“There’s nothing like a drop of brandy neat, for putting life into a body,” she said cheerfully. “Come now, drink it, missie; it will do you good.”
But the girl demurred. “No thanks, I would rather not,” she replied. “I am all right now;” and then the patter of flying feet heralded the coming of the call-boy.
For years after Celia remembered that night, and declared she could never have gone through it again. Calhoun said she had never acted so well. In the third act, in which she was the central figure all through, she surpassed herself, and as the curtain fell, evoked a veritable tumult of applause. And not one out of that light-hearted, pleasure-loving audience had the slightest idea how it hurt her to give that merry ringing laugh at the end of the first scene; or that when, later on, she had to say, “Where is my beloved?... My beloved lays a-dying!” the tears in her voice were unfeigned.
But her nerves were stretched to their utmost limit of endurance, and the reaction was bound to follow. She returned to the dressing-room in a state bordering on exhaustion, scarcely heeding Mr. Calhoun’s “Well done!” Fortunately, however, the worst was over, for the remaining act entailed but slight exertion. She begged Grace Haviland to read the account of the assault at Durlston whilst she was changing her costume; and, occasionally interrupted by sundry comments from Mrs. Jackson, Grace complied with her request.
The gist of the matter was this:—
Jacob Strelitzki, a former heeler at Messrs. Mendel and Co.’s boot factory at Durlston, had, after an absence of two months, returned and run amok at the factory, attempting to wound three men with a large clasp-knife. Being of the opinion that he was either the victim of delirium tremens, or else had lost his reason, the factory people made every effort to detain him, but he cleverly managed to slip through their fingers and made his escape. Nothing more was heard of him until that very morning, when he had forced his way into the studio at the Towers, and, without any warning, attacked Mr. Karne—who was at work upon a picture—with the same clasp-knife he had used on the former occasion. Mr. Karne’s servants had come to the rescue, and managed to subdue the man, who was undoubtedly a raving lunatic, but not before he had been able to inflict serious injury to the unfortunate artist. No adequate motive for the crime was assigned, except that for some time Strelitzki had cherished a senseless grudge against Herbert Karne, and had so worked upon his comrades at the factory, that at his instigation they had even set fire to the artist’s house. Recently, however, a complete reconciliation between Herbert Karne and the factory people had taken place; and the latter were shocked and horrified in the extreme at the dastardly action of their former colleague. Meanwhile, Mr. Karne lay in a critical condition, having been wounded in the thorax and right lung.
Celia’s face blanched as she listened, whilst a sickening anxiety tore at her heart. Oh, if only Higgins had despatched the telegram a little earlier, she would have been well on her way to Durlston by now. As it was, she would have to wait till morning. Would morning ever come?
Mrs. Jackson thought the girl was going to faint, and insisted on forcing some brandy down her throat. She was very sympathetic, almost obtrusively so; for it was that tactless sympathy which is worse than none at all.
“Keep your heart up, miss,” she said cheerily, noticing that Celia’s tears were making havoc with her make-up. “You can’t rely on some of them ha’penny papers, you know. I don’t suppose it’s really so bad as they put it there. Not but what you’ve not cause to be anxious, for all that. I remember when my poor daughter—her that was on the trapeze business at the ’alls—fell right down from the roof to the floor without so much as a net to catch her, they sent for me—I was dresser to Mrs. Potter Wemyss at the Haymarket then—and I arrived at the ’all just in time to find the poor gel stiffening. They told me at first it was only a slight accident; but she was stretched out dead when I got there, miss, and looking as calm as calm can be. Them accidents are nasty things, I reckon. I do hope as you won’t find your poor brother laid out ready——”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, stop!” called out Grace, imperatively. “Can’t you see that you are frightening Miss Franks?”