in their upper chamber, smiling at the remembrance of the scene just
passed through. "I knew I had but to find the right man, and our fortune
would be made! You were fine, boy; you were fine! I had reckoned upon
you; yet one never knows how it will be till the moment comes. Some are
struck with stage-fright, and blunder and trip, till all illusion
vanishes. Others mouth and strut through pure terror of the myriad eyes
bent upon them, and bring down ridicule and contempt upon their heads.
But I had confidence in you, and my confidence was not misplaced. We
have taken the town by storm this night; and as we have begun, so shall
it be to the end."
Certainly it seemed as though this prediction were to be fulfilled, for
every performance was crowded to the utmost limit of the two theatres;
and the extraordinary resemblance of the young actor--whose name was
quite unknown to the world--to the great Duke of Marlborough was the
talk of the whole town, and raised an immense curiosity, which spread
through all classes.
Grey called himself Edward White upon the playbills, and was thus known
to the theatre managers, who could give no information about the young
man save that he was a pupil of the old actor Wylde, who had written the
piece, and cast it especially for himself and his _protege_. When it
was urged that the young man must have known the Duke, else how could he
so accurately reproduce his tricks of voice and speech and manner, they
drily shook their heads, saying that of his past history they were
ignorant, but that as an actor they were satisfied with his capacity,
and were struck by his similarity in figure and bearing to the great
General.
The talk spread through the town, the theatres filled to overflowing,
and crowds flocked behind the scenes nightly to get speech with the
successful actors.
It was perhaps a week after the first performance, and Grey was just
meditating the possibility of escape from the attentions of the
fashionable mob, when a loud and resonant laugh broke upon his ear, and
his face flushed deeply beneath its olive tinting.
Lord Sandford made his way through the crowd about him, and in a moment
the two were face to face.
Grey had of set purpose taken up a station, according to his custom, in
a place where the light was sufficiently bad. The passages and rooms
behind the scenes were never brilliantly illuminated, and the shadows
fell somewhat deeply upon his face; yet it seemed to him well-nigh
impossible, as he looked full into the eyes of the man he had trusted,
and who had failed him, that he should not at once be discovered.
But there was no trace of recognition in Lord Sandford's bold glance,
though it rested upon his face with a shrewd curiosity.
"Good-even, sir. I have desired to see your performance ere this, but
have always been hindered. A fine piece of acting as ever I saw. And
yet your name is unknown to me, and I thought I knew every actor in the
town and in the country."
"It is my first appearance, your lordship," answered Grey in his stage
voice. "I owe my success to the kindliness of Mr. Wylde. I have had no
previous training. I have to thank the public for a very kind
reception."
"No previous training for the boards? I can believe that, my friend.
But I warrant me you have had previous acquaintance with the great
world. You are no stranger to my lord of Marlborough--that I will
warrant."
"I did see him once, my lord; and there are some persons whom once to
see and hear is always to remember. The impression of a great
personality is not easily effaced."
Lord Sandford's bold eyes were roving over Grey's face and figure in a
way that was disconcerting, but he would not flinch or abase his gaze.
He, at least had nothing of which to be ashamed.
"I have seen you before, Mr. White," he remarked suddenly; "I cannot yet
say where or when. But you have been in my company ere this. Say, is
not that true?"
"To have been in your lordship's company is surely no great
distinction," answered Grey, with slightly veiled irony. "Is it not
well known that Lord Sandford goes everywhere, is seen everywhere, and
keeps company with all sorts and conditions of men?"
The young peer threw back his head and broke into a great laugh.
"Gadzooks, you have a ready tongue, my friend, and are not afraid to use
it. Well, well, if you desire to tell me nothing, I will ask no more.
Every man has a right to his own secret, though I make no pledge that I
will not discover yours ere long. I have a mighty curiosity about some
men's affairs, which I will gratify at my pleasure."
"Was it a threat?" asked Grey of himself, "and had he any suspicion?"
