There are many experiences which fall to the lot of a detective that
call forth for very little of the skill with which detectives are
popularly supposed to be endowed, but which it would be a pity not
to record, inasmuch as they sometimes probe the depths of pathos.
Of such a nature was my encounter with an actress, whose name was
once on everybody’s tongue, but whose fame and popularity had
declined with her beauty, until at last she found herself on the
borderland of destitution and starvation.
I found her dying in St. George’s Hospital, whither I had gone to
receive important information from the occupant of the next bed to
hers. Her big, wistful eyes enlisted my sympathy, and the nurse
fanned it by telling me as much as she knew about the poor soul,
whose only prayer now was that she might die soon.
“She has been very rich,” she said. “She is no other than the once
famous actress, Miss Winsome, whom all theatre-goers went mad after
some years since. Trouble, as well as penury, have brought her to
the sorry pass you now see her in. She has told me that she had two
beautiful children, both of whom died of typhoid fever, and that the
first intimation which she had of their illness was the news of
their death. The shock nearly killed her, and she has never been the
same since. She has given me a box of papers to take care of for
her. If she gets better I am to give her the little box back again.
If she dies, I am to burn all the letters, but I am to see that a
manuscript, which she calls her confession, is published. She says
it will be a warning to others. But I really don’t know who will
take it for publication.”
“If she dies, give it to me,” I said, eagerly. “You know who I am.
I am about to publish some of my experiences, and I will insert this
among them.”
The nurse very willingly agreed to this, and, after going to the
patient’s bedside, to ascertain if I could do anything for her, I
quitted the hospital. The poor soul made a most curious request in
response to my invitation to tell me what she would like best.
“I shan’t live above a day or two,” she said, “but I would just like
to taste champagne again before I die.”
I was not sure that it was quite the thing to do. But I promised her
some champagne, and took her a little bottle the next morning. Alas!
I was too late! Her spirit had left its earthly casement, and bodily
longings or desires would trouble her no more. The end had come much
more swiftly than had been expected. But it could hardly be
regretted, since a prolongation of life would only have been a
prolongation of suffering for one with her shattered hopes and
constitution.
“She just went to sleep,” said the nurse, and but for the fact that
she ceased murmuring the names of her children, of whom she seemed
to be dreaming happily, we could hardly tell when she passed away.”
It was better so, I thought, as I left the hospital again with the
little box which the nurse had handed over to me. And after reading
the M.S. that had been spoken of, I was all the more glad that her
end had been painless. Here is her story, and I pray my readers not
to judge her too harshly.
“Had any one ever told my mother that her daughter would live to be
the most talked of and the most courted woman in London, she would
have scouted the prediction as one that was impossible of fulfilment.
“For were we not miserably poor and obscure? Did not my estimable
parents cultivate the habit of moonlight flitting, in order to
evade the landlord’s just demands? Had I not an uncle in prison for
housebreaking? And was it not a fact that my progenitors had never
been joined in the bonds of holy wedlock?
“All these things were only too true! But, fortunately, the world
doesn’t inquire too closely into the antecedents of successful
people.
“There was also another circumstance greatly in my favour. My
admirable mother, having been in the habit of patronising King
Alcohol too freely, found herself unable to resist his insidious
encroachments upon her constitution, and would have died young,
even if her end had not been accelerated by a blow received from her
‘husband’ in a drunken quarrel.
“I was at this time about six years old, as nearly as I can judge,
having had no definite information on the subject. My vagabond of a
father promptly absconded, and quite forgot that he owned a lovely
daughter. Certainly, dirt and coarse clothing then hid the charms
which time and a knowledge of the art of ‘making-up’ have
transformed into the irresistible tout-ensemble whose fame is now
worldwide.
“When the local authorities, duly recognising my unprotected
condition, transferred me to the Knockemabout Workhouse, I was not
too promising a specimen of humanity, for the many kicks and blows
bestowed upon me by my male parent had pretty nearly frightened the
wits out of me. But I soon improved, for, since I never hungered and
was at least decently clad, I was vastly better off than ever I had
been before.
