Trevor hesitated for a moment before he said,
“That is something that you will be able to do if you will agree to what I am now going to suggest.”
Angela looked at him in astonishment.
This was something that she had certainly not expected him to say.
She had often thought that the stories of The Gaiety Theatre and the girls who performed there were like Fairytales.
Because they obviously interested Trevor and because she was curious, she pressed him when he was at home to tell her about the shows that he had seen. Besides the costumes of the girls who apparently captivated every man in London.
“How would it be possible for me to see the girls of The Gaiety Theatre,” she asked, “unless you intend to take me to a performance?”
She thought that this would be most unlikely and, even if he did so, she had nothing to wear for such an occasion.
“You have heard me talk of George Edwardes,” Trevor replied.
Angela had the feeling that he was now choosing his words with some care.
“Yes, yes,” she agreed. “I remember you telling me how clever he had been in realising a long time ago that Burlesque was finished and how he had introduced Musical Comedy to the London theatre scene.”
Trevor nodded.
“Yes, that is what I have told you,” he said, “and also that the new shows are an amazing success and every man in London flocks to see them.”
He laughed before he added,
“They say that men will spend every penny they possess in waiting at the theatre in order to take a Gaiety Girl out to supper and often have then to walk home because their pockets are empty.”
Angela thought that this was surely a stupid thing for any man to do.
She knew, however, that it would be a mistake to say so.
She was longing for her brother to get to the point of the story he was telling and how it affected her.
“I went to The Gaiety last night,” Trevor continued, “and went round after the show.”
“Round where?” Angela asked.
“To the stage door, of course,” her brother said sharply. “Actually I was picking up one of the actresses as we were going to a supper party at Romano’s.”
Angela looked at him questioningly and he went on quickly,
“I was not paying, I was a guest and a very good party it was too.”
As if her brother was aware that she thought that he was being extravagant in London, he said,
“I do promise you, Angela, I am spending as little as I possibly can, but just occasionally I have to entertain my friends.”
There was something slightly aggressive in his voice now and Angela reacted swiftly,
“Yes, of course, dearest, I know how careful you are.”
“When I went backstage,” Trevor went on as if it was a relief not to have to talk about himself, “I found George Edwardes in a terrible tizzy.”
“Why? What had happened?” Angela asked.
“A party had been arranged for this weekend at the house of the Marquis of Vauxhall. You have heard me talk about him?”
“Yes, you told me what marvellous horses he owns,” Angela answered.
“Well, he has invited me, which I thought was jolly decent of him,” Trevor said, “and George Edwardes had agreed that six of his girls should be there on Saturday night.”
‘To stay with the Marquis?” Angela asked in astonishment.
“Yes,” Trevor said, “but for a very particular reason.”
“And what is that?”
“The Marquis, and I don’t think I have told you about this before, fancies himself as a playwright.”
“Do you mean – for the theatre?”
“Of course I mean for the theatre,” Trevor snapped. “He has a theatre of his own. He had the idea from the one the Czar of Russia has in The Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, but his is even bigger and more impressive.”
“He must be very rich to have his own theatre,” Angela remarked.
“Of course he is rich,” Trevor replied. “He is so rich that he can have anything he wants and, although it seems extraordinary, he enjoys writing plays that are performed for his guests when he gives a weekend party.”
Angela thought that it all sounded rather strange and peculiar.
She knew that most of her brother’s friends had up until now been more concerned with their horses than anything else.
“The Marquis has had everything fixed for a performance on Saturday evening,” Trevor went on. “But George Edwardes had only just learnt that Lucy Lucas, who was to play the most important part, had collapsed with a high temperature.”
“How annoying for the Marquis?” Angela said. “I suppose it will spoil the play.”
“Of course it will and, if there is one thing the Marquis dislikes more than anything else, it is having his arrangements upset.”
“But, surely, Mr. Edwardes can find him somebody else to take her place? You told me that there was a number of girls in the last play.”
Angela paused, trying to recall the name.
Then she added,
“Is it not called ‘Cinderella Up-to-Date’?”
“Yes, that is right,” her brother agreed, “but you see, Lucy, who was to take the part, was the only girl at The Gaiety who really looked like an angel.”
“Like an angel?” Angela replied. “How extraordinary? Why should the Marquis want an angel on his stage?”
“Because he has written a play based on The Rake’s Progress,” he answered. “You must have seen the brilliant drawings by Hogarth?”
‘Yes, of course I have,” Angela agreed. “They are all in one of the books in the library.”
“Well, he has made The Rake’s Progress his theme and the angel saves the rake at the end of the play or something like that.”
“I think that is a very clever idea,” Angela enthused. “After all it was very sad to think of a man sinking deeper and deeper into debauchery until he dies.”
“As the angel, according to George Edwardes, is essential to the show, he knew that the Marquis would be furious if Lucy could not turn up.”
