In Silk Attire: A Novel

"And then she grew excited, as if she were half-mad, and implored me not to compel her to fulfil her engagement. She said her acting was a failure; that everybody knew it was a failure; that she had an invincible repugnance to going on the stage again; and that nothing would tempt her to begin a new piece, either with me or with anybody else. I can assure you, Count Schönstein, now that I think over it, there never was a finer scene in any play than she acted then – with her despair, and her appeals, and her determination. I thought at first she was bewitched; and then I declare she was so nearly on the point of bewitching me, that I was almost agreeing to everything she asked, only – "

"Only what?"

"Only I remembered that the theatre was not only my own affair, and that I had no business to compromise its interests by – you understand?"

"Quite right – quite right," said the Count, hastily. "And then – ?"

"Then she left."

"But what – what is the reason of her wishing to leave the stage?"

"I don't know."

"Had she heard any – any news, for example?"

"I don't know."

"Why, Melton, what a fellow you are!" cried the Count, peevishly. "I'm sure you could easily have found out, if you cared, what she meant by it."

"I tell you I was quite dumfoundered – "

"And she said nothing about any news – or her prospects – or a change – ?"

"Nothing. From what she said, I gathered that she had come to dislike acting, and that she was convinced her future career would be wretched, both for herself and the house. You have never asked me about the theatre at all. The first two or three nights the curiosity of people to see her in the new part gave us some good business; but now the papers have changed their tune, and the public – "

Mr. Melton shrugged his shoulders; but Count Schönstein was paying no attention to him.

"If she has discovered the secret," he was reasoning with himself, "she would be in no such desperate hurry to leave the stage. If she has not, now is the time for me."

"Melton," he said, "what would be a reasonable forfeit if she broke her engagement?"

"I don't know. I should say 200*l*. She said she could not offer me compensation in money, and that's why she begged so hard of me for the favour. God knows, if I could afford it, and were my own master, I should not make the poor creature keep to her engagement. Look at the money she used to put into the treasury every week."

"Very good. Come downstairs to your room; I want to transact some business with you."

When they had gone down to the stage and passed through the wings to Mr. Melton's private room, both men sate down in front of a table on which were writing materials.

"Take a sheet of paper, like a good fellow," said the Count, "and write to my dictation."

Melton took the pen in his hand, and the Count continued —

"My dear Miss Brunel, – In consideration of your past services, and of the great success attending– should that be attendant, Melton? —upon your previous labours in this theatre, I beg to offer you entire liberty to break your present engagement, at whatever time you please. – Yours sincerely, Charles Melton."

"And what do you propose to do with that, Count?" said Melton, with a smile.

"I propose to give you this bit of paper for it," said the Count.

He handed the manager an I.O.U. for 200*l.*; and then carefully folded up the letter and put it in his pocket.

CHAPTER XXVII.

DOUBTFUL

Without taking off either bonnet or cloak, Annie Brunel, on reaching home that night, went at once to Mrs. Christmas's room, and flung herself down on the edge of the bed where the poor old woman lay, ailing and languid.

"Oh, mother, mother," cried the girl, "I can never go to the theatre any more!"

She buried her face in the bed-clothes, and only stretched out her hand for sympathy. The old woman tried to put her arm round the girl's neck, but relinquished the attempt with a sigh.

"What is to become of us, Miss Annie?"

"I don't know – I don't know," she said, almost wildly, "and why should I care any longer?"

"What new trouble is this that has fallen on us?" said Mrs. Christmas, faintly. "Why do you speak like that?"

"Because I don't know what to say, mother – because I would rather die than go to the theatre again – and he says I must. I cannot go – I cannot go – and there is no one to help me!"

The old woman turned her eyes – and they looked large in the shrivelled and weakly face – on her companion.

"Annie, you won't tell me what is the matter. Why should you hate the stage? Hasn't it been kind to you? Wasn't it kind to your mother – for many a long year, when she and you depended on it for your lives? The stage is a kind home for many a poor creature whom the world has cast out – and you, Miss Annie, who have been in a theatre all your life, what has taken you now? The newspapers?"

The girl only shook her head.

"Because the business isn't good?"

No answer.

"Has Mr. Melton been saying anything – ?"

"I tell you, mother," said the girl, passionately, "that I will not go upon the stage, because I hate it! And I hate the people – I hate them for staring at me, and making me ashamed of myself. I hate them because they are rich, and happy, and full of their own concerns – indeed, mother, I can't tell you – I only know that I will never go on the stage again, let them do what they like. Oh, to feel their eyes on me, and to know that I am only there for their amusement, and to know that I cannot compel them to – to anything but sit and compassionately admire my dress, and my efforts to please them. I can't bear it, Lady Jane – I can't bear it."

And here she broke out into a fit of hysterical sobbing.

"My poor dear, when I should be strong and ready to comfort you, here I am weaker and more helpless than yourself. But don't go back to the theatre, sweetheart, until your taste for it returns – "

"It will never return. I hate the thought of it."

"But it may. And in the meantime haven't we over 40*l.* in the house of good savings?"

"That is nothing to what I must undertake to give Mr. Melton if I break my engagement. But I don't mind that much, Lady Jane – I don't mind anything except going back there, and you must never ask me to go back. Say that you won't! We shall get along somehow – "

"My darling, how can you imagine I would seek to send you back?"

Annie Brunel did not sleep much that night; but by the morning she had recovered all her wonted courage and self-composure. Indeed, it was with a new and singular sense of freedom and cheerfulness that she rose to find the world before her, her own path through it as yet uncertain and full of risks. But she was now mistress of herself; she went to bid Mrs. Christmas good morning with a blithe air, and then, as every Englishwoman does under such circumstances, she sent for the Times.

She had no definite impression about her capabilities for earning her living out of the dramatic profession; but she expected to find all the requisite suggestions in the Times. Here was column after column of proffered employment; surely one little bit might be allotted to her. So she sate down hopefully before the big sheet, and proceeded to put a well-defined cross opposite each advertisement which she imagined offered her a fair chance.

While she was thus engaged, Count Schönstein's brougham was announced; and a few minutes thereafter, the Count, having sent up his card, was permitted to enter the room.