claudia had never been behind the scenes of a theatre, and she found the va et vient, the bustle and hurry of a music-hall almost bewildering, so that she received the vaguest impressions of her journey through to the front. she felt, rather than saw, the gloomy floor space behind the set littered with properties, all looking very ludicrous and childish. a man was evidently doing a song and patter turn to judge from the guffaws from the front of the house. she could see above her head men up in the flies controlling the limelight and the curtain, all of whom were in their shirt-sleeves. in fact, jack was the only conventionally dressed person she had seen since she entered the theatre.

she was hurried along to a small door, which she found gave access to the house—jack was evidently known to the man in charge, who nodded familiarly and called him “capting”—and having descended some dusty, red-covered steps, she found herself suddenly in a little box in full view of the audience. her first impression was that she had never seen so many people so tightly squeezed together before, and so intent on the comedian with the red nose and battered silk hat who was holding forth[208] from the middle of the stage. all the theatres she had ever seen had been more or less roomy, but these people reminded her of an old-fashioned solid bouquet, except that there was practically no colour in the house. in a west-end theatre various bits of colour strike the eye, especially in the stalls and dress-circle; but as the curtain descended to great applause she saw that the house was a study in black and white—the clothing black, the faces white. there must have been some bits of colour, but they did not show. her second impression was that she had never before realized how toiling humanity in a mass can smell. it was the odour of toil and scanty bathing, mingled with the inevitable orange and the reek of gas.

a number went up in the slot at the side—twelve—the star turn of the evening, the girlie girl.

the orchestra struck up one of her popular songs, and the audience, and especially the gallery boys—they looked to claudia as though they were hanging on the ceiling by their eyelashes like flies—began to cheer and beat time to the music. she happened to glance at jack, and she was amused to see a complacent smile taking the place of the dumbly-worried look he had been wearing since the episode of the pendant.

“they adore her,” he whispered. “she believes in making friends with the gallery boys. she says it’s the secret of her success.... i say, claud, what could i do about that beastly pendant? she doesn’t see things as we do. she’s like a blessed babe, or a savage, in some things.”

a huge burst of cheering stopped any further conversation, and claudia found herself looking down at her sister-in-law laughing and kissing her hands to the gallery. in the limelight she looked extraordinarily pretty and alive, and there was no man present that could have failed to see the gamine charm of her, though he might not have wanted to espouse her. her blue eyes laughed[209] in a friendly fashion at the house and her pretty feet began to dance to the measure while she waved aloft a sort of d’orsay walking-stick tied up with green and orange ribbons.

her voice, though sweet—unusually sweet for the music-halls—was nothing wonderful, and claudia detected already signs of hard wear. she had a few particularly good notes in her top register, but it was not for her voice that she was so applauded. there was an air of infectious gaiety, a “i-like-you-and-you-like-me” camaraderie that made the vapid song and words—how incredibly bad the words were!—seem amusing.

the song was all about a ladybird and a rose in an old-fashioned garden. the rose was sweet and innocent, and the ladybird “knew a bit.” it was neither funny nor frankly improper; but the audience roared with laughter, especially when she completed each verse with a huge wink. at the end of the song she threw a kiss deliberately up to their box, which made the entire audience turn and look at them, and reduced claudia to a state of helpless and fiery embarrassment.

“all right, boys, it’s my husband,” called out the girlie girl, with a chuckle, as she departed into the wings. there followed a burst of yelling, cat-calling and clapping, with cries of “good luck!” “send us a bit of cake, girlie,” “keep him in order,” “wish you joy!”

claudia was sorry she had not put on a veil or a more shady hat. she knew that her face was scarlet. she had never been in such a scene in her life, and she took no pleasure in being conspicuous at any time. jack was looking sheepish, but evidently he was more used to such things.

the audience went on singing the chorus of her last song while fay was changing in the wings. then the orchestra struck up another tune as she appeared in a smart little vivandière costume of blue, with red facings,[210] and a cap that was stuck coquettishly sideways on her huge bunch of curls. this time she led the singing of the chorus from the stage, every now and then ceasing to sing herself, and beating time with encouraging gestures to the rather hoarse, flat voices of the crowd. it was a wonderful sight to claudia, who was so fascinated that she forgot her embarrassment and leaned forward. as she looked round the house all the lips seemed moving—men and women, boys and children.

the audience would not part with her, and after taking eight curtains she came back to sing the last verse once more.

“now boys, i want you to sing loudly this time. let’s raise the roof and take the slates off. shan’t be coming to milton green for a long time. don’t whisper—sing. all of you sing, tom and bill, and kate and mary. sing out as you would if you got your wages doubled to-morrow. now....”

