Читать книгу A Life Sentence - Sergeant Adeline - Страница 16

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Hubert raised his hat courteously.

"Good evening, Miss West. Of course you may speak to me!" he said. "Can I do anything for you?"

"Yes," answered the girl with a quickness which sounded abrupt, but which, as could easily be seen, was born of shyness and not of incivility. "You can get me an engagement if you like, Mr. Lepel; and I wish you would."

Hubert laughed, not thinking that she was in earnest, and surveyed her critically.

"You will not have much difficulty in getting one for yourself, I should think," he said.

Miss West colored and drew back rather haughtily. It was evident that she did not like remarks of a personal bearing, although Mr. Lepel had spoken only as he would have thought himself licensed to speak to girls of her profession, who are generally open to such compliments—and indeed she was not very likely to escape compliments. As he looked at her in the light of the gas-lamps before the theatre, Hubert Lepel became gradually aware that there stood before him one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

She was tall—nearly as tall as himself—but so finely proportioned that she gave the impression of less height than she really possessed. Every movement of her lithe limbs was full of grace; she was slender without being thin, and lissom as an untrained beautiful creature of the woods. In after-days, when Hubert knew her better, he used to compare her to a young panther for grace and freedom of motion. It was a pleasure to watch her walk, although her step was longer and freer than to Enid Vane's teachers would have seemed desirable. Her features were perfectly cut; the broad forehead, the straight nose, the curved lips and slightly-puckered chin were of the type recognised as purely Greek, and the complexion and eyes accompanying these features were rich in the coloring that glows upon the canvases of Murillo and Velasquez. The skin was of a creamy brown, heightened by a carmine tint in the oval cheeks; the eyes were large, dark, and lustrous, with long black lashes and well-defined black brows. It seemed somehow to Hubert as if those eyes were familiar to him, but he could not recollect how or why. For the rest, Miss Cynthia West was a very well-dressed, stylish-looking young woman, neither fast nor shabby in her mode of attire; and the things that she wore served—intentionally or not—to set off her good looks to the best advantage. Hubert had seen her several times off and on the stage during the past few weeks since his return to England; she took none but minor parts, but was so remarkably handsome that she had begun to attract remark. He was a little surprised by her speech to him, and hardly thought she could be in earnest. In fact, he suspected her of a mere desire to attract his attention.

"I thought you were at the Frivolity?" he said.

"I have left the Frivolity," she answered abruptly. "This afternoon's engagement is the only one I have had for a fortnight; and I have nothing in prospect."

He gave her a keener look, and in spite of her brave bearing and her dainty clothes, he thought he perceived a slight pinching of the delicate features, a dark shade beneath the eyes which—if he remembered rightly—had not been there two months before. Was it possible that the girl was really in want? Could he put his hand into his pocket and offer her money? He might make the attempt at any rate.

"Can I be of any use to you—in this way?" he began, inserting two fingers into his waistcoat-pocket in a sufficiently significant manner.

He was aware of his mistake the next moment. An indignant flush spread over the girl's whole face; her eyes expressed such hurt surprise that Mr. Lepel felt rather ashamed of his suggestion.

"I did not ask you for money," said Miss West; "I asked if you could get me something to do." Then she turned away with a gesture which Hubert took for one of mere petulance, though the feeling that actuated it bordered more nearly on despair. "Oh," she said with a quick nervous irritation audible in her tone, "I thought that you would understand!"—and her beautiful dark eyes swam in tears.

They were still standing on the pavement, and at that moment two or three passers-by shouldered Hubert somewhat roughly, and stared at the girl to whom he was speaking. Hubert placed himself at her side.

"Come," he said—"Walk on a few paces with me, and make me understand what you want when we get to a quieter spot."

She bowed her head; it was evident that if she had spoken the tears would have fallen from her eyes. Hubert turned up the comparatively dark and quiet street in which stood the theatre that he had just visited; but for a few minutes he did not speak. At last he said in the soothing voice which was sometimes thought to be his greatest charm—

"Now will you make me understand? I beg your pardon for having offended you by my offer of help; I meant it in all kindness. You have not an engagement just now, you say?"

