The adventurous lady

by J. C. Snaith

When the time came for the entrance of Lady Elfreda it was painfully realized, not by her fellow players merely, but by their friends in front, that upon her frail shoulders the whole weight of the play would rest. Unfortunately the house was not composed exclusively of the polite public of the stalls; a less polite, a more general public was herded in other parts of the building. There was a liberal sprinkling of outspoken warriors in khaki and hospital blue. From the beginning they had been inclined “to guy” Sir Toby.

It was a terribly anxious moment when the heroine came on. All felt her entrance to be the crux of the play. According to the dramatist’s instructions she had to greet Lord Longacre rapturously as an old and dear friend. But even Mr. Montagu Jupp had doubts as to whether the leading lady would be able to achieve rapture. Had that man of infinite wisdom but known it, the problem for poor Girlie was whether the leading lady would be able to come on at all.

By the time an expert, who had come from London for the purpose, had duly painted her face and penciled her eyebrows and the call boy had announced that the curtain was up, she had to muster the courage to enter the wings and await her “cue.” She never knew how she was able to accomplish this. In point of fact she was in such a state of nerves that it was only the personal intervention of Mr. Jupp which saved her from coming upon the scene a full two minutes too soon.

When at last she did come on, partly by her own volition and partly propelled by Mr. Jupp, she was received with a special round of applause. It was thoroughly well meant, because everyone in the house understood how much depended upon her, and there is nothing like encouragement. But, alas, as far as Girlie was concerned, the effect of that round of applause was paralyzing. Somehow it seemed to complete the grisly process of her undoing.

Standing stock still and looking ready to faint, not a word crossed her lips. Sir Toby, however, in response to instructions, whispered sternly from the wings, crossed the stage heroically and grasped her by the hand. Another long moment of petrified silence followed and then he led her to a chair. Girlie, hardly conscious that the eyes of a bewildered and resentful audience were fixed upon her, sank down overcome by guilt, terror and exhaustion.

XXIX

To draw a veil over the first act of the “Lady of Laxton” is the part of mercy. Speaking out of a long and therefore chequered theatrical experience, Messrs. Garden and Montagu Jupp quite agreed with one another that it was absolutely unique. They had never witnessed anything like it. From first to last not a word of Lady Elfreda’s performance was audible, a fact which threw into uncanny relief Sir Toby Philpot’s robust interpretation of the beau rôle. The best friend of the worst enemy of the little man had never accused him of being inaudible on any occasion. And now feeling the entire fortunes of the play rested wholly upon himself, he gave rein to his amazing vocal powers. Thus the joint efforts of the hero and the heroine achieved a result never likely to be forgotten by those who were present.

At first the audience did its best to bear up. The polite public in the stalls sat silent and motionless, but it soon became clear that the less polite public in other parts of the house was not going to behave with equal fortitude. Ominous coughs began to arise. A wag in hospital blue at the back requested Cuthbert to give the girl a chance. Catcalls followed. Then came boos, cheers and counter cheers. Finally the curtain descended with a remarkable abruptness which, however, was a real relief to everybody.

Girlie returned to the improvised green room in a state of collapse. Suddenly her overdriven nerves gave way. To the consternation of the other members of the cast, whose cup was already full, she uttered a kind of howl and broke into hysterical weeping. No one had power to pacify her. For once even the art and the tact of Mr. Montagu Jupp were at fault. Pikey, grim and reluctant, was summoned from the audience, but the appearance of the maid upon the scene seemed to increase, if anything, the leading lady’s distress.

It was clear, of course, that the play was at an end. At least, it was clear to all except the author of the piece. Even now, in spite of all that had happened, the valiant Sir Toby declined to admit defeat. He boldly proposed to carry on. In the second act Lady Elfreda’s part could be read by Mrs. Minever.