A MUSIC HALL ARTIST
Miss Pearl's question was awkward to answer on the spur of the moment,
as may be easily guessed. Ralph had intended to lead gradually up to
the object of his visit; but thrown off his guard by the sight of the
dress, he had committed himself in a most untimely manner. While
thinking of a possible answer which would delay explanations he stared
hard at Miss Pearl, trying to guess what kind of a woman she was. From
the furnishing of the room, from her looks and severe mode of dress,
he took her to be a religious woman of a Puritanic cast, who had
abjured the pomps and vanities of the world. Yet she was a music-hall
dancer, and that profession did not suit either her surroundings or
her appearance.
"I shall explain why I made that remark shortly," said Shawe, evading
a direct reply as well as he was able; "and, truth to tell, my errand
is not a very pleasant one."
Miss Pearl looked at the card she held in her large white hand, and
pondered thoughtfully. "Mr. Ralph Shawe," she said, in her heavy
voice. "Ah! yes, I remember now. Perhaps, Mr. Ralph Shawe, I can guess
your errand."
"Perhaps you can," muttered Shawe, wondering what she would say.
"Sir Joseph Branwin," pursued the dancer, "told me about you, as an
undesirable suitor for the hand of his daughter. Am I right in
assuming that you have called to enlist my sympathies?"
"Enlist your sympathies?" repeated the visitor, staring.
"Yes. You want me," continued Miss Pearl, in a ponderously playful
manner, "to ask Sir Joseph to permit you to pay your addresses. I
shall do so with pleasure, as I have every sympathy with you and Miss
Branwin."
Shawe still stared in a dazed way, as this speech completely puzzled
him, and--in vulgar parlance--took the wind out of his sails. Here he
had come practically to accuse a lady of being connected with the
murder of a woman whom she had wished to supplant, and this very lady
was now most generously offering her assistance to forward his private
aims. Shawe could not quite understand if this was cunning on Rosy
Pearl's part or mere stupidity, or perhaps the liberal offer of a
generous nature. He noted the careful way in which she spoke and her
method of picking out well-sounding words, and mentally observed that
she was doing her best to correct a defective education by thinking
well before she spoke.
In the meantime Miss Pearl did not hurry him, as she appeared to be a
singularly leisurely person. With her large calm eyes gazing amiably
at him, her gracious, rounded figure, and whole placid pose, she
reminded Ralph of nothing so much as a sacred white cow. But cows can
be furious when aroused, and the barrister wondered if she would rise
in her majesty like Bellona, the goddess of war, when she learnt the
true meaning of his visit. But she must be stupid, he thought, else
she would have persisted in learning straight away the meaning of his
first enigmatic remark. Yet she accepted his postponement calmly, and
was quite ready to wait for an explanation.
"I am greatly obliged to you for your kindness, Miss Pearl," he said
quietly; "but I fear your offer of help is too late. Sir Joseph has
had a serious quarrel with his daughter."
"A serious quarrel with his daughter?" repeated the woman, slowly, as
if trying to get the idea well into her head; then she added, after a
pause; "I should like to hear what the quarrel is about."
Ralph did not intend to tell her, and he was sure Branwin would be too
much ashamed of himself to give the information. "Well, you know, Miss
Pearl, that Sir Joseph wanted his daughter to marry Lord Anvers. She
refused him, so Miss Branwin left the house, as her father was so
furious with her."
"Miss Branwin has left the house? And where is she staying now?"
"At the Pink Shop," said Shawe, promptly. He was unwilling to name
Audrey's temporary abode, but did so, to see what effect the name had
on this calm and undemonstrative woman.
It had an effect, indeed, for Miss Pearl's white skin slowly became a
vivid crimson, and for the first time during the interview she
displayed emotion. Perhaps she was aware of the meaning in Shawe's
gaze when he saw this agitation, for she gave an excuse.
"I don't think that the Pink Shop is a proper place for a young lady
to stay at," she remarked frigidly.
"Why not? You were there yourself, Miss Pearl."
"I have frequently been there, Mr. Shawe. As an artist I have to take
the greatest care of what looks I possess, and I find Madame Coralie
invaluable."
"You slept at the Pink Shop on the night Lady Branwin was--"
Miss Pearl displayed more agitation, and--a rare thing for so
slow-thinking a woman--interrupted somewhat sharply:
"I admit that I did, but I do not wish it to be known."
"For what reason, Miss Pearl?" asked Ralph, pressing his advantage
mercilessly.
"You can guess the reason, Mr. Shawe," she replied, with heavy
indignation. "I know what evil minds people have. Sir Joseph is an
admirer of mine--quite in a platonic way, you understand."