"It is not easy to get one," said the girl, with a quiver in her proud young voice. "It is not a good time, you know. I had two or three offers of engagements with provincial companies this autumn, but I refused them all because I had this one at the Frivolity. They were to give me two pounds a week; and it was considered a very good engagement. Besides, it was a London engagement, which I thought it better to take while I had the chance. But I have lost it now, and I don't know what to do."

"You know the first question one naturally feels inclined to put to you, Miss West, is, why did you leave the Frivolity?"

"I can't tell you the real reason," said the girl sharply. The color in her face seemed now to be concentrated in two flaming spots in her cheeks; her mouth was set, and her brow contracted over the brilliant eyes. "I quarrelled with the manager—that was all."

"Let me see—the manager is Ferguson, is he not? I know him."

"But he is not a friend of yours?" said Cynthia, turning towards him with a look of sudden dismay.

"Certainly not! He is the most confirmed liar I ever met," Hubert answered without a smile.

But he was a little curious in his own mind. From what he knew of Ferguson, he supposed it likely that the man had been making love to the young actress, that she had refused to listen to him, and that he had therefore dismissed her from the troupe. Such things had happened before, he knew, during Mr. Ferguson's reign; and the Frivolity did not bear the very best character in the world. With a girl of Cynthia West's remarkable beauty, it was pretty easy to guess the story, although the girl in her innocence thought that she was concealing it completely.

"He said that I was careless," Cynthia went on rapidly. "He changed the hour for rehearsal twice, and let everybody know but me; then I was fined, of course; and I complained, and then he said I had better go."

"What made you come to me?" said Hubert. "I am not a manager, you know."

"You have a great deal of influence," she said, rather more shyly than she had spoken hitherto.

"Very little indeed. Other people have much more. Why did you not try Gurney or Thomson or Macalister?"—mentioning names well known in the theatrical world.

"Oh, Mr. Lepel," said the girl, almost in a whisper, "you will think me so foolish if I tell you!"

"No, I sha'n't. Do tell me why!"

"Well"—still in a whisper—"it was because I read a story, that you had written—a tale about a girl called Amy Maitland—do you remember?"

"I ought to remember," said Hubert thoughtfully, "because I know I wrote it; but an author does not always recall his old stories very accurately, Miss West. It was a short tale for a Christmas number, I know. What was there in it that could cause you to honor me in this way, I wonder?"

"Ah, don't laugh at me, please, Mr. Lepel!" Cynthia's voice was so sweet in its entreating tones that Hubert thought he had never heard anything more musical. "It was all about a girl who was poor like me, and whose parents were dead, and about her adventures, you know—particularly about her not being able to get any work to do, and nearly throwing herself into the river. I have had the thought more than once lately that it would end with me in that way—the river looks so deep and silent and mysterious—doesn't it? But that's all nonsense, I suppose! However, when I read about Amy in the old Christmas number, that my landlady lent me the other night, it came to my mind that I had seen you behind the scenes, and that, if you could write in that way, you might be more ready—ready to help——" She stopped short, a little breathless after her long and tremulous speech.

"My poor child," said Hubert, with the tender accent that showed that he was moved, "I am afraid it does not always follow. However, let us take the most cheerful view possible of all things, even of novelists, and try to believe that they practise what they preach. It would be hard if I did not prove worthy of your confidence, Miss West. I am sure I don't know whether I will be able to do anything for you or not, but I will see."

"Thank you, Mr. Lepel."

She said the words very low, and drew a quick breath of relief as she said them. By the light of a gas-lamp under which they were passing at the moment Hubert saw that she had turned very pale. He halted suddenly.

"I am very thoughtless," he said, "not to recollect that you must be tired, and that I am perhaps taking you out of your way."

"No," said Cynthia simply; "I always go this way. I lodge at a boarding-house in the Euston Road."

"Then let us to business at once!" exclaimed Mr. Lepel, in a cheerful tone. "What sort of engagement do you want, Miss West?"

