_The Principal Boy._
I.
To sit out a play is a bore; to sit out a dance demands less patience.Even when you do it merely to prevent your partner dancing with you,it is the less disagreeable alternative. But it sometimes makes yougiddier than galoping. Frank Redhill lost his head--a well-builthead--completely through indulging in it; and without the head to lookafter it, the heart soon goes. He held Lucy's little hand in his hotclasp. She wished he would get himself gloves large enough not tosplit at the thumbs, and felt quite affectionate towards the dear,untidy boy. As a woman almost out of her teens, she could permitherself a motherly feeling for a lad who had but just attained hismajority. The little thing looked very sweet in a demure dress ofnun's veiling, which Frank would have described as "white robes." Forhe was only an undergraduate. Some undergraduates are past masters inthe science and art of woman; but Frank was not in that set. Nor didhe herd with the athletic, who drift mainly into the unpaidmagistracy, nor with the worldly, who usually go in for the church. Hewas a reading man. Only he did not stick to the curriculum, but fedhimself on the conceits of the poets, and thirsted to redeem mankind.So he got a second-class. But this is anticipating. Perhaps Lucy hadbeen anticipating, too. At any rate she went through the scene asadmirably as if she had rehearsed for it. And yet it was presumablythe first time she had been asked to say: "I love you"--that wonderfullittle phrase, so easy to say and so hard to believe. Still, Lucy saidand Frank believed it.
Not that Lucy did not share his belief. It must be for love that shewas conceding Frank her hand--since her mother objected to the match.As the nephew of a peer, Frank could give her rather better societythan she now enjoyed, even if he could not give her that of the peer,who had an hereditary feud with him. Of course she could not marry himyet, he was quite too poor for that, but he was a young man ofconsiderable talents--which are after all gold pieces. When fame andfortune came to him, Lucy would come and join the party. _Enattendant_, their souls would be wed. They kissed each otherpassionately, sealing the contract of souls with the red sealing-waxof burning lips. To them in Paradise entered the Guardian Angel withflaming countenance, and drove them into the outer darkness of thebrilliant ball-room.
"My dear," said the Guardian Angel, who was Lucy Grayling's mother,"there is going to be an interval, and Mrs. Bayswater is so anxiousfor you to give that sweet recitation from Racine."
So Lucy declaimed one of Athalie's terrible speeches in a way thatenthralled those who understood it, and made those who didn't,enthusiastic.
The applause did not seem to gratify the Guardian Angel as much asusual. Lucy wondered how much she had seen, and, disliking uselessdomestic discussion, extorted a promise of secrecy from her loverbefore they parted. He did not care about keeping anything from hisfather--especially something of which his approval was dubious. Still,all's fair and honourable in love--or love makes it seem so.
Frank took a solemn view of engagement, and embraced Lucy in hisgeneral scheme for the redemption of mankind. He felt she was a sacredas well as a precious charge, and he promised himself to attend to herspiritual salvation in so far as her pure instincts needed guidance.He directed her reading in bulky letters bearing the Oxford post-mark.Meantime, Lucy disapproved of his neckties. She thought he would beeven nicer with a loving wife to look after his wardrobe.
II.
When Frank achieved the indistinction of a second-class, asprematurely revealed, he went to Canada, and became a farm-pupil. Itwas not that his physique warranted the work, but there seemed no wayin the old country of making enough money to marry Lucy (much less toredeem mankind) on. He was suffering, too, at the moment from adisgust with the schools, and a sentimental yearning to "return tonature."
The parting with Lucy was bitter, but he carried her bright image inhis heart, and wrote to her by every mail. In Canada he did not lookat a woman, as the saying goes; true, the opportunities were scant onthe lonely log-farm. Absence, distance, lent the last touch ofidealisation and enchantment to his conception of Lucy. She stood tohim not only for Womanhood and Purity, but for England, Home, andBeauty. Nay, the thought of her was even Culture, when the eveningfound him too worn with physical toil to read a page of the smalllibrary he had brought with him. He saw his way to profitable farmingon his own account in a few years' time. Then Lucy would come out tohim, if they should be too impatient to wait till he had made moneyenough to go to her.
