CHAPTER II.
MISS LESTER, OF THE PATENT THEATRES.
Besides Mrs. Potter, to whom she was warmly attached, Antonia had onefriend, an actress at Drury Lane, who had acted in Mr. Thornton'scomedy of _How to please her_, and who had made his daughter'sacquaintance at the wings while his play was in progress. Patty Lesterwas, perhaps, hardly the kind of person a careful father would havechosen for his youthful daughter's bosom friend, for Patty was of theworld worldly, and had somewhat lax notions of morality, though therewas nothing to be said against her personally. No nobleman's name hadever been bracketed with hers in the newspapers, nor had her charactersuffered from any intrigue with a brother actor. But she gave herselfno airs of superiority over her less virtuous sisters, nor was sheaverse to the frivolous attentions and the trifling gifts of thoseancient beaux and juvenile macaronis who fluttered at the side-scenesand got in the way of the stage-carpenters.
Thornton had not reared his daughter in Arcadian ignorance of evil, andhe had no fear of her being influenced by Miss Lester's easy views ofconduct.
"The girl is as honest as any woman in England, but she is not a lady,"he told Antonia, "and I don't want you to imitate her. But she has awarm heart, and is always good company, so I see no objection to yourtaking a dish of tea with her at her lodgings once in a way."
This "once in a way" came to be once or twice a week, for Miss Lester'sparlour was all that Antonia knew of gaiety, and was a relief from themonotony of literary toil. Dearly as she loved to assist her father'slabours, there came an hour in the day when the aching hand dropped onthe manuscript or the tired eyes swam above the closely printed page;and then it was pleasant to put on her hat and run to the Piazza,where Patty was mostly to be found at home between the morning'srehearsal and the night's performance. Her lodgings were on a secondfloor overlooking the movement and gaiety of Covent Garden, where thenoise of the waggons bringing asparagus from Mortlake and strawberriesfrom Isleworth used to sound in her dreams, hours before the indolentactress opened her eyes upon the world of reality.
She was at home this windy March afternoon, squatting on the hearthrugtoasting muffins, when Miss Thornton knocked at her door.
"Come in, if you're Tonia," she cried. "Stay out if you're an odiousman."
"I doubt you expect some odious man," said Tonia, as she entered, "oryou wouldn't say that."
"I never know when not to expect 'em, child. There are three or four ofmy devoted admirers audacious enough to think themselves always welcometo drop in for a dish of tea; indeed, one of 'em has a claim to mycivility, for he is in the India trade, and keeps me in gunpowder andbohea. But 'tis only old General Granger I expect this afternoon--himthat gave me my silver canister," added Patty, who never troubled aboutgrammar.
"I would rather be without the canister than plagued by that old man'scompany," said Tonia.
"Oh, you are hard to please--unless 'tis some scholar with his mouthfull of book talk! I find the General vastly entertaining. Sure heknows everybody in London, and everything that is doing or going to bedone. He keeps me _aw courrong_," concluded Patty, whose French was ona par with her English.
She rose from the hearth, with her muffin smoking at the end of along tin toasting-fork. Her parlour was full of incongruities--silvertea-canister, china cups and saucers glorified by sprawling red andblue dragons, an old mahogany tea-board and pewter spoons, a blue satin_neglige_ hanging over the back of a chair, an open powder-box onthe side table. The furniture was fine but shabby--the sort of fineshabbiness that satisfied the landlady's clients, who were mostly fromthe two patent theatres. The house had a renown for being comfortableand easy to live in--no nonsense about early hours or quiet habits.
"Prythee make the tea while I butter the muffins," said Patty. "Thekettle is on the boil. But take your hat off before you set about it.Ah, what glorious hair!" she said, as Antonia threw off the poor littlegipsy hat; "and to think that mine is fiery red!"
"Nay, 'tis but a bright auburn. I heard your old General call it a trapfor sunbeams. 'Tis far prettier than this inky black stuff of mine."
