IN the meantime gloom and anxiety reigned at Clavering Park. By just
missing the bus from the Pendennis Arms, Pikey delayed her return from
The Laurels until nearly three o’clock. Therefore Miss Cass decided to
obey orders and by pleading a headache take luncheon in bed. Several
good reasons led her to do so. Apart from the fact that Girlie’s
respect for her stern custodian was tinged with awe, she was more
comfortable in the security of her own room than she was likely to be
anywhere else in that house at that moment. Besides, although she had
given up a whole morning to the diligent study of “The Lady of Laxton,”
at present she was very far from being word perfect in her part;
thus she did not feel equal to the task of going through a rehearsal
that afternoon. And sum and crown of all her woes, was the haunting
continual fear of the arrival of Mr. Montagu Jupp.
That veritable Old Man of the Sea was expected from London by the four
o’clock train. It needed no great amount of foresight on the part of
Miss Cass to realize that when that event happened the game would be
up. All the morning as she wrestled with Sir Toby’s dialogue, Mr.
Montagu Jupp was a specter in the background of her thoughts. Should
she make a clean breast of the matter there and then and so anticipate
the public exposure that was inevitable later in the day? She was
in such a state of panic that there seemed much to be said for that
course, yet after all, as further reflection showed, there was nothing
to gain by a bootless confession. At all events it would be wise to
await the return of Pikey, if only because she had promised to bring
Lady Elfreda with her. But there could be no building upon that. It
was always possible, of course, that the Evil Genius was already bored
sufficiently by her taste of drudgery to come and face the music, but
poor Girlie was very far from counting upon the fact.
Pikey, however, returned Elfreda-less but terribly cross. Indeed
“cross” was altogether too mild a word for her mood. It was really so
savage that for a time the hapless Deputy could do nothing with her.
Moreover, so completely was Girlie under the spell of Mr. Montagu Jupp
that her will became inert. In sheer desperation she resigned herself
to her bed for the rest of that day at least. By that means she would
avoid Mr. Montagu Jupp until the morrow and so put off the hour of
discovery.
Downstairs, in the meantime, consternation was rife. The sudden
indisposition of the leading lady had caused the first rehearsal to
be postponed. But Sir Toby was by profession an optimist. He looked
at the world he lived in and all the beings who inhabited it through
rose-colored spectacles. It was “good form” to do so. Every woman of
his acquaintance was “a dear” or she was “charming,” every man was “a
sportsman” and a good fellow. Clouds had been known to obscure the sun
now and again, but after all they were only a temporary matter. He
was a believer in a bright and cheerful world. That was the only side
of the picture he could ever condescend to recognize. Nevertheless,
even Sir Toby allowed, in the privacy of his heart, that “The Lady of
Laxton” might prove an ambitious undertaking for a decidedly scratch
company at short notice.
However, the author of the piece had a real stand-by in Montagu
Jupp. That famous man was said by common report “to know the theater
backwards.” He had only to set his hand to the business for all to
be well. His arrival by the four o’clock train was eagerly awaited.
Even Sir Toby’s optimism deigned to regard the coming of the great and
admired Montagu as a _sine qua non_. He knew all about everything,
theatrically speaking. Not only was he a “producer,” he was a Napoleon
among producers. And on his own showing he had yet to learn the meaning
of the word “failure.”
Alas, when the omnibus returned from Clavering station on the stroke
of five, a chill descended upon the bevy of tea drinkers in the hall.
The great man had not arrived. But in lieu of him a telegram had been
handed to the chauffeur on the journey home. It was addressed to Sir
Toby Philpot and it contained the dire news that Mr. Montagu Jupp was
“unavoidably detained, important business.”
Sir Toby was stout of heart, but a cloud, an unmistakable cloud passed
across the sun of his optimism. There was much to do and but a very
little time in which to do it. His star artiste, upon whom so much
depended, had taken to her bed; his other stand-by had let him down
at the last moment; and the performance was already widely advertised
to take place in the Assembly Rooms at Clavering on the following
Tuesday. Moreover, Sir Toby in the bounty of his nature had given an
undertaking that the performance should be repeated in the Town Hall at
the neighboring city of Meichester three days later.