Lucy's letters did nothing to disabuse him of his ideals or his aims.They were charming, affectionate, and intellectual. Midway, in thebatch he treasured more than eastern jewels, the sheets began to wearmourning for Lucy's mother. The Guardian Angel was gone--whether tocontinue the role none could say. Frank comforted the orphaned girl asbest he could with epistolary kisses and condolences, and hoped shewould get along pleasantly with her aunt till the necessity for thatgood relative vanished. And so the correspondence went on, Lucy's mindimproving visibly under her lover's solicitous guidance. Then one dayRedhill the elder cabled that by the death of his brother and nephewwithin a few days of each other, he had become Lord Redhill, and Frankconsequently heir to a fine old peerage, and with an heir's income.Whereupon Frank returned forthwith from nature to civilisation. Now hecould marry Lucy (and redeem mankind) immediately. Only he did nottell Lucy he was coming. He could not deny himself (or her) thepleasure of so pleasurable a surprise.
III.
It was a cold evening in early November when Frank's hansom drove upto the little house near Bond Street, where Lucy's aunt resided. Hehad not been to see his father yet; Lucy's angel-face hovered beforehim, warming the wintry air, and drawing him onwards towards the roofthat sheltered her. The house was new to him; and as he paused outsidefor a moment, striving to still his emotion, his eye caught sight of alittle placard in the window of the ground floor, inscribed"Apartments." He shuddered, a pang akin to self-reproach shot throughhim. Lucy's aunt was poor, was reduced to letting lodgings. Lucyherself had, perhaps, been left penniless. Delicacy had restrained herfrom alluding to her poverty in her letter. He had taken everythingtoo much for granted--surely, straitened as were his means, he shouldhave proffered her some assistance. A suspicion that he lacked worldlywisdom dawned upon him for the first time, as he rang the bell. Poorlittle Lucy! Well, whatever she had gone through, the bright days werecome at last. The ocean which had severed them for so many weary moonsno longer rolled between them--thank God, only the panels of thestreet-door divided them now. In another instant that darling head--nomore the haunting elusive phantom of dream--would be upon his breast.Then as the door opened, the thought flashed upon him that she mightnot be in--the idea of waiting a single moment longer for her turnedhim sick. But his fears vanished at the encouraging expression on theface of the maid servant who opened the door.
"Miss Gray's upstairs," she mumbled, without waiting for him to speak.And, all intelligent reflection swamped by a great wave of joy, hefollowed her up one narrow flight of stairs, and passed eagerly into aroom to which she pointed. It was a bright, cosy room, prettilyfurnished, and a cheerful fire crackled on the hearth. There werebooks and flowers about, and engravings on the walls. The little roundtable was laid for tea. Everything smiled "welcome." But these detailsonly gradually penetrated Frank's consciousness--for the moment all hesaw was that _She_ was not there. Then he became aware of the fire,and moved involuntarily towards it, and held his hands over it, forthey were almost numbed with the cold. Straightening himself again, hewas startled by his own white face in the glass.
He gazed at it dreamily, and beyond it towards the folding-doors,which led into an adjoining room. His eyes fixed themselves fascinatedupon these reflected doors, and strayed no more. It was through themthat she would come.
Suddenly a dreadful thought occurred to him. When she came throughthose doors, what would be the effect of his presence upon her? Wouldnot the sudden shock, joyful though it was, upset the fragile littlebeauty? Had he not even heard of people dying from joy? Why had he notprepared her for
his return, if only to the tiniest extent? Thesuspicion that he lacked worldly wisdom gained in force. Tumultuoussuggestions of retreat crossed his mind--but before he could move, thefolding-doors in the mirror flew apart, and a radiant image dashedlightly through them. It was a vision of dazzling splendour that madehis eyes blink--a beautiful glittering figure in tights and tinsel,the prancing prince of pantomime. For an infinitesimal fraction of asecond, Frank had the horror of the thought that he had come into thewrong house.
"Good evening, George," the Prince cried: "I had almost given you up."
Great God! Was the voice, indeed, Lucy's? Frank grasped at the mantel,sick and blind, the world tumbling about his ears. The suspicion thathe lacked worldly wisdom became a certainty. Slowly he turned his headto face the waves of dazzling colour that tossed before his dizzyeyes.
The Prince's outstretched hand dropped suddenly. A startled shriekbroke from the painted lips. The re-united lovers stood staring halfblindly at each other. More than the Atlantic rolled between them.
Lucy broke the terrible silence.
"Brute!"
It was his welcome home.
"Brute?" he echoed interrogatively, in a low, hoarse whisper.
"Brute and cad!" said the Prince vehemently, the musical tonesstrident with anger. "Is this your faith, your loyalty--to sneak backhome like a thief--to peep through the keyhole to see if I was a goodlittle girl--?"
