"Lady Tracy's At Home"
During almost the whole of the term the Dramatic Society had flourished
among the boarders. That is to say, the prefects had chosen a play, had
taken the best parts for themselves, and had allotted the minor parts to
those girls who were fortunate enough to be their favourites. The
particular piece they had selected was named "Lady Tracy's At Home", and
included a large number of characters. Many of these were only in the
nature of "supers", and had no words to say; others had a few short
speeches. All the main action of the play centred on six principals, who
were represented by the four prefects, with Muriel Knighton and Mabel
Dennis, also members of the Sixth Form. There had been endless
rehearsals. Adah, as stage manager, was extremely particular, and
drilled her company remorselessly.
"We've got to make it a good show this time," she assured them.
"Remember, we're a big school now, and we shall be acting to a large
audience. I expect those day girls will be fairly critical, so we
mustn't give them any opportunity to find fault. Let's show them we know
how to act."
"They used to have plays at their old school," volunteered Consie.
"I suppose they did, but I dare say they weren't up to much. You see, as
they weren't boarders, they couldn't have had proper time for
rehearsals, and perhaps didn't think out their costumes as we're doing."
"Very likely they only took Shakespeare or scenes from Dickens, or
something tame of that kind," nodded Isobel.
Miss Thompson had allowed the Dramatic Society a certain wideness of
choice, so they had abandoned the classics, which seemed to savour too
much of the schoolroom, and had selected an entirely modern and
up-to-date comedy. In their eyes it was going to rival a piece from the
real theatre. They had all seen up-to-date acting, and had their ideals
of what a comedy ought to be.
"You must try to live in your parts beforehand, so that you catch the
spirit of them," counselled Adah. "I've heard that Ellen Terry and Sarah
Bernhardt always did that. It was the secret of their success. Throw
yourself into your character till you entirely realize it."
"I suppose that's the artistic temperament," agreed Consie. "It would be
gorgeous to take up the stage as a career, wouldn't it?"
"The stage of the future is going to be a School of Education for the
People," moralized Adah. "Conscientious and cultured actresses will be a
want."
"Miss Hopkins says Nature never creates a vacuum," ventured Joyce.
"Trust Mother Nature! If there's a want, she'll send someone to fill the
gap."
"Only, of course, they've got to train themselves. There's nothing like
beginning when one's young. And having the wish is half the battle."
As a result of this serious interest in dramatic culture, the character
of the six "principals" underwent sudden and astonishing changes.
Isobel, erstwhile a rather shy and retiring maiden, put on a perkiness
and a coy assurance very puzzling indeed to anybody who did not know
that _pro tem._ she was Miss Diana Davenport, the beautiful, dashing,
fascinating Society debutante, who was breaking the hearts of young and
old in fashionable Mayfair. She practised casting a glamour over people
and glancing from under veiled lashes, and succeeded fairly well with
those who understood and played up, but indifferently with Miss Hopkins,
who asked her if she were suffering from an attack of indigestion, and
whether a dose of sal volatile would relieve the pain. Muriel, whose
role was that of Diana's rejected lover, Lord Darcy Howard, went about
endeavouring to remember that she had a broken heart. She sighed
frequently, kept an expression of yearning in her eyes, and smiled a
sad, wan smile, fraught with memories. She maintained a calm, yet
melancholy dignity, befitting one who is singled out by fate for
disappointment, heroism, and an early grave. It was really a very
difficult part for Muriel, whose natural tastes inclined to a more
sporting character, and she would have preferred to act a comic Irish
servant; but Adah assured her that it was useless to think of the stage
unless she was prepared for all emergencies, and could take any role
that might be offered her. Adah herself, as Lady Tracy, had blossomed
into a loquacious, clever, manoeuvring, brilliant hostess, much set on
worldly advantages, and immediately concerned with the due disposal in
life of her daughter Marigold. Adah's manner had always been rather
consequential, now it surpassed itself, and she swam about the school
as Queen of Society. Mabel, as Marigold, schooled herself to extreme
innocence. She would practise making round eyes and an engaging pout
as she lisped out: "But, Mother dearest, what is the great big world
really, really like?" After many rehearsals, she succeeded in sidling
bashfully into a room, and extending a timid hand without relapsing
into laughter. Consie, the dashing _debonnaire_ hero of the piece, had
an easier task. It was comparatively simple to stride about paying
flowery compliments and carrying all before her. She soon acquired an
irresistible manner, and a habit of flinging herself lazily into
arm-chairs and toying with an imaginary watch-chain. She succeeded so
admirably, that when she wore her costume at dress rehearsal, some of
the girls almost fell in love with her. To Joyce, as the villain, fell a
harder lot. It is difficult to live the part of a villain consistently
for weeks. At rehearsals, much coached and chivied by Adah, she would
slink and frown and bite her finger-tips and look daggers, and throw
sarcasm into her voice, but off the stage she would relapse at once
into the comfortable, easygoing, happy-go-lucky ways which usually
characterized her personality. She was a sore trial to Adah.
"If you'd ever seen 'Shylock' or 'Mephistopheles', you'd have a better
idea," urged the head girl. "You're not nearly bold and bad enough,
somehow. We'll give you a dark wig and a curled moustache, and that
paper cigar, and you must grind your teeth when Lord Archibald taxes you
with the conspiracy."
"Will the audience hear me grinding them?" asked Joyce helplessly.
"Of course not, stupid! But they'll see your mouth move."
"If the moustache doesn't cover it."
"We'll take care it shan't. Can't you manage to look like 'Gentleman
Jim' on the cinema when the detective caught him with his hand inside
the safe?"