He scarce thought so. He would have seen a glint of recognition in his
eyes had he been known beneath his disguise. But he was glad when Lord
Sandford turned away with another loud laugh, though his heart seemed to
throb with a painful intensity as he heard his loud voice speaking to
his companions,--
"Well, I must away to my Lord Romaine's house. My lady holds a rout
to-night, and will be ill pleased if I present not myself. The Lady
Geraldine will expect to see me. We must not disappoint the pretty
birds. Who is for the rout, and who to stay for what fare they give us
here?"
Grey turned away with his heart on fire. What meant that jesting
allusion to the Lady Geraldine? Could it be that she had plighted her
troth to him? What else could he expect to hear than that she would obey
the wishes of her parents? If Lord Sandford were the husband chosen for
her, how could she escape the fate of becoming his wife? Would she even
desire to escape it? How could a pure and innocent maiden know the sort
of life which he had hitherto led?
Lady Romaine's rooms were full of gay company, and a clamour of laughter
and chatter rose up in a never-ceasing hum. The card-tables were
crowded, and little piles of gold coins were constantly changing hands.
Gay gallants fluttered hither and thither like great painted
butterflies, first stopping before one fair lady and then hovering round
another; taking snuff with one another; bandying jest or anecdote, quip
or crank; putting their heads eagerly together over some bit of new
scandal, and then going off in high glee to tell the news elsewhere.
There were a few grave politicians gathered together in one corner
discussing the affairs of the day--the successful campaign on the
Continent, and the possibilities of an honourable peace. There were
none of the high Tories to be seen at Lord Romaine's house. He belonged
to the Whig faction, and pinned his faith to Godolphin, whom he thought
the finest statesman of the day. He was on friendly terms with all the
men of the so-called Whig junto, and Lord Halifax and Lord Sunderland
were to be seen at his house to-night, foremost amongst those who
preferred quiet converse on weighty matters to the laughter and giddy
talk in the larger rooms.
The Lady Geraldine had betaken herself to the inner apartment, where her
father was to be found in converse with his friends. It interested her
far more to listen to the topics of the day discussed by them than to
receive the vapourings of the gilded dandies, or to hear the chatter of
painted dames. To her great relief Lord Sandford had not appeared at
the rout, and sincerely did she hope he would continue to absent
himself. Of late his attentions had become more pressing, and every day
she feared to hear from her father that he had made formal application
for her hand, and had been accepted.
Geraldine did not want to marry him. From the first she had shrunk from
his admiration, but had not been able to satisfy herself as to whether
such shrinking were just or right. She knew her mother favoured him,
and that her father thought he would rise to eminence if once he could
shake off the follies and extravagances of youth, and settle down to
wedded life with the woman of his choice. There was something
attractive in his great strength, and in the manhood which was never
eclipsed even when he followed the fashion of the day in dress and talk.
But whilst she was hesitating, something had come into her life which
seemed quite to have changed its current; and from that time forward she
had resolutely set herself against Lord Sandford's suit, and received
his attentions with a coldness and aloofness which whetted his desire
and piqued his vanity as nothing else could have done.
There was one face for which Geraldine looked in vain, and had looked
for many long weary weeks. Why she so desired to see that face, she
could scarce have told; yet thus it was. But it never came. She asked
questions now and again of some young beau who had lived in Lord
Sandford's world; but it was little she could learn of what she so much
wished.
"Oh, Sir Grey and my Lord Sandford had a quarrel. None know the cause,
but they say 'twas about a woman. I know naught of it. But they parted
company; and belike he has gone off to the wars, for none of us have set
eyes upon him since the day when he lost the race, and went near to lose
his life."
"How was that?" Geraldine had asked with whitening lips.
Then she had heard, with sundry embellishments, the story of the race,
and the suspicions which had been aroused as to whether or not a trap
had been laid for the young baronet, into which he had fallen, and had
only escaped severe injury by a happy chance.
Geraldine's heart had been filled with horror.
"Think you that Lord Sandford had a hand in it?" had been her whispered
question, to which a careless laugh was the answer. She gathered from
more than one source that his companions believed Lord Sandford quite
capable of such a deed; for he had the reputation of being a man good as
a friend, but bad to quarrel with, and absolutely unscrupulous when his
passions were roused. None would ever answer for what he might do.
