Through the Stage Door. A novel

Front matter

Jl flobel. BY HARKIETT JAY, AUTHOR OF ' THE QUEEN OP CONNAUGHT,' ' THE DARK COLLEEN, ' ' TWO MEN AND A MAID,' 'THE PRIEST'S BLESSING,' ' MT CONNAUGHT COUSINS,' ETC, etc. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON : F. V. WHITE AND CO., 31, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND. 1883. SELECT NOVELS BY POPULAR AUTHORS. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. each. By FLORENCE MARRYAT. MY SISTER THE ACTRESS. A BROKEN BLOSSOM. PHYLLIDA. THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL. FACING THE FOOTLIGHTS. By ANNIE THOMAS ALLERTON TOWERS. FRIENDS AND LOVERS. EYRE OF BLENDON. By MRS. EILOART. THE DEANS WIFE. SOME OF OUR GIRLS. By LADY CONSTANCE HOWARD SWEETHEART AND WIFE. MOLLIE DARLING. By the AUTHOR OF 'RECOMMENDED TO MERCY.' BARBARA'S WARNING. By MRS. ALEXANDER FRASER. A PROFESSIONAL BEAUTY. By HARRIETT JAY. TWO MEN AND A MAID. F. V. WHITE & Co., 31, Southampton Street, Strand.

Chapter I

' My dear Sigismunda !' ' Did you speak, Horatio ?' ' I did, my dear,' said Mr. Fane desperately. * I was going to suggest that if you must sing to the haby, you might choose something more lively.' < Why so, Horatio ?' ' Because I'm copying a comedy, and your music would do for a dirge.' ' It is a dirge !' echoed Mrs. Fane, in vol. i. her most stentorian tones ; ' a dirge, Horatio, from the " Spartan Mother," in which I made my first appearance.' To this Mr. Fane said nothing ; he only uttered a faint little sigh of protest, and laid down his pen. The couple were man and wife ; and at the opening of this story, they had stood in that relation to each other for nearly twenty years. Mr. Fane was a little man, very round, very fat, and very good-humoured looking, with a face which, to a good low comedian, would have been a fortune.

But though he had been almost born in the theatre, as he said, and was brought up among the flies, he had never risen to the dignity of treading the boards. At a very early age he had been made ' call-boy ' in the theatre where his father was master carpenter and his mother a dresser ; from that, in the course of time, he had risen to the position of prompter, and there he had stopped. Up to the time when this story opened, he had managed to live by spending his evenings prompting at the theatre, his days in sitting at home copying out plays. But his wife was a very different kind of person. She was a tragedienne from head to foot. Tall and bony, with black hair, black eyes, she could have played one of the witches without any make-up to speak of. She sat at the other end of the room, rocking the cradle with her foot, while her hands were busily employed in stitching some tinsel on to a highly coloured skirt. 1—2 As her husband dropped his pen and thrust his little fingers into his hair, she placed her work upon her knees and fixed upon him her most tragic gaze. * Years ago,' she continued, ' when I was a child of twelve, I played the boy Pethonius, and was stabbed by the great Mrs. Giddens in the second act !

My mind is wandering back to those happy days, Horatio, remembering that my youngest child, now sweetly slumbering here, made his first appearance only three nights ago.' 'And so he did,' replied Mr. Fane, rubbing his hands delightedly ; - and made the hit of the piece, my dear.' Mrs. Fane rolled her melancholy eyes slowly in the direction of her husband, and seemed about to reply ; before she could do so, however, the door of the room was burst suddenly and violently open, and a young girl about seventeen years of age rushed breathlessly in. ' Oh, Ma !' she cried, coming to a full stop in the middle of the room, and triumphantly flourishing an open news paper, ' such a splendid notice in the Sporting Gazette !' Mrs. Fane, whose ideas worked slowly, again succeeded in merely opening her mouth ; but her husband jumped up from his seat and came delightedly forward. ' Of you, my dear,' he said, * or Lottie ?' ' No, Pa ; of the baby — bless his heart !' She rushed up to the cradle, where the baby still slumbered with his fist in his mouth, and bestowed upon him a few hearty kisses, then she returned again to the paper. ' Just listen,' she said ; and she com menced to read : - " But the very young performer who played the child in arms carried off the honours.