"I'll try; but how long must I go on looking like that? In the cinema
they whisk on to the next picture in half a second, but on the stage
I'll have to stand there, and I don't feel inclined to grind my teeth
for five minutes. I hope that tweed suit will fit!"
All the performers felt their costumes to be their last resource,
supplying any deficiencies in the acting. They were determined to be
ultra-fashionable, and sent home for suitable garments. Adah secured a
perfect dream of a dress in grey voile trimmed with sequins, and a silk
petticoat that rustled as she walked. They lent an added graciousness
and seal of society to her impressive manner. Isobel borrowed a toque,
and a veil with spots, and a feather boa, and a pair of tan boots with
high French heels, and a large cameo brooch, and a vanity bag, and
looked dashing enough to break the heart of the most hardened and
deliberate woman-hater who ever trod the boards. Her companions, gazing
at her bewildered, assured her that she looked at least twenty-one, if
not more. The way she stretched out a dainty gloved hand and murmured
"How d'ye do?" was considered a triumph of acting.
"If we do it really well, of course, we might be asked to give it over
again," Adah confided modestly to her fellows.
"Here?" asked Isobel.
"Well, not necessarily. Sometimes managers lend theatres for charities."
"An amateur play generally makes a heap of money!" opined Joyce.
"It would be lovely to act it in a real theatre!" gasped Mabel.
"The Harlingden Operatic Society cleared thirty pounds for the hospital
by the 'Gondoliers'," volunteered Consie.
In imagination the Silverside Dramatic was already emulating this
gratifying example. They could picture their appearance on the boards of
the Prince of Wales Theatre before a distinguished audience, including
possibly the Mayor and Mayoress. Meantime they expected quite a crowded
audience in the big class-room, and made grand preparations. The
performance was to be on the last Wednesday afternoon of term at four
o'clock. It was a custom as old as the school. The day girls had always
been invited to attend, and this year Adah pinned up the usual
announcement on the notice board. She saw Annie and Gladys sniggering
over it, but set that down to their general lack of manners. She hoped
what they were going to see would duly impress them. They would surely
be proud to belong to a school that could get up such a dramatic
entertainment.
The performers were allowed to stop lessons at 3.15 in order to change
their costumes, and, after a tremendous amount of breathless work in the
way of dressing, accomplished their toilets to their own and everybody
else's satisfaction.
"You look A1," said Adah to Muriel. "If you don't absolutely take the
house I shall be really astonished."
Lord Darcy laughed nervously. His clothes were immaculate, but not very
comfortable. He showed decided symptoms of stage fright. Joyce, as the
wicked earl, was anxious about the set of her wig. It was rather too
large, and exhibited a tendency to tilt over on one side unless she held
her head very stiffly erect, an attitude that did not correspond with
the sinuous, snake-like poses which she had practised as appropriate for
the villain of the piece.
"My moustache makes my upper lip quite stiff. I'm sure I speak funnily,"
she fluttered.
"No, no, you're all right! I'll tip you a wink if your wig gets crooked,
and you can push it straight. Consie, you look an absolute bounder in
that blue tie! If I were Marigold I should prefer the villain instead of
falling into your arms."
"Many thanks!" said Lord Archibald, regarding himself in the mirror with
satisfaction. "As you're to be my prospective mother-in-law you ought to
appreciate me better!"
"It's high time we began," urged Mabel.
"I'll take a look and see that everything's ready," said Adah.
She ran to the platform and held a hasty review of the stage properties.
Yes, all was arranged exactly as she wished. Minnie and Alice had done
their duty. From the other side of the curtain came the sound of
talking. She could not resist a peep at the audience and applied her eye
to a small chink. What she saw made her gasp. Instead of a whole
schoolroomful of people only the three front rows of seats were
occupied. Much disturbed she rushed back to the dressing-room, and,
calling Mona Bardsley, who was acting prompter, sent her off as scout.
"Go and find out why they're not ready, and tell them to hurry up and
take their places or we shall begin without them," she commanded.
Mona was away some little time. She returned looking decidedly blank.
"They say they're ready and waiting, all those who are coming."
"But the room's only a quarter full! Where are the others?"
"The day girls have nearly all gone home."
"Gone home! Didn't they understand we'd invited them?"
"Oh, yes, but they said they'd rather not stay."
Adah's face was a study.
"Do you mean to say they don't care about seeing our play?"
"So it seems."
"The slackers! They've just done it on purpose, out of spite. Well, if
this isn't the meanest thing I've ever heard of! How perfectly
sickening!"
The injured performers received the bad news with much disgust, but
their grousing was cut short by the arrival of a fourth-form girl with a
message.
"Miss Thompson says, will you please begin at once, because it's getting
very late?"
There was nothing for it but to go through the piece with the best grace
they could, before an audience of mistresses, boarders, and about ten of
the old Silverside day girls. It is poor work playing to an empty house,
and they felt that half the spirit had gone out of the performance.
Adah's manner was not nearly so gracious and impressive as at
rehearsals, Lord Darcy got confused and mixed up his speeches, and
Marigold giggled palpably when she ought to have been looking love-lorn.
As for the wicked earl, his black moustache dropped off just when he was
in the very midst of his villainy, and spoiled his best point. The
Principal and the mistresses clapped their hardest, and so did the rest
of the scanty audience, but everybody felt that the whole affair had
been a fiasco.
"It was very nice, my dears!" said Miss Thompson, congratulating the
disconsolate actresses as they came in to tea afterwards. "Quite one of
the best plays we've ever had here."
"She means kindly, but she knows it was a failure," whispered Adah
gloomily to Consie. "I'll never forgive those day girls!"