A great horror had fallen upon Geraldine at hearing this tale--a horror
which haunted her still after all these weeks. She could not forget how
Lord Sandford had come upon her and Grey in the gardens of Vauxhall, and
how he had spoken in a stern voice, and had carried her off with an air
of mastery that she had been unable to resist. And almost immediately
after this had come the quarrel--which men said was about a woman--and
the disappearance of Sir Grey Dumaresq from the world which had known
him. Her heart often beat fast and painfully as she mused on these
things. Had he not promised her to give up that idle life, that gaming
and dissipation which in their hearts they both despised? And he had
kept his promise. He had broken loose from his fetters. He might now
be living a life of honourable purpose elsewhere. But she had hoped to
see and know more of him. She had not thought of his exiling himself
altogether. True, if Lord Sandford were his foe, and such a dangerous
one to boot, it were better he should be far away. And yet she longed
to see him again, to hear his voice, to know how it went with him.
Oft-times in the midst of such gay scenes as the one before her eyes her
thoughts would go roving back to that golden summer morning when he had
come to her upon the shining river; and she would rehearse in her memory
every word that had passed, whilst her eyes would grow dreamy, and her
lips curve softly, and her whole face take an expression which was
exquisite in its tenderness and purity.
"Good-even, Lady Geraldine! I trust that your thoughts are with your
poor servant now before you, who has been chafing in sore impatience at
the delay in presenting himself here."
She raised her eyes, and there was Lord Sandford standing before her;
and they seemed almost alone, for no one was near, the group of
politicians having moved farther away towards the doorway commanding the
larger suite.
She rose and made him the sweeping curtsy of the day; but he possessed
himself of her hand, and carried it to his lips.
"I pray you treat me with none such ceremony, sweet lady. We may surely
call ourselves something more than acquaintances, after all that has
passed betwixt us. I may safely style myself your friend, I trow. Is
it not so, Lady Geraldine?"
There was something almost compelling in the glance he bent upon her.
There was a ring of mastery in his words, despite the gentleness he
strove to assume. She felt it, and she inwardly rebelled, although she
gave no sign.
"Friendship, I trow, my lord, doth mean something very near and intimate
and sacred. I scarce know myself at what point an acquaintance doth
become a friend. I would that all true and noble-hearted men and women
would honour me by their friendship, for I prize not any other."
He looked at her searchingly, wondering what she meant, and if she were
levelling any taunt at himself. The thought was like the sting of a
lash upon his skin, and a flush rose slowly to his brow, out his voice
was steady as he answered,--
"I care not how intimate and near and sacred such friendship be,
provided it be vouchsafed to me, madam. I have not been thought by
those who know me to be a bad friend; but it would ill become me to sing
mine own praises to win the regard of the woman who is queen of my
heart."
It was the first time he had spoken quite so openly, and Geraldine's
fair, pale face flushed beneath his ardent gaze. What she would have
answered she never knew; he held her gaze almost as the snake holds that
of the bird it has in thrall. Yet, all the while, her heart was
rebelling fiercely, and her vague doubts and misgivings were changing
rapidly into a very pronounced fear and distrust and loathing.
But ere she had time to think what she should say, or he to make further
protestations, a great rustling of silken skirts was heard, and in
rushed Lady Romaine in a state of her usual artificial excitement and
animation.
"Ah, my lord, there you are! They did tell me you had come. And it is
said that you have been to see the representation of which all men are
talking--the dreadful old Father Time, who says such horrid things, but
is put to shame by a wonderful youth who is as like the Duke of
Marlborough as though they were cast in the same mould. Tell me, is
this so? What is it like, this performance? I have been dying to see
it, yet never have done so. Tickets are scarce to be had--and such a
price! All the town is flocking. Tell us truly, is it such a wonderful
thing, or is it just something for empty heads to cackle over?"