“Perhaps I might not now appreciate the food upon which I was fed in
those days. But we judge by comparison, and as bread-and-scrape had
hitherto been my great luxury, except when I once managed to crib a
sheep’s trotter from a stall in the market, I was to be congratulated
on the change in my fortunes.
“At the end of eight years the monotony of my life was broken. An
old wardrobe dealer came to the workhouse in search of a cheap
servant. Her fancy lighted on me, and as I had been taught to read,
write, sum, knit, sew, wash, and scrub, I was considered to be
sufficiently well equipped with worldly knowledge to start life’s
battle on my own account. I was therefore transferred to Mrs
Harridan’s keeping, and made to work from dawn till bedtime.
“But I am by nature industrious, and of a jolly, happy-go-lucky
temperament, and I didn’t feel particularly miserable, even then.
“A trivial incident proved the turning point of my career. During
one of my mistress’s many absences on business it struck me that I
would don some of the tawdry things which surrounded me, so as to
have a bit of fun on my own account.
“So I hurried through my work quicker than usual, and trusting that
nobody would enter the shop just yet, I slipped into a short,
rose-coloured tarlatan frock, cut low at the neck, and having mere
straps for sleeves.
“The result astonished and delighted me. For the first time I
realised that I was dowered with beauty, and I was admiring myself
in front of the cracked looking-glass which adorned the shop, when
I was transfixed with terror by the arrival of Mrs Harridan herself.
“But my mistress actually looked pleased, and speedily set my fears
at rest by exclaiming, ‘Well, I’m blest if you ain’t cut out for a
pantomime girl! You look spiffin, and I’ve more than half a mind to
try it on.’
“A week later I had been engaged at a neighbouring theatre to
perform in the ballet of the forthcoming pantomime. It was also
arranged that I should live with Mrs Harridan, and help with some of
her work, besides giving her the greater part of my earnings in
exchange for my board and lodgings. But she wasn’t really hard on
me, and gave me many a bit of useful finery.
“Indeed, I shall never forget that she was my first real friend,
and I am glad to be able to make her a small weekly allowance, now
that she is past work. Brevity will not permit me to dwell on my
early professional struggles.
“Though I can honestly say that I was apt and industrious, it took
me several years to achieve popularity. I was admittedly beautiful,
and could act, sing and dance to perfection. But I was not able to
make such a display as some of my less scrupulous fellow artistes.
They boasted the ‘protection’ of this, that, or the other
profligate, who invariably did his best to popularise the efforts
of his favourite.
“For a long time I prided myself on my virtue. Then I came to
understand the real cause of my failure, and accepted the
attentions of Viscount S.
“He has provided quite handsomely for my two children, who are being
educated in the belief that they are the orphans of a respectable
couple called Mervyn.
“But even yet I failed to reach the pinnacle of fame which I
coveted, although I had ample means of display, and I cast round for
another mode of attaining my object. I found my social step-ladder
in the person of young Lord F., who became desperately enamoured
with me, and was for a while more than anxious to marry me. Of
course, I forgot to tell him about my two children. But I made the
best of my opportunities, knowing full well that Lord F.’s
infatuation could not last, and when he really did show an inclination
to fight shy of the engagement I had plenty of people to prove that
it had been an existing fact.
“Three months later the ‘cause celebre’ of the day was the breach of
promise action brought by Miss Winsome against Lord F. There was no
vigorous attempt at a defence. I won my case ‘hands over,’ together
with £5,000 damages.
“I also won the notoriety I craved for, and the photographs of the
beautiful and ill-treated Miss Winsome were shown in every fancy
shop window in the country.
“Managers ran after me.
“I could dictate my own terms.
“My audiences adored me, showered presents and bouquets upon me, and
they have more than once unharnessed my horses and drawn me to my
hotel in triumph.
“I have gained the summit of my ambition. But oh, God! how I do
crave for a little, real honest love and sympathy! I would give the
world to be able to retire with my beautiful innocent children to
some place where they could never learn that their mother is
anything but one of the best and purest of women!
“But how foolish I am! Why do I imagine vain things? I am quite
happy – sometimes!”