Such wonderful confidence ; such fertility of resources in a kid " ' ' A kid !' shrieked Mrs. Fane, finding her voice at last. ' Yes, Ma,' returned the girl, ' a kid.' Mrs. Fane gave a tragical shudder ' How un- Shakespearian !' she mur mured. ' Look here, Ma,' said the girl, dropping the paper, * do you want to hear the notice, or do you not ?' ' Carolina,' said Mrs. Fane, in her severest tones, ' proceed.' With an impatient toss of her head, the girl continued : ' " Such fertility of resources in a kid of nine months old might be envied by the oldest stager." ' * Bravo !' cried Fane boisterously ; then, catching his wife's limpidly reproving eyes, he collapsed. ' Stop a bit,' said Carrie, or, as her mother persistently called her, Carolina, ' there's more !' and she again proceeded to read : ' " This successful debut is another proof that genius is hereditary.

The kid in question " ' — again Mrs. Fane shuddered, but she knew that she dared not speak — ' " belongs to the theatrical family of the Fanes. His mamma, before she changed her name and married the gay Horatio, was the well-known Sigismunda Smeddle, of the Western Circuit." What do you think of that, Ma ?' Mrs. Fane smiled. ' An honest tribute,' she said, ' though coarsely expressed. Heigho !' ' Lor', Ma ! what's the matter ?' said Carrie. ' Ain't you well ?' ' It is nothing,' returned the ex tragedienne solemnly. * 1 confess I was merely regretting that my youngest child had not made his debut in the legitimate drama, instead of a farcical comedy.' ' Ah, my dear,' returned Mr. Fane good humouredly, ' times have changed ! Shake speare now spells bankruptcj'.' ' When I made my first appearance, Horatio, it was different.

We live in degenerate days. Both my girls get their bread by performing in burlesque ; and one of them is actually engaged to a music hall vocalist, outside the profession alto gether.' ' Meaning me, Ma !' returned Carrie. ' Well, if Charlie is a comic singer, he drives his trap and keeps his tiger. Ah, that reminds me ; 'twas he who brought me the Sporting Gazette, and he said he'd wait outside till I gave him the signal to come in. What a brute I am to keep him there so long. Here, Charlie !' she cried, throwing open the window. ' Come up ! come up !' - Carolina Fane,' exclaimed her mother, * be less boisterous !' But Carrie did not heed. She was lean ing well out of the window, gazing with admiring eyes upon a very small but very high doer-cart which stood just outside the gate. Attached to it was a sleek, well made chestnut, wearing no harness to speak of, and standing at the head of the horse was a little figure, looking like one of the American Midgets, but habited in full tiger's uniform, with high boots and cockaded hat.

Having gazed her fill, she let down the window with a bang, for she could never do things quietly, rushed to the door and threw it open. ' Here he is !' she said. ' Come in, Charlie !' and Carrie's future husband entered the room. He was a young man, and not at all bad looking, but his costume made him noticeable wherever he went. He wore patent leather boots with gold-coloured gaiters ; a tweed suit of a most gorgeous design ; yellow kid gloves ; a white hat, which he wore slightly tilted over one eye ; and a large highly-coloured bouquet in his button-hole. He mounted the stairs, merrily singing an air : ' He smokes a penny " Pickwick," k-di-da, la-di-da.' ' Here I am !' he said, entering gaily. 'Morning, governor,' shaking hands with Mr. Fane. - Mother, hope you're well.' He advanced respectfully towards Mrs. Fane, who gave him her hand. ' I am as well, Charles,' she said, * as can be expected.' ' Lor', Ma !' said the exasperated Carrie ; ' don't talk as if you'd just been adding to the population !' Her mother gave her a look of withering reproach ; before she could speak, however, Charlie Jinks chimed in. ' And so she did,' he said, ' nine month's ago.

