THE BAIT IS TAKEN.
Mrs. Anerley felt very nervous in going to visit Miss Brunel. She had
never seen an actress in private life; and, on the stage, this
particular actress had seemed so grand and majestic--so thoroughly out
of and beyond the ordinary sphere of everyday existence--that she almost
feared to approach so glorious a creature.
She was very particular about her dress; and perhaps she inwardly
composed a few phrases to break the difficulty of introduction.
But there was no awkwardness where Mr. Anerley was concerned. He went
forward, and took the girl by the hand, and told her, in as gentle a way
as possible, the object of their mission. She was apparently much
touched by this sign of their thoughtfulness and goodness; and said so
briefly. Mrs. Anerley forgot all her prepared little speeches. While
her husband talked to Annie Brunel, she stood and watched the strange
intensity of the girl's large dark-grey eyes. There was no
embarrassment there, and no scanning of the embarrassment of others;
they were too absent, and yet full of a strong personal feeling, which
showed itself as she accepted, with great gratitude, Mr. Anerley's
offer.
"There is one other thing you ought to do," he said. "Get away from the
house at once."
"If we could only have asked you to come down to our house in the
country for a few days," said Mrs. Anerley, in her kindly way, "that
would have been the best thing for you, and a great pleasure to us."
"You would have asked me to visit your home?" said the young girl,
suddenly flashing her clear honest eyes on Mrs. Anerley's face.
"Yes--why not?" said Mrs. Anerley, almost in fright, fancying she had
committed herself.
"You are very kind indeed," said Annie Brunel. "Actresses are not
accustomed to such kindness--especially from strangers."
"But you mustn't call us strangers," said Mr. Anerley, good-naturedly.
"We have the pleasure of knowing you very well; and in a few days we
hope you will know something of us, if we can be of any service to you.
To live in this house, alone, with these sad remembrances, is very
unwise; and, in a day or two, you must leave it."
"Yes, I must leave it--because I must go where I can earn my bread. Has
your son told you, sir, that I have left the stage? So I have; but at
present I have no clear idea of what I must do--and yet I must do
something."
"I am afraid you have placed yourself in a very perilous position," said
Mr. Anerley.
"But I got to dislike the stage so much that I had to leave it."
"Why _you_ should have left the stage!" exclaimed Mrs. Anerley, in open
admiration, leaving the sentence unfinished.
Annie Brunel looked at her for a moment, and said, slowly--
"I have been very fortunate in giving you a good impression of myself.
I thought most ladies outside the theatre looked down upon us theatre
folk; and I was afraid you had come here only at your son's
solicitation, with a sort of----"
"Ah, don't say any more," said Mrs. Anerley, with a genuine pain on her
face. "It is not right to judge of people like that. I wish I could
only show you what Dove and I would like to do in taking you among us,
and making you comfortable, until you should forget this sad blow."
"As for _her_," said Miss Brunel, with a smile, "I knew she was too
gentle and good to despise any one, the moment I saw her. But she was
so much sweeter and truer than ordinary women that I accounted for it on
that ground; and I grew so fond of her in a few minutes. And you,
too--what can I offer you for your goodness to me but my gratitude and
my love?"
"My poor girl!" said Mrs. Anerley, with a touch of moisture in the
corner of her eyes, "I hope we may have some opportunity of proving to
you what we think of you."
Mr. Anerley found that Will had explained to Miss Brunel the
circumstances in which the family were now placed; so that he was
relieved from the embarrassment of saying that whatever aid he might
give her would not be pecuniary aid. But he had not much experience yet
of the girl to whom he was speaking--of the quaint plainness and
directness of her speech, the very antithesis of the style and manner
which Mrs. Anerley had expected to meet.
Annie Brunel told him what small savings she possessed, and asked him if
these could be made to cover all the expenses of the funeral, so that
she might start on her new career unencumbered with debt. He thought it
might be done, and he at once assumed the management of the sad details
of the business before them.
"But then," she said, "I have the servant to pay: and I don't know what
arrangement I may be able to make with the landlord of the house.
Hitherto he has been very obliging."
"That, also, I will look after," said Mr. Anerley, "if you can put
confidence in a man who has so successfully managed his own affairs as
to bring his whole family into poverty."
"And I? Can I do nothing for you?" said Mrs. Anerley. "We who are all
suffering from some kind of trouble should be glad to accept help from
each other. Now, tell me--the clothes you may want--what have you
done?"
"I had just begun to look over some things when you came in."
"Shall I stay and help you until dinner-time? Do let me."
And so, whilst Mr. Anerley went off to see the landlord, Mrs. Anerley
stayed behind and lent her assistance to that work in which the feminine
heart, even when overshadowed by a funeral, finds consolation and
delight. And she afterwards declared that she had never worked with a
pleasanter companion than this patient, self-possessed, and cheerful
girl, whose queenly gestures, and rich voice, and dark clear face had so
entranced and awed her when 'Juliet' came upon the stage.