"It is well enough," answered Lord Sandford carelessly, wishing the
ogling lady farther at this moment. "The acting is good, and the piece
not bad; there is power and wit in it, as all may hear, and it lacks not
for boldness neither. But 'tis the resemblance of the young actor to
the great Duke which is the attraction to the populace. I went to speak
with him after all was over, to see if the likeness was as great close
at hand as it seems on the stage."
"And is it so?" asked the lady breathlessly.
"No; the features in no way favour the Duke's, save that both are
handsome and regular. But the carriage, the action, the voice--these
are excellent. The fellow must have known his Grace in days gone by.
But no man knows who he is nor whence he comes. He calls himself Edward
White; but none know if that be his name or not."
A sudden flush mounted to Geraldine's face, and faded, leaving her
snow-white. A thought had flashed into her mind; it set her heart
beating violently. White! How often had he said to her, "Would I were
white as thou!" He had gifts; she had told him of them. He had seen
and known the Duke, and was tall and comely to look upon; and she had
heard him speak with his voice and manner as he told her of their
meeting. Everything seemed whirling in a mist about her. She was
recalled to herself by hearing her mother exclaim, in her shrill, eager
tones,--
"Then, by my troth, we will have them here, and see for ourselves what
they can do, without the crowding we should suffer at the theatre. We
will engage them for the first night they can come."
*CHAPTER XIII.*
*THE HERO OF THE HOUR.*
Grey's heart was beating to suffocation as he put the finishing touches
to his toilet. The Old Lion sat beside the fire in his costume of
Father Time, bending forward to the blaze, but giving vent from time to
time to a hollow cough, which at a less all-engrossing moment might have
caused Grey some uneasiness. But to-night his head was filled with
other thoughts. He was about to start for Lord Romaine's house. The
representation of "Time and the Youth" was to be given there before a
large and fashionable assembly. _She_ would be there! That was his
first thought. She would watch the performance. He might even be able
to pick her out from crowded audience, and feast his eyes upon her pure,
pale beauty. At least for an hour he would be near her. That alone was
enough to set his heart beating in tumultuous fashion. She would be
there. At Lord Romaine's own house it was impossible it should be
otherwise. Their eyes might meet; and though she would know him
not--better that she should not, indeed--he would gaze upon those
features which were dearest to him out of all the world. And whether
for weal or woe, Grey knew by this time that the love of his whole being
was centred in Lady Geraldine Adair, though he was schooling himself to
the thought of seeing her and knowing her to be another man's wife. To
him she could only be as a star in the firmament of heaven--as a
benignant influence guiding him to higher and nobler paths. That was
how he must ever learn to regard her, for her world and his were poles
asunder. And what had he to offer to any woman--he whose future lay all
uncertain before him, and whose fortunes were yet in the clouds?
A message from below warned them that the coach which was to convey them
to Lord Romaine's house was now at the door.
"You are tired, sir," spoke Grey, suddenly waking from his reverie and
turning to the old man, who rose with an air of lassitude which his
strong will could not entirely conceal; "I fear me you are not quite
yourself to-night. This constant acting is something too great a strain
upon you."
"Ay, my boy, I am growing old," answered the other, with a note of pain
in his voice; "I feel it as I never felt it before. My triumph has come
just a little too late. I am too old to take up the threads of the past
again. The Old Lion has risen once again to roar in the forest, but he
must needs lay him down soon in his den--to die."
Over Grey's face there passed a quick spasm of anxiety and pain.
"Nay, nay; say not so. I have never heard you speak in such vein
before. What ails you to-night, dear master?"
"No matter, boy, no matter; heed not my groanings," answered Wylde,
assuming more of his usual manner, though he held tightly to Grey's arm
as they descended the stairs. "I have been somewhat out of sorts these
last few days, and you know how they did tell me at the theatre that my
voice was not well heard the other night--"
"Ah, but you had that rheum upon you. It is better now. Yesterday your
notes rang forth like those of a clarion."
"Ah yes, that may be; but what has happened once may chance again. Boy,
did you observe a gray-headed man standing in the slips and watching my
every action, his lips following mine as I spoke my part?"