"Lucy! Don't!" he interrupted in anguished tones. "As there is aheaven above us, I had no suspicion--"
"But you have now," the Prince interrupted with a bitter laugh.Neither made any attempt to touch the other, though they were but afew inches apart. "Out with it!"
"Lucy, I have nothing to say against you. How should I? I knownothing. It is for you to speak. For pity's sake tell me all. What isthis masquerade?"
"This masquerade?" She touched her pink tights--he shuddered at thetouch. "These are--" She paused. Why not tell the easy lie and be donewith the whole business, and marry the dear, devoted boy? But the madinstinct of revolt and resentment swept over her in a flood thatdragged the truth from her heart and hurled it at him. "These are thelegs of Prince Prettypet. If I am lucky, I shall stand on them in thepantomime of _The Enchanted Princess; or, Harlequin Dick Turpin_, atthe Oriental Theatre. The man who has the casting of the part iscoming to see how I look."
"You have gone on the stage?"
"Yes; I couldn't live on your lectures," Prince Prettypet said, stillin the same resentful tone. "I couldn't fritter away the littlecapital I had when mamma died, and then wait for starvation. I had nouseful accomplishments. I could only recite--_Athalie_."
"But surely your aunt--"
"Is a fiction. Had she been a fact it would have been all the same. Ihad had enough of mamma. No more leading-strings!"
"Lucy! And you wept over her so in your letters?"
"Crocodile's tears. Heavens, are women to have no lives of their own?"
"Oh, why did you not write to me of your difficulties?" he groaned. "Iwould have come over and fetched you--we would have borne povertytogether."
"Yes," the Prince said mockingly. "''E was werry good to me, 'e was.'Do you think I could submit to government by a prig?"
He started as if stung. The little tinselled figure, looking taller inits swashbuckling habits, stared at him defiantly.
"Tell me," he said brokenly, "have you made a living?"
"No. If truth must be told, Lucy Gray--docked at the tail, sir--hasn'tmade enough to keep Lucy Grayling in theatrical costumes. I got plentyof kudos in the Provinces, but two of my managers were bogus."
"Yes?" he said vaguely.
"No treasury, don't you know? Ghost didn't walk. No oof, rhino,shiners, coin, cash, salary!"
"Do I understand you have travelled about the country by yourself?"
"By myself! What, in a company? You've picked up Irish in America. Ha!ha! ha!"
"You know what I mean, Lucy." It seemed strange to call this newperson Lucy, but "Miss Grayling" would have sounded just as strange.
"Oh, there was sure to be a married lady--with her husband--in thetroupe, poor thing!" The Prince had a roguish twinkle in the eye. "Andsurely I am old enough to take care of myself. Still, I felt youwouldn't like it. That's why I was anxious to get a Londonappearance--if only in East-end pantomime. The money's safe, and yournotices are more valuable. I only want a show to take the town. I dohope George won't disappoint me. I thought you were he."
"Who is George?" he said slowly, as if in pain.
The shrill clamour of the bell answered him.
"There he is!" said the Prince joyfully. "George is only GeorgieSpanner, stage-manager of the Oriental. I have been besieging him fortwo days. Bella Bright, who had to play Prince Prettypet, has gone andeloped with the property-man, and as soon as I heard of it, I got aletter of introduction to Georgie Spanner, and he said I was toolittle, and I said that was nonsense--that I had played in burlesqueat Eastbourne--Come in!"
THE STAGE-MANAGER.]
"Are you at home, miss?" said the maid, putting her head inside thedoor.
"Certainly, Fanny. That's Mr. Spanner I told you of--" The girl's headlooked puzzled as it removed itself. "And so he said if I would put mythings on, he would try and run down for an hour this evening, and seeif I looked the part."
"And couldn't all that be done at the theatre?"
"Of course it could. But it's ten times more convenient for me here.And it's very considerate of Georgie to come all this way--he's a verybusy man, I can tell you."
The street-door slammed loudly.
A sudden paroxysm shook Frank's frame. "Lucy, send this man away--forGod's sake." In his excitement he came nearer, he laid his handpleadingly upon the glittering shoulder. The Prince trembled a littleunder his touch, and stood as in silent hesitancy. The stairs creakedunder heavy footsteps.
"Go to your room," he said more imperatively. Even in the wreck of hisideal, it was an added bitterness to think that limbs whoseshapeliness had never even occurred to him, should be made a publicspectacle. "Put on decent clothes."
It was the wrong chord to touch. The Prince burst into a boisterouslaugh. "Silly old MacDougall!"
