The month was November, and the King's Road wore its smartest air. This
was in the time before Brighton boasted so many places of amusement and
while it was much more amusing. People promenaded on the roof of the
Aquarium after dinner then; the pier at night twinkled with diamonds;
and "La Fille de Madame Angot" was the popular selection by the band.
Lee had stopped at a florist's and bought a rose for his buttonhole. In
his elaborate toilette, twirling a tortoise-shell stick, and with his
hat tilted a trifle to one side, he bore himself proudly. Nearly all of
the last night's audience idled on the front. He marked with painful
eagerness the quick glances, the occasional whispers he provoked--always
avid of signs of recognition, always fearful of reading derision of his
race. Sometimes at a look he caught, his teeth met behind his great
lips, and fiercely he reminded himself of his empire while he sang.
It was not so they looked at him then, these insolent women--with the
curious stare that they might have levelled at a showman's freak. No, he
could make their cold eyes misty, and their hearts throb faster, sway
them, and thrill them--he, with his voice!
The man was to be pitied, though nobody pitied him and there were
thousands who would have changed skins with him for the sake of his
income. He was not without vulgarities; he was vain; he was prodigal;
his failings were the failings of the average negro, intensified by the
musical temperament and a dazzling success; but he had his higher hours,
and in these he was doomed to be alone. He could buy gay company, but he
could never gain affection; there were many who would laugh with him,
but there was none to give him a sigh.
When he reached Regency Square he hesitated for an instant, and then
moved slowly up it. He had no intention of calling at the house, but he
wanted to look at the windows again. It was pleasurable to stroll round
the square. It had not changed at all; it was just as he remembered it.
He remembered the bushes at the top of the enclosure, and that they had
been known to him as the "brigands' lair"; a military band used to play
three times a week on the lawn when he was a child, and he wondered
if it did so now. As he neared Mrs. Tremlett's, the door opened, and
a woman came down the steps. She walked listlessly ahead of him. His
full black eyes dilated, and he paused agape, presenting a rather
comic appearance, as the negro so often does when he is in earnest. He
thought that he had discerned a likeness to Ownie in her face; but it
had flashed on him only for a second--in the circumstances he was very
liable to deceive himself.
He saw that she was in mourning--more, that the veil depending from her
bonnet proclaimed her a widow. He followed. She turned the corner; and,
quickening his pace, he arrived in Preston Street just in time to see
her enter a fishmonger's. Her position during the few minutes that she
remained there was unfavourable; but when she came out, the view that he
caught of her could scarcely have been better, and now he was tempted to
address her on the chance of being right.
She passed him before he had thought what to say, and he loitered behind
her discreetly, until she went into a greengrocer's. A display of fruit
offered an alternative to his waiting on the pavement this time; he
would order some grapes to be sent to his hotel! He would order some
grapes and utter his name loudly, so that she heard it; if he had really
found Ownie, she might bow.
Her business was concluded, however, and she left the shop before anyone
attempted to serve him. Some minutes were wasted before he was free to
pursue her. He took hasty strides, afraid that she was lost. Her veil
came in sight again at the end of the street, and, dodging among the
crowd on the King's Road, he kept at close quarters to her for a long
while, wishing that she would cross to the other side and sit down.
At the foot of Ship Street she crossed to the other side at last, but
she did not stop until she reached Marine Parade. On Marine Parade there
were fewer visitors. A nursemaid narrated her wrongs, while her charges
imperilled their necks on the railings; here and there a bow-backed
man who owned a bath-chair enjoyed a respite and a pipe; a sprinkling
of convalescent Londoners, basking in the summer weather, forgot their
shivers in the City of Gloom. The lady settled herself on a bench.
Lee lounged nearer. She was paler and more languid than he recalled
her; he could see shadows about Beauty's eyes which the mirror had not
shown to him at the theatre, but he felt sure it was she. Though he had
believed himself prepared to find her changed, he found the difference
saddening--just as if he were a white man, and a girl of whom he used to
be fond had been met after many years.
As he drew level with her, she noticed him with a quick frown. Evidently
she had misconstrued his interest. He stopped, and, throwing away his
cigar with a nourish, said:
"Miss Tremlett?"
The lady in widow's weeds looked surprised and indignant, and he added
hurriedly:
"That's the name I knew you by. Don't you remember me? I'm Elisha Lee."
Her expression was astonished still, but the indignation had faded when
he heard her, voice.
