The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1886-03-20 00:00:00

[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]
THE HEIRESS

ATHERSTONE GRANGE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF

"Allan
_Thornton," "Effie . Baird," "Almost a

Criminal,"." Leon Ora's Legacy," 4v.

CHAPTER 11.

BERYL.
The light that lie.
In woman's eyes
k Has been my heart's undoing.—Moons.
WR are paying for our whistle," said Bruce Carnaby,
the landlord left the room, after presenting Leonard
h a bill for "rent and gas of assembly room and
nire of piano and pianist £2, 15s. ;" and himself, with
atlOther, "to six teas, with meat, at is. 6d.-95."
4 lam."
~,'Nonsense; we go halves, my dear fellow. We've
t„,"•4en a private box at the Theatre Royal, Drizzle-
that's all, and I anticipate some fun. There's
eue thing we've done, I'm certain, that's pleasant."
4 What?'
h 4 We've given these people a lift, and put a little
....Ilan into their lives. Hark at them, their tongues
'Das busy as their knives and forks."
ta,Zoilnds of eating and drinking and voices in merry
es"( Were audibly in the next room, only divided from
.‘.•'"e Parlour by a thin partition, for want of other
et:HlM:iodation.
Mr. 'Whiffin and 111.5 company had been turned into
the A _
I,..,"aaembly Room, where their boxes and bundles
~,,been carried, and lay strewn about in a heap.
there Teas something pitiful in the delight that the
ttlaireless kindness of these two young men gave to
kese strollers—for such, in fact, they were, though
Whiffin, manager and tragedian, would have
• uted the title with scorn. They were honest, hard-
„working members of the profession, all ot them—
ent wives and careful mothers, the two haggard
Olen; and respectable, well-intentioned men, their
?,h°lllPanions. The worth of a single diamond from
✓ trappings of the women who make the stage a by-
and a reproach, and bring disgrace on an in-
tViectual and honest profession, would have made
t`ther of them content, and, in their ideas, rich; yet
keSe they were, in Drizzleton, friendless and poverty-
st'leiten, and but for the chance charity of an utter
%ranger unable even to do the work which lay before
ere • to earn the morrow's bread.
rieir meal at an end, they set to prepare the room
tjbtfithe entertainment, the men working with a will,
Cp". showing themselves adepts in the art of fitting
e_There were two scenes: an interior, which was to
once the mansion of M. Deschappelles and the
:Unable cottage of the Widow Melnotte ; and a wood,
ch Was to represent the gardens, the path to the
1-1-‘tage, and the street in Lyons, where General Dun2as
littoB his little talk with the officers. Certainly, as Mr.
Ys, who was to play the irascible General, and who
Zaria doing wonders with a mouthful of tintacks and a
uuner, remarked—
' It didn't matter much, for it was hard to tell
Ithieh was which now."
efThe piece wee already cast. They had played it
01n their wanderings, and the arrangement of it
2173 curious. Mr. Whiffin was the Claude; his wife,
Gcklame Deschappelles; Mr. Boys. before-mentioned,
ieral Dumas, the absent Miss Joyce, Paulin,.
hLen came a curious arrangement: one gentleman
"Ye d Beaumant and Glavis, and another Desehappelk3
Landlord, and Gaspard. Mrs. Boys, the other
„Aerly-looking woman, was to enact the Widow Mel-
4tt,e ; having, with a cloak on, sat at the receipt of
ste'ra, and taken money at the door until she was
„sated.
lailhe two young men who had proved themselves
g • eh good genii to the company made their way
it the room, and stood near the door, look-
• with amazed faces, at all that was going
li Certainly, it was an odd glimpse at
ti;e behind the scenes, or rather in front of them, for
tilt Vete appropriated to the stage was too small to
diseclv of any room behind. The boxes and hampers
, lased such wonderful odds and ends as were surely
seen before.
klatrie company's wardrobe—scanty enough, Heaven
Dews !—was piled upon a couple of chairs, and a
• ef bits of fringe, gay chintz chair covers, table-
and the like, lay on the floor, with the two
th-ntueri busily stitching and arranging them. Curtain
cte was none, nor footlights either; but Mr. Whiffin
otas,,used to that deficiency, and produced a quantity
be "la sockets, nailed to a board. Candles were to
Nete.Piaced in each, and the illumination would be corn-
ter 4f
R„ rfixing this apparatus the manager turned
s'udenly round, and saw his patrons watching him.
,413eg pardon, gentlemen," he said, sharply. "This
se:. Private room—at present, at any rate," he added,
',lug their amused faces.
kti‘a• We beg yours, I'm sure, sir," Leonard Atherstone
I.t `4, Politely. "We didn't think of that. We were a
aiirious.„
th: To see how we managed; to be able to laugh at
is - sulks poor actors are put to earn their bread. It
quite natural."
l‘r°, tin, I assure you," Bruce Carnaby said. "Don't
of ne such a thing for a moment. We area couple
ee beggars, that's all, and want to amuse our-
.es.
1,44,1AY, that's it," said the actor, drawing himself up,