I say, mother, I call your married life a highly creditable performance in three acts.' ' How so, Charles ?' ' Act one, Lottie ; act two, Carrie — there she is — and then, as they say in the programme, an interval of twenty years was supposed to take place, till act three, the baby !' ' Don't be ridiculous, Charlie,' said his bride-elect. ' I've called you up to speak for yourself — Ma's been abusing you i again. Once more Mrs. Fane attempted to wither her daughter by a look, and turned with a sad smile towards the young man. ' I merely expressed my regret, Charles, that you were not a follower of the legiti mate drama.' ' Quite right,' returned Charlie good humouredly. ' I'm only an outsider, ma'am ; but what's the odds, so long as you're happy ? I do three turns a night ; and I'm able to dress like a gentleman.' ' So you are, Charlie,' returned Carrie approvingly ; ' and what's more, you keep your trap by honest work, and very few in the profession can do that, I can tell you.' ' You know, ma'am,' continued Mr. Jinks apologetically, ' I tried the pro fession and found it didn't answer.

In the theatre I was only utility — now I'm playing leading business. Where's Lottie ?' ' Carlotta is at rehearsal.' 'But she'll be home to dinner,' returned Fane, who, during the last half hour, had been trying hard to get on with his copy ing, but had brightened up wonderfully at the mention of Lottie's name. ' Will you stay and take a mouthful, Charlie ?' ' Do,' said Carrie ; ' there's a nice shoulder of mutton with baked potatoes — and — onion sauce.' ' Can't, my dear,' said Charlie affec tionately ; ' but I thank the governor and you, Carrie, all the same. I've got to make a call at the music shop, and be back home at three sharp to practise a new song.' 'All right; then you'd better go,' said Carrie. ' Good-bye !' ' Good-bye, Carrie !' he said, giving her a kiss; then he again turned respectfully to Mrs. Fane. ' By-the-way, ma'am,' he said, ' Carrie and I have been talking together, and she thinks it time I was a married man — eh, Carrie ?' 'Married and done for !' said Mr. Fane, laughing. ' Horatio,' said Mrs. Fane severely, ' don't be coarse.' 'All right, my dear,' he said, turning to his work again. ' On a more fitting occasion, Charles,' said the lady, keeping up her tragedy tones, ' we will discuss the subject to which you allude.

Meantime, farewell !' 'All right, good-bye, ma'am — good bye, governor. Carrie,' he added, with another kiss, ' " to our next " — au revoir as the French say,' and dropping his hat jauntily on his head, he departed. Carrie rushed to the window again to see the dog-cart drive away ; when it was gone — and Mr. Jinks had nearly broken his neck looking back at her — she slammed to the Avindow again, and turned to her mother, who was by this time occupied with the baby : ' I declare, Ma,' she said, ' I wonder Charlie wants to marry into our family at all. You're always sitting upon him.' ' Sitting upon him, irreverent girl !' 'You know what I mean,' screamed Carrie, while Mr. Fane stuffed his fingers into his ears, and continued his writing. ' You're always pretending he ain't good enough for me, and I won't have it — there !' 'Carolina, forbear!' said Mrs. Fane severely ; ' Charles Jinks is a worthy young person, but is utterly ignorant of our divine Art.' ' Oh, bother art !' said Carrie. 'Revile it not; the immortal Shakespeare ' ' And bother him too !' screamed Carrie ; ' he doesn't pay, and what's more, I don't believe he ever did.

Nobody really cares about him now, and you know, Ma, you can't get an engagement.' At this unpleasant home-thrust, Mrs. Fane winced, but she drew herself proudly up, and her manner became even more severe. 'In an evil moment,' she said, 'I married your father, who has no aspira tions. My dream was to become the vol. i. bride of a leading tragedian ; it was nipped in the bud. My only consolation is that your sister Carlotta has the face and figure for juvenile lead, and may eventually soar to the empyrean of tbe poetic drama.' ' Oh, bother the poetic drama, Ma. I tell you it isn't ' ' Enough ! let this discussion end. Take the infant and put him to bed, while I go and attend to the viands.' ' Very well.' Carrie went over to the cradle, lifted the baby and gave him a few boisterous kisses ; then, pressing him fondly to her, she seemed about to leave tbe room ; having gained the door, however, she paused again : -I say, Ma ' ' Well, Carolina *?' ' I saw Lottie's swell to-day at the stage door.' Mrs. Fane frowned. ' To whom in those ribald terms do you allude ?' ' Ask Lottie and she'll tell you.

