wait half a moment, I'll bring papa in." So
saying she ran out of the room, and in two minutes returned, followed
by her father. The two men shook hands, and each of them looked as
though he did not know what he was expected to say to the other. "Now
then, father, you must arrange things with Mr. Moss."
Mr. Moss bowed. "I don't exactly know what I have got to arrange,"
said Mr. O'Mahony.
"We've got to arrange so that we shan't get into debt with Mr. Moss."
"There need not be the least fear in the world as to that," said Mr.
Moss.
"Ah; but that's just what we do fear, and what we must fear."
"So unnecessary,--so altogether unnecessary," said Mr. Moss,
expecting to be allowed to be the banker for the occasion. "If you
will just draw on me for what you want."
"But that is just what we won't do." Then there was a pause, and Mr.
Moss shrugged his shoulders. "It's as well to understand that at the
beginning. Of course this place is too expensive for us and we must
get out of it as soon as possible."
"Why in such a hurry?" said Mr. Moss raising his two hands.
"And we must send back the piano. It was so good of you to think of
it! But it must go back."
"No, no, no!" shouted Mr. Moss. "The piano is my affair. A piano more
or less for a few months is nothing between me and Erard's people.
They are only too happy."
"I do not in the least doubt it. Messrs. Erard's people are always
glad to secure a lady who is about to come out as a singer. But they
send the bill in at last."
"Not to you;--not to you."
"But to you. That would be a great deal worse, would it not, father?
We might as well understand each other."
"Mr. O'Mahony and I will understand each other very well."
"But it is necessary that Miss O'Mahony and you should understand
each other also. My father trusts me, and I cannot tell you how
absolutely I obey him."
"Or he you," said Mr. Moss laughing.
"At any rate we two know what we are about, sir. You will not find us
differing. Now Mr. Moss, you are to pay me twenty shillings a day."
"Till Christmas;--twenty shillings a night till Christmas."
"Of course we cannot live here on twenty shillings a day. The rooms
nearly take it all. We can't live on twenty shillings a day, anyhow."
"Then make it forty shillings immediately after the Christmas
holidays."
"I must have an agreement to that effect," said Rachel, "or we must
go back to Ireland. I must have the agreement before Christmas, or we
shall go back. We have a few pounds which will take us away."
"You must not speak of going away, really, Miss O'Mahony."
"Then I must have an agreement signed. You understand that. And
we shall look for cheaper rooms to-day. There is a little street
close by where we can manage it. But on the one thing we are
determined;--we will not get into debt."