Antonia wore no powder, and the wavy masses of her hair were boundinto a scarlet snood that set off their raven gloss. Her complexionwas of a marble whiteness, with no more carnation than served to showshe was a woman and not a statue. Her eyes, by some freak of heredity,were not black, like her mother's--whom she resembled in every otherfeature--but of a sapphire blue, the blue of Irish eyes, luminousyet soft, changeful, capricious, capable of dazzling joyousness, ofprofoundest melancholy. Brown-eyed, auburn-headed Patty looked at heryoung friend with an admiration which would have been envious had shebeen capable of ill-nature.
"How confoundedly handsome you are to-day!" she exclaimed; "and in thatgown too! I think the shabbier your clothes are the lovelier you look.You'll be cutting me out with my old General."
"Your General has seen me a dozen times, and thinks no more of me thanif I were a plaster image."
"Because you never open your lips before company, except to say yes orno, like a long-headed witness in the box. I wonder you don't go on thestage, Tonia. If you were ever so stupid at the trade your looks wouldget you a hearing and a salary."
"Am I really handsome?" Tonia asked, with calm wonder.
She had been somewhat troubled of late by the too florid complimentsof booksellers and their assistants, whom she saw on her father'sbusiness; but she concluded it was their way of affecting gallantrywith every woman under fifty. She had a temper that repelleddisagreeable attentions, and kept the boldest admirer at arm's length.
"Handsome? You are the beautifullest creature I ever saw, and I wouldchop ten years off my old age to be as handsome, though most folkscalls me a pretty woman," added Patty, bridling a little, and pursingup a cherry mouth.
She was a pink-and-white girl, with a complexion like new milk, andcheeks like cabbage-roses. She had a supple waist, plump shoulders,and a neat foot and ankle, and was a capable actress in all secondarycharacters. She couldn't carry a great playhouse on her shoulders, ormake a dull play seem inspired, as Mrs. Pritchard could; or take thetown by storm as Juliet, like Miss Bellamy.
"Well, I doubt my looks will never win me a fortune; but I hope I mayearn money from the booksellers before long, as father does."
"Sure 'tis a drudging life--and you'd be happier in the theatre."
"Not I, Patty. I should be miserable away from my books, and not to bemy own mistress. I work hard, and tramp to the city sometimes when myfeet are weary of the stones; but father and I are free creatures, andour evenings are our own."
"Precious dull evenings," said Patty, with her elbows on the tableand her face beaming at her friend. "Have a bit more muffin. I wonderyou're not _awnweed_ to death."
"I do feel a little _triste_ sometimes, when the wind howls in thechimney, and every one in the house but me is in bed, and I have beenalone all the evening."
"Which you are always."
"Father has to go to his club to hear the news. And 'tis his onlyrecreation. But though I love my books, and to sit with my feet onthe fender and read Shakespeare, I should love just once in a way tosee what people are like; the women I see through their open windowson summer nights--such handsome faces, such flashing jewels, and withsnowy feathers nodding over their powdered heads----"
"You should see them at Ranelagh. Why does not your father take you toRanelagh? He could get a ticket from one of the fine gentlemen whosespeeches he writes. I saw him talking to Lord Kilrush in the wingst'other night."
"Who is Lord Kilrush?"
"One of the finest gentlemen in town, and a favourite with all thewomen, though he is nearer fifty than forty."
"An old man?"
"_You_ would call him so," said Patty, with a sigh, conscious of hernine and twenty years. "He'd give your father a ticket for Ranelagh,I'll warrant."
Tonia looked down at her brown stuff gown, and laughed the laugh ofscorn.
"Ranelagh, in this gown!" she said.
&nbs
p; "You should wear one of mine."
"Good dear, 'twould not reach my ankles!"
"I grant there's overmuch of you. Little David called you the AnakimVenus when he caught sight of you at the side scenes. 'Who's thatmagnificent giantess?' he asked."
