IN WHICH BECKY NARRATES HOW FANNY BECAME ACQUAINTED WITH MRS. LYDIA
HOLDFAST.
By this time Fanny had invented a cunning little story.
"If you please, my lady," she replied, "my sister is an actress, and
I've come here to ask you to help me."
"But you don't know me; you've never spoken to me before," said Mrs.
Holdfast.
"I've never spoken to you," said Fanny, "but I remember you well. You
used to go to the theatre in the country, where Nelly was engaged.
That's the reason she sent me to you."
"Is Nelly your sister?"
"Yes, my lady. She was in the front row, and I used to come on in the
crowd. I got a shilling a night, and Nelly had a pound a week. We lived
near you in Oxford, and often saw you pass. Nelly was always talking of
you, and saying how beautiful you were, and what a lady, and how lucky
to have such swell friends. She used to wish she was like you, and when
you went away she wondered where you had gone to. Well, things got bad,
and Nelly and I came to London a month ago; and now she has left me, and
I don't know what I am to do."
"Why didn't your sister take you with her?" asked Mrs. Holdfast.
"She could tell you; I can't, except that she said two's company and
three's none. She said yesterday morning, 'I'm off, Dot; I can't stand
this any longer. No engagement and no money. You must look after
yourself, Dot. I tell you what to do if you're hard up. You go to this
address'--(and she gave me the address of your house)--'and ask for Mrs.
Holdfast. Don't say Grace Holdfast--she mightn't like it--and say I knew
her in Oxford, and ask her to help you. She'll do it. She's got a kind
heart, and knows what it is to be unfortunate.' Well, that's all--except
that in the afternoon a gentleman came, and asked for Nelly. She goes
down to him, and I hear what they say. It ain't much. 'Are you ready?'
the gentleman asks. 'Oh, yes,' says Nelly, in a kind of saucy way, 'I'm
ready enough.' Then Nelly asked him for some money, and he gave her a
sovereign. She runs up to me, whips on her hat, kneels down, kisses me,
puts the sovereign in my hand, and says, 'Good-bye, Dot, I can't help
leaving you; what's the use of stopping here to starve? Get away from
this house as soon as you can, for there's rent owing that I can't pay.
Mrs. Holdfast will give you a lift if you want one.' She kisses me
quick, over and over again, and runs down stairs, and out of the house.
Well, I'm crying and the landlady comes in and asks, sharp, where Nelly
has gone, and when I tell her, she flies into a passion, and says
there's three weeks' rent owing, besides other money. My hand is shut
tight, with the sovereign in it, and the landlady must have seen it
through my fingers, for she tries to force them open, but she can't till
she digs her knuckles into the back of my hand, when, of course, the
sovereign rolls out. 'Oh,' says the landlady, 'your sister's left this
on account. All right; I hope she'll pay the rest when she comes back.'
She pockets the sovereign, and this morning she turns me out of the
house, and tells me she has let the room. So I am obliged to go, and I
didn't know what else to do except to come to you."
I am not in a position to describe the exact effect this story, as
related by Fanny, produced upon Mrs. Holdfast. For my part, I was amazed
at the child's ingenuity. I doubt whether she could have invented
anything that would be likely better to serve our purpose. I am of
opinion that Mrs. Holdfast was both amused and frightened, and I think
she has some plan in her head with reference to Fanny. At all events,
she gave Fanny five shillings, and bade her come again to-morrow, in
the evening; and before Fanny left her, she made the child promise not
to mention to a soul in the world anything about ever having seen her
anywhere else but in London. Fanny promised, and left the house. To come
straight home to me? No. The cunning little creature waited outside Mrs.
Holdfast's house until the lady came out. She watched her get into her
carriage, and when it started she ran ahead of the horses until she was
out of breath. Then she called a cab, and paying the man out of her five
shillings, told him to follow the carriage. It stopped at the Criterion
Theatre, and Fanny, jumping from the cab, saw Mrs. Holdfast enter the
theatre.
That is all I have to tell you to-night. You may be assured that Mrs.
Holdfast does not feel any poignant grief at the loss of her husband.
Otherwise she would keep from theatres for a little while. The state of
widowhood is evidently one which gives her satisfaction. I wonder what
the Reporter of the newspaper who wrote the "Romance of Real Life,"
partly from her own lips, would say, if he saw Mrs. Holdfast laughing in
the theatre so shortly after the discovery of the murder of her husband.
Because the piece they are playing at the Criterion is taken from the
French, and is intended to make you laugh. All the actors and actresses
who play in it are comedians, and do their best to create fun. The
Reporter would put on his "Considering Cap," as the children's books
say. If she had gone to see a tragedy, where she could cry her eyes
out, she might have offered some excuse. But a laughable play, the
morality of which is not very nice! That is a different pair of shoes.
Undoubtedly it is a risk for Mrs. Holdfast to run; but unless I am much
mistaken in her, she loves to run risks. She could not live without
excitement. Your father's widow, my dear, was not cut out for a nun.
I feel like a person with a chess board before her, in the middle of
a game which, to lose, would ruin her. I shall not lose it. Every hour
the position of the pieces is becoming more clear to me, and I am
discussing in my mind the advisability of two or three bold moves. But I
will wait a little; something of importance will very soon be revealed
to me. Good night, my dear. Sleep well. Every moment that passes brings
our happiness nearer and nearer.
[Decoration]