A FAMILY SECRET
How sweet and calm the village looked the next morning, when Rosalie woke
and looked out at it. She was quite sorry to leave it, but there was no
rest for these poor wanderers; they must move onwards towards the town
where they were next to perform. And as they travelled on, Rosalie's mother
went on with her sad story.
'I told you, darling, that my mother took a house in town, and that we all
moved there, that my brother Gerald might take possession of our old home.
We were getting great girls now, and my mother sent Miss Manders away, and
left us to our own devices.
'My sister Lucy had been very different since our father died. She was so
quiet and still, that I often wondered what was the matter with her. She
spent nearly all her time reading her Bible in a little attic chamber. I
did not know why she went there, till one day I went upstairs to get
something out of a box, and found Lucy sitting in the window-seat reading
her little black Bible. I asked her what she read it for, and she said--
'"Oh, Norah, it makes me so happy! won't you come and read it with me?" But
I tossed my head, and said I had too much to do to waste my time like that;
and I ran downstairs, and tried to forget what I had seen; for I knew that
my sister was right and I was wrong. Oh, Rosalie darling, I've often
thought if I had listened to my sister Lucy that day, what a different life
I might have led!
'Well, I must go on; I'm coming to the saddest part of my story, and I had
better get over it as quickly as I can.
'As I got older, I took to reading novels. Our house was full of them, for
my mother spent her days in devouring them. I read them and read them till
I lived in them, and was never happy unless I was fancying myself one of
the heroines of whom I read. My own life seemed dull and monotonous; I
wanted to see more of the world, and to have something romantic happen to
me. Oh, Rosalie, I got so restless and discontented! I used to wake in the
night, and wonder what _my_ fortunes would be; and then I used to
light the candle, and go on with the exciting novel I had been reading the
night before. Often I used to read half the night, for I could not sleep
again till I knew the end of the story. I quite left off saying my prayers,
for I could not think of anything of that sort when I was in the middle of
a novel.
'It was just about this time that I became acquainted with a family of the
name of Roehunter. They were rich people, friends of my mother. Miss
Georgina and Miss Laura Roehunter were very fast, dashing girls. They took
a great fancy to me, and we were always together. They were passionately
fond of the theatre, and they took me to it night after night.
'I could think of nothing else, Rosalie. I dreamt of it every night. It
took even more hold of me than the novels had done for it seemed to me like
a _living_ novel. I admired the scenery, I admired the actors, I
admired everything that I saw. I thought if I was only on the stage I
should be perfectly happy. There was nothing in the world that I wanted so
much; it seemed to me such a free, happy, romantic life. When an actress
was greeted with bursts of applause, I almost envied her. How wearisome my
life seemed when compared with hers!
'I kept a book then, Rosalie darling, in which I wrote all that I did every
day, and I used to write again and again--
'"No change yet; my life wants variety. It is the same over and over
again."
'I determined that, as soon as possible, I would have a change, cost what
it might.
'Soon after this the Roehunters told me that they were going to have some
private theatricals, and that I must come and help them. It was just what I
wanted. Now, I thought, I could fancy myself an actress.
'They engaged some of the professional actors at the theatre to teach us
our parts, to arrange the scenery, and to help us to do everything in the
best possible manner. I had to go up to the Roehunters' again and again to
learn my part of the performance. And there it was, Rosalie dear, that I
met your father. He was one of the actors whom they employed.
'You can guess what came next, my darling. Your father saw how well I could
act, and how passionately fond I was of it; and by degrees he found out how
much I should like to do it always, instead of leading my humdrum life at
home. So he used to meet me in the street, and talk to me about it, and he
told me that if I would only come with him, I should have a life of
pleasure and excitement, and never know what care was. And he arranged that
the day after these private theatricals we should run away and be married.
'Oh, darling, I shall never forget that day! I arrived home late at night,
or rather early in the morning, worn out with the evening's entertainment.
I had been much praised for the way I had performed my part, and some of
the company had declared I should make a first-rate actress, and I thought
to myself that they little knew how soon I was to become one. As I drove
home, I felt in a perfect whirl of excitement. The day had come at last.
Was I glad? I hardly knew--I tried to think I was; but somehow I felt sick
at heart; I could not shake that feeling off, and as I walked upstairs, I
felt perfectly miserable.
