LORD CASTLEWELL.
The spring and early summer had worn themselves away in London, and
Rachel O'Mahony was still singing at the Embankment Theatre. She and
her father were still living in Cecil Street. The glorious day of
October, which had been fixed at last for the 24th, on which Rachel
was to appear on the Covent Garden boards, was yet still distant, and
she was performing under Mr. Moss's behests at a weekly stipend of
L15, to which there would be some addition when the last weeks of the
season had come about, the end of July and beginning of August. But,
alas! Rachel hardly knew what she would do to support herself during
the dead months from August to October. "Fashionable people always go
out of town, father," she said.
"Then let us be fashionable."
"Fashionable people go to Scotland, but they won't take one in there
without money. We shan't have L50 left when our debts are paid. And
L50 would do nothing for us."
"They've stopped me altogether," said Mr. O'Mahony. "At any rate
they have stopped the money-making part of the business. They have
threatened to take the man's license away, and therefore that place
is shut up."
"Isn't that unjust, father?"
"Unjust! Everything done in England as to Ireland is unjust. They
carried an Act of Parliament the other day, when in accordance with
the ancient privileges of members it was within the power of a dozen
stalwart Irishmen to stop it. The dozen stalwart Irishmen were there,
but they were silenced by a brutal majority. The dozen Irishmen were
turned out of the House, one after the other, in direct opposition to
the ancient privileges; and so a Bill was passed robbing five million
Irishmen of their liberties. So gross an injustice was never before
perpetrated--not even when the bribed members sold their country and
effected the accursed Union."
"I know that was very bad, father, but the bribes were taken by
Irishmen. Be that as it may, what are we to do with ourselves next
autumn?"
"The only thing for us is to seek for assistance in the United
States."
"They won't lend us L100."
"We must overrun this country by the force of true liberal opinion.
The people themselves will rise when they have the Americans to lead
them. What is wanted now are the voices of true patriots loud enough
to reach the people."
"And L100," said she, speaking into his ear, "to keep us alive from
the middle of August to the end of October."
"For myself, I have been invited to come into Parliament. The County
of Cavan will be vacant."
"Is there a salary attached?"
"One or two leading Irish members are speaking of it," said Mr.
O'Mahony, carried away by the grandeur of the idea, "but the amount
has not been fixed yet. And they seem to think that it is wanted
chiefly for the parliamentary session. I have not promised because I
do not quite see my way. And to tell the truth, I am not sure that it
is in Parliament that an honest Irishman will shine the best. What's
the good when you can be silenced at a moment's notice by the word
of some mock Speaker, who upsets all the rules of his office to put
a gag upon a dozen men. When America has come to understand what it
is that the lawless tyrant did on that night when the Irishmen were
turned out of the House, will she not rise in her wrath, and declare
that such things shall no longer be?" All this occurred in Cecil
Street, and Rachel, who well understood her father's wrath, allowed
him to expend in words the anger which would last hardly longer than
the sound of them.
"But you won't be in Parliament for County Cavan before next August?"
she asked.
"I suppose not."
"Nor will the United States have risen in their wrath so as to have
settled the entire question before that time?"
"Perhaps not," said Mr. O'Mahony.
"And if they did I don't see what good it would do to us as to
finding for us the money that we want."
"I am so full of Ireland's wrongs at this moment, and with the manner
in which these policemen interfered with me, that I can hardly bring
myself to think of your autumn plans."
"What are yours?" she asked.
"I suppose we should always have money enough to go to America. In
America a man can at any rate open his mouth."
"Or a woman either. But according to what M. Le Gros says, in England
they pay better at the present moment. Mr. Moss has offered to lend
me the money; but for myself I would sooner go into an English
workhouse than accept money from Mr. Moss which I had not earned."
In truth, Rachel had been very foolish with her money, spending it
as though there were no end to the source from which it had come,
and her father had not been more prudent. He was utterly reckless
in regard to such considerations, and would simply declare that he
was altogether indifferent to his dinner, or to the new hat he had
proposed to buy for himself when the subject was brought under his
notice. He had latterly become more eager than ever as to politics,
and was supremely happy as long as he was at liberty to speak before
any audience those angry words which had however been, unfortunately
for him, declared to be treasonable. He had, till lately, been taught
to understand that the House of Commons was the only arena on which
such permission would be freely granted,--and could be granted of
course only to Members of the House. Therefore the idea had entered
his head that it would suit him to become a member,--more especially
as there had arisen a grand scheme of a salary for certain Irish
members of which he would be one. But even here the brutality of
England had at last interfered, and men were not to be allowed to say
what they pleased any longer even in the House of Commons. Therefore
Mr. O'Mahony was much disturbed; and although he was anxious to
quarrel with no one individually, not even the policemen who arrested
him, he was full of indignant wrath against the tyranny of England
generally.
