The Glittering Lights (Bantam Series No. 12) (7 page)

“I should like to see the flat,” Cassandra replied.

She and Hannah drove in the carriage to Bury Street while the Agent hurried after them on foot.

It was only a short distance and Cassandra stared up at the high building. Then having instructed Hannah to say nothing in front of the man, they climbed the staircase to the second floor.

Panting a little because he had been obliged to run in an effort to keep up with the horses, the Agent opened the door and ushered them into the flat.

It was with difficulty that Cassandra prevented herself from laughing.

It was in fact more gaudy and more theatrical than she could possibly have imagined.

The furniture was quite substantial but in poor taste. The sofas and chairs were upholstered in a vivid blue brocade and heaped with frilly pink cushions—most of them embroidered with beads or coloured silks.

Pictures of every sort and description smothered the walls, many of them cheap oleographs of Rome and Italy.

There were some photographs of actresses and a few actors. There were half a dozen framed posters and as they all starred a certain well-known Music-Hall personality, it was not difficult to guess the name of the flat’s previous occupant.

“Where is the owner?” Cassandra asked the Estate Agent.

“As a matter of fact, Madam, she is in Australia,” he replied. “She is on tour, it is her—friend—” he coughed apologetically, “who has asked me to find a tenant while she is away.”

The bed-room was even more fantastic than the sitting-room.

Here the curtains were of sugar-pink, and held up at the corners of the palmettes with over-gilt angels.

The brass bed-stead was draped with material of the same colour, hanging from a half-tester decorated with artificial flowers.

There were bows, frills, fringes and tassels everywhere one looked, and the walls were almost completely covered with mirrors.

“The owner must be very fond of her own face,” Cassandra remarked innocently.

She did not see the glint of amusement in the Agent’s eyes.

“I will take the flat,” Cassandra went on and tried not to laugh at Hannah’s horrified and disgusted expression.

She paid two months’ rent in advance as she had promised, and giving her friend’s name as “Miss Standish” she took possession of the key.

A porter informed her that his wife would be willing to clean the flat on an hourly basis.

“Her has to stay longer, Ma’am, if the place is in a mess,” he said frankly.

“I understand,” Cassandra replied, “and my friend will be quite willing to pay by the hour.”

“Will your friend, Madam, be moving in immediately?” the Agent asked.

“She should be arriving from the North this evening,” Cassandra replied, “but if not, she will certainly be here tomorrow. I am so grateful to you for finding her somewhere to stay. She has a great dislike of Hotels.”

“I quite understand that,” the Agent said sympathetically.

He was delighted at having got the flat off his hands. He would never have sunk to putting anything so garish on his books, if the “friend” of the lady who had lived there had not been of social importance.

Cassandra bade him good-bye and then drove back towards Park Lane listening to a storm of protest from Hannah’s lips.

“Now what’s all this about, Miss Cassandra? I’ve never seen such a horrible place! It’s not fit for someone like yourself even to enter, let alone to be living in!”

“It is for my theatrical friend “ Cassandra answered.

“And who might she be?” Hannah asked. “You’ve never had any friends who are on the stage to my knowledge, and anyway the Master wouldn’t allow it. You know that as well as I do.”

“Her name is Sandra Standish,” Cassandra answered.

“Sandra?” Hannah said suspiciously. “That’s what the Master sometimes calls you.”

“Yes, I know,” Cassandra answered, “and that is why I have used it for my second self. It is difficult to answer to a Christian name you do not remember.”

“What are you trying to tell me?” Hannah enquired sternly.

“That I am going to act a part,” Cassandra answered. “Do not look so shocked, Hannah, I am not going on the stage. I shall play the part of a young and talented actress.”

“An actress!” Hannah exclaimed in tones of horror.

“I only hope I am good enough to get away with it,” Cassandra said.

“The only thing you’ll get yourself into is a lot of trouble,” Hannah said menacingly. “You’re not going to stay in that ghastly place?”

“No, but I have to have an address,” Cassandra answered, “and you are going to wait there for me, Hannah, in the evening. That is, if anyone takes me out.”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Hannah said angrily. “All I know, Miss Cassandra, is that you’re buying yourself a heap of trouble and no good will come of it, you mark my words!”

“I am marking them,” Cassandra assured her.

At the same time she prayed that Hannah was wrong and that her plan would not fail.

The Stage-door keeper of The Prince’s Theatre looked up in surprise when, at 7:30 p.m., a lady dressed in what seemed to him to be the height of fashion appeared at the glass window behind which he habitually sat.

“What d’you want?” he asked suspiciously.

He was an old man who had been at The Prince’s for over twenty-five years and was known amongst the cast as “Old Growler.”

“I would like to see Mrs. Langtry.”

“Well, you can’t,” he answered. “She sees no-one until after the performance, and then not many of ‘em can get in.”

“I am sure she is very popular,” the lady replied, “and that is why I wish to see her now.”

“I told you. She don’t see no-one at this time.”

Cassandra put the letter down in front of him and laid on top of it a sovereign.

‘Will you tell Mrs. Langtry that I have something very valuable to give her,” she said, “and I cannot entrust it to anyone else, not even you.”

“Old Growler” stared at the sovereign. There was a greedy look in his eyes.

He was used to tips from the top-hatted gentlemen who called after the performance, but it was not often the feminine sex was so generous.

‘I’ll see wot I can do,” he said at length grudgingly, and pocketed the sovereign with a swiftness which came from long practice.

He picked up the note and Cassandra heard his footsteps echoing on the flagged floor as he went along a narrow passage and disappeared up a winding iron staircase.

