And then she caught sight of the head-line of the newspaper column, “Attempted murder of Herbert Karne, R.A.;” and underneath, in smaller type, “The assailant a raving madman.”
For the moment she thought she must surely be the victim of nightmare. She rubbed her eyes, as though expecting her surroundings to float away and to find herself in her bedroom at Acacia Road. But, unfortunately, it was no nightmare; it was stern reality. There, unmistakably, was the dressing-room with her stage-dresses hung upon the walls, and all her stage-belongings strewn round the room. There also, was the dresser, looking startled and bewildered as she stood with her arms akimbo, and Grace Haviland, pale and agitated, hating to be the bearer of such bad news. And worst of all, there were the horrible words staring her in the face: Attempted murder.
Suddenly the electric bell announcing the ring-up of the curtain resounded through the building. The sound recalled Celia to the present exigence, and with a shudder she leant against the table.
“I can’t go on acting, now: it’s impossible,” she said, tremulously; “quite impossible. Mrs. Jackson, go and find Miss Graham; she must be in the theatre somewhere; tell her she must get ready at once to take my part. Tell Mr. Calhoun and Mr. Haviland that I’ve had bad news, and have to go to Durlston immediately; and ask them to drag out the stage business as much as they can. We’ve about twenty minutes’ grace: oh, do be quick!”
The dresser flew to obey her behest, and with nervous haste Celia began unbuckling her belt. But her fingers had suddenly lost their power, and she fumbled at the clasp in vain. The hooks of her bodice, too, seemed as if they were never intended to unfasten. Before she could succeed in getting out of her costume, the stage-manager and Haviland appeared.
Ernest Calhoun was one of those men who are able to retain their presence of mind under the most untoward circumstances; and while Haviland stood excitedly haranguing his sister for having brought the bad news in the midst of the performance, he himself remained serene and unruffled to the last degree.
“It is most unfortunate,” he remarked calmly; “and I deeply sympathize with you, Miss Franks; but I ask you candidly, what are we to do? If you refuse to go on with your part, the performance will have to be stopped, which, as you know, would entail a vast amount of inconvenience and expense.”
“But where is the understudy?” put in Grace with eagerness.
“Miss Graham has the evening off to-night,” answered Haviland, crossly. “I wish you would learn not to interfere with what does not concern you, Grace. I shall not forget this upset for a long time to come.”
Calhoun waved his hand. “Hush!” he commanded. “We must not waste time. Miss Franks, I appeal to you. Will you pull yourself together and try to carry the thing through?”