'My mother had gone to bed; and I never saw her again! Lucy was fast
asleep, lying with her hand under her cheek, sleeping peacefully. I stood a
minute or two looking at her. Her little Bible was lying beside her, for
she had been reading it the last thing before she went to sleep. Oh,
Rosalie, I would have given anything to change places with Lucy then! But
it was too late now; Augustus was to meet me outside the house, and we were
to be married at a church in the town that very morning. Our names had been
posted up in the register office some weeks before.
'I turned away from Lucy, and began putting some things together to take
with me, and I hid them under the bed, lest Lucy should wake and see them.
It was no use going to bed, for I had not got home from the theatricals
till three o'clock, and in two hours Augustus would come. So I scribbled a
little note to my mother, telling her that when she received it I should be
married, and that I would call and see her in a few days. Then I put out
the light, lest it should wake my sister, and sat waiting in the dark. And,
Rosie dear, that star--the same star that I had seen that night when I was
a little girl, and had told that lie--that same star came and looked in at
the window. And again it seemed to me like the eye of God.
'I felt so frightened, that once I thought I would not go. I almost
determined to write Augustus a note giving it up; but I thought that he
would laugh at me for being such a coward, and I tried to picture to myself
once more how fine it would be to be a real actress, and be always praised
as I had been last night.
'Then I got up, and drew down the blind, that I might hide the star from
sight. I was so glad to see it beginning to get light, for I knew that the
star would fade away, and that Augustus would soon come.
'At last the church clock struck five, so I took my carpetbag from under
the bed, wrapped myself up in a warm shawl, and, leaving my note on the
dressing-table, prepared to go downstairs. But I turned back when I got to
the door, to look once more at my sister Lucy. And, Rosalie darling, as I
looked, I felt as if my tears would choke me. I wiped them hastily away,
however, and crept downstairs. Every creaking board made me jump and
tremble lest I should be discovered, and at every turning I expected to see
some one watching me. But no one appeared; I got down safely, and,
cautiously unbolting the hall door, I stole quietly out into the street,
and soon found Augustus, who carried my bag under his arm, and that morning
we were married.
'And then my troubles began. It was not half as pleasant being an actress
as I had thought it would be. I knew nothing then of the life behind the
scenes. I did not know how tired I should be, nor what a comfortless life I
should lead.
'Oh, Rosalie, I was soon sick of it. I would have given worlds to be back
in my old home. I would have given worlds to lead that quiet, peaceful life
again. I was much praised and applauded in the theatre; but after a time I
cared very little for it; and as for the acting itself, I became thoroughly
sick of it. Oh, Rosalie dear, I have often and often fallen asleep, unable
to undress myself from weariness, after acting in the play; and again and
again I have wished that I had never seen the inside of a theatre, and
never known anything of the wretched life of an actress!
'We stopped for some time in the town where my mother lived, for Augustus
had an engagement in a theatre there, and he procured one for me. We had
miserable lodgings, and often were very badly off. I called at home a few
days after I was married; but the servant shut the door in my face, saying
that my mother never wished to see me again, or to hear my name mentioned.
I used to walk up and down outside, trying to catch a glimpse of my sister
Lucy; but she was never allowed to go out alone, and I could not get an
opportunity of speaking to her. All my old friends passed me in the
street--even the Roehunters would take no notice of me whatever.
'And then your father lost his engagement at the theatre,
--I need not tell you why, Rosalie darling,--and we left the town. And then
I began to know what poverty meant. We travelled from place to place,
sometimes getting occasional jobs at small town theatres, sometimes
stopping at a town for a few months, and then being dismissed, and
travelling on for weeks without hearing of any employment.
'And then it was that your little brother was born. Such a pretty baby he
was, and I named him Arthur after my father. I was very, very poor when he
was born, and I could hardly get clothes for him to wear, but oh, Rosalie
darling, I loved him very much! I wrote to my mother to tell her about it,
and that baby was to be christened after my father; but she sent back my
letter unread, and I never wrote to her again. And one day, when I took up
a newspaper, I saw my mother's death in it; and I heard afterwards that she
said on her dying bed that I was not to be told of her death till she was
put under the ground, for I had been a disgrace and a shame to the family.
And that, they said, was the only time that she mentioned me, after the
week that I ran away.
'My sister Lucy wrote me a very kind letter after my mother died, and sent
me some presents; but I was sorry for it afterwards, for your father kept
writing to her for money, and telling her long tales about the distress I
was in, to make her send us more.
