The adventurous lady

by J. C. Snaith

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 of others. 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 of The Patrician had 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 proud and 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 impressive as she could have wished. “I think I can manage my hair quite well myself, thank you.”