"I did. I thought he seemed to know every word by heart himself. He
had the face of an actor, methought."
"He is one, and a favourite with the people--Anthony Frewen is his name.
He and I have held many an audience spellbound ere now. What think you
he was there for?"
"Nay, I know not, save to watch and learn and admire."
"Ay, truly, to watch and learn, that he may step into Father Time's
part, should the day come when I can hold my throne no longer."
A violent fit of coughing here interrupted the old man's words, seeming
to give a point to his speech that otherwise it might have lacked.
Grey supported him tenderly whilst the paroxysm lasted; but he sat
aghast, thinking what might be coming upon his master and friend. If,
indeed, he were to be laid aside by illness, how could the successful
dramatic interlude be carried on, save by another actor? And did it not
look as though theatre managers were foreseeing this contingency, and
preparing for it?
"Could they, indeed, supersede you, sir?" he asked at length. "Have
they the right to do so, since the thing was written by you? Must they
not rather wait for you to take up your part again, should the cold
seize upon you, and for a time render you unfit for your part?"
"Nay, nay, they will not do that; and they have purchased the rights to
produce the piece as long as they will. I could not complain. I could
only submit." He stopped and drew his breath rather hard, and then
broke out with something of his old fire: "But what matter? what matter?
It is nature's law! The old must give way to the young. I have lived my
life. I have shown men what I can do. I have aroused me from sleep,
and shone like a meteor in the sky ere my long eclipse shall come. I am
content. I ask no more. Let Elisha take up the mantle which falls from
Elijah. My work will be remembered when the hand that penned it is
dust."
Grey was almost horrified by these words. It seemed to him as though
the Old Lion were almost making up his mind to some approaching
calamity; and at the thought of losing his one friend, the young man's
heart stood still. He had become greatly attached to Wylde; but he knew
that amid those of his own profession he had many enemies. Nor had he
been many weeks amongst actors before he had learned the jealousies and
emulations that burned so fiercely amongst them, and how eagerly every
vacant place was snapped up by one of a crowd of eager aspirants. Who
knew but that somebody might even now be studying his part of the Youth,
ready to step into his shoes should any untoward event occur to
incapacitate him? He had constantly seen the handsome but unsteady
Lionel Field hanging about the theatre, and once or twice he had come to
see them in their lodgings, and had asked the Old Lion to speak a good
word for him, declaring that he had resolved upon turning over a new
leaf, and becoming steady and sober again. Grey remembered now how many
questions he had put about the Duke of Marlborough, asking how Grey had
become so well acquainted with his person and voice and gestures. These
he himself had imitated, not without success, for the young man had
considerable natural gifts, and far more training than Grey could boast,
although he had won so great success through the close instructions of
an able master.
The young man knew perfectly by this time that Wylde was somewhat feared
in dramatic circles for his keen criticisms, his autocratic temper, and
his scathing powers of retort. He knew, likewise, that he was regarded
as something of an interloper--a man who had risen suddenly into notice
by what might be called "back-stair" influence. Grey was fully aware
himself that he had served no apprenticeship to his present calling,
that he had stepped into success simply and solely through a series of
happy accidents. He could not wonder that to others he should seem to be
something of an impostor and a fraud. Whilst under the Old Lion's
immediate patronage, nobody dared to flout or insult him; but he was
sometimes conscious of an undercurrent of hostile jealousy directed
against him, which increased with his increasing popularity with the
public. He could not doubt that if some mischance were to befall him or
his patron, his fall would be acclaimed in many circles with delight, as
making room for another to fill his vacant place. And Grey, looking at
the hollow cheeks and the gaunt frame of the Old Lion, hearing from time
to time his painful coughing, began to fear that he, indeed, would not
long be able to face the world or fight his own battle; and doubtful,
indeed, did he feel of his own power and ability to fight that battle
for himself single-handed.
[Illustration: The hero of the hour (page 251).]
These fears and misgivings, however, though somewhat dismal at the
moment, were all driven away as the carriage rolled under the archway of
Lord Romaine's house, and he found himself at his journey's end, and so
close to the object of his heart's desire.