XVI
Inthe meantime gloom and anxiety reigned at Clavering Park. By just missing the bus from the Pendennis Arms, Pikey delayed her return from The Laurels until nearly three o’clock. Therefore Miss Cass decided to obey orders and by pleading a headache take luncheon in bed. Several good reasons led her to do so. Apart from the fact that Girlie’s respect for her stern custodian was tinged with awe, she was more comfortable in the security of her own room than she was likely to be anywhere else in that house at that moment. Besides, although she had given up a whole morning to the diligent study of “The Lady of Laxton,” at present she was very far from being word perfect in her part; thus she did not feel equal to the task of going through a rehearsal that afternoon. And sum and crown of all her woes, was the haunting continual fear of the arrival of Mr. Montagu Jupp.
That veritable Old Man of the Sea was expected from London by the four o’clock train. It needed no great amount of foresight on the part of Miss Cass to realize that when that event happened the game would be up. All the morning as she wrestled with Sir Toby’s dialogue, Mr. Montagu Jupp was a specterin the background of her thoughts. Should she make a clean breast of the matter there and then and so anticipate the public exposure that was inevitable later in the day? She was in such a state of panic that there seemed much to be said for that course, yet after all, as further reflection showed, there was nothing to gain by a bootless confession. At all events it would be wise to await the return of Pikey, if only because she had promised to bring Lady Elfreda with her. But there could be no building upon that. It was always possible, of course, that the Evil Genius was already bored sufficiently by her taste of drudgery to come and face the music, but poor Girlie was very far from counting upon the fact.
Pikey, however, returned Elfreda-less but terribly cross. Indeed “cross” was altogether too mild a word for her mood. It was really so savage that for a time the hapless Deputy could do nothing with her. Moreover, so completely was Girlie under the spell of Mr. Montagu Jupp that her will became inert. In sheer desperation she resigned herself to her bed for the rest of that day at least. By that means she would avoid Mr. Montagu Jupp until the morrow and so put off the hour of discovery.
Downstairs, in the meantime, consternation was rife. The sudden indisposition of the leading lady had caused the first rehearsal to be postponed. But Sir Toby was by profession an optimist. He looked at the world he lived in and all the beings who inhabitedit through rose-colored spectacles. It was “good form” to do so. Every woman of his acquaintance was “a dear” or she was “charming,” every man was “a sportsman” and a good fellow. Clouds had been known to obscure the sun now and again, but after all they were only a temporary matter. He was a believer in a bright and cheerful world. That was the only side of the picture he could ever condescend to recognize. Nevertheless, even Sir Toby allowed, in the privacy of his heart, that “The Lady of Laxton” might prove an ambitious undertaking for a decidedly scratch company at short notice.
However, the author of the piece had a real stand-by in Montagu Jupp. That famous man was said by common report “to know the theater backwards.” He had only to set his hand to the business for all to be well. His arrival by the four o’clock train was eagerly awaited. Even Sir Toby’s optimism deigned to regard the coming of the great and admired Montagu as asine qua non. He knew all about everything, theatrically speaking. Not only was he a “producer,” he was a Napoleon among producers. And on his own showing he had yet to learn the meaning of the word “failure.”
Alas, when the omnibus returned from Clavering station on the stroke of five, a chill descended upon the bevy of tea drinkers in the hall. The great man had not arrived. But in lieu of him a telegram had been handed to the chauffeur on the journey home. Itwas addressed to Sir Toby Philpot and it contained the dire news that Mr. Montagu Jupp was “unavoidably detained, important business.”
Sir Toby was stout of heart, but a cloud, an unmistakable cloud passed across the sun of his optimism. There was much to do and but a very little time in which to do it. His star artiste, upon whom so much depended, had taken to her bed; his other stand-by had let him down at the last moment; and the performance was already widely advertised to take place in the Assembly Rooms at Clavering on the following Tuesday. Moreover, Sir Toby in the bounty of his nature had given an undertaking that the performance should be repeated in the Town Hall at the neighboring city of Meichester three days later.
It was the hostess herself who presently bore the news of Mr. Montagu Jupp’s non-arrival to King Edward’s bedroom. Girlie was sitting up in bed in a beribboned dressing jacket, grappling bravely with the typescript of her part. No doubt it was an act of sheer despair, but her mind in the present state of its infirmity craved occupation. The severe task of committing to memory Sir Toby’s dialogue was by way of being an antidote to her many terrors. And when the yellow chrysanthemum lady, full of counsel and solicitude, came and sat by her bed, and bitterly deplored Mr. Jupp’s failure to appear, it was almost as if the invalid gained strength from the woes ofothers. At all events it suddenly occurred to her that she might be able to come down to dinner.
The kindly hostess was far from urging that course upon her guest, but certainly Lady Elfreda’s early reappearance would lessen the gloom that had fallen upon Mrs. Spencer-Jobling and other members of the cast, and even upon Sir Toby himself. So sharp was the recoil from the certainty of immediate discovery that Girlie began to feel quite bold. Her long day in bed had been a torture and a weariness, Pikey since her return from The Laurels had been intolerable, and the postponement of the worst had brought such relief that in the sudden reaction Girlie took heart of grace.
A sword hung over her head which sooner or later must fall. In the meantime, desperation nerved her and she decided upon a run for her money. She was not without courage, or it may have been that the rewards of courage inspired her to an unnatural hardihood. At any rate, a festive dinner downstairs, even if a little too highly spiced with adventure, was greatly to be preferred to a further prolonged mope in bed.
When, however, the hostess had left the room and the Deputy informed Pikey of her decision, there was a clash of wills. That autocrat vetoed the proposal ruthlessly. Miss No-Class would be far safer where she was. But the student ofThe Patricianhad made up her mind. Now that Mr. Montagu Jupp was a peril less imminent, she was in such an agreeable state of recoil that the previous evening had become a proudand happy memory. Looking back upon it in perspective, she felt entitled to consider herself a success.
Let her rise to the height of her opportunity! That thought was ever in her mind. A heavy penalty would be exacted from her presently, her career as a governess would be ruined, but in the meantime if she were really wise she would “see life,” and boldly play her part in a tragi-comedy which one day might make her as famous as Miss Mary Cholmondeley or Mrs. Elinor Glyn. No matter what the future had in store she would weave into her life a high experience that should even raise her above the Brontës and all their gifts.
Pikey continued to breathe slaughter and fire, but the Deputy, sustained by thoughts of the renown that might one day be hers, showed a firmness amounting to heroism.
“I will have a bath—please. And I will wear the blue dress.”
Could Pikey have had her way, she would have beaten the small plebeian soundly and put her back into bed. But the duenna was shaken a good deal by the tribulations of the day. She was feeling weak and she was filled with despair. The unexpected defiance vanquished her. Sullenly she prepared the bath, sullenly she went through the toilette ritual. But on this occasion her proud spirit had to submit to rebuke.
“You are hurting me.” The Deputy tried her utmost to speak sternly, even if the result was not as impressiveas she could have wished. “I think I can manage my hair quite well myself, thank you.”
Pikey was still strong enough not to yield her office, but her methods became less drastic. The Deputy, however, was not permitted to wear the blue dress. She was curtly told thatrealladies did not appear in the same frock on two successive evenings. An affair of pink silk was unwillingly placed at her disposal. And when Girlie came to look at herself in the glass, she found it just as becoming and slightly more modern in style. Perhaps it did not go quite so well with her eyes, but in the course of an epic twenty-four hours the rose had deepened in her cheeks, so that all things considered “what she lost on the roundabouts she gained on the swings.”