“So what is he going to do about it?” Angela asked him.
“He had no idea and, as I spoke to George Edwardes, he said,
“‘I would give one thousand pounds to prevent this happening’.”
“One thousand pounds!” Angela gasped. “Then it must certainly be a serious situation.”
“It is,” Trevor replied, “and I told him that for one thousand pounds I could provide him with an angel who would satisfy the Marquis’s requirements.”
There was silence while Angela stared at her brother.
Then at length she asked,
“What are you – saying? What are you telling me?”
“I am telling you,” her brother replied, “that for one thousand pounds, and God knows we need it, you must play the part of the angel in the Marquis of Vauxhall’s theatre!”
“You must be crazy,” Angela asserted, “how could I possibly do such a thing?”
“Why ever not?” Trevor argued. “You have been told often enough that you look like an angel and it is actually true. And the only thing you have to do is learn one or two lines and do what the Marquis tells you. It should not be too difficult.”
“But – it is impossible!” Angela parried.
“Why?” her brother then demanded. “You used to fancy yourself doing the charades we played when Mama was alive and I remember how four or five years ago you took part in a Nativity play that Mama had produced in the village.”
“But – that was different,” Angela muttered.
“Why is it different?” her brother asked. “All you have to do is to walk onto the stage, looking like yourself and say whatever the Marquis tells you you have to say.”
“B-but – how can I possibly – go to this house? And besides – I have no clothes – ”
“That is no trouble,�
� Trevor interrupted her. “George Edwardes will provide those and, incidentally, I told him that you would do it.”
Before his sister could speak, he added rapidly,
“At least I said to him that I could find him an angel who could fill the bill as well as if not better than Lucy. But I did not tell him that I was thinking of my sister.”
“Why not?” Angela asked.
Her brother looked away from her before he replied,
“Let me explain. If you go to the Marquis’s, you will go as a Gaiety Girl provided for the occasion by George Edwardes. It would be totally incorrect at that sort of party for you to go as yourself.”
“What do you mean by ‒ ‘that sort of party’?”
Angela thought that her question had embarrassed her brother and there was a long pause before he said,
“You cannot be so stupid as not to know that, as a lady, you cannot associate with Gaiety Girls, even though some of them are very respectable.”
He paused and then continued,
“In fact one I have spoken to the other day is the daughter of a Parson.”
“In which case,” Angela asked, “why should anybody be shocked if I take part with them in a play?”
Her brother sat down on the sofa beside her.
“Now, listen, Angela,” he said seriously, “you have to trust me to know what is right and what is wrong.”
He smiled at her and then continued,
“It would be very wrong for you, as Papa and Mama’s daughter, to be hobnobbing with Gaiety Girls and staying at the house of the Marquis of Vauxhall.”
“Why should it not be right if they are staying?” Angela asked feeling rather perplexed.
Trevor put his hand up to his forehead as if he was searching for an explanation.
“It would be embarrassing for him, embarrassing for you and would undoubtedly upset the Gaiety Girls,” he said finally.
Angela digested this before she enquired,
“I think I understand. Then who am I supposed to be?”
“I will think of a name for you,” Trevor said, “but it will not be mine. You will do it, my dearest sister?”
“I-I shall be very frightened,” Angela admitted. “At the same time one thousand pounds! Oh, Trevor, think what we could do to The Priory if we had that sort of money.”
“That is exactly what I was thinking,” he said, “although I should have to keep a small part of it in order to settle some of my bills.”
“But not too much,” Angela said, “and one thousand pounds, if we are careful, will go a long way to making things look as beautiful and pristine as they were when our Mama was alive.”
“I was thinking of that all the way here,” Trevor remarked. “But we must get busy and now that you have agreed, I think we should go back to London tonight.”
“Tonight?” Angela repeated in astonishment.
“There is so much to be done,” Trevor answered. “George Edwardes will provide you with clothes but, of course, you have to try them on first and they have to make you look like an angel, not like an ordinary Gaiety Girl, or the Marquis will not be pleased.”
“Why are you so frightened of him?” Angela questioned.
“The answer to that is simple,” her brother replied. “George Edwardes is looking to him to help finance the next show he is putting on, which I gather is going to be an expensive one and furthermore I hope to have the opportunity of riding his horses.”
He paused for a moment and then continued,
“Also I have the feeling that he might give me a commission for finding one or two polo ponies he requires.”
Trevor saw that his sister was listening to him intently and so he went on,
“He said something about it the other night, but I did not get a chance to say I could help him.”
“Then I do see that I am very important,” Angela pointed out.
“The important thing is that we will get the one thousand pounds,” Trevor replied, “and I am only hoping we can increase it while we are staying at Vaux.”
“Is that the name of the Marquis’s house?”
“It is,” Trevor replied. “Do you never read the newspapers?”
