A PEEP INTO BOHEMIA
FLOSSIE CHALCOMBE led Juliet into a square, lofty room, which was the
dining-room of the house.
It was not an ill-furnished room, but it looked dingy, and had, even
to Juliet's unobservant eyes, a most untidy appearance, whilst her
sensitive nostrils were at once aware of the disagreeable odour of
stale tobacco.
The ceiling was darkened by smoke; the curtains, once white, had,
under the strain of smoke and dust from within, and damp and smuts
from without, developed a greyish hue; the carpet, once handsome,
was discoloured and threadbare, rather, perhaps, from the effects of
careless usage than as the result of long service; a pipe-rack and a
tobacco jar appeared amongst other odd ornaments on the mantelpiece,
and the pier-glass above it presented a curious effect, being bordered
on each side as high as hands could reach with papers, play-bills,
photographs, etc., stuck for security within its rim. The chairs were
of oak, curiously carved, with crimson leather seats. A handsome
sideboard with a plate-glass back stood on one side, presenting an
array of flagons and decanters flanked by a black bottle or two. A
plated spirit-stand was in the centre. The cut-glass decanter labelled
"whisky" had been drawn out and stood on the table beside two empty
glasses. Near the door a cottage piano stood open, the top littered
with sheets of music, and on the music-stand a piece bearing on its
cover a marvellous representation of a gentleman in extravagantly
fashionable attire making his bow to an imaginary audience.
As Juliet glanced round her, the misgivings with which she had entered
the house increased.
"Is father at home?" Flossie asked of the servant, as her eyes fell on
the empty glasses.
The maid answered in the affirmative.
Flossie slightly shrugged her shoulders, and Juliet fancied she was not
best pleased.
"Make us some tea, Maria, as quickly as you can," said Flossie, "and
let it be strong, mind. And stay, you had better run to the nearest
shop for a cake; I don't suppose there is any in the house."
"Oh, Flossie, please don't," began Juliet.
"Nonsense, Juliet!" Flossie checked her laughingly. "I may surely order
cake if I like. I want some, it you do not."
"But I really ought not to stay," faltered Juliet.
"You are not going till you have had some tea, so there," said Flossie
imperiously. "Excuse me one moment." And she disappeared.
Juliet heartily wished that she had not entered the house. She foresaw
that the maid's getting tea would be a long business; but it seemed
impossible to hurry away now without hurting Flossie's feelings.
"What would Hannah say if she could see me!" she thought. "How shocked
Salome, who always wears the blue ribbon, would be if she saw that
sideboard!"
In fact, Juliet was slightly shocked herself. Decidedly the people
who dwelt in this house were of a different set from her own. What a
strange, disorderly room it was! She glanced at the pier-glass, and
saw the likeness of a ballet-girl taken in such extreme attire, that,
though she was alone, Juliet instinctively lowered her eyes with a
sense of shame. But ere she had time to observe more there was a sound
of voices in the hall, and Flossie entered followed by her brother.
"Juliet, this is Algernon, who has been wishing so much to make your
acquaintance. I hardly thought he would be at home, but—"
"Fortune has been kind to me," added her brother, in a low, rich voice,
as she hesitated.
The colour flew into Juliet's cheeks and deepened as she met the
frankly admiring glance of Flossie's brother. She hardly knew how she
acknowledged the introduction, so conscious was she of those tiresome
blushes and the timid fluttering of her heart.
But there was nothing formidable in the appearance of Algernon
Chalcombe, unless it were his extreme handsomeness. Juliet saw before
her a well-formed, graceful man of middle height, whose dark beauty was
well set off by the crimson and black "blazer" which he wore. His black
hair was rather long and inclined to curl; he had fine dark lustrous
eyes and regular features. The mouth was rather large in proportion
to the rest of the face, with full lips, the chin large, full, and
rounded. He had been told that he resembled the portraits of Lord
Byron, and the suggestion flattered his vanity. He was amply endowed
with that commodity, and his countenance revealed its presence, and
betrayed tokens too of luxurious, self-indulgent habits.
But Juliet had not the experience that could discern these. She was
struck with the graceful bearing and polished ease of the young man.
Although his eyes plainly expressed admiration for her, there was
no insolence in their gaze. On the contrary, he contrived to infuse
into his manner a subtle suggestion of self-depreciation and humility
inspired by her presence, and his tone in addressing her was charmingly
deferential.