She waited thinking that this was the first time she had ever been backstage and realised how unattractive it was. The walls had been written on in pencil and it must have been years since they had been painted.

There was the smell of dirt, dust and grease-paint and it was also extremely cold. Cassandra pulled her velvet wrap closer around her shoulders.

She wished she could have worn one of her furs, but she felt it would have seemed too extravagant for someone who was not a name in the theatre world.

She waited impatiently.

Supposing after all Mrs. Langtry would not see her? She felt quite certain that what she had said about having something valuable to give her would have been repeated by the door-keeper and would have made the lady curious.

After all, Sir James would undoubtedly have been very generous in the past. He always was.

She heard the footsteps of the door-keeper returning long before she saw him and finally he appeared to say gruffly:

“Come this way.”

Cassandra, with a little throb of her heart, followed him down the passage.

The place seemed to get even dirtier as she progressed, but when they entered Mrs. Langtry’s brilliantly lit Dressing-Room, it was to find it exactly as she had expected it would be.

She had read in one of the newspapers:

“Mrs. Langtry insists on having each Dressing-Room, in whatever theatre she is appearing, arranged as to furniture, etc., as nearly alike as possible. This is one of the first things her Stage-manager attends to on reaching a City. Most of the paraphernalia is carried with her when Mrs. Langtry is on tour.”

The Dressing-Room, Cassandra saw, was not large and the most important piece of furniture was the dressing-table which was of white wood heavily enamelled in white.

It was elaborately ornamented with cupids and butterflies and festooned with old rose satin lined with muslin.

The mirror was electro-lighted and there was a tray on the table containing Mrs. Langtry’s toilet set. The brush, comb, scent bottle and powder-box were of gold, each engraved with her initials, the monograms being surrounded by a ring of turquoises.

Cassandra only had a quick look at the dressing-table before she saw there were baskets of flowers all round the walls and a cosy sofa decked with cushions of every sort of design.

Then from behind a high painted screen which was pulled across a corner of the room Mrs. Langtry appeared, wearing a blue silk
negligee.

Cassandra had expected her to be beautiful, but her photographs and pictures certainly did not do her justice.

At thirty-three Lily Langtry was breath-taking.

Her little Greek head and Greek features were so perfectly proportioned as to make one feel that one looked at an exquisite statue.

Her skin was transparent, so white and delicate that one could only stare and believe that every other woman must have a quite different covering to her bones.

As Mrs. Langtry moved towards Cassandra with her hand outstretched she remembered that when he painted her, Sir John Millais had said:

“To see Lily Langtry walk is as though you saw a beautiful hound set upon its feet.”

“How kind of you to bring me a letter from Sir James Sherburn,” Mrs. Langtry said and her voice was low, soft and musical.

She smiled at Cassandra and walking to the sofa, settled herself comfortably against the cushions and patted the place beside her.

“Come and sit down, Miss Standish,” she said. “You must tell me about yourself, but first I believe you have something for me.”

Cassandra held out the jewel box which she had wrapped in tissue paper.

“Sir James said I was to give this into your hands, Mrs. Langtry, and entrust it to no-one else.”

It seemed to her as if Mrs. Langtry took the box almost eagerly and, pulling off the tissue paper, opened it. The large star glittered in the lights from the dressing-table.

“It is charming!” she said and Cassandra felt the words were almost a purr of appreciation.

She took the brooch out of the box, examined it and replaced it on its velvet bed.

“And now,” she said with a smile. “I understand you wish me to do something for you. Are you acting in London at the moment?”

“No, I have come South to have singing lessons,” Cassandra answered. “I have been promised a part in a Musical play if I can improve my voice, and so I intend to spend a month in London just working with a teacher.”

“How very sensible,” Mrs. Langtry approved. “And while you are here you are anxious to meet the young Duke of Alchester?”

“I should be very grateful if you could introduce me to him,” Cassandra said.

Mrs. Langtry raised her eye-brows and Cassandra saw the curiosity in her eyes.

“Varro is a friend of mine,” she said. “Do tell me why you are so anxious to meet him?”

Cassandra dropped her voice.

“I have a message for him from someone who is now ... dead.”

“Then your meeting can be quite easily arranged,” Mrs. Langtry assured her. “As a matter of fact, I am going to a party this evening where it is almost certain he will be present. It is being given by Lord Carwen and he will not mind in the least if I take you with me. That is, if you have no other engagement?”

“No, none,” Cassandra replied, “although I was hoping to see you act.”

“Then that of course is something you must do. I have a friend who always sits in the stage-box. You shall watch the play with him and afterwards we will take you with us to Lord Carwen’s party.”

“How kind ... how very kind you are,” Cassandra said in heartfelt tones.

She noticed that while Mrs. Langtry was speaking her eyes had flickered over her evening-dress and noted that not only was it new and expensive, but also the diamond brooch she wore pinned to the bodice was real as was the bracelet she wore over her kid gloves.

She could not help feeling that Mrs. Langtry might not have been so kind had she in fact been an impoverished, badly dressed young actress.

Nevertheless, Mrs. Langtry gave another glance at the star-brooch, doubtless appreciating the largeness of the diamonds, before she walked across to her dressing-table to place it in a drawer.

“Have you not to change?” Cassandra asked. “Would you like me to wait in the theatre?”

“No, you cannot go there alone,” Mrs. Langtry said. “You must wait for Mr. Gebhard to arrive, and then he will take you to the Box. In the meantime, sit in that chair in the corner and keep very quiet. I have about fifteen minutes to rest before my dresser will begin to get me ready.”