"The people of Lilliput took Captain Gulliver for a giant, and theBrobdignagians thought him a dwarf. 'Tis a question of comparison,"replied Tonia, huffed at the manager's criticism.
"Nay, don't be vexed, child. 'Tis a feather in your cap for Garrick togive you a second thought. Well, if Ranelagh won't suit, there is Mrs.Mandalay's dancing-room. She has a ball twice a week in the season,and a masquerade once a fortnight. You can borrow a domino from thecostumier in the Piazza for the outlay of half a dozen shillings."
"Do the women of fashion go to Mrs. Mandalay's?"
"All the town goes there."
"Then I'll beg my father to take me. I am helping him with his newcomedy, and I want to see what modish people are like--off the stage."
"Not half so witty as they are on it. Is there a part for me in the newplay?"
Patty would have asked that question of Shakespeare's ghost had hereturned to earth to write a new Hamlet. It was her only idea inassociation with the drama.
"Indeed, Patty, there is an impudent romp of quality you would act toperfection."
"I love a romp," cried Patty, clapping her hands. "Give me a pinaforeand a pair of scarlet shoes, and I am on fire with genius. I hope Davidwill bring out your dad's play, and that 'twill run a month."
"If it did he would give me a silk gown, and I might see Ranelagh."
"He is not a bad father, is he, Tonia?"
"Bad! There was never a kinder father."
"But he lets you work hard."
"I love the work next best to him that sets me to it."
"And he has been your only schoolmaster, and you are clever enough tofrighten a simpleton like me."
"Nay, Patty, you are the cleverest, for you can do things--act, sing,dance. Mine is only book-learning; but such as it is, I owe it all tomy father."
"I hate books. 'Twas as much as I could do to learn to read. Butthere's one matter in which your father has been unkind to you."
"No, no--in nothing."
"Yes," said Patty, shaking her head solemnly, "he has brought you up anatheist, never to go to church, not even on Christmas Day; and to readVoltaire"--with a shudder.
"Do you go to church, Patty? 'Tis handy enough to your lodgings."
"Oh, I am too tired of a Sunday morning, after acting six nights in aweek; for if Bellamy and Pritchard are out of the bill and going outa-visiting, and strutting and grimacing in fine company, there's alwaysa part for a scrub like me; and if I'm not in the play I'm in theburletta."
"And do you think you're any wickeder for not going to church twiceevery Sunday?"
"I always go at Christmas and at Easter," protested Patty, "and Ifeel myself a better woman for going. You've been brought up to hatereligion."
"No, Patty, only to hate the fuss that's made about it, and thecruelties men have done to each other, ever since the world began, inits name."
"I wouldn't read Voltaire if I was you," said Patty. "The General toldme 'twas an impious, indecent book."
"Voltaire is the author of more than forty books, Patty."
"Oh, is it an author? I thought 'twas the name of a novel, like 'TomJones,' only more impudent."
There came a knock at the door, and this time Patty knew it was her oldGeneral.
"Stop out, Beast!" she cried. "There's nobody at home to an old fool!"upon which courteous greeting the ancient warrior entered smiling.
"Was there ever such a witty puss?" he exclaimed. "I kiss Mrs.Grimalkin's velvet paw. Pray how many mice has Minette crunched sincebreakfast?"
His favourite jest was to attribute feline attributes to Patty, whoseappreciation of his humour rose or fell in unison with his generosity.A pair of white gloves worked with silver thread, or a handsome ribbonfor her hair secured her laughter and applause.
To-day Patty's keen glance showed her that the General wasempty-handed. He had not brought her so much as a violet posy. Hesaluted Antonia with his stateliest bow, blinking at her curiously, buttoo short-sighted to be aware of her beauty in the dim light of theparlour, where evening shadows were creeping over the panelled walls.