It was the hostess herself who presently bore the news of Mr. Montagu
Jupp’s non-arrival to King Edward’s bedroom. Girlie was sitting up
in bed in a beribboned dressing jacket, grappling bravely with the
typescript of her part. No doubt it was an act of sheer despair, but
her mind in the present state of its infirmity craved occupation.
The severe task of committing to memory Sir Toby’s dialogue was by
way of being an antidote to her many terrors. And when the yellow
chrysanthemum lady, full of counsel and solicitude, came and sat by her
bed, and bitterly deplored Mr. Jupp’s failure to appear, it was almost
as if the invalid gained strength from the woes of others. At all
events it suddenly occurred to her that she might be able to come down
to dinner.
The kindly hostess was far from urging that course upon her guest, but
certainly Lady Elfreda’s early reappearance would lessen the gloom that
had fallen upon Mrs. Spencer-Jobling and other members of the cast, and
even upon Sir Toby himself. So sharp was the recoil from the certainty
of immediate discovery that Girlie began to feel quite bold. Her long
day in bed had been a torture and a weariness, Pikey since her return
from The Laurels had been intolerable, and the postponement of the
worst had brought such relief that in the sudden reaction Girlie took
heart of grace.
A sword hung over her head which sooner or later must fall. In the
meantime, desperation nerved her and she decided upon a run for her
money. She was not without courage, or it may have been that the
rewards of courage inspired her to an unnatural hardihood. At any rate,
a festive dinner downstairs, even if a little too highly spiced with
adventure, was greatly to be preferred to a further prolonged mope in
bed.
When, however, the hostess had left the room and the Deputy informed
Pikey of her decision, there was a clash of wills. That autocrat
vetoed the proposal ruthlessly. Miss No-Class would be far safer where
she was. But the student of _The Patrician_ had made up her mind.
Now that Mr. Montagu Jupp was a peril less imminent, she was in such
an agreeable state of recoil that the previous evening had become a
proud and happy memory. Looking back upon it in perspective, she felt
entitled to consider herself a success.
Let her rise to the height of her opportunity! That thought was ever
in her mind. A heavy penalty would be exacted from her presently, her
career as a governess would be ruined, but in the meantime if she
were really wise she would “see life,” and boldly play her part in
a tragi-comedy which one day might make her as famous as Miss Mary
Cholmondeley or Mrs. Elinor Glyn. No matter what the future had in
store she would weave into her life a high experience that should even
raise her above the Brontës and all their gifts.
Pikey continued to breathe slaughter and fire, but the Deputy,
sustained by thoughts of the renown that might one day be hers, showed
a firmness amounting to heroism.
“I will have a bath--please. And I will wear the blue dress.”
Could Pikey have had her way, she would have beaten the small plebeian
soundly and put her back into bed. But the duenna was shaken a good
deal by the tribulations of the day. She was feeling weak and she was
filled with despair. The unexpected defiance vanquished her. Sullenly
she prepared the bath, sullenly she went through the toilette ritual.
But on this occasion her proud spirit had to submit to rebuke.
“You are hurting me.” The Deputy tried her utmost to speak sternly,
even if the result was not as impressive as she could have wished. “I
think I can manage my hair quite well myself, thank you.”
Pikey was still strong enough not to yield her office, but her methods
became less drastic. The Deputy, however, was not permitted to wear the
blue dress. She was curtly told that _real_ ladies did not appear in
the same frock on two successive evenings. An affair of pink silk was
unwillingly placed at her disposal. And when Girlie came to look at
herself in the glass, she found it just as becoming and slightly more
modern in style. Perhaps it did not go quite so well with her eyes, but
in the course of an epic twenty-four hours the rose had deepened in her
cheeks, so that all things considered “what she lost on the roundabouts
she gained on the swings.”