X. The Path to Fame
There are many experiences which fall to the lot of a detective that call forth for very little of the skill with which detectives are popularly supposed to be endowed, but which it would be a pity not to record, inasmuch as they sometimes probe the depths of pathos.
Of such a nature was my encounter with an actress, whose name was once on everybody’s tongue, but whose fame and popularity had declined with her beauty, until at last she found herself on the borderland of destitution and starvation.
I found her dying in St. George’s Hospital, whither I had gone to receive important information from the occupant of the next bed to hers. Her big, wistful eyes enlisted my sympathy, and the nurse fanned it by telling me as much as she knew about the poor soul, whose only prayer now was that she might die soon.
“She has been very rich,” she said. “She is no other than the once famous actress, Miss Winsome, whom all theatre-goers went mad after some years since. Trouble, as well as penury, have brought her to the sorry pass you now see her in. She has told me that she had two beautiful children, both of whom died of typhoid fever, and that the first intimation which she had of their illness was the news of their death. The shock nearly killed her, and she has never been the same since. She has given me a box of papers to take care of for her. If she gets better I am to give her the little box back again. If she dies, I am to burn all the letters, but I am to see that a manuscript, which she calls her confession, is published. She says it will be a warning to others. But I really don’t know who will take it for publication.”
“If she dies, give it to me,” I said, eagerly. “You know who I am. I am about to publish some of my experiences, and I will insert this among them.”
The nurse very willingly agreed to this, and, after going to the patient’s bedside, to ascertain if I could do anything for her, I quitted the hospital. The poor soul made a most curious request in response to my invitation to tell me what she would like best.
“I shan’t live above a day or two,” she said, “but I would just like to taste champagne again before I die.”
I was not sure that it was quite the thing to do. But I promised her some champagne, and took her a little bottle the next morning. Alas! I was too late! Her spirit had left its earthly casement, and bodily longings or desires would trouble her no more. The end had come much more swiftly than had been expected. But it could hardly be regretted, since a prolongation of life would only have been a prolongation of suffering for one with her shattered hopes and constitution.
“She just went to sleep,” said the nurse, and but for the fact that she ceased murmuring the names of her children, of whom she seemed to be dreaming happily, we could hardly tell when she passed away.”
It was better so, I thought, as I left the hospital again with the little box which the nurse had handed over to me. And after reading the M.S. that had been spoken of, I was all the more glad that her end had been painless. Here is her story, and I pray my readers not to judge her too harshly.
“Had any one ever told my mother that her daughter would live to be the most talked of and the most courted woman in London, she would have scouted the prediction as one that was impossible of fulfilment.
“For were we not miserably poor and obscure? Did not my estimable parents cultivate the habit of moonlight flitting, in order to evade the landlord’s just demands? Had I not an uncle in prison for housebreaking? And was it not a fact that my progenitors had never been joined in the bonds of holy wedlock?
“All these things were only too true! But, fortunately, the world doesn’t inquire too closely into the antecedents of successful people.
“There was also another circumstance greatly in my favour. My admirable mother, having been in the habit of patronising King Alcohol too freely, found herself unable to resist his insidious encroachments upon her constitution, and would have died young, even if her end had not been accelerated by a blow received from her ‘husband’ in a drunken quarrel.
“I was at this time about six years old, as nearly as I can judge, having had no definite information on the subject. My vagabond of a father promptly absconded, and quite forgot that he owned a lovely daughter. Certainly, dirt and coarse clothing then hid the charms which time and a knowledge of the art of ‘making-up’ have transformed into the irresistible tout-ensemble whose fame is now worldwide.
“When the local authorities, duly recognising my unprotected condition, transferred me to the Knockemabout Workhouse, I was not too promising a specimen of humanity, for the many kicks and blows bestowed upon me by my male parent had pretty nearly frightened the wits out of me. But I soon improved, for, since I never hungered and was at least decently clad, I was vastly better off than ever I had been before.