e Something of pride in his face; I doubt it was
3,1 to amuse yourselves, and make fun of us, that
Paid my rent for this place. I thank you all the
acr ; but dome the favour, if that was your motive,
0 to make your mirth too public. We are earning
bread, and what is sport to you may be death to
u, Your approbation or disapprobation will lead all
41"! rest. We are in your power, gentlemen, and re-
'tuber the words of the immortal Will:
Oh ! it is excellent
To have a giant's strength: but it is tyrannous
To use it like a lion.
14,,Irbv,ere was something touching in the straight-for-
Manly way in which the shabby manager
lei?* and Leonard liked him in spite of his old-
antics, his dingyshirt-sleeves, and his shiny,
‘',ells:worn garments.
3,ol2:N,,oth_nt g is further from our thoughts, I assure
he said, and his companion echoed the assur-
`v• " Can we do anything else for you ?"
4 Nothing, thank you, sir."
ye:: Will you allow us to go and meet the young lady
f eXPect ; we will take a conveyance to the station
her ?e
esilfyou'll pardon my refusing, I'd rather you didn't,"
Whiffin. "It don't rain now, and Beryl Joyce
her "Ised to be coddled. Boys has started to fetch
If you'll order some tea for her when she
be-'es, I'll take that at your hands thankfully. She'll
enough,red poor girl."
, ` Why did she not come with you?"
ta. She had a chance of helping at an amateur enter-
hei:,unent in Manchester this afternoon; if they pay
I suppose they will, I shall be able to return
- your kind loan."
41%18 she your daughter ?"
es at least we are all the parents she is ever
to know. My wife picked her up by the road-
hohe,eighteen years ago, a deserted baby, with not art
hersls hie, it seemed, in its little body. We nursed
'Jack to life, and she has paid us with a daughter's
e and duty, bless her !"
Tl:tew did she come by such a curious name?' -
ler4el„t Was my wife's, sir ;.she was Madlle. Beryl, the
th wueen, before I married her; used to stand on
ers" Point of a spear in the midst of fireworks at
au,ernarne. It would take a good stout spear to hold
`r now:,
polt.Would, indeed. The worthy Mrs. Whiffin was
he',"Y, to say the least of it; and Leonard smiled as
lenked at her and thought a the fireworks. Some-
ja°whe was more interested than he could understand
Ine manager's story.
'lave you no children of your own?" he asked.
"e have had six, before and since, but they have
Pue. We have only Beryl left now."
And she is pretty and clever 24
41,4 She's clever, sir. As to beauty, I &eft know
0,401 about that; she's pretty to us, bless her ! and
ee's
t,,e good. She'll make her way to the top of the
f'N.e Yet, will our Beryl; and when she does she won't
her. old daddy and mammy, as she calls us."
h 4 And you won't let my friend or myself send for
he nr fetch her ?"
1, 41'10 offence, sir; but no, thank you all the same.
„te'cill are two wealthy and attractive young gentlemen,
nati ruY girl is a poor actor's child. She hasn't a
above her station now, and I don't want her
--"„turned."
1 oil mistake us, Mr. Whiffin. We should treat
le 37°1ing lady as a lady, with the respect due to an
cent girl."
k.el4 And be all the more certain to turn her head. I
. Zs'? what the world is and what girls are."
ea, As you will, Mr. Whiffin. We will repress our
hab-081tY till the performance begins. I hope you'll
•ea lull room."
te: I think we shall, thank you, sir," was the reply,
to ,Leenard Atherstone had purchased and despatched
mill a large number of tickets, and his friend,
501 i the same careless generosity, had asserted him-
/33' Presenting admissions to all and sundry of the
Coltletort public who had presented themselves at the
,and Bottle during the past hour or two.
thL‘aleer old fish that," said Bruce Carnaby, when
el•-: Were once more in their own particular parlour.
&art', /rPect his paragon is a vulgar, loud-voiced, clumsy
tOf a girl, who can take and give chaff like the rest
ter„."eta. Turn her head, forsooth! It would take
-,40 than our presence to do that, I guess."
sai,4 There are modest, lady-like girls on the stage,"
,k 1 Leonard Atherstone, quietly; "this may be one,
ihihTeaven forbid that I should deny it. I was only,
tibtlVug of the girl's surroundings and associa,
B,yelaen I spoke. Here she is." _ •
1ig1,7 might have been as old as Methuselah and as"
Nasi' an a Gorgon, for all they could see of her; she
hea,,Wal, king by her companion's side, wrapped from
veil2o foot in an old waterproof cloak,:and a thick
4 Zas drawn over her face.
1)00:2eat ankles," said Bruce Carnaby, " and tidy
She steps like a greyhound, too. In all this
thor•
"„sile has hardly got a speck. There is something
T _l'llol-bred about the style altogether."
bZeonard made no answer, but he rang the bell, and
eaae.tlietn see that Miss Joyce's tea was served at
"M-1. A message came back from the manager.
has ,Iss Joyce's compliments with thanks, and she
een supplied with everything she required."
"411 time had the young lady for rest. It was

