BY the powers that obtained in the drawing room the point was much
debated whether Miss Cass could or could not be allowed to accompany
the children on Tuesday afternoon to the Assembly Rooms. There was much
to be said both “for” and “against.” Had it been left to Miss Parbury
to decide the question “the againsts” would have had it easily. She
disliked Miss Cass with a concentration that was almost terrible. Mrs.
Trenchard-Simpson had come to dislike her also with an almost equal
intensity, but in her case natural feelings were tempered by political
considerations.
In the first place Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson had taken six tickets for the
performance of “The Lady of Laxton” and these included one for Miss
Cass. It was now proposed that Colonel Trenchard-Simpson should occupy
a stall in her stead, but it seemed that he had important business on
Tuesday afternoon; besides, as he said, “he was blowed if he fancied
sitting up amongst half the old Tabbies in the county.”
This strengthened the hand of the “fors” considerably, but in the
end that which really gained the day for Miss Cass may have been her
boasted acquaintance with the Lancelots and above all, her singular
intimacy with the star artiste, Lady Elfreda Catkin. General Norris
also may indirectly have brought a certain amount of pressure to bear,
because right up till Tuesday at breakfast when it was announced that
the “fors” definitely had it, he was uncertain whether his leg, which
for several days past had been “throbbing,” would allow him to attend
the performance of the “Lady of Laxton.”
Strange as it may seem, as soon as the decision went finally in favor
of Miss Cass “the throbbing” grew much less and General Norris felt he
would be able to undertake the journey into Clavering.
As far as it went, all this was very well, but when the gracious
decision was communicated to Miss Cass, that perverse lady felt she
would have much preferred to stay at home. Happily she did not say so
to Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson, but as she considered the problem over an
irritating and inadequate early luncheon in the schoolroom, with Miss
Joan one side of her and Master Peter the other, she came within an ace
of flatly refusing to go.
Her charges were not entirely responsible for Miss Cass’s frame of
mind. It is true that ten days of intimacy with their ways had caused
their governess to dislike them more cordially than she had ever
thought it possible to dislike any human beings, but there were other
reasons. The choicest scene in the comedy was at hand, but she was by
no means sure that she had not lost her taste for it now.
A régime of underfeeding and solitude may have shaken her nerve a
little. Her appetite for adventure may have lost something of its
edge. Still, such an opportunity to see yourself as others see you was
an all-potent lure, and even if she was going to be revolted by the
spectacle, as most likely would prove to be the case, it would at least
help to relieve a tedium that was becoming intolerable. Besides she was
not one to funk the last fence even at the end of a most punishing day.
As the day was fine and there was only a limited amount of
accommodation in the family chariot, Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson decreed
that the children should walk with their governess to the Assembly
Rooms. The distance was rather more than a mile, and in the course
of the journey Elfreda was able to indulge in a little constructive
thinking.
She could not forget that she was now faced with the footing of the
bill. In the course of the next day or so it would have to be met. She
had made a definite promise to Miss Cass to declare the true state of
affairs and shoulder the entire responsibility. There would be the
devil to pay all round. Her father would be furious, her mother would
never forgive her, but having the natural temperament of a fighter
she was not afraid of either. Besides, she consoled herself with the
thought that it served them right. It might teach them not to be quite
so cynical in arranging other people’s lives.
There was a place, however, where she now perceived the shoe was going
to pinch. She had just discovered that she was in love with General
Norris. Had she been quite honest with herself she would have made
that discovery on the very evening of her arrival. Looking back across
the expanse of fantastic difficulties in which she had landed herself,
she saw that it was General Norris who had supplied the motive power
from day to day. Without the charm of that most alluring personality
she would never have been able “to stick it.” Life as they lived it at
The Laurels would have defeated her after one irksome and humiliating
twenty-four hours.
A hardened sinner, she was wholly unrepentant. Quite a number of
undesirable people had been gorgeously “scored off.” It was not a case
for regrets on their account, but as, flanked by Miss Joan and Master
Peter on either hand, she trudged resolutely into Clavering to witness
the climax of her audacity at the Assembly Rooms and proceeded to draw
up a kind of moral balance sheet as she did so, she realized pretty
clearly that there was one item in it that must throw a considerable
strain on her resources. She was in love with George Norris. And, still
worse, he was in love with her.
Readers of Thackeray will not need to be told that the Clavering
Assembly Rooms are in the High Street, which is the second turn on
the left when you have crossed the charming little bridge over the
River Morwen. On arrival Miss Cass and her charges found they had a
few minutes to spare, as the performance was not announced to begin
until half-past two. All the same the press of carriages in the High
Street was considerable. In fact, it might almost be said to amount to
congestion.