The footsteps were painfully near.
"You are mad," Frank whispered hoarsely. "You are killing me--you whomI throned as an angel of light; you who were the first woman in theworld--"
"And now I'm going to be the Principal Boy," she laughed quietly back."Is that you, dear old chap? Come in, George."
The door opened--Frank, disgusted, heart-broken, moved back towardsthe window-curtains. A corpulent, beef-faced, double-chinned man, witha fat cigar and a fur overcoat, came in.
"How do, Lucy? Cold, eh? What, in your togs? That's right."
"There, you bad man! Don't I look ripping?"
"Stunning, Lucy," he said, approaching her.
"Well, then, down on your knees, George, and apologise for saying Iwas too little."
"Well, I see more of you now, he! he! he! Yes, you'll do. What swelldiggings!"
"Come to the fire. Take that easy-chair. There, that's right, old man.Now, what is it to be? There's tea laid--you've let it get cold,unpunctual ruffian. Perhaps you'd like a brandy and soda better?"
"M' yes."
She rang the bell. "So glad--because there's only tea for two, and Iknow my friend would prefer tea," with a sneering intonation. "Let meintroduce you--Mr. Redhill, Mr. Spanner, you have heard of Mr.Spanner, the celebrated author and stage-manager?"
The celebrated author and stage-manager half rose in his easy-chair,startled, and not over-pleased. The pale-faced rival visitor, halfhidden in the curtains, inclined his head stiffly, then moved towardsthe door.
"Oh, no, don't run away like that, without a cup of tea, in thisbitter weather. Mr. Spanner won't mind talking business before you,will you, George? Such a dear old friend, you know."
It was a merry tea-party. Lucy rattled away bewitchingly, overpoweringMr. Spanner like an embodied brandy and so
da. The slang of the greenroom and the sporting papers rolled musically off her tongue, gratingon Frank's ear like the scraping of slate pencils. He had not insightenough to divine that she was accentuating her vulgar acquirements totorture him. Spanner went at last--for the Oriental boards claimedhim--leaving behind him as nearly definite a promise of the part as astage-manager can ever bring himself to utter. Lucy accompanied himdownstairs. When she returned, Frank was still sitting as she had lefthim--one hand playing with the spoon in his cup, the rest of the bodylethargic, immobile. She bent over him tenderly.
"Frank!" she whispered.
He shivered and looked up at the lovely face, daubed with rouge andpencilled at the eyebrows with black--as for the edification of thedistant "gods." He lowered his eyes again, and said slowly: "Lucy, Ihave come back to marry you. What date will be most convenient toyou?"
"You want to marry me," she echoed in low tones. "All the same!" Astrange wonderful light came into her eyes. The big lashes werethreaded with glistening tears. She put her little hand caressinglyupon his hair, and was silent.
"Yes! it is an old promise. It shall be kept."
"Ah!" She drew her hand away with an inarticulate cry. "Like a dutydance, but you do not love me?"
He ignored the point. "I am rich now--my father has unexpectedlybecome Lord Redhill--you probably heard it!"
"You don't love me! You can't love me!" It sounded like the cry of asoul in despair.
"So there's no need for either of us to earn a living."
"But you don't love me! You only want to save me."
"Well, of course Lord Redhill wouldn't like his daughter-in-law tobe--"
"The Principal Boy--ha! ha! ha! But what--ho! ho! ho! I must laugh,Frank, old man, it _is_ so funny--what about the Principal Boy? Do youthink he'd cotton to the idea of marrying a peer in embryo! Not ifLucy Gray knows it; no, by Jove! Why, when your coronet came along, Ishould have to leave the stage, or else people 'ud be saying Icouldn't act worth a cent. They'd class me with Lady London and LadyHansard--oh, Lord! Fancy me on the Drury Lane bills--Prince Prettypet,Lady Redhill. And then, great Scot, think whom they'd class you with.Ha! ha! ha! No, my boy, I'm not going to marry a microcephalous idiot.Ho! ho! ho! I wish somebody would put all this in a farce."
"Do I understand that you wish to break off the engagement?" Franksaid slowly, a note of surprise in his voice.
"You've hit it--now that I hear about this peerage business--whydidn't you tell me before? I'm out of all the gossip of court circles,and it wasn't in the _Era_. No, I might have redeemed my promise to acommoner, but a lord, ugh! I never had your sense of duty, Frank, andmust really cry 'quits.' Now you see the value of secretengagements--ours is off, and nobody will be the wiser--or the worse.Now get thee to his lordship--concealment, like a worm i' the bud, nolonger preying upon thy damask cheek. I was alway sorry you had tokeep it from the old buffer. But it was for the best, wasn't it?--ha!ha!--it was for the best! Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!"
