UNDER THE ROSE.
(A Story in Scenes.)
Scene XII.—Another box at the Eldorado. Time—About 9.30 P.M.
Enter Mrs. Merridew and Althea, followed by Colonel Merridew and Captain Alchin.
Mrs. Merridew. Frank, the man did say Walter Wildfire hasn't sung yet, didn't he? Yes? then that's all right! Oughtn't you and I to sit at the back, Thea? Well, you shall have this corner at any rate, and then the curtain will hide you. Captain Alchin, will you come between us, please, and then you can explain any of the jokes we don't understand.
[They settle down.
Captain Alchin. Pleasure! (To himself.) Think I see myself explainin' the jokes and that! (Aloud.) Afraid I shan't be of much use, really. Rather out of my line this sort of thing, you know!
Mrs. M. I'm sure you must know more about it than Miss Toovey and I do. Tell me who is this rather good-looking girl in kneebreeches with the horrid voice and the blue eyelids, and why does she walk like that?
"See us lurch along in line, with a straggle serpentine."
Capt. Alch. (off his guard). Oh, that's Miss Lardie Lushboy; it's her usual business—drinkin' song, young man about town, and all that.
Mrs. M. There, you see, you know all about her!
[Capt. A. hastens to explain that her name is on the programme.
Miss Lardie (sings)—
See us lurch along in line, with a straggle serpentine,
[She suits the action to the word.
For we've done a heavy fuddle, and we never pass a "pub"!
And if you want a proof how we chuck about our "oof"—
Why, come along and have a drink with the Rowdy Razzle Club!
Mrs. M. I suppose that's intended as a satire on noisy young men, isn't it, Captain Alchin?
Captain Alch. (who hadn't thought of it in that light). Well—ha—that depends on how you take it, don't you know.
Mrs. M. That's the way I shall take it, and then it's quite moral. (A Low Comedian, in a broad-brimmed hat and a rough black wig, makes his appearance.) This must be Walter Wildfire, I suppose. Thea, do you see? he looks quite nice, and not really vulgar. Now he's going to sing. Isn't he too delightfully funny! What, Frank? Not Wildfire? Mr. Alf Redbeak. Are you sure? I was wondering what there could possibly be in such a common little man as that to make such a fuss about. And what language? Captain Alchin, what does he mean by saying that he was "dotted on the crust by a copper," and "went off his onion"?
Capt. Alch. (who foresees rocks ahead if he once undertakes to interpret). Oh, well, they're always inventin' some new slang, you know, Mrs. Merridew; no use tryin' to keep up with it.
[Miss Cissie Cinders appears as a bedraggled maid of all work, and sings a doleful ditty to the effect that—"Her missis will not let her wear no feathers in her 'at, so her sojer's gone and given 'er the chuck."
Mrs. M. (delighted). Isn't she refreshing—so deliciously vulgar! I do hope she hasn't finished. Thea, you're sitting as quiet as a little mouse in that corner. I hope you're not too dreadfully shocked? I'm not—at least of course I am, really; but it's not nearly so bad as I expected.
Althea. Oh, I'm not in the least shocked, Cissie, thanks; only I don't quite understand it all.
Mrs. M. My dear, no more do I. I don't understand any of it—but that makes no difference!
Alth. (To herself). I don't like to say so, but I am disappointed. Mr. Curphew said it would be like a Penny Reading; but it's not a bit, it's ever so much stupider. But he never goes himself, so of course——
Mrs. M. It's quite a respectable audience; I thought we should be the only people in evening dress, but we're not. I do wish they wouldn't allow quite so much smoking, though; the atmosphere's getting something too awful. Oh, Thea, do look in that box just opposite. Can you see through that lace curtain? Ah, you can't see now!
Alth. (looking round the edge of the curtain). Where, Cissie, who is it?
Mrs. M. Why, quite the typical British Matron—the most tremendously proper-looking person; so if she doesn't see any harm in being here, I'm sure we needn't. I'll tell you when she pops her her head out again. There, quick! Thea, quick! Did you see her that time?
Alth. (faintly). Y—yes. I—I saw her that time. (To herself.) Is this a wicked conscience—or what? It was so like Mamma! But how could it be?
Mrs. M. Did you ever see such a grim old frump, Thea? I wonder what possessed her to come to a place like this? She doesn't look as if it was amusing her much.
Alth. (distractedly). Doesn't she? (To herself.) If it should be Mamma! If she has found out in some way that we were to be here to-night and followed us! But how could she know? Suppose she were to see me, and—and come round and fetch me away; how awful it would be! But she can't see me through these curtains. I don't believe it is Mamma. I—I wish I dared look again. Oh, why did I get Cissie to bring me here?