“i’m one of the king’s little drummer-boys,

and i serve....”

the packed audience positively yelled, and fay laughing, kept on encouraging them with remarks:

“go it, boys!... it’s a cure for sore throats.... get it off your chests.... bill, you’re not opening your mouth wide enough; no flies to-night.... mary, a bit louder....”

then how the tragedy happened no one ever quite understood. fay was laughing and kissing her little hands up to the gallery, as alive as a piece of quicksilver, when the heavy curtain came down suddenly, and before anyone could shout, struck her. claudia, who had risen in horror, caught a look of almost childish surprise in the blue eyes before fay lay flattened out on the ground the two pretty arms thrown out helplessly in front of her, the curtain, as it were, cutting her in two.

[211]

for a moment there was a horrible awed hush; then a woman in the audience gave vent to a piercing shriek, and immediately a tumult of cries and shouts filled the auditorium. claudia, who had been almost stunned by the suddenness of the thing, had just time to see the men fighting their way to the front, apparently with some vague idea of raising the curtain off the little body, when she saw the curtain move up a few inches and half a dozen hands gently drag the body behind it. she turned to jack. he was staring down at the stage, his face ashen grey, his eyes starting out of his head. but he made no movement to go to his wife.

“jack,” she panted, “we must go round. quick! don’t you want to get to her?”

still he did not move, nor did he seem to hear her. he was still staring down at the stage.

“jack!” she shook his arm. “rouse yourself! come quick!”

he seemed to awaken with a shudder, and she drew him into the shadow of the box.

“i can’t,” he said, with dry lips and shaking from head to foot. “i can’t.... is she dead?”

claudia was unaware of the great weight of the curtain, and tried to speak encouragingly.

“no, no, of course not.... jack, you must go to her.”

“i can’t stand things like that,” he whispered, passing his hand over his clammy forehead. “you know i never could.... oh, my god! she’s dead! fay’s dead, and i saw her killed!”

claudia remembered that he never could stand ugly sights or any kind of illness or decay. his ordinary good-nature entirely deserted him at such times. he had refused to go and see an old schoolfellow in his last illness, and had always tried to escape visiting his grandmother, who had died slowly of cancer.

“jack, you must!” cried claudia hotly, propelling him[212] to the door. “don’t be a coward. perhaps she’s only stunned and wants you. you’ve got to play the man, or i’ll never speak to you again.”

even the biting contempt in her voice did not rouse him; but he allowed himself to be dragged like one in a dream through the door and up the red stairs.

“for the sake of your manhood and the honour of the iversons, if not for poor fay, pull yourself together,” said claudia sharply, as they stepped upon the stage.

a group of men were bending down over something that had been laid on a pile of coats. others were crowding together, talking in excited, frightened whispers. the stout lady came rushing on the stage, sobbing hysterically and wringing her red hands. the orchestra commenced to play again.

a man came pushing his way after them through the door from the auditorium. accustomed as she was to the conventional garb of west end physicians, claudia was surprised to hear this man in a pepper-and-salt suit say: “i’m a doctor. let me go to her.”

jack was still dazed. with a last glance of contempt at him, claudia went forward and took command of the situation. “please, doctor, do all you can. i am her sister-in-law. tell me what we should do.”

she followed him towards the little group, inwardly shrinking and desperately frightened, but outwardly calm and collected. she stood with the stage hands, as one of them. she could see by their faces that they feared a bad verdict.

various hoarse whispers reached her while she waited, feeling as though the world had suddenly turned topsy-turvy.

“ ... the next turn ... can’t go on.... let the orchestra play.... tell the audience she isn’t badly hurt ... turned my blood cold.... hadn’t time to shout.... who dropped the damned thing?... must have[213] broken her spine.... rather anyone than the girlie girl.”

the doctor had risen from his examination and was coming towards her. she nerved herself for a shock; but she could hear her own heart thumping against her ribs.

“not—not——” she could not get the words out of her dry lips.

the doctor gravely shook his head. “no, she’s alive. bad injury to the spine, i should say. get her to a hospital”—then taking in the quality of the woman who had said she was the sister-in-law—“or to her home at once and call in a specialist.”

claudia read the look in his eyes, which was compounded of pity and deep emotion. she had seen that look once in the eyes of a man who had been entrusted with the task of breaking the news of her husband’s death to a poor woman on their country estate.

“is she—very bad?” she whispered. “will she die?”

“i’m afraid not—yet.”

claudia reeled up against a piece of scenery. she never forgot that moment. the orchestra playing a rag-time melody, the stout woman sobbing, the regret in the eyes of the doctor.

“you mean——”

“it’s not likely she will ever move off her bed again. she’s paralysed.”