"Of course," murmured the barrister. "I have heard of your unblemished
reputation, Miss Pearl."
"I should think it was unblemished," said the dancer, speaking faster
than usual. "My dear mother, who was a consistent Baptist, always
warned me when I left home to keep myself unspotted from the world.
Circumstances have made me a music-hall dancer, but I have always
conducted myself discreetly, and I always shall do so. Not by way of
advertisement, Mr. Shawe, but because the principles, instilled by my
dear mother, will not permit me to behave in any other way."
"It does you credit, Miss Pearl," murmured Ralph, feeling called upon
to say something polite.
Rosy Pearl looked at him like an offended goddess. "I do not know
whether you mean to be sarcastic, Mr. Shawe, but let me tell you that
sarcasm is out of place. Are you one of those men who do not believe
that a woman can be virtuous in the midst of temptation?"
"Not at all, Miss Pearl. There are good women on the stage, and often
bad women in Church circles. It is a question of temperament."
"It is a question of doing what is right, Mr. Shawe," said the
goddess, with a disdainful look. "I am a dancer, it is true, but no
one can say a word against me."
"I don't think anyone has said a word," Ralph ventured to remark.
"If they did," said Miss Pearl, sharply, "I would bring a libel action
against them without delay. My solicitors have instructions to take
notice of any flippant remark made about me, and to deal with it as it
deserves."
"With such precautions you must be, like Cæsar's wife, above
suspicion."
"I do not know Mrs. Cæsar," said Rosy Pearl, coldly, and betrayed her
lack of educational knowledge in the remark. "I attend to my own
business and to nothing else. I daresay you wonder, Mr. Shawe, why,
with these sentiments, I am on the music-hall stage?"
"Well," Ralph admitted, more and more puzzled by this simplicity, but
unable to tell if it were real or feigned, "I must say that I do
wonder."
"It's because I am stupid."
"Stupid?" Shawe stared. He had never heard a woman admit as much
before.
"Yes, I am," said Miss Pearl, in her rich, slow voice, and looking
more than ever like a sacred white cow. "My parents live in a small
Essex village, and have a large family. My father is a carpenter, and
my mother, as I told you, a consistent Baptist. Being poor, we--the
children, that is--have to work, and when I was eighteen I got a
housemaid's place in London. But I could not do the work."
"It is not difficult work," said Shawe, marvelling at this candour.
"No, it is not difficult work," said Miss Pearl, who seemed to have a
habit of repeating words, perhaps to fix them in her memory; "but I am
stupid, and I was always making mistakes, through forgetting things. I
lost place after place because of what was called my lack of
intelligence. I had to work in some way, and yet I could not, being
too slow and heavy. Then an old gentleman--he was a scholar--said that
I resembled a Greek statue. It gave me an idea, as a friend of mine
knew a music-hall manager. I went to this manager, and asked him to
let me appear in living pictures."
"And he consented?"
"Not at once. He admired me for my looks," said Miss Pearl, with great
simplicity, "and he made love to me. They all do, and it is a great
nuisance, as I don't like that sort of thing. But this manager became
quite friendly when I boxed his ears."
"He must have been an odd manager," said Ralph, thinking that so
strong a white arm could hurt considerably.
"Oh, he was like the rest of them," said Miss Pearl, heavily.
"However, he declared that he saw possibilities in me, and sent me to
someone to be taught. When I mentioned what the scholar had said about
my being like a Greek; this man--he was a professor of dancing--got an
idea of reviving some Attic dances. He taught me three chants--"
"Songs, you mean."
"No, I do not mean songs. I mean chants, to which I dance. You have
seen my performance, have you not, Mr. Shawe?"
"Yes, and a very beautiful performance it is," said Ralph. He
recalled the scene, which represented a Greek temple, before which
Miss Pearl, in scanty white robes, danced in a slow and graceful
manner, chanting--she was right, the word was chanting--stately words
to solemn music. Also she danced the Flower Dance of the Anthesterian
Festival, which was of a more lively character. "It is a very
beautiful performance," repeated Ralph, emphatically.
"I am glad you think so," said Miss Pearl, with a slow, sweet smile.
"Those three dances took me a year to learn. I thought I would never
master them; but in the end I did. Then I appeared, and was a success.
I don't quite like the Greek dress," added the dancer, confidentially,
"as it scarcely covers one; but, so long as I am respectable, what
does it matter?"
Ralph laughed in a somewhat embarrassed manner. He was beginning to
like Miss Pearl, because she was so childlike and unaffected. "I think
you look perfectly respectable," he said with a smile.