Capt. Alch. May I borrow your opera glass for a moment, Mrs. Merridew? Thanks, awf'ly. (As he looks through it.) There's goin' to be a row in that opposite box. Your British Matron's gettin' her quills up—give you my word she is.
Mrs. M. Oh, do let me see! (She holds out her hand for the glass, which Capt. A. surrenders.) Yes, I do believe you're right. Somebody's just come in and——Now there's another, a young man, and—oh, Thea!
Alth. (in an agony). What is it, Cissie? do tell me! (To herself.) It must be Charles—I'm sure it's Charles. Then that's why—and it is Mamma! (Aloud.) Mayn't I have the glass?
Mrs. M. I think you had better not, dear. The British Matron has boxed the poor young man's ears—she has really. I wonder what—but well, it doesn't matter. Now she's turned him out of the box. He's coming back—alone. Yes, the old lady has certainly gone—it's all over. I'm so sorry; it was ever so much more interesting than that big fat man who's singing!
Alth. (tremulously). Mayn't I look now, Cissie, if it's all over? (She almost snatches the glass, and directs it at the young man in Box C—then to herself, with relief.) Why, it isn't Charles—it's not even like him. Then—oh, what a goose I've been! It wasn't Mamma either. It was all my fancy, and she had on rather the same kind of bonnet. As if Mamma would come to a music-hall and box the ears of somebody she didn't know! But what a fright it gave me!
[She begins to feel capable of enjoying the performance.
Col. Merridew (later). Now we're going to see the great man, Cecilia. Wildfire's down to sing next.
Capt. Alch. Don't you be too sure, Frank. They haven't put the number up yet, you see. As likely as not they'll put in an "extra turn," and he won't come at all. I've known that happen lots of times when you come on purpose to see somethin', don't you know.
Mrs. M. Really, Captain Alchin, I shall begin to suspect that you are more of an authority about music-halls than your modesty would admit at first.
Capt. Alch. (in some confusion). No, really now, Mrs. Merridew, all I mean is Wildfire's bringin' out a play or somethin' to-night at the Hilarity, so he mayn't be able to turn up here, don't you see.
Mrs. M. I won't have you predicting evil like that; it's not at all nice of you, and you're quite wrong, too; for there's his number in the frame now!
[The Scene on the Stage changes once more from an Oriental Palace to a London Street; a bell tingles; the Orchestra dashes into the air of "The Hansom Cabman," which the bulk of the audience hail with delight; then a stream of limelight is thrown on the boards, and Walter Wildfire appears.
Mrs. M. (after the first verse). I don't know what it is, but there's something about him very different from all the others. And they say he writes all his own songs and music—so clever of him! Quite a striking face he has, rather handsome, with that drooping moustache. Don't you think he's handsome, Thea? (Althea does not answer; Wildfire sings the last verse; as he concludes, the house is hushed for an instant, and then breaks into a thunder of applause.) It's quite beautiful that last verse; poor, poor fellow! it all seemed so real, somehow! Ah, he's not going to sing the last verse again. I'm rather glad, for I very nearly howled, and it would be too silly to cry at a music-hall. (Interval.) Here he is again; how different he looks. I suppose it's the sandwich-boards. (Wildfire goes through the second song with the small child; in the midst of the second stanza, he suddenly falters, and only recovers himself by a violent effort; Althea has bent forward out of the shadow of the curtain.) It's too frightfully pathetic; he's such a dear, isn't he? (The applause is more rapturous than ever; an encore is clamoured for; Wildfire reappears, looking ghastly pale, and makes a mute plea for indulgence; after he has finally retired, the clamour still continues, until the scene and the number are shifted.) He won't sing any more—how sad! Wasn't he charming with that child? (In an undertone.) Why, Althea, darling!
Alth. (in a shaken voice). D—don't speak to me just yet, Cissie. I know it's very foolish of me; but I can't bear it.
Capt. Alch. (to himself). Gad, I'd give somethin' to sing like that Johnny, and make her eyes shine like that!
Mrs. M. Frank, we may as well go now, there's nothing else worth staying for, and I'm sure this horrid tobacco is ruining my poor pearls; or would you rather stay a little longer, Thea?
Alth. Oh, no, no; I don't want to hear anybody else—after that. (To herself, as Capt. A. helps her on with her cloak.) And that is the man Mr. Curphew said nothing would induce him to go and see. And I actually persuaded myself that—— But I am wiser now. He can never be anything to me!
[She leaves the box with her party.
END OF SCENE XII.