Frank fled down the staircase followed by long peals of musicallaughter. They followed him into the bleak night, which had no frostfor him; but they became less musical as they rang on, and as theterrified maid and the landlady strove in vain to allay the hystericaltempest.
IV.
The Oriental, on Boxing Night, was like a baker's oven fortemperature, and an unopened sardine-barrel for populousness. TheEast-end had poured its rollicking multitudes into the vast theatre,which seethed over with noisy vitality. There was much traffic inginger beer, oranges, Banbury cakes, and "bitter." The great audienceroared itself hoarse over old choruses with new words. Lucy Gray, asPrince Prettypet, made an instant success. The mashers of the Orientalogled her in silent flattery. Her clear elocution, her charmingsinging voice, her sprightly dancing, her _chic_, her frank vulgarity,when she "let herself go," took every heart captive. Every heart, thatis, save one, which was filled with sickness and anguish, and coveredwith a veil of fine linen. The heir of the house of Redhill cowered atthe back of the O.P. stage-box--the only place in the house disengagedwhen he drove up in a mistaken dress-suit. It was the first time hehad seen Prince Prettypet since the merry tea-party, and he did notknow why he was seeing her now. He hoped she did not see him. Shepirouetted up to the front of his box pretty often during the evening,and several times hurled ancient wheezes at the riotous funnymen fromthat coign of vantage. Spoken so near his ear, the vulgar jokestingled through him like lashes from a whip. Once she sang a chorus,winking in his direction. But that was the business of the song, andimpersonal. He saw no sure signs of recognition, and was glad.
THE ORIENTAL ON BOXING NIGHT.]
When, during the gradual but gorgeous evolution of the TransformationScene, he received a note from her, he remained glad. It ran, "Thebearer will take you behind. I have no one to see me home. Always yourfriend--Lucy." He went "behind," following his guide through aconfusion of coatless carpenters waving torches of blue and green firefrom the wings, and gauzy, highly coloured Whitechapel girlsensconcing themselves in uncomfortable attitudes on wooden pedestals,which were mounting and descending.
Georgie Spanner was bustling about, half crazed, amid a hubbubperfectly inaudible from the front; but he found time to scowl atFrank, as that gentleman stumbled over the pantaloon and fell againsta little iron lever, whose turning might have plunged the stage indarkness. Frank found Lucy in a tiny cellar with whitewashed walls anda rough counter, on which stood a tin basin and a litter of "make up"materials. She had "changed" before he came. It was the first time foryears he had seen her in her true womanly envelope. Assuredly she hadgrown far lovelier, and her face was flushed with triumph; otherwiseit was the old Lucy. The Prince was washed off with the paint.
Frank's eyes filled with tears. How hard he had been on her! Nay, hadhe not misjudged her? She looked so frail, so little, so childish,what guile could she know? It was all mere surface-froth on her lips!How narrow to set up his life, his ideals, as models, patterns! Thepoor little thing had her own tastes, her own individuality! How hardshe worked to earn her own living! He bent down and kissed herforehead, remorsefully, as one might kiss an overscolded child. Shedrew his head down lower and kissed him--passionately--on the lips."Let us wait a little," she said, as he spoke of sending for a hansom."Sloman, the lessee, gives a little supper on the stage after theshow--he'll be annoyed if I don't stay. He'll be delighted to haveyou."
The pantomime had gone better than anyone had expected. It had beeninsufficiently rehearsed, and though everybody had said "it'll be allright at night"--in the immemorial phrase of the profession--they hadsaid it more automatically than confidently. Consequently everyone wasin high feather, and agreeably surprised at the accuracy of theprophesying. Even Georgie Spanner ceased to scowl under the genialinfluences of success and Sloman's very decent champagne. The air wasfull of laughter and gaiety, and everybody (except the clown) crackedjokes. The leading ladies made themselves pleasant, and did not swear.Everybody seemed to have acquired a new respect for Lucy, seeing herwith such a real Belgravian swell. Probably she would soon have atheatre of her own.
It was the Prig's first excursion into Bohemia, and he thought thenatives very civil-spoken, naive, and cordial. Frank had no doubt nowthat Lucy was right, that he was a Prig to want to redeem mankind. Andthe conviction that he lacked worldly wisdom was sealed for aye.
V.
So he married her.