"He is a perfect gentleman," thought Juliet, with a sense of agreeable
surprise.
And certainly Algernon Chalcombe lacked none of the externals of a
gentleman. It had been his father's ambition to make him such, and his
education had been expensive, and therefore presumably good. It had
even comprised a sojourn at Oxford, but his career at the University
had come to an abrupt termination, and he had reasons for preferring
not to speak of that period of his life. At Oxford and elsewhere he had
courted the society of men of a higher social standing than his own,
and had been quick to catch their tone and learn their habits.
Thus it was that Juliet discerned in him what she took to be tokens
of high breeding and superior personal refinement. Having no brother,
and belonging to a wholly feminine household, her ideas as to what
constitutes a gentleman were perhaps more crude than are those of
most girls. Certain it is that Algernon Chalcombe's ready courtesy,
his pleasant accent, the well-made garments which he wore with such
careless grace, his white hands and polished nails, all combined
to produce on her the impression of a personal distinction and
innate chivalry befitting a hero of romance. Juliet had read few
romances—Hannah had seen to that—but perhaps just because they were
so few, those she had read had made the more impression on her vivid
imagination.
Flossie was quick to see how Juliet was struck by Algernon's appearance
and bearing. She was delighted, for she was very fond of this brother
seven years older than herself. She was able to make a hero of him in
her way, though she saw him under other aspects than that which he was
so studiously presenting to Juliet.
"This is not the first time that I have had the pleasure of seeing you,
Miss Tracy," remarked Algernon Chalcombe. "Flossie pointed you out to
me at your school concert."
"Yes, so she told me," said Juliet hurriedly, blushing deeply the next
moment, as she remembered all Flossie had said when she told her.
He did not appear conscious of her confusion, though in reality, he
thought how pretty she looked when she blushed, and what a fresh,
naïve, charming little girl she was.
"It was rather a slow affair that school concert, was it not?" he said,
in his full, deep tones, with the fine drawl he affected.
"Oh yes—at least I do not know that I found it so," Juliet corrected
herself; "but then I knew beforehand what it would be like. One cannot
expect anything very startling at a school concert, when only the
pupils perform. Of course it must have seemed a dull affair to you."
"Oh no; I liked it very much. I do not mean to say that I enjoyed
the music particularly, but I liked being there. I was disappointed,
though, to find that you were not amongst the performers. I had hoped
to hear you play or sing."
"Flossie could have told you that was impossible. I do not learn music
at school. I do not learn at all now, in fact."
"Do you really mean it? And yet I am sure you are musical."
Juliet shook her head. "I am afraid not. I am very fond of music, but
I cannot play much. Salome used to teach me, but she gave me up in
despair; and, indeed, I could never learn of her. We used to quarrel at
every lesson."
"I don't wonder, if she taught you," said Flossie.
"Mother wanted me to have lessons of someone else, but Hannah said
that would be an extravagance, when Salome is so well qualified to
teach me. She gives lessons in music, you know, and is said to have an
admirable method of training young strummers. I know her playing is
quite correct, and all that, but can never feel that there is any music
in it, somehow."
"I know the kind of playing you mean," said Algernon; "this is it, is
it not?" He turned quickly to the piano, sat down and played a little
air of Beethoven's; played it correctly, coldly, the time strictly
accented, but without the least expression.
"That's it—that's it exactly!" exclaimed Juliet, delighted. "Salome
always plays in that hard, woodeny manner."
"Do you know anyone who plays like this?" he asked. His hands now
wandered over the keys in uncertain, fluttering movements, one hand
always a little behind the other, as in staccato fashion, he struck out
"Ye Banks and Braes."
"Oh yes, yes," said Juliet; "I have heard people play like that."
"What do you think of this?" he asked next. His hands descended with a
crash upon the piano, tore at the notes, flew up and down the keyboard.
Crash followed crash, run pursued run, there was a tumult in which
hammer and tongs, tin-whistle and wooden drum might have been taking
part, assisted by an enraged cat. The piano rocked beneath the violent
onslaught, the room seemed to shake with it; then, suddenly, the din
ceased, and the performer leaned back from the stool, laughing.
Flossie and Juliet were laughing too.
"Whatever is that remarkable composition?" asked his sister.
"'Battle, Murder, and Sudden Death,' an impromptu, by Algernon
Chalcombe," he answered gravely.
