Madame Flirt. Charles Edward Pearce
this protégée of his something might be done. And there were the "Fables."
"Twenty guineas," he repeated. "Well, I'll do my best. In two days' time, Mrs. Fenton, I will come and see you and most likely all will be settled to your satisfaction."
"Two days. Aye. No longer or maybe my price'll go up."
"I shall not fail. Now, Mrs. Fenton, before I go I'd like to see Lavinia once more."
"No, this business is between you an' me, mister. The hussy's naught to do with it. She'll have to behave herself while she's with me. That's all I have to say about her."
So Gay rose and walked out of the box feeling as though he'd been through a severe drubbing. He might have been sufficiently disheartened to shatter his castle in the air had he not seen Lavinia's big sorrowful eyes fixed upon him from the kitchen. He dared not disobey her mother's behest not to speak to her so he tried to smile encouragingly, and to intimate by his expression that all was going well. Whether he succeeded in so doing he was by no means sure.
On leaving the coffee house Gay walked towards Charing Cross and thence along the Haymarket to Piccadilly. His destination was Queensberry House to the north of Burlington Gardens. Here lived Gay's good friends the Duke and Duchess of Queensberry, and indeed Gay himself, save when he was at Twickenham with Pope.
At dinner that evening Gay broached the subject of the phenomenal singer whom he had discovered in the streets of St. Giles and his scheme concerning her. The duke laughed at the poet's visions, but the duchess was fascinated. Anything of the unusual at once appealed to the warmhearted, impulsive, somewhat eccentric, lady. Her enthusiasm where she was interested always carried her away, and her impatience and energy would not let her rest until her object was accomplished.
"I would vastly like to hear Mr. Gay's pretty nightingale. You must bring her to-morrow. I am dying to see if she is really the wonder you pretend she is. You know that the best judge of a woman is another woman. A man is apt to be partial."
"And a woman to be prejudiced," said Gay smilingly.
"Faith, Kitty," laughed the duke, "our poet has thee there."
"I deny it. But we will discuss the question after we've seen the paragon. When shall she come?"
Gay for once was shrewd.
"Not until we've settled with the mother. She's a harpy. If she knows that your grace has anything to do with the affair she'll double her price."
"Why, our Gay is teaching us something," said the Duke banteringly. "He is giving us a lesson in financial economy. Duchess, you must keep your eye on the next post vacant in the Exchequer."
"Pish!" retorted her grace. "Mr. Gay is only exercising commonsense. We all of us have a little of that commodity. If we could only have it handy when it's wanted how much better the world would be."
Neither of the men disputed the lady's proposition, and the duchess rising, left them to their wine.
Armed with the twenty guineas, Gay presented himself the following day at the Bedfordbury coffee house. Mrs. Fenton was still ungracious, but the sight of the little pile of gold and the chink of the coins mollified her humour.
"Where and when are you going to take her?" she demanded.
Gay had arranged a plan with the duchess and he replied promptly.
"She will stay here for a few days while her wardrobe is being got ready, then she is to go to Miss Pinwell's boarding school in Queen Square."
"Carry me out and bury me decent," ejaculated Mrs. Fenton. "Then I'm to be the mother of a fine lady, am I?"
"I don't say that, but a clever one if I'm not mistaken."
"Clever! Oh la! Much good will her cleverness do her. Clever! Aye in always having a crowd o' sparks a dangling after her. That Miss What's-her-name in Queen Square'll have to get up early to best Lavinia when there's a man about."
"A mother shouldn't say such ill-natured things of her own child," said Gay reprovingly. "She's hardly a woman yet."
"But she knows as much. Well, you've got your bargain. Make your best of it. What about her clothes? She's but a rag-bag though it's no fault o' mine. Pray who's going to buy her gowns, her hats, her petticoats, her laces and frills. You?"
"I? Bless me! no, woman. I know nothing about such things," rejoined Gay colouring slightly. "I will send a woman who understands the business."
"It's all one to me. Maybe you'd better tell your tale to Lavinia with your own lips. I've done with her."
"By all means. I should like to see her."
Mrs. Fenton, whose eyes all the while had been gloating over the gold on the table now swept it into her pocket. It was a windfall which had come at the right moment. She was tired of Bedfordbury. She aimed at a step higher. There was a coffee house business in the Old Bailey going cheap, the twenty pounds would enable her to buy it.
As for her daughter, she had no scruple about letting her go with a man who was quite a stranger. The girl's future didn't trouble her. Since Lavinia had entered her teens, mother and daughter had wrangled incessantly. Lavinia was amiable enough, but constant snubbing had roused a spirit which guided her according to her moods. Sometimes she was full of defiance, at others she would run out of the house, and ramble about the streets until she was dead tired.
Lavinia was shrewd enough to discover why her mother did not want her at home. Mrs. Fenton, still good-looking, was not averse to flirting with the more presentable of her customers, and as Lavinia developed into womanhood she became a serious rival to her mother, so on the whole, Gay's proposition suited Mrs. Fenton admirably, and she certainly never bothered to find out if he spoke the truth. She was not inclined to accept his story of the boarding school as a stepping-stone to the stage, but to pretend to believe it in a way quieted what little conscience she possessed. If the scheme turned out badly, why, no one could say she was to blame.
Lavinia, tremulous with excitement and looking prettier than ever, came into the room where the poet was awaiting her. Her face fell when Gay talked about the boarding school and of the possibility of her having to remain there a long time, but she brightened up on his going on to say that the period might be considerably shortened if she made a rapid improvement.
"And do you really think, sir, I shall ever be good enough to act in a theatre like Mrs. Barry and Mrs. Oldfield, and—oh, and Mrs. Bracegurdle?" cried the girl, her eyes blazing with anxious ambition.
"I don't say you'll act like them. You'll act in your own way, and if you work hard your own way will be good enough. If you succeed the friends who are now helping you will be more than rewarded."
"Ah, I will do anything to please you, sir."
She caught his hand and impulsively raised it to her lips.
Gay was a little embarrassed at this outburst. Did it mean that the girl had fallen in love with him? He checked the rising thought. Yet there was nothing outrageous in such a possibility. Lavinia was only sixteen, it is true, and romantic sixteen might see nothing incongruous in thirty-seven, which was Gay's age.
"What pleases me, child, doesn't matter," he returned hastily. "I want to see you please others—in the play house I mean."
She looked at him wistfully.
"But," he continued, "it will be time enough to talk of that when I see how you get on. Now is it all settled? You're leaving this place and your mother of your own free will—isn't that so?"
Lavinia said nothing, but pinched her lips and nodded her head vigorously. The action was sufficiently expressive and Gay was satisfied.
Three days went by. Her Grace of Queensberry's maid, a hard-faced Scotswoman who was not to be intimidated nor betrayed into confidences, superintended Lavinia's shopping and turned a deaf ear to Mrs. Fenton's scoffs and innuendoes.
The girl was transformed. Her new gowns,