She was silent for a minute or two. Then she said, with some unusual timidity of manner—

"I should very much like to have an engagement at a place where I could sing."

"Sing!" repeated Hubert, arching his brows a little. "Can you sing? Have you a voice?"

"Yes," said Cynthia.

The audacity of the assertion took away Hubert's breath. He looked at her pityingly.

"My dear Miss West, are you aware that singing is a profession in itself, and requires a professional training, like other things?"

"Yes. But I can sing," said the girl decidedly.

"Where did you learn?"

"At school, and then of an old music-master in the boarding-house where I am living."

If he had not been afraid of wounding her feelings, Hubert would have shrugged his shoulders. They were again standing on the pavement, face to face, and he refrained from the scornful gesture.

"Well," he said, after a short pause, "if you think so, there is nothing to do but to try you. I must hear you sing, Miss West, before I can say anything about a musical engagement. Shall I come and see you to-morrow?"

"Oh, no!" said Cynthia, with such transparent horror at the suggestion that Mr. Lepel was very much amused. "We have no piano, and I am sure that Mrs. Wadsley would not like it."

"Then will you come to my rooms at twelve o'clock to-morrow morning?"

"Thank you. Oh, Mr. Lepel, I am so very, very much obliged to you!"

"I have done nothing yet to merit thanks, Miss West. I shall be only glad if I can be the means of assisting a fellow-artist out of a difficulty." He saw that the words brought a bright glow of gratified feeling to the girl's face. "Here is my card; my rooms are not very far off, you see—in Russell square."

Cynthia took the card and thanked him again so warmly that Hubert assured her that he was already overpaid. They had reached the broad torrent of life that rolls down New Oxford street, and further conversation became almost impossible. Hubert bent his head to say—

"Shall I put you into a cab now, or may I see you home?"

"Neither, thank you," she said, shaking her head. "I am quite well used to going about alone; and it is a very little way. Good night; and I am so much obliged to you!"

"Let me see you over this crossing, at any rate," said Hubert.

She was too quick for him; she had already plunged into the tide, and he saw her the next moment halting on the central resting-place of the broad thoroughfare. He attempted to follow, but was too late, and had to wait a moment or two for a couple of heavy carts. When the road was clear again, he saw that she had safely reached the other side; and, as soon as he had crossed, he dimly perceived her graceful figure some distance ahead on the sombre pavements of Bedford square. His impulse was to overtake her, but after a few rapid strides he abandoned the intention. The girl was safe enough at that early hour; no doubt she was accustomed, as she said, to take care of herself. No need to launch into a romantic episode—to walk behind her, keeping watch and ward, as if she were likely to encounter terrible danger on the way. And yet, for some reason or another, he continued to walk—slowly now—in the direction which Cynthia West had taken.

It was quite out of his own way to go all along Gower street and eastward down the Euston Road, yet that was what he did. He saw the tall slight figure stop at an iron gate, push it open, and walk up the flagged pavement to the door of a dingy but highly respectable-looking house. The Euston Road is a neighborhood not greatly affected by people of fastidious taste; and Hubert wondered, with a shrug of the shoulders, why Miss West had found a lodging in the very midst of its ceaseless maddening roar. He passed the house with a slow step, and as he did so he read an inscription on the brass plate which adorned the gate by which Cynthia had entered—

"Mrs. Wadsley.

"Select Boarding-House for Ladies and Gentlemen.

"Moderate Terms."

"Very moderate and very select, no doubt," thought Hubert cynically. "Now is that girl making a fool of me, or is she not? All those pretty airs might so easily be put on by a clever actress. I shall find her out to-morrow. She can act a little—I know that; but, if she can't sing, after what she has said, she may go to Jericho for me! And, if she does not come at all, why, then I shall know that she is an arrant little impostor, and that I am a confounded fool!"

"He stopped to light a cigar under a lamp-post, and a slight smile played over his features as he struck the match.

"She's a beautiful girl," he said to himself; "if she does turn out an impostor, I shall be rather sorry. But, by Jove, I don't believe she will!"