Rachel, when she could get no good advice from her father with
regard to her future funds, went back again to her singing. It
was necessary, at any rate, that she should carry out her present
arrangement with Mr. Moss, and she was sure at least of receiving
from him the money which she earned. But, alas! she could not
practise the economy which she knew to be necessary. The people at
the theatre had talked her into hiring a one-horse open carriage in
which she delighted to drive about, and in which, to tell the truth,
her father delighted to accompany her. She had thought that she could
allow herself this indulgence out of her L15 a week. And though she
paid for the indulgence monthly, that and their joint living nearly
consumed the stipend. And now, as her father's advice did not get
beyond the very doubtful salary which might accrue to him as the
future member for the County Cavan, her mind naturally turned itself
to other sources. From M. Le Gros, or from M. Le Gros' employers, she
was to receive L300 for singing in the two months before Christmas,
with an assurance of a greatly increased though hitherto unfixed
stipend afterwards. Personally she as yet knew no one connected with
her future theatrical home but M. Le Gros. Of M. Le Gros all her
thoughts had been favourable. Should she ask M. Le Gros to lend her
some small sum of money in advance for the uses of the autumn? Mr.
Moss had made to her a fixed proposition on the subject which she had
altogether declined. She had declined it with scorn as she was wont
to do all favours proffered by Mr. Moss. Mr. Moss had still been
gracious, and had smiled, and had ventured to express "a renewed
hope," as he called it, that Miss O'Mahony would even yet condescend
to look with regard on the sincere affection of her most humble
servant. And then he had again expatiated on the immense success in
theatrical life which would attend a partnership entered into between
the skill and beauty and power of voice of Miss O'Mahony on the one
side, and the energy, devotion, and capital of Mr. Moss on the other.
"Psha!" had been Rachel's only reply; and so that interview had been
brought to an end. But Rachel, when she came to think of M. Le Gros,
and the money she was desirous of borrowing, was afflicted by certain
qualms. That she should have borrowed from Mr. Moss, considering the
length of their acquaintance might not have been unnatural; but of M.
Le Gros she knew nothing but his civility. Nor had she any reason for
supposing that M. Le Gros had money of his own at his disposal; nor
did she know where M. Le Gros lived. She could go to Covent Garden
and ask for him there; but that was all.
So she dressed herself prettily--neatly, as she called it--and had
herself driven to the theatre. There, as chance would have it, she
found M. Le Gros standing under the portico with a gentleman whom she
represented to herself as an elderly old buck. M. Le Gros saw her and
came down into the street at once with his hat in his hand.
"M. Le Gros," said she, "I want you to do me a great favour, but I
have hardly the impudence to ask it. Can you lend me some money this
autumn--say L100?" Thereupon M. Le Gros' face fell, and his cheeks
were elongated, and his eyes were very sorrowful. "Ah, then, I see
you can't," she said. "I will not put you to the pain of saying so.
I ought not to have suggested it. My dealings with you have seemed to
be so pleasant, and they have not been quite of the same nature down
at 'The Embankment.'"
"My dear young lady--"
"Not another word; and I beg your pardon most heartily for having
given you this moment's annoyance."
"There is one of the lessees there," said M. Le Gros, pointing back
to the gentleman on the top of the steps, "who has been to hear
you and to look at you this two times--this three times at 'The
Embankment.' He do think you will become the grand singer of the
age."
"Who is the judicious gentleman?" asked Rachel, whispering to M. Le
Gros out of the carriage.
"He is Lord Castlewell. He is the eldest son of the Marquis of
Beaulieu. He have--oh!--lots of money. He was saying--ah! I must not
tell you what his lordship was saying of you because it will make you
vain."
"Nothing that any lord can say of me will make me vain," said Rachel,
chucking up her head. Then his lordship, thinking that he had been
kept long enough standing on the top of the theatre steps, lifted
his hat and came down to the carriage, the occupant of which he had
recognised.
"May I have the extreme honour of introducing Mademoiselle O'Mahony
to Lord Castlewell?" and M. Le Gros again pulled off his hat as
he made the introduction. Miss O'Mahony found that she had become
Mademoiselle as soon as she had drawn up her carriage at the front
door of the genuine Italian Opera.