"Won't you sing something to Juliet, now she is here?" suggested his
sister. "She wants so much to hear you sing."
The colour rose in Juliet's face. She looked half-ashamed of hearing
such a thing said. But the suggestion was very agreeable to Algernon
Chalcombe.
"With pleasure, if she wishes it," he said, in his low, musical tones.
"Her wish is a command to me."
He sang a song which was comic without being vulgar. His singing was
very spirited, and his full, rich baritone was delightful to listen
to. But when Juliet asked for another song, he chose one of a very
different description. It was Blumenthal's "My Queen," and he sang it
with great power and feeling.
The song is familiar enough to most persons now, but Juliet had not
heard it before, and she was thrilled by the beauty of the words and
the music. Still more was she thrilled when Algernon at its conclusion
suddenly lifted his dark eyes to hers, and looked at her with a glance
that seemed charged with unutterable meanings. Juliet trembled under
the magnetism of that glance. She rose and looked about for her gloves,
feeling a sudden desire to get away. But the tea had not yet appeared,
and till now she had been unconscious how time was passing.
"You must not think of going yet," said Algernon, in his low, deep
voice, as he came to her side. "Won't you sing something to me now? I
am sure that you sing."
"Yes, indeed; she sings beautifully," exclaimed Flossie; "her voice is
as clear as a bird's. Do sing, Juliet."
"Oh, I cannot! I never sing, except sometimes with mother some of the
old songs that she used to sing when she was a girl."
"Won't you let me hear one of them?" said Algernon persuasively. "I
love those good old songs."
"Oh no, indeed! I cannot sing, really," protested Juliet.
"Oh, but you must, you shall!" exclaimed Flossie. "I won't let you off,
Juliet."
But her brother gravely interposed.
"Stay, Flossie. Miss Tracy shall not be urged to sing if the idea is
really disagreeable to her. Of course it would have given me great
pleasure; but it shall be just as she likes."
Juliet immediately felt convicted of ingratitude. He had been so kind
in singing to her, it seemed horrid of her to refuse to gratify him in
her turn.
"I will try, if you like," she faltered; "but you must please go to the
other end of the room and promise not to listen."
"I cannot promise that," he said, with a gleam of amusement in his
eyes, "but I assure you I will not listen critically."
He moved away as he spoke, and Juliet, sitting down at the piano,
struck a few notes in uncertain fashion, and then trilled forth the
sweet old song, "Where the bee sucks, there lurk I."
She loved singing, and in a few moments, she had forgotten her
nervousness. Her voice was untrained, but it was singularly sweet
and clear. Algernon, as he stood carelessly with his hands in his
pockets looking out of the window, expected only to be amused by some
school-girlish warbling. He was amazed at the strength and purity of
the full, clear notes.
But Algernon Chalcombe was not the only listener who was surprised and
delighted by the sweet, bird-like notes. As Juliet sang the last verse,
a shuffling tread was heard crossing the hall towards the half-open
door, and the next moment, Mr. Chalcombe senior entered the room.
He was a short, stoutish man, with a highly coloured complexion and a
round bullet head, but scantily covered with greyish hair. Late though
it was in the afternoon, he wore what he was wont to describe as his
"dishabilles," a gay, much-beflowered dressing-gown, considerably
the worse for wear, whilst on his feet were a pair of old carpet
slippers, the easiness of which was an advantage counterbalanced by the
difficulty of keeping on the loose, downtrodden things.
Flossie's face flushed as her father entered, and an impatient frown
appeared on that of Algernon; but Mr. Chalcombe's face beamed with
good-nature. He had no misgivings as to his welcome as he joined the
little party.
"Bravo! Bravo!" he cried heartily as Juliet finished her song. "I
congratulate you, young lady, whoever you are, on having such a voice
as that."
"Father, this is Miss Tracy," said Flossie, in a tone suggestive of
remonstrance.
"To be sure. Juliet Tracy, your chum at the 'igh school. I've often
'eard of you, my dear. You two are in the same class, ar'n't you? It's
a mighty fine thing, that 'igh school. You young people nowadays 'ave
great advantages. My hedjucation was all crowded into three years,
which left little time for putting on the polish. Ha, ha! But there,
I've done very well without it." And Mr. Chalcombe struck the table
sharply with his hand, by way of giving emphasis to his words.