“Perhaps I might not now appreciate the food upon which I was fed in those days. But we judge by comparison, and as bread-and-scrape had hitherto been my great luxury, except when I once managed to crib a sheep’s trotter from a stall in the market, I was to be congratulated on the change in my fortunes.
“At the end of eight years the monotony of my life was broken. An old wardrobe dealer came to the workhouse in search of a cheap servant. Her fancy lighted on me, and as I had been taught to read, write, sum, knit, sew, wash, and scrub, I was considered to be sufficiently well equipped with worldly knowledge to start life’s battle on my own account. I was therefore transferred to Mrs Harridan’s keeping, and made to work from dawn till bedtime.
“But I am by nature industrious, and of a jolly, happy-go-lucky temperament, and I didn’t feel particularly miserable, even then.
“A trivial incident proved the turning point of my career. During one of my mistress’s many absences on business it struck me that I would don some of the tawdry things which surrounded me, so as to have a bit of fun on my own account.
“So I hurried through my work quicker than usual, and trusting that nobody would enter the shop just yet, I slipped into a short, rose-coloured tarlatan frock, cut low at the neck, and having mere straps for sleeves.
“The result astonished and delighted me. For the first time I realised that I was dowered with beauty, and I was admiring myself in front of the cracked looking-glass which adorned the shop, when I was transfixed with terror by the arrival of Mrs Harridan herself.
“But my mistress actually looked pleased, and speedily set my fears at rest by exclaiming, ‘Well, I’m blest if you ain’t cut out for a pantomime girl! You look spiffin, and I’ve more than half a mind to try it on.’
“A week later I had been engaged at a neighbouring theatre to perform in the ballet of the forthcoming pantomime. It was also arranged that I should live with Mrs Harridan, and help with some of her work, besides giving her the greater part of my earnings in exchange for my board and lodgings. But she wasn’t really hard on me, and gave me many a bit of useful finery.
“Indeed, I shall never forget that she was my first real friend, and I am glad to be able to make her a small weekly allowance, now that she is past work. Brevity will not permit me to dwell on my early professional struggles.
“Though I can honestly say that I was apt and industrious, it took me several years to achieve popularity. I was admittedly beautiful, and could act, sing and dance to perfection. But I was not able to make such a display as some of my less scrupulous fellow artistes. They boasted the ‘protection’ of this, that, or the other profligate, who invariably did his best to popularise the efforts of his favourite.
“For a long time I prided myself on my virtue. Then I came to understand the real cause of my failure, and accepted the attentions of Viscount S.
“He has provided quite handsomely for my two children, who are being educated in the belief that they are the orphans of a respectable couple called Mervyn.
“But even yet I failed to reach the pinnacle of fame which I coveted, although I had ample means of display, and I cast round for another mode of attaining my object. I found my social step-ladder in the person of young Lord F., who became desperately enamoured with me, and was for a while more than anxious to marry me. Of course, I forgot to tell him about my two children. But I made the best of my opportunities, knowing full well that Lord F.’s infatuation could not last, and when he really did show an inclination to fight shy of the engagement I had plenty of people to prove that it had been an existing fact.
“Three months later the ‘cause celebre’ of the day was the breach of promise action brought by Miss Winsome against Lord F. There was no vigorous attempt at a defence. I won my case ‘hands over,’ together with £5,000 damages.
“I also won the notoriety I craved for, and the photographs of the beautiful and ill-treated Miss Winsome were shown in every fancy shop window in the country.
“Managers ran after me.
“I could dictate my own terms.
“My audiences adored me, showered presents and bouquets upon me, and they have more than once unharnessed my horses and drawn me to my hotel in triumph.
“I have gained the summit of my ambition. But oh, God! how I do crave for a little, real honest love and sympathy! I would give the world to be able to retire with my beautiful innocent children to some place where they could never learn that their mother is anything but one of the best and purest of women!
“But how foolish I am! Why do I imagine vain things? I am quite happy – sometimes!”