Chapter 2 Shilling Points - Part Two

After some weeks he resolved to brave the ridicule, and called upon his cousin, only to be informed that she had gone to Newmarket. He called again, upon her return, but found her engaged, and then alas! -- for he was only a man -- the fairy light began to fade a trifle, and the vision splendid to die away.

Two things had led to this result -- the first of which was his increasing debts and difficulties, and the extremely awkward financial position in which he found himself.

A gambler more from want of occupation than from inclination, he had been unfortunate all round that year, and with a thrill of disagreeable surprise he suddenly awoke to the fact hat he was practically insolvent.

It was about this time that he made the acquaintance of the talented Mrs. Fanshawe, an actress whose personality he had often admired across the footlights, and a rather absorbing friendship grew out of this acquaintance. She liked him for being simple, he admired her for being complex. The individuality of each pleased the other. She bewildered his fancy and engrossed his time, but she had not yet touched his heart. It was Mrs. Fanshawe who suggested a a way out of his difficulties.

"Why don't you come on the stage?" she asked.

"My dear lady, what good should I do?"

"With your face and figure --" said the actress reflectively.

"Don't talk as if I were a professional beauty," put in Dacre. "It's no use thinking of that."

"That is just what we do think in our own work," said Mrs. Fanshawe. "You would be the best-looking leading man on the stage."

"What do you mean a leading man?"

"He takes the part of a lover," said Mrs. Fanshwe, looking at him a little intently.

"Oh!" said Dacre, returning her glance; and, then there was a short silence.

"What about brains?" he inquired later. "Aren't they required?"

"They are useful no doubt," said Mrs. Fanshawe; "but in the sort of parts you would play, you need only be well coached and be receptive. Do you understand?"

"Who would coach me?" he inquired, lighting a cigar.

"I should," answered Mrs. Fanshawe, with another bewildering glance.

"Well, then, I should be awfully receptive."

"Look here, Lord Jim," she continued, "I think, if you will allow me, that I can manage this business for you very easily. I believe my manager would be glad to engage you at a high salary, for the present, at any rate. You see, your name would raw, and the theater would be willed with your friends. After that ---"

"Yes, after that," said Dacre, "when they discovered what a fool I was ---"

"Perhaps they would never discover that," said Mrs. Fanshawe, "and if they did, you might be clear of your difficulties by then. After all, thirty guineas a week is what you need at present, is it not? Ready money down," she added, with another fascinating smile.

"You are an angel!" cried the impecunious young man.

"I am a woman," she replied; "and I am interested in you."

"Then you will fix it all up for me?"

"I will."

And she did. An interview with the manager followed in due course; and, after that, a luncheon at the Carlton Hotel and much technical discussion, to which he listened in bewilderment. Then his part was sent him, which he found astonishingly easy to commit to memory; and then a rehearsal was called, where he found the said lines as astonishingly difficult to repeat.

To his surprise, he found himself entering, heart and soul into the new career. It was so interesting, there was so much excitement and novelty about it, and such a spirit of fellowship pervaded the atmosphere, the he found it perfectly enthralling; and the glittering footlights drew him as they have drawn many another before.

Before the first rehearsal he received a shock -- a bolt from the blue, which seemed to remind him of another hope and another ambition, belonging to the days before Mrs. Fanshawe's dark eyes and enigmatic smile had introduced these new elements into his life.

It was only an envelop, enclosing a five pound note and a slip of paper, on which were printed these words: "In part payment of the debt, with heartfelt thanks."

Again and again he read the simple words, until at last they ceased to convey any meaning whatever to his mind, only leaving him with a feeling of dull bewilderment and irritation.

The smallness of the sum sent, in comparison to the debt, affected him painfully. It seemed to tell a tale of effort and of toil -- of effort perhaps painful, and toil no doubt poorly rewarded -- to pay him who would gladly have released her from the shadow of an obligation. He shuddered at the thought, and hid the printed page away as one stifles a painful memory or an impertinent thought, throwing himself into the new life opening out before him.