His son looked much annoyed. He moved quickly to Juliet's side, saying
in a low voice, with an evident desire to cover his father's want of
taste—
"Thank you so much, Miss Tracy. Your voice is indeed beautiful. One
does not often have the chance of hearing such."
"Oh, but my singing is not good," said Juliet, looking much pleased,
however. "You see, I have had no proper training."
"Yes, yes, I can tell that," said Mr. Chalcombe, taking the remark as
addressed to him; "but it's not too late for it to be cultivated, and
it's a lovely voice. You might make your fortune on the stage with such
a voice as that."
Juliet looked at the speaker with a startled air. At the first moment
she saw him and heard him speak, she had been conscious of a sensation
of strong repulsion from one who was obviously such a vulgar member of
society. But now his words were so agreeably suggestive and flattering
to her self-love that she was disposed to view him more favourably.
"The stage!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I should never think of going on the
stage!"
"And why not?" he demanded. "It's my belief you'd be a grand success
as an opera singer. Patti, Neilson, Trebelli, and all the rest of them
would 'ave to look to their laurels when you made your début. Oh, you
need not laugh, my dear; I'm not joking."
"I think you must be, when you prophesy such things as that for me,"
said Juliet, with a merry laugh.
"Nonsense!" he exclaimed excitedly. "I tell you, there's many a one
sings at 'er Majesty's opera whose voice is a less musical one than
yours. You've 'eard Orféo?"
"I have heard nothing," said Juliet. "I have never been to the theatre
or the opera in my life."
"You don't mean that?"
"Indeed I do. My mother and sisters do not approve of the theatre. They
would never let me go."
Mr. Chalcombe muttered something that it was well Juliet did not catch,
since it was not complimentary to the intelligence of her family.
Flossie was listening rather nervously to the talk going on between her
father and her friend. It was a relief to her that at this moment the
maid appeared bearing the tea-tray, which she placed with some clatter
on the table.
"Here's the tea at last!" Flossie exclaimed. "You must have thought,
Juliet, that it was never coming."
Thus reminded of the flight of time, Juliet glanced at the clock, and
was dismayed to see how late it was.
She rose from the piano. Algernon drew forward a chair for her, brought
her some tea, and waited on her assiduously.
"Will you have some tea, father?" Flossie asked.
"No, thank you, my dear, no, thank you. Tea is all very well for
women-folks, but I like something stronger. Oh dear, I am forgetting my
letters! I must bid you good-day, Miss Tracy. Now think over what I've
said, and when you've made up your mind, you come to me, and I'll put
you in the way of things. It's my belief that with proper training you
might soon be earning your thirty guineas a night, and that's not a sum
to be sniffed at, let me tell you."
"No, indeed!" exclaimed Flossie. "Only think, Juliet, thirty guineas a
night!"
"Juliet!" exclaimed Mr. Chalcombe. "There you are! The very name for
an opera singer. She might play Juliet to your Romeo, eh, Algie? That
would be the best use you could make of your good looks, as I often
tell you. Ha, ha, ha!"
And laughing at his own joke, Mr. Chalcombe shuffled out of the room.
Juliet's cheeks were crimson as she sipped her tea, trying to look
unconscious. Presently, glancing at Algernon Chalcombe, she perceived
that he was gnawing his moustache savagely, and appeared much put out.
Whereupon she reflected, not without sympathy, how trying a person of
his refinement must find it to be saddled with such a parent.
"Have you really never been to a theatre, Juliet?" asked Flossie.
"Never," said Juliet, "and I do not suppose I ever shall."
"Oh, do not say that!" exclaimed Flossie. "How I wish you could go with
us one, night! Father gets tickets for everything, you know."
And Algernon's expressive eyes said that he wished it too. But Juliet
would not entertain such an idea for a moment. She rose to take her
leave, and was not to be persuaded to stay longer.
As she hastened homewards at her quickest pace, her mind was in a
strangely excited state. She knew that she might prepare to face a
storm when she reached home, but she did not quail at the prospect.
Her knowledge of the world seemed to have increased, and the horizon
of her life to have widened with the experience of the afternoon. Her
imagination played delightedly with words and looks which had been full
of pleasant insinuation, as well as with the practical suggestions of
Mr. Chalcombe senior. Her future seemed to be quite bewilderingly full
of wonderful possibilities.