“Only when we can afford them,” Angela said somewhat apologetically.
Her reply made her brother look a little shamefaced as if he had forgotten how poor they really were.
“And now that is all agreed,” she said, “I will go and see what Mrs. Higgins can give you for luncheon and pack up what clothes I have to take to London.”
She paused before she asked,
“By the way, how are we going? I thought you had ridden down.”
“I meant to, but when I reached the stables, I saw a chaise and then hired it.”
“I am sure it was very expensive,” Angela exclaimed. “Who will pay for it?”
“George Edwardes,” Trevor said. “I made it clear to him that the lady I had in mind lived in the country and I would have to rush down to see her and persuade her to come back with me.”
Angela looked at him and said slowly,
‘You were quite certain from the very beginning that I would do what you wanted?”
“I was quite certain that you would not turn down one thousand pounds to improve The Priory with,” he replied.
“I have to agree with you there,” Angela said, “but, please, Trevor, if you have anything in your pocket, will you give it to the Higginses? We have not paid them their wages for weeks on end.”
“We can afford to now that the ‘Golden Fleece’ is almost within our grasp.”
Angela gave a little cry.
“Don’t boast but touch wood!” she exclaimed. “Oh, Trevor, supposing I make a terrible mistake and you are ashamed of me?”
“You have nothing to do except look like an angel,” he said firmly. “Get that into your head. The less you say and do the better!”
Angela laughed.
“You are not very complimentary.”
“To tell you the truth,” her brother admitted, “I am very frightened too. If anyone has the slightest inkling that you are my sister, I shall be in the doghouse.”
“As bad as that?” Angela enquired.
“You know as well as I do what the family would say and how shocked they would be at the very idea of you associating with women who paint their faces and prance about on the stage where they are stared at by anybody who can pay the price of a seat.”
Angela thought of their elderly aunts and knew that Trevor was speaking the truth.
“You are quite right,” she said, “and I will be very very careful. I will tell the Higginses that I am going to stay with one of our cousins.”
Then she suddenly thought of something.
“I suppose that you have somewhere for me to go in London before we set out for the Marquis’s house?”
“I have arranged something,” Trevor said, “but again you must not talk about it.”
“Who shall I talk to?” Angela asked. “The frogs in the lake or the birds in the trees? You know as well as I do that I can be here for weeks at a time and speak to no one.”
“There are the people in the village,” her brother remarked, “and we don’t want them to talk either. Is there anything to drink?”
She knew by the way he spoke that he was very relieved, although he did not say so, that she had agreed to do what he wanted.
But she had a distinct feeling that there was more to the story than he had told her.
Perhaps in some way he was involved in the Marquis’s play being a success.
She knew of old, however, that it was a mistake to ask her brother too many questions, so she merely replied,
“You can look in the cellar, but I think you had the last bottle of claret when you were here three weeks ago.”
“I will go and have a look,” Trevor said. “In the meantime there is no need for you to pack a whole lot of things. I will see that George Edwardes dresses you as soon as you set foo
t in London.”
“He must be very impressed by you,” Angela remarked.
“On the contrary,” Trevor contradicted, “he is impressed by the Marquis, impressed with his wealth and terrified of losing his patronage. That is a very different thing.”
He went from the sitting room as he spoke and Angela heard him walking along the passage towards the cellar.
She put her hands up on each side of her face and closed her eyes.
How could she possibly do what Trevor asked of her without making a mess of it?
‘I am crazy to listen to him,’ she thought to herself.
Then, almost as if it was right there in front of her eyes, she could see the one thousand pounds that the Marquis would give him if he produced an angel.
One thousand pounds would repair the roof, the ceilings and the windows and it would pay the bills they owed in the village and the wages that the Higginses were waiting for.
‘Of course I must do it,’ she told herself firmly. ‘How can I possibly refuse?’
And yet, as she went upstairs to her bedroom, she thought that what lay ahead of her was very frightening.
It was like stepping out from something that was very familiar into a world of torment.
She walked across the room to look into the mirror.
Did she really look like an angel?
Supposing when George Edwardes saw her he was disappointed or told Trevor that he had found someone better?
Then she knew she would be very stupid if she did not realise that she looked exactly like everybody’s idea of an angel.
It was the impression that she had given people ever since she was in the cradle.
“Ain’t she pretty? Just like an angel,” she could hear people saying to her mother.
“You’re an angel from Heaven, that’s what you are!” Mrs. Marsh had said to her only an hour or so ago.
Her complexion was certainly very clear and translucent.
Her eyes were the blue of a summer sky.
Her small straight nose and Cupid’s bow mouth distinctly resembled those of the angels in the pictures her mother had shown her when she was a child.
Her hair was the soft gold of the sun that rose in the sky.
And it had not darkened since she had been born, which was rather surprising.
The Angel and the Rake Page 2