He's a regular swell, and no mistake, but not my style, and much too old for Lottie. Come along, Popsikins !' and giving another boisterous shake up to the baby, she bounded off, while Mrs. Fane left the room by another door to look after the dinner. When the doors closed — Carrie's with a bang, Mrs. Fane's more softly — Mr. Fane looked round, and finding that he was at length alone, he began to bite the end of his penholder, and mutter thoughtfully to himself. 2—2 'Lottie's swell!' he said. 'Lottie's swell ! What could Carrie mean by that ? Is it possible that my little girl but no come what may I'll never be lieve ill of my Lottie !' Feeling somewhat comforted in his mind, he turned again to his well-filled table and began to write. But it seemed he was not to have much peace that day ; scarcely had he filled three pages when the room door was opened again — very quietly and cautiously this time — and a pretty girl, no other indeed than Lottie herself, stood smiling upon the threshhold.

Chapter II

Lottie might certainly be accounted the most successful act in Mrs. Fane's life drama. She had just passed her nine teenth birthday — tall, slim and graceful ; with a face and figure which, as her mother said, were both admirably suited to juvenile lead. From the early age of five Lottie had trod the boards, and the necessary stage training had given a peculiar grace and lissonmess to her figure, a pretty tone to her voice, and had added to her manner a naivete and charm which she might not otherwise have possessed. Continual late hours, and the unnatural atmosphere of the theatre, had robbed her, it is true, of that blooming complexion which is given to most young ladies who are enabled to go to bed early and breathe plenty of fresh air. Her face was pale to a fault ; but she was an ac complished dancer, and, with very little voice to speak of, a most charming singer.

For a moment or two she remained standing in the doorway, watching with her pretty eyes her father as he wrote ; then, still noiselessly, she came forward, closed the door, and tripped across the room. Then an onlooker would have per ceived another charm. Lottie Fane was a lady — both physically and spiritually as far removed from her sordid surroundings as the moon is from the earth. There were no gaudy colours, awkward gestures, and boisterous flouncing about Lottie ; she walked quietly and gracefully across the room, put her arms round her father's neck, lifted up his face and kissed him. ' Dear Papa,' she said, ' how you're working ; I wonder your dear fingers don't ache again.' It was easy to see who had managed to take undivided possession of Mr. Fane's heart. Sitting there with the girl's arms around his neck, her soft cheek pressed close upon his forehead, he seemed another being. ' Lottie,' he murmured, kissing her pretty hands, 'you've come, my dear.' ' Yes, Papa,' said Lottie, ' I've come.

And now, dear, put away your writing and turn round ; I want to talk to you.' ' Rehearsal over ?' he asked, as he pro ceeded to obey her. 'Ever so long ago!' returned Lottie, kneeling at his feet. ' Then what makes you so late, my dear ?' Lottie hesitated for a moment, then she said : ' I've been walking in the park.' ' Alone, Lottie ?' asked Mr. Fane un easily. ' Yes, Pa, alone. What makes you ask me that ?' ' Nothing, my dear, nothing,' said Mr. Fane ; and then there was silence. In fact, he was thinking of what Carrie had said, and he was wishing heartily that he could hear the story of this mysterious ' swell ' gentleman from Lottie's lips. Presently, after a short silence, the girl spoke. 'Pa.' ' Well, my dear ?' ' You do look dreadfully tired to-day ; you want a rest — a good long rest and a day in the country ; but then you can't get it, because you're poor.