"This is a pleasure indeed," said Lord Castlewell. "I am
delighted--more than delighted, to find that my friend Le Gros has
engaged the services of Mademoiselle O'Mahony for our theatre."
"But our engagement does not commence quite yet, I am sorry to say,"
replied Rachel. Then she prepared herself to be driven away, not
caring much for the combination of lord and lessee who stood in the
street speaking to her. A lessee should be a lessee, she thought, and
a lord a lord.
"May I do myself the honour of waiting upon you some day at 'The
Embankment,'" said the lord, again pulling off his hat.
"Oh! certainly," said Rachel; "I should be delighted to see you."
Then she was driven away, and did not know whether to be angry or not
in having given Lord Castlewell so warm a welcome. As a mere stray
lord there was no possible reason why he should call upon her; nor
for her why she should receive him. Though Frank Jones had been
dismissed, and though she felt herself to be free to accept any
eligible lover who might present himself, she still felt herself
bound on his behalf to keep herself free from all elderly theatrical
hangers-on, especially from such men when she heard that they were
also lords. But as she was driven away, she took another glance at
the lord, and thought that he did not look so old as when she had
seen him at a greater distance.
But she had failed altogether in her purpose of borrowing money from
M. Le Gros. And for his sake she regretted much that the attempt had
been made. She had already learned one or two details with reference
to M. Le Gros. Though his manners and appearance were so pleasant, he
was only a subaltern about the theatre; and he was a subaltern whom
this lord and lessee called simply Le Gros. And from the melancholy
nature of his face when the application for money was made to him,
she had learned that he was both good-natured and impecunious. Of
herself, in regard to the money, she thought very little at the
present moment. There were still six weeks to run, and Rachel's
nature was such that she could not distress herself six weeks in
advance of any misfortune. She was determined that she would not tell
her father of her failure. As for him, he would not probably say a
word further of their want of money till the time should come. He
confined his prudence to keeping a sum in his pocket sufficient to
take them back to New York.
As the days went on which were to bring her engagement at "The
Embankment" to an end, Rachel heard a further rumour about herself.
Rumours did spring up at "The Embankment" to which she paid very
little attention. She had heard the same sort of things said as to
other ladies at the theatre, and took them all as a matter of course.
Had she been asked, she would have attributed them all to Madame
Socani; because Madame Socani was the one person whom, next to Mr.
Moss, she hated the most. The rumour in this case simply stated that
she had already been married to Mr. Jones, and had separated from her
husband. "Why do they care about such a matter as that?" she said to
the female from whom she heard the rumour. "It can't matter to me as
a singer whether I have five husbands."
"But it is so interesting," said the female, "when a lady has a
husband and doesn't own him; or when she owns him and hasn't really
got him; it adds a piquancy to life, especially to theatrical life,
which does want these little assistances."
Then one evening Lord Castlewell did call upon her at "The
Embankment." Her father was not with her, and she was constrained by
the circumstances of the moment to see his lordship alone.
"I do feel, you know, Miss O'Mahony," he said, thus coming back
for the moment into everyday life, "that I am entitled to take an
interest in you."
"Your lordship is very kind."
"I suppose you never heard of me before?"
"Not a word, my lord. I'm an American girl, and I know very little
about English lords."
"I hope that you may come to know more. My special _metier_ in life
brings me among the theatres. I am very fond of music,--and perhaps a
little fond of beauty also."
"I am glad you have the sense, my lord, to put music the first."
"I don't know about that. In regard to you I cannot say which
predominates."
"You are at liberty at any rate to talk about the one, as you are
bidding for it at your own theatre. As to the other, you will excuse
me for saying that it is a matter between me and my friends."
"Among whom I trust before long I may be allowed to be counted."
The little dialogue had been carried on with smiles and good humour,
and Rachel now did not choose to interfere with them. After all she
was only a public singer, and as such was hardly entitled to the full
consideration of a gentlewoman. It was thus that she argued with
herself. Nevertheless she had uttered her little reprimand and had
intended him to take it as such.
"You are coming to us, you know, after the holidays."
"And will bring my voice with me, such as it is."
"But not your smiles, you mean to say."
"They are sure to come with me, for I am always laughing,--unless I
am roused to terrible wrath. I am sure that will not be the case at
Covent Garden."
"I hope not. You will find that you have come among a set who are
quite prepared to accept you as a friend." Here she made a little
curtsy. "And now I have to offer my sincere apologies for the little
proposition I am about to make." It immediately occurred to her that
M. Le Gros had betrayed her. He was a very civil spoken, affable,
kind old man; but he had betrayed her. "M. Le Gros happened to
mention that you were anxious to draw in advance for some portion of
the salary coming to you for the next two months." M. Le Gros had at
any rate betrayed her in the most courteous terms.