Patty set the kettle on the fire and washed out the little chinateapot, while she talked to her ancient admirer. He liked to watchher kitten-like movements, her trim sprightly ways, to take a cup ofweak tea from her hand, and to tell her his news of the town, whichwas mostly wrong, but which she always believed. She thought him afoolish old person, but the pink of fashion. His talk was a dilutededition of the news we read in Walpole's letters--talk of St. James'sand Leicester House, of the old king and his grandson, newly createdPrince of Wales, of the widowed princess and Lord Bute, of a score ofpatrician belles whose histories were more or less scandalous, and ofthose two young women from Dublin, the penniless Gunnings, whose beautyhad set the town in a blaze--sisters so equal in perfection that no twopeople were of a mind as to which was the handsomer.
Tonia had met the General often, and knew his capacity for beinginteresting. She rose and bade her friend good-bye.
"Nay, child, 'tis ill manners to leave me directly I have company. TheGeneral and I have no secrets."
"My Minette is a cautious puss, and will never confess to thesinging-birds she has killed," said the dodderer.
Tonia protested that her father would be at home and wanting her. Shesaluted the soldier with her stateliest curtsey, and departed with theresolute _aplomb_ of a duchess.
"Your friend's grand manners go ill with her shabby gown," said theGeneral. "With her fine figure she should do well on the stage."
"There is too much of her, General. She is too tall by a head for anactress. 'Tis delicate little women look best behind the lamps."
* * * * *
Thornton was fond of his daughter, and had never said an unkind word toher; but he had no scruples about letting her work for him, having afixed idea that youth has an inexhaustible fund of health and strengthupon which age can never overdraw. He was proud of her mental powers,and believed that to help a hack-scribbler with his multifariouscontributions to magazines and newspapers was the finest educationpossible for her. If they went to the playhouse together 'twas she whowrote a critique on the players next morning, while her father slept.Dramatic criticism in those days was but scurvily treated by the Press,and Tonia was apt to expatiate beyond the limits allowed by an editor,and was mortified to see her opinions reduced to the baldest comment.
She talked to her father of Mrs. Mandalay's dancing-rooms. He knewthere was such a place, but doubted whether 'twas a reputable resort.He promised to make inquiries, and thus delayed matters, without theunkindness of a refusal. Tonia was helping him with a comedy forDrury Lane--indeed, was writing the whole play, his part of the workconsisting chiefly in running his pen across Tonia's scenes, andbidding her write them again in accord with his suggestions, which shedid with equal meekness and facility. He grew a little lazier every dayas he discovered his daughter's talent, and encouraged her to labourfor him. He praised himself for having taught her Spanish, so that shehad the best comedies in the world, as he thought, at her fingers'ends.
It was for the sake of the comedy Tonia urged her desire to see the_beau monde_.
"'Tis dreadful to write about people of fashion when one has never seenany," she said.
"Nay, child, there's no society in Europe will provide you bettermodels than you'll find in yonder duodecimos," her father would say,pointing to Congreve and Farquhar. "Mrs. Millamant is a finer lady thanany duchess in London."
"Mrs. Millamant is half a century old, and says things that would makepeople hate her if she was alive now."
"Faith, we are getting vastly genteel; and I suppose by-and-by we shallhave plays as decently dull as Sam Richardson's novels, without a jokeor an oath
from start to finish," protested Thornton.
It was more than a month after Tonia's first appeal that her fathercame home to dinner one afternoon in high spirits, and clapped a coupleof tickets on the tablecloth by his daughter's plate.
"Look there, slut!" he cried. "I seized my first chance of obligingyou. There is a masked ball at Mrs. Mandalay's to-night, and I waitedupon my old friend Lord Kilrush on purpose to ask him for tickets; andnow you have only to run to the costumier's and borrow a domino and amask, and see that there are no holes in your stockings."
"I always mend my stockings before the holes come," Antonia saidreproachfully.
"You are an indefatigable wench! Come, there's a guinea for you;perhaps you can squeeze a pair of court shoes out of it, as well as thehire of the domino."
"You are a dear, dear, dearest dad! I'll ask Patty to go to thecostumier's with me. She will get me a good pennyworth."