You know you are awfully poor, now, aren't you?' ' Well, my dear,' said Mr. Fane, smiling good-huruouredly, ' I'm not a millionnaire.' ' Of course you're not,' said the girl, kissing his hand again ; ' and neither am I. My salary is wretchedly small, considering all the boots and gloves and wigs I have to buy out of it.' ' It's not large,' assented Mr. Fane. ' No, of course it is not, Now, Pa, tell me truly, you'd like to have more money, now wouldn't you — and more rest ?' ' That depends, my dear, upon the conditions.' ' Oh, you cautious old thing !' said Lottie, laughing ; ' you're always afraid of com mitting yourself. Now, suppose I could offer you a lot of money — suppose I could say, "Papa, come and live with me in a splendid house in the country, and see the green fields and the woods, and never go to the theatre any more " — what would you say then, sir ?' For a minute or two Mr. Fane said nothing; he looked at her with eyes full of strange doubt and uneasiness, then he answered. ' Lottie,' he said, ' I want to talk to you for a minute or so ; will you listen, little woman ?' ' I will, Pa.' He clasped the girl's hands in his, and held them while he spoke. ' It's now nearly fourteen years ago,' he said, ' since you passed, as it were, out of your mother's care, and came under my protection.

One night — I remember it as well as if it was yesterday — I came home from the theatre and told your mother that you'd been offered your first engagement. Your mother shook her head at first, and said you were too young. But I soon talked her round ; and the next morning I took you with me down to Drury Lane. The pantomime-season was just coming on, and the stage-door was surrounded by a crowd of men, women, and children. Their shivering bodies were clad in the most miserable rags, and their pale, emaciated faces told only too plainly their tale of wretchedness and want. I was too used to such scenes to take much heed of them. I lifted you on to my shoulders, carried you up to the manager's-room, and your first engagement was sealed. For a couple of months after Christmas, you ap peared every night as the pretty little " Queen of the Fairies."

Do you remem ber it, Lottie ?' The girl shook her head. ' I don't think I do, Pa ; but go 9 on. ' Well, my dear, when the pantomime business began to flag, and most of the little fairies and hobgoblins were thinking of going back to idleness and wretched homes, I looked back on this engagement of yours, and decided that my little girl was none the worse — perhaps, indeed, a trifle better — than she had been before it ; therefore, I looked about for another, and, with the help of our manager, I got you a child's part in a piece that was coming out at the National. You played this part till the pantomime-season came round again, and then I got you back to Drury Lane. From that day to this, you've scarcely spent an evening off the stage ; and I don't believe there's an hour of your life that couldn't be looked into, Lottie, though you've been knocked about as few girls have — there isn't a chapter in your life that your father can be ashamed of.

Now listen to me, Lottie. I know what the profession is, and I know the sort of women we've get in it — women who can't advertise themselves in any other way than by going on the stage — women who earn less than you do, my dear, yet who wear diamonds, drive about in their carriages, and invite friends to stop with them at their country seats. Lottie, I hope to God you may never be in a position to offer this to me !' ' Papa,' said the girl uneasily, ' I don't know what you mean !' Then Mr. Fane told her of the few words he had heard from Carrie. ' Who is this man, my dear ? Lottie shook her head. ' I don't in the least know, Papa. He stands near the stage-door to see me come out ; and he throws me the bouquet that I bring home every night. I saw him to day ; and that's what made me go for a walk in the park.

I was thinking that if he were rich, and asked me to marry him, I would do it, because I could make you all so happy.' ' My dear, money isn't everything. If you and I were left to ourselves, we might be very happy without it.'

Chapter III

At eight o'clock that night Lottie Fane stood upon the stage of the Variety Theatre facing a happy throng. The per formance consisted mainly of the three-act burlesque of ' Dick Whittington ;' it was the two-hundredth night of the run ; the piece had never gone better, and, above all, the business did not appear to flag. The pretty little house was packed from floor to ceiling — roars of hoarse laughter from the pit were alternated with gentler sounds of applause from boxes and stalls. Lottie doffed her cap, stepped daintily down to the foot-lights, repeated her most successful song, founded on the famous music hall ditty of ' Doodledum, doodledum da, ' received another encore, and the curtain fell. For half a second there was silence, then the applause burst forth once more. The curtain was pulled back, Lottie stepped forward, smiled brightly at the house ; then, just as she gave her second bow, a bouquet fell at her feet. ' Lottie Fane's usual floral offering !' lisped a handsome young man in the stalls to a vapid-looking swell beside him. 'Look; it's old Sedgemore of "Ours" — comes here every night, and always does that sort of thing.

