To this firm, which was in full charge of the preparation of dresses, properties, and accessories for the great production, was also entrusted the making of a “cast” of Miss Larue’s features and the manufacture therefrom of a wax head with which it was at first proposed to lend a touch of startling realism to the final scene of the execution of Catharine on Tower Hill, but which was subsequently abandoned after the first night as being unnecessarily gruesome and repulsive.
It was during the course of the final rehearsals for this astonishing production, and when the army of supers who had long been drilling for it at other hours was brought for the first time into contact with the “principals,” that Miss Larue was horrified to discover among the members of that “army” her dissolute brother, “Jimmy the Shifter.”
For years—out of sheer sympathy for the wife who clung to him to the last, and the young son who was growing up to be a fine fellow despite the evil stock from which he had sprung—Miss Larue had continuously supplied this worthless brother with money enough to keep him, with the strict proviso that he was never to come near any theatre where she might be performing, nor ever at any time to make known his relationship to her. She now saw in this breaking of a rule, which heretofore he had inviolably adhered to, clear evidence that the man had suddenly become a menace, and she was in great haste to get him out of touch with her colleagues before anything could be done to disgrace her.
In so sudden and so pressing an emergency she could think of no excuse but an errand by which to get him out of the theatre, and of no errand but one—the stage jewels which Messrs. Trent & Son were making for her. She therefore sat down quickly at the prompt table, and, drawing a sheet of paper to her, wrote hurriedly:
Messrs. Trent & Son:
Gentlemen—Please give the bearer my jewels—or such of them as are finished, if you have not done with all—that he may bring them to me immediately, as I have instant need of them.
Yours faithfully,
Margaret Larue.
This she passed over to the stage manager, with a request to “Please read that, Mr. Lampson, and certify over your signature that it is authentic, and that you vouch for having seen me write it.” After which she got up suddenly, and said as calmly as she could: “Mr. Super Master, I want to borrow one of your men to go on an important errand to Trent & Son for me. This one will do,” signalling out her brother. “Spare him, please. This way, my man—come quickly!”
With that she suddenly caught up the note she had written—and which the stage manager had, as requested, certified—and, beckoning her brother to follow, walked hurriedly off the stage to a deserted point in the wings.
“Why have you done this dreadful thing?” she demanded in a low, fierce tone as soon as he came up with her. “Are you a fool as well as a knave that you come here and risk losing your only support by a thing like this?”