almost time for opening the doors when she arrived,
and as Pauline commences the piece, she had to go
and dress almost immediately. Her companions had
wonders to tell her about the munificent strangers,
who had been sent, as it seemed, by Providence to
help them in their need.
"Though I'm half afraid they mean guying' us,"
said Mrs. Whiffin lugubriously, as she donned the gaudy
chintz dress, trimmed with coloured calico, which was
to do duty for Madame Deschapelle's brocade. They
look just the sort of people that do such things. Two
easy-going young swells, and nothing to do. Don't
let them make you nervous, deary."
"I shan't. Nothing ever makes me nervous.
mammie, when the money's all right," replied the
girl, laughing. "I wish we were not quite so close
to them, that's all. Shabby dresses do show up so in
these little places, and swells expect so much."
"Oh, the money's all right, child, and your dress
isn't bad. You'll do."

A very fair picture indeed the young girl looked as
she stood before the glass. An old blue silk dress,
which had seen much service, but which fitted her
round, youthful figure to perfection, was her costume
for Pauline's first scene. It was wofully frayed and
soiled about the body; but a prettily-cut and well-
arranged muslin fichu hid all imperfections, and a
flounce of the same cheap material covered the skirt
to the knee. A jaunty little hat, with a few flowers
at the side, and a pair of long black mittens completed
her costume. It was not strictly correct perhaps,
but it was undeniably pretty, and becoming to the
wearer.

The orchestra, consisting of the organist of the
church and his own piano, specially hired, and a blind
fiddler of peripatetic habits but warranted to keep
time, and smartened up for the occasion in an old
coat of the landlord's, a world too big for him, were
already pounding and scraping away at "Jeannette
and Jeannot," then in the very tide of its popularity,
before the two distinguished patrons of the entertain-
ment thought of leaving their cigars to adjourn to it.
"Don't be in a hurry," said Bruce Carnaby lazily.
"The yokels haven't done going in yet. There's going
to be money turned away, my boy. It's rare fun."
"And I don't want to miss any of it. I want to see
the entrances. They can't manage discoveries, for there
is no curtain. When they faint they'll have to pick them-
selves up again; and if they die—by the way, does
anybody die in the piece ?"

"I don't know."
"Well, if they do, they'll have to retire, and, like
immortal Cesar, die with decency."
"Come along, Bruce. I'm in thorns to see that
old woman in a flannel gown again."

"I'm more anxious to -see the Pauline. If she matches
the rest, she's a bright artiste."
He tossed away the end of his cigar as he spoke, and
declared himself ready.
A murmur of applause greeted them as they en-
tered, which made Leonard Atherstone blush, and
Bruce Carnaby laugh and nod with careless recog-
nition of his own merits, and then they took their
seats. They had been waited for evidently, for when
they were seated the music stopped and the play
began.
"I wonder who it can be that sends me every day
such beautiful flowers ?"

Leonard Atherstone heard the words in the silvery
tones of a girl's fresh voice, and it seemed as though
they carried a spell with them. He saw the slight,
graceful figure, with fair hair falling in wavy masses
over her shoulders, and he could see nothing more.
He was dimly conscious that there was another be-
decked and bedizened woman on the little platform
that constituted the stage, and that other figures came
in, at whom the audience tittered. General Dumas, in
a suit much too small; and the suitor. Beauseant, in a
coat that nearly concealed him from the public gaze
altogether.
He saw none of these things—he only saw the
sweet young face, with the rather curious combination
of dark eyes and fair hair, and the graceful figure that
moved so softly to and fro; and yet Beryl Joyce
was not a particularly pretty girl, in the common
acceptation of the term; but she was all beautiful in
Leonard Atherstone's eyes, and with the first sound
of her voice his heart went out to her as a man's heart
goes out to a woman but once in his life, and des-
tiny had shaped the ends for him, which no rough hew-
ing of man's own ingenuity can ever arrange for
him.

His companion laughed and jested, and rallied him
on his silence. The actors came and went, and the
business of the play proceeded, but it was all blank
to the millowner's son, save when the dingy room was
brightened by the sweet presence of Beryl Joyce.
(To be continued.)