At two o'clock he drove down to the first rehearsal, prepared, but indeed very nervous, a feeling which was dispelled by the suave manner of the stage manager, a gentlemen who had evidently received instructions to treat the newcomer with extreme indulgence. He acted with Mrs. Fanshawe, who helped him every possible way, and his awkwardness only elicited a genial, "If I were you, I should take the scene so," said in a manner that could not hurt the most sensitive self-respect.

Gradually the novice was initiated and began to feel an interest in his surroundings. The novelty of the whole thing amused him immensely, and after his part, resting and chatting with Mrs. Fanshawe, he observed the unaccustomed scene.

A number of shabbily dressed persons of both sexes were being hustled about by the stage manager in the manipulation of a stage crowd, and in dealing with the rank and file the genial tones of the manager's voice sharpened and became decidedly authoritative.

One super in particular seemed to excite his utmost indignation.

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, "is it possible to be so stupid? Really Miss Grey, this won't do at all! Come, you have nothing to do but carry a basket of violets up and down. Here come on center and try again!"

The young woman picked up her basket and obeyed.

"Sweet violets! Sweet violets!" she said mechanically, walking towards the footlights.

"No, no!" cried the stage manager, snatching the basket from her hand. "You must take the whole business quicker, Miss Grey."

"Sweet violets! Sweet violets!"

"No, no! You are out of your place. You'll keep the whole scene back if you play like this!"

Again the super picked up her basket and advanced, crying her wares with a little more animation as she did so. As she passed the chair were Dacre and Mrs. Fanshawe sat, the light of a gas-lamp fell full upon her face, revealing it's sharply cut outlines, the wavy brown hair, and the beautiful curves of the neck and chins."

"Who is that?" asked Dacre hoarsely.

"Oh, she's a rather pretty girl, isn't she? But so stupid. I believe Mr. Ziegler is going to get rid of her if he can find anyone else for the part; only, as we open so soon, it is rather unlikely now. Still, I'm really afraid she won't do. How cold it is on the stage!" added the leading lady with a shiver. "Do fetch me my cloak, Lord Jim; I left it just over there."

Dacre rose mechanically and crossed the stage; but, once in the shadow of the wings, he forgot his surroundings, and the cloak, seein gonly the figure of the girl going for the fourth time through her part.

At length she was released, and, turning came towards him passing him with a weary dejected hair. He put out his hand and touched the shabby black shoulder.

"Miss Grey," he said below his breath.

She started, and then she recognized him, not quickly, but with a slow and dawning comprehension as to who it was that stood before her.

"Are you here, too?" she said.

"Yes. Didn't you see me go through me scene?"

"No, I arrived late. I did not notice. Are you on the stage?" she asked wonderingly.

"It looks like it, doesn't it?" said Dacre smilingly. "I am playing Hector."

"Ah yes, the big part," she said, and sighed.

"And you?"

As he looked down upon her, a growing kindness dared to show itself in his eyes.

"I am, as you see," she replied. "A guinea a week, and very thankful I was to get it."

"But your father," he cried, "and Jack! You see, I have not forgotten anything you told me the first evening we met."

"My father is dead," she answered.

He moved involuntarily towards her. "And Jack?" he asked.

"He went to South Africa," she replied, still in the same quiet, almost toneless, voice. "He left in such health and spirits! Yes, he was ordered to the front and... and..."

"No, no!" said Dacre, struck with a premonition of evil, "not that!"

"Yes, he was shot within a week."

Almost as in a dream he saw the listless hand hanging down at her side, and gathered it with his own.

"And you?"

"I was left without a penny," she said; then she raised her head and looked at him with dim eyes. "Only debts," she added. "Only debts!"

A feeling of shyness seized him, and the reassuring words he longed to utter died on his lips. It was so difficult to make her understand without hurting her sensitive pride, how fully and entirely he released her. As he was casting about in his mind for some sentence which would not sound too formal or common, a black coated gentleman hurried up to him.

"Mrs. Fanshawe's cloak," he said; "she is asking for it. Have you got it?"

"No," said Dacre impatiently, and, looking up, he saw Mrs. Fanshawe before.

"Oh, don't trouble," she said sweetly. "By the way one word."

"By the way, one word."

He followed her aside.