The two women became confidential with each other in the most natural
and easy way. Mrs. Anerley entirely forgot the actress, and became
wonderfully fond of and familiar with this quaint-mannered girl, with
the splendid hair and the honest eyes.
"For my own part," she said to her, "I am not at all sorry that my
husband has lost this money, if it were not likely to affect Dove's
comfort. You know he is such a very good man, and the very kindest and
best husband a woman could wish to have; but I cannot tell you how it
troubles me sometimes to think that he is not of the same religious
opinions as the rest of us. That is the only thing; and I am sure it
has been brought on by his being too well-off, and having nothing to do
but read and speculate. He has never been put in a position requiring
that aid and comfort we get from religious service; and it is only
carelessness, I am convinced, has led him away."
"And now you think this misfortune----"
"Not the misfortune altogether, but the rougher fight he will have with
the world. He will be glad to have that sense of peace and rest with
which people sit together in church, and forget their everyday troubles.
If it will only do that for him--if it will only bring him back to us--I
shall be glad that we have lost every penny we had in the world. It has
been my trouble for years to think of his perilous state."
"He does not look like a man who would believe anything dangerous."
"I hope not--I hope not," said the tender wife; "I hope it is not
dangerous. And yet I shall never feel that he is safe until he returns
to the old faith and opinions he had when I first knew him. Even then,
when a very young man, I was never sure of him. But he was always so
respectful to every kind of religion, whether he believed in it or not,
that I--yes, I--took him on trust."
"You do not seem to have regretted your choice," said Annie Brunel.
"No," she said, with a pleased and proud smile, "You won't find many
people live more comfortably than we. But there is that one thing you
see----"
"And your son--does he go with his father in these things?"
"I don't think so. I hope not. But both of them are such good men that
I can't make up my mind to go and speak to them as if--as if they were
sinners, you know."
A perplexed, humorous smile came over her face; and yet Annie saw that
her friend was very much in earnest over this matter. It was the one
bitter thing in this good woman's contented and peaceful lot.
After that interview Mrs. Anerley spent the better part of each day with
her new protegee, and a wonderful love grew up between the two
women--motherly and tender on the one side, trusting and childlike on
the other. And for the first day or two Mr. Anerley paid far more
attention to Annie Brunel's affairs than he did to his own, until Mrs.
Christmas was hidden away from a world that had perhaps not been
over-kind to her, and until the young girl was ready to go forth and
seek her own existence. Will during this time never came near. He was
trying to repair the beautiful world that he had shattered, and he kept
faithfully to the task.
Finally, there came the question as to how Annie Brunel was to earn a
living, and the _Times_ was again called into requisition. Many a weary
hour did Mrs. Anerley and her charge spend in reading through the
advertisements, and writing letters in reply to those which seemed most
suitable. No answer came to any one of these applications. For some
reason or other they had not thought it worth while to reply to the
advertisement about music, French, and private theatricals; but at last
the pertinacity with which the lines appeared in the newspaper drew
discussion down upon them.
"If I were to be asked how I became proficient in theatricals, I should
have to say I was on the stage; and I don't wish to do that."
"Why, dear?"
"Because the people might say they did not wish to have an actress in
the house, and I want to avoid the insult."
"My dear, you have the absurdest notions. If they had seen you on the
stage, they will be all the more delighted to have you. It was because
you were an actress, I firmly believe, that I came to see you; and in a
few days I have made a daughter of you."
"Nobody seems inclined to answer my letters," said the girl, ruefully.
"You may wait, and wait, for months," said Mrs. Anerley. "Add this one
to the number, and tell them who you are. But you must tell them that
you only want a small salary, or they will never think of engaging you."
So the letter was written in accordance with these suggestions, and
posted with several others. By that night's post--and the exceeding
swiftness of the response might have provoked some suspicion in less
unworldly minds--there came a letter. Annie Brunel was alone. She saw
by the unknown handwriting that the letter was likely to be a reply to
one of her applications; and for a minute or two she allowed the
envelope to remain unopened, while she wondered what sort of destiny lay
folded within it.
These were the words she read--
"Rose Villa, Haverstock Hill, October 29, 18--.
"Mrs. John Hubbard presents compliments to Miss Brunel; is exceedingly
obliged by the offer of her valuable assistance, and would Miss Brunel
be good enough to call, at her convenience, any forenoon between ten and
two? Mrs. Hubbard hopes that if Miss Brunel can be induced to accept
the situation which lies at her disposal, nothing will be wanting to
render her position in the house more that of a friend than an
instructress. Mrs. Hubbard hopes her proposal, when properly explained
to Miss Brunel, will meet with Miss Brunel's favourable consideration."
This to a governess! The girl scarcely knew how to regard the
letter--so familiar, so respectful, so anxious.
"Here is another person who does not object to my being an actress. And
I am to be her friend."
She came to the conclusion that a lady who could so write to a perfect
stranger, must either be mad, or have an idea that, in asking Annie
Brunel to her house, it was 'Juliet' or 'Rosalind' who might be expected
to come.