"Oh!" she said. "Oh, are you? I didn't know you again. Fancy! Yes, I
remember. It's a long time ago."
"Let me see," he said; "it must be fifteen years. I recognised you at
once."
She regarded him more kindly, and gave him a faint smile; "I shouldn't
have thought you would."
"How's that? I'm not short-sighted. Do you know, I was thinking about
you yesterday; hoped I should meet you--and here you are. I haven't been
in Brighton since the last time I saw you."
"Haven't you really?"
"No; it's funny, isn't it? I've often been coming--for the week-end, or
a concert, but something has always turned up to prevent me. Well, this
is first-rate! Were you at the Dome last night?"
"No," she said, "I couldn't go; I was sorry. I heard you in Liverpool
once. Let me congratulate you--though I suppose you get such a lot of
congratulations that you don't care much about them any more?"
"You can bet I care for yours," he said. "Have you been living here all
the time?"
"Oh no; I left here when I married; I only came back after my loss." Her
tone was bitter.
"I saw," said Lee, "I saw by your dress that----Is it long since you
were left a widow?"
"Twelve months. My home was in Liverpool while my poor husband was
alive. Why, you used to know him, Mr. Lee! Yes, of course you did. That
summer as children we were all together. How strange! I'm not sure if
you met him afterwards? I wonder if you can remember 'Reggy Harris'?"
The long-forgotten name awoke memories of a pasty-faced boy peppered
with freckles, who had always called him "Snowball." He bowed solemnly.
For a moment it deprived the situation of all its sentiment to hear that
she had married Reggy Harris.
"Things happen queerly, don't they?" she said with a short laugh. "I
married, and I left Brighton for good--and I sit telling you about it
when I am in Regency Square all over again. I never thought I should
come back any more, excepting on a visit. Of course I used to come to
see mother."
"I hope your mother is well?" he said.
"Yes," she answered, "thank you.... It was mother who was certain from
the first that the singer we read about must be you. I had forgotten
you were called 'Elisha,' but she was sure you were; and the 'Elisha'
settled it. We did stare!"
"I thought you would. But I'm not the only 'Elisha' where I come from,
by a long chalk. Biblical names are very common among us; we like
them. In Savannah, where I was born, I daresay you'd find a good many
'Elishas'--and as to 'Lees,' they're as plentiful as pins. You stared,
eh? It seemed wonderful?"
"Well, yes, it did. But your parents were--were musical, too, weren't
they?"
"My parents came over here as ban joists when I was a kiddy. They played
jolly well."
"Are they living?"
He shook his head. "I am quite alone in the world," he said
theatrically. "They were spared to see me famous, though; I'm glad of
that."
"They must have been ever so proud of you."
"They were ever so good to me," he replied, and his manner was natural
again. "They got decent terms in the music-halls, and they sent me to
school, and did all they could for me. It was on one of their tours, you
know, that I stayed in your house. They paid some people to give me a
good time during my holidays, God bless 'em."
There was a brief pause. A little child, trailing her toy spade, lagged
to a standstill and watched him expectantly. He drove her away with an
angry gesture; the lady blushed.
"I think I must be going," she murmured, rising. "I've got to meet my
baby and the nurse. If you sing down here again, Mr. Lee, I hope I shall
hear you."
"I'll sing to you whenever you like," he said promptly. "Won't you and
Mrs. Tremlett come and have dinner with me at the hotel one evening?
I've got a piano in my sitting-room."
"My mother so seldom goes out at night."
"Let me ask her and do a bit of coaxing!"
"Oh--er--if you can, of course," she said, "though I'm afraid it would
be no good. We shall be glad to see you."
He swept off his hat, and took leave of her buoyantly. While they talked
he had ceased to contrast her with what she used to be and thought only
of the young and pretty woman who was present. Having less refinement
than when she was a girl, too, she made him a more intimate appeal.
The vulgarities in her blood had come to the surface by this time. At
seventeen, to be a gentlewoman superficially is not impossible, but at
thirty-two the varnish cracks.
He saw her again, himself unnoticed, as he was returning to lunch.
A little nurse-girl-a cheap imitation to be called a "nurse," he
thought--pushed a perambulator, and the widow walked drearily beside it.
Threading her way among the fashionable toilettes, she looked poor and
discontented to him; she looked sullen, like a woman who resents her
fate. But she had blue eyes and yellow hair, and he had never resisted a
desire in his life. He promised himself to call on her the next day.