"Well, yes; M. Le Gros explained that the proposition was not _selon
les regles_, and it does not matter the least in the world."
"M. Le Gros has explained that? I did not know that M. Le Gros had
explained anything."
"Well, then, he looked it," said Rachel.
"His looks must be wonderfully expressive. He did not look it to me
at all. He simply told me, as one of the managers of the theatre, I
was to let you have whatever money you wanted. And he did whisper to
me,--may I tell you what he whispered?"
"I suppose you may. He seems to me to be a very good-natured kind of
man."
"Poor old Le Gros! A very good-natured man, I should say. He doesn't
carry the house, that's all."
"You do that." Then she remembered that the man was a lord. "I ought
to have said 'my lord,'" she said; "but I forgot. I hope you'll
excuse me--my lord."
"We are not very particular about that in theatrical matters; or,
rather, I am particular with some and not with others. You'll learn
all about it in process of time. M. Le Gros whispered that he thought
there was not the pleasantest understanding in the world between you
and the people here."
"Well, no; there is not,--my lord."
"Bother the lord,--just now."
"With all my heart," said Rachel, who could not avoid the little
bit of fun which was here implied. "Not but what the--the people
here--would find me any amount of money I chose to ask for. There are
people, you see, one does not wish to borrow money from. I take my
salary here, but nothing more. The fact is, I have not only taken it,
but spent it, and to tell the truth, I have not a shilling to amuse
myself with during the dull season. Mr. Moss knows all about it, and
has simply asked how much I wanted. 'Nothing,' I replied, 'nothing at
all; nothing at all.' And that's how I am situated."
"No debts?"
"Not a dollar. Beyond that I shouldn't have a dollar left to get out
of London with." Then she remembered herself,--that it was expedient
that she should tell this man something about herself. "I have got a
father, you know, and he has to be paid for as well as me. He is the
sweetest, kindest, most generous father that a girl ever had, and he
could make lots of money for himself, only the police won't let him."
"What do the police do to him?" said Lord Castlewell.
"He is not a burglar, you know, or anything of that kind."
"He is an Irish politician, isn't he?"
"He is very much of a politician; but he is not an Irishman."
"Irish name," suggested the lord.
"Irish name, yes; so are half the names in my country. My father
comes from the United States. And he is strongly impressed with
the necessity of putting down the horrid injustice with which the
poor Irish are treated by the monstrous tyranny of you English
aristocrats. You are very nice to look at."
"Thank you, Miss O'Mahony."
"But you are very bad to go. You are not the kind of horses I care to
drive at all. Thieves, traitors, murderers, liars."
"Goodness gracious me!" exclaimed the lord.
"I don't say anything for myself, because I am only a singing girl,
and understand nothing about politics. But these are the very
lightest words which he has at his tongue's end when he talks about
you. He is the most good-tempered fellow in the world, and you would
like him very much. Here is Mr. Moss." Mr. Moss had opened the door
and had entered the room.
The greeting between the two men was closely observed by Rachel, who,
though she was very imprudent in much that she did and much that she
said, never allowed anything to pass by her unobserved. Mr. Moss,
though he affected an intimacy with the lord, was beyond measure
servile. Lord Castlewell accepted the intimacy without repudiating
it, but accepted also the servility. "Well, Moss, how are you getting
on in this little house?"
"Ah, my lord, you are going to rob us of our one attraction," and
having bowed to the lord he turned round and bowed to the lady.
"You have no right to keep such a treasure in a little place like
this."
"We can afford to pay for it, you know, my lord. M. Le Gros came here
a little behind my back, and carried her off."
"Much to her advantage, I should say."
"We can pay," said Mr. Moss.
"To such a singer as Mademoiselle O'Mahony paying is not everything.
An audience large enough, and sufficiently intelligent to appreciate
her, is something more than mere money."
"We have the most intelligent audience in all London," Mr. Moss said
in defence of his own theatre.
"No doubt," said the lord. He had, during this little intercourse of
compliments, managed to write a word or two on a slip of paper, which
he now handed to Rachel--"Will L200 do?" This he put into her hand,
and then left her, saying that he would do himself the honour of
calling upon her again at her own lodgings, "where I shall hope," he
said, "to make the acquaintance of the most good-tempered fellow in
the world." Then he took his leave.