The performance for the first time on any stage of “The Lady of
Laxton,” by Sir Toby Philpot, Bart., was under such distinguished
auspices that it was recognized locally as quite a function. For a full
quarter of an hour before the curtain went up the weirdest of vehicles
with the weirdest of occupants--how they would have delighted the heart
of Michael Angelo Titmarsh, Esquire!--streamed incessantly into the
High Street. They were so many, so various, so infrequently seen that
even Mr. Shuker, the dealer in antiques whose shop was next door to the
Assembly Rooms, who was the recognized local authority on “The County,”
was almost if not quite defeated by such an array. Had it been humanly
possible for The County to baffle Mr. Shuker, on this historical
occasion Mr. Shuker would have been baffled undoubtedly.
For instance, that closed one-horse brougham whose lozenged panel
displayed a couchant lion and a rampant unicorn with the simple but
appropriate motto Festina Lente was--well, never mind who. There really
isn’t time just now to go fully into the matter. The Armistice is
hardly more than a fortnight old, you know. But you may take it, my
dear Titmarsh, our friend Mr. Shuker could have told you.
Elfreda, holding her charges by the hand, passed resolutely up the
three steps into the vestibule and mingled with the throng. And what
a throng! She seemed to have known these funny people all her life.
Surely that old thing in the Victorian bonnet was bowing to her. Could
it be old Lady S.? An antique voice level with her right ear was saying
with its curious drawl, “My brother Alec was at Eton with her father.”
Into her left ear a voice very similar was saying, “The dear Duke,
I suppose, would be her grandfather.” And at the back a third voice
remarked, “The youngest of six, I believe, but they have all married
well. A very gifted family.”
It was a relief to Elfreda’s feelings when she got through the crowd
into the hall itself. The platform embellished with footlights and a
drop curtain had been transformed into a stage. So great was the flux
of grandees from miles around that the party from The Laurels had
been relegated to the back row of the stalls. Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson
saw in this circumstance one more subtle affront to her social
position; all the same the family chariot had arrived a clear five
minutes before Miss Cass, Master Peter and Miss Joan because, as Mrs.
Trenchard-Simpson shrewdly observed to Miss Parbury and General Norris,
“the people were likely to be more amusing than the performance.”
In a sense, this prophecy was strikingly borne out. The performance,
at any rate in its early phases, promised very little in the way of
amusement. The play itself was almost unbelievably infantile, but this
would not have mattered had not the acting been at the same level.
Hardly had the curtain been up five minutes before it was clear that
the patience of the audience was going to be sorely tried.
By that time, it was fully realized “behind” that they were “for it.”
The brief opening scene between a couple of comic servants, although
calling for liberal prompts from the indefatigable Mr. Jupp, really
passed off very well; but its defect was, as the candid critic of the
_Dramatic Pictorial_ was not slow to inform the author, it didn’t last
long enough. The action of the play really began with the entrance of
Sir Toby himself and with it began the trouble. The little baronet,
of course, had cast himself for the part of the hero; it was only
human that he should do so, but nature having endowed him with very
few inches, a voice so loud as to verge upon the uncanny and an
aggressiveness of manner which a certain amount of stage nervousness
served rather cruelly to accentuate, those skilled in the signs began
to fear the worst, even before the worst had happened.
When the time came for the entrance of Lady Elfreda it was painfully
realized, not by her fellow players merely, but by their friends in
front, that upon her frail shoulders the whole weight of the play would
rest. Unfortunately the house was not composed exclusively of the
polite public of the stalls; a less polite, a more general public was
herded in other parts of the building. There was a liberal sprinkling
of outspoken warriors in khaki and hospital blue. From the beginning
they had been inclined “to guy” Sir Toby.
It was a terribly anxious moment when the heroine came on. All felt
her entrance to be the crux of the play. According to the dramatist’s
instructions she had to greet Lord Longacre rapturously as an old and
dear friend. But even Mr. Montagu Jupp had doubts as to whether the
leading lady would be able to achieve rapture. Had that man of infinite
wisdom but known it, the problem for poor Girlie was whether the
leading lady would be able to come on at all.
By the time an expert, who had come from London for the purpose, had
duly painted her face and penciled her eyebrows and the call boy had
announced that the curtain was up, she had to muster the courage to
enter the wings and await her “cue.” She never knew how she was able
to accomplish this. In point of fact she was in such a state of nerves
that it was only the personal intervention of Mr. Jupp which saved her
from coming upon the scene a full two minutes too soon.
When at last she did come on, partly by her own volition and partly
propelled by Mr. Jupp, she was received with a special round of
applause. It was thoroughly well meant, because everyone in the house
understood how much depended upon her, and there is nothing like
encouragement. But, alas, as far as Girlie was concerned, the effect
of that round of applause was paralyzing. Somehow it seemed to complete
the grisly process of her undoing.
Standing stock still and looking ready to faint, not a word crossed her
lips. Sir Toby, however, in response to instructions, whispered sternly
from the wings, crossed the stage heroically and grasped her by the
hand. Another long moment of petrified silence followed and then he led
her to a chair. Girlie, hardly conscious that the eyes of a bewildered
and resentful audience were fixed upon her, sank down overcome by
guilt, terror and exhaustion.