"I am glad you think so," said Miss Pearl once more. She did not seem
to have many ideas. "I get a good salary, and for three years I have
been dancing everywhere, so I have saved money, and I am able to help
mother. She was shocked at first, being a consistent Baptist; but now
she is reconciled to the idea, as she knows that I have never
forgotten my early teaching. But my success won't last for ever. I am
clever enough to see that, so I intend to marry Sir Joseph Branwin,
and I hope to make him a good wife."
"I am sure you will," said Shawe, heartily, and felt as though he were
encouraging a child. "You have known him long?"
"For two years. He has always been a good friend to me, although I
have invariably kept him at arm's length. But now that his wife is
dead he wants to marry me."
"And you say that you will marry him?"
Miss Pearl looked at Shawe very directly. "I think I shall marry him;
but, of course, I may not. I have not yet made up my mind."
"But you said just now--"
"Yes, I know what I said, Mr. Shawe. But one can never be sure of
anything in this world of trouble. However, it doesn't much matter if
I marry him or not, as I have saved a lot of money, and I am quite
content to go back to my village and live with my parents. And now,
Mr. Shawe, that I have told you all about myself, perhaps you will
explain why you wish to see me."
Time was getting on, and Shawe had learnt nothing definite as yet, so
he lost no further time, but plunged into the middle of his reason for
calling.
"I wish to know if you saw anything when you stayed at the Pink Shop
likely to lead you to suspect who is the assassin of Lady Branwin?"
"There," said Miss Pearl, colouring again, "I knew some day that I
would be asked that question again."
"Were you asked it before?"
"Yes. Inspector Lanton asked me. He learnt from Madame Coralie that I
slept in the upstairs room, and questioned me. Of course, I knew
nothing, as I was asleep all the time, and I told him so. I also asked
him to keep my name out of the papers, as such publicity would not
have been good for me. And now," added Miss Pearl, emphatically, "it
would do me positive harm seeing that Sir Joseph wants to marry me.
People would say nasty things."
"For instance, that you wished Lady Branwin to die?"
"I daresay," said Miss Pearl, in quite a savage tone for so serene a
goddess. "But let them, that's all. I have always my solicitors to
look after my reputation. Do you think that?" she asked suddenly.
"No," said Ralph, frankly. "I might have entertained some such
suspicion, but after seeing you I do not suspect you in the least.
Still"--he paused--"you may know of something."
"Know what, for instance?" asked Miss Pearl, sharply.
Ralph evaded an answer, and asked another question. "Did you wear a
Harris tweed dress when you were at the Pink Shop?"
"No, I did not. Why do you ask?"
"Because one of the assistants of Madame Coralie--the blind girl,
whose sense of smell is abnormal--scented the peaty fragrance of
Harris tweed in the lower passage about the time Lady Branwin was
murdered, or, at least, one hour later."
"Oh, indeed," said Miss Pearl, coolly. "Then you think that I wore
this dress and went downstairs to murder Lady Branwin so that I could
marry--"
"No, no! I don't mean that. I said that Parizade smelt the perfume an
hour afterwards. You say that you did not wear the dress; but Sir
Joseph always, when in tweeds, prefers the Harris cloth."
"Was he in the house?" asked Miss Pearl, bewildered.
"That is what I wish you to tell me."
"I can't." She rose like an offended goddess. "And if he was, I
certainly should not tell you, Mr. Shawe. If Sir Joseph knew that you
dared to accuse him of murder--"
"He knows what I have told you, Miss Pearl, and knows also that I do
not accuse him directly of murder. But someone wearing Harris tweed
was in the lower passage. You deny wearing this dress, and as Sir
Joseph is partial to the cloth I conclude that he was lurking in the
house. He was certainly seen in the lane by Mrs. Mellop."
"I think," said Miss Pearl, frigidly, "that you had better tell this
story to Sir Joseph himself. I cannot assist you. I was asleep in the
upstairs room all the evening, and I know nothing, as I told Inspector
Lanton. As he is satisfied, I do not see why you should not be."
"Of course, I take your word, but--"
"There is no 'but' about it," interrupted the dancer, imperiously, and
Ralph found himself thinking what a beautiful creature she was. "My
mother always taught me never to tell a lie. And if you think that I
know anything of the crime, Mr. Shawe, I shall prove my sincerity and
ignorance by refusing to marry Sir Joseph Branwin. Good-day," and she
walked out of the room, in as stately a manner as she had entered.
"I wonder," murmured Ralph, leaving the house, "if she's a born liar,
or if she is really and truly telling the truth?"