Hang me if I don't try to cut him out !' So saying, he unfastened from his 3 VOL. I. button-hole a beautiful white camellia, and cast it on to the stage. Lottie, having taken the bouquet, was turning to make her parting bow, when the white flower fell within a yard of her feet. Ignorant alike of the donor and the feeling which had prompted the gift, she tripped merrily forward again, lifted the flower, and bowed ; while the donor, with heightened colour, kissed the tips of his fingers and waved them towards the stage. ' Pretty little girl,' continued the young gentleman languidly, as he and his friend were swept onward by the surging throng now making for the doors. ' Never thought of it before, but, by Jove ! old Sedgemore has got good taste. Suppose we get up a little party and give her a dinner at Richmond ? — it would be rather good fun.' ' Would she come, old fellow ?' ' Come !' echoed the other in amazement ; ' why, of course she would come.

Bet you ten to one she dines there with old Sedgemore three times a week at least. When shall it be ? — Sunday ? I'll drive down to the club, and ask Fred Weathersby to join us ; he's deuced good company, and rather sweet on Lottie.' ' But hadn't you better make sure of getting her first ?' ' Pooh, she's sure enough. I've only to make the invitation tempting enough to induce her to give old Sedgemore the slip for once, and the thing's done.' ' Then let it be Sunday.' 3—2 ' All right, old fellow, good night.' ' Good night !' And the two friends, having reached the door of the theatre, lighted their cigars, called their hansoms, and drove off to their respective clubs. Meanwhile, the object of this discussion was fully as elated as if she knew of the scheme which was being woven for her future amusement.

Having bowed her acknowledgments and regained the wing, she was conscious of a cloak being dropped upon her shoulders, and drawing its folds about her, she proceeded to pick her way among the debris of the stage. It was very dark by this time, for the gas-jets had all been lowered ; however, being well accustomed to such difficulties, she soon surmounted them, tripped lightly up a rickety flight of wooden stairs, and ran merrily into her dressing room. The room was by no means a pleasant looking place, and the atmosphere of it would have turned a delicately nurtured girl faint. The floor was uncarpeted, the walls were whitewashed, and ornamented with one or two highly coloured prints which had been taken from the illustrated papers and nailed up by Carrie, who shared the room, and who professed to have a taste for dramatic art.

At one end of the room stood a wooden dressing-table liberally besprinkled with the accessories of an actress's toilette — rouge, empress cream, pearl-powder, eye-brow black, camel-hair brushes, and a host of other things ; while above it, on either side of a cracked looking-glass, stood out two jets of gas, the flames of which hissed and flared and licked the bars of the iron cages which encased them. Lottie Fane was too well accustomed to all these things to take much notice of them. Her eyes, instead of survey ing the room, rested upon the figure of her sister, who stood before the dressing table in her under-clothes, and who, bending close to the cracked looking-glass, was busily employed in rubbing vaseline over her be-rouged cheeks. ' Good gracious, Carrie !' she exclaimed ; ' I declare you're almost ready !' Carrie Fane turned towards her sister a face liberally besmeared with vaseline, and as she did so her eyes fell upon the dainty white camellia. ' A white camellia !

Who is it this time, Lottie ?' ' I don't know ; some gentleman in the stalls ; the spirit moved him to throw it on just as I got to the wing with my bouquet.' ' Well, I wish the spirit would move them to throw on a looking-glass, or a few useful things of that kind, occasionally. Fancy having to dress every night before this thing, which tells you you've got a crack down the middle of your nose, and that one half of your face is about three times as big as the other.' Lottie only laughed ; and having laid her flowers in a place of safety, proceeded to undress and subject herself to the process which her sister had already gone through. With deft fingers she applied the re freshing vaseline to her flushed and well painted cheeks ; her hair, released from the confinement of the flaxen wig, was well shaken out and brushed ; her bright burlesque dress was carefully laid aside and replaced by a thick walking costume, until she stood in every-day apparel, laughing and happy-eyed, looking as fresh and pretty as Venus newly arisen from the sea. ' Are you ready '?' asked her sister.