'She often sent us money; but I felt as if I could not bear to take it. And
she used to write me such beautiful letters--to beg me to come to Jesus,
and to remember what my father had said to us when he died. She said Jesus
had made her happy, and would make me happy too. I often think now of what
she said, Rosalie.
'Well, after a time I heard that Lucy was married to a clergyman, and your
father heard it too, and he kept writing to her and asking her for money
again and again. And at last came a letter from her husband, in which he
said that he was very sorry to be obliged to tell us that his wife could do
no more for us; and he requested that no more letters on the same subject
might be addressed to her, as they would receive no reply.
'Your father wrote again; but they did not answer it, and since then they
have left the town where they were living, and he lost all clue to them.
And, Rosalie darling, I hope he will never find them again. I cannot bear
to be an annoyance to my sister Lucy--my dear little sister Lucy.
'As for Gerald, he has taken no notice of us at all. Your father has
written to him from time to time, but his letters have always been returned
to him.
'Well, so we went on, getting poorer and poorer. Once your father took a
situation as a post-master in a small country village, and there was a lady
there who was very kind to me. She used to come and see my little Arthur;
he was very delicate, and at last he took a dreadful cold, and it settled
on his chest, and my poor little lamb died. And, Rosalie darling, when I
buried him under a little willow-tree in that country churchyard, I felt as
if I had nothing left to live for.
'We did not stay in that village long; we were neither of us used to
keeping accounts, and we got them in a complete muddle. So I had to leave
behind my little grave, and the only home we ever had.
'Then your father fell in with a strolling actor, who was in the habit of
frequenting fairs, and between them, by selling their furniture, and almost
everything they possessed, they bought some scenery and a caravan, and
started a travelling theatre. And when the man died, Rosalie, he left his
share of it to your father.
'So the last twelve years, my darling, I've been moving about from place to
place, just as we are doing now. And in this caravan, my little girl, you
were born. I was very ill a long time after that, and could not take my
place in the theatre, and, for many reasons, that was the most miserable
part of my miserable life.
'And now, little woman, I've told you all I need tell you at present;
perhaps some day I can give you more particulars; but you will have some
idea now why I am so utterly wretched.
'Yes, utterly wretched!' said the poor woman, 'no hope for this world, and
no hope for the next.'
'Poor, poor mammie!' said little Rosalie, stroking her hand very gently and
tenderly--'poor mammie dear!'
'It's all my own fault, child,' said her mother; 'I've brought it all upon
my self, and I've no one but myself to blame.'
'Poor, poor mammie!' said Rosalie again.
Then the sick woman seemed quite exhausted, and lay upon her bed for some
time without speaking or moving. Rosalie sat by the door of the caravan,
and sang softly to herself--
'Jesus, I Thy face am seeking,
Early will I come to Thee.'
'Oh, Rosalie,' said her mother, looking round, 'I didn't come to Him
early--oh, if I only had! Mind you do, Rosie; it's so much easier for you
now than when you get to be old and wicked like me.'
'Is that what "In the sunshine of the morning" means, in the next verse,
mammie dear?'
'Yes, Rosalie,' said her mother; 'it means when you're young and happy. Oh,
dear, dear! if I'd only come to Him then!'
'Why don't you come now, mammie dear?'
'I don't know; I don't expect He would take me now; oh, I have been such a
sinner! There are other things, child, I have not told you about; and they
are all coming back to my mind now. I don't know how it is, Rosalie, I
never thought so much of them before.'
'Perhaps the Good Shepherd is beginning to find you, mammie.'
'I don't know, Rosalie; I wish I could think that. Anyhow, they are all
rising up as clear as if I saw them all; some of them are things I did
years and years ago, even when I was a little girl in that old home in the
country; they are all coming hack to me now, and oh, I am so very, very
miserable!'
'Rosalie,' said her father's voice, at the door of the caravan, 'come into
the next waggon. We've a new play on at this town, and you have your part
to learn. Come away!'
So Rosalie had to leave her poor mother; and instead of singing the
soothing words of the hymn, she had to repeat again and again the foolish
and senseless words which had fallen to her share in the new play which her
father was getting up. Over and over again she repeated them, till she was
weary of their very sound, her father scolding her if she made a mistake,
or failed to give each word its proper emphasis. And when she was released,
it was time to get tea ready; and then they halted for the night at a small
market-town, just eight miles from Lesborough, where they were next to
perform, and which they were to enter the next morning, as the fair began
on Monday.