Anna the Adventuress Part 44

"Perhaps," he said, "I have been to blame. It must be my fault that you have not learnt that your husband is the man to come to--at such a time as this. Oh, I think I understand, Annabel. You were afraid of me, afraid that I should have been shocked, afraid of the scandal.

Bah. Little woman, you have been brave enough before. Pull yourself together now. Drink this!"

He poured out a gla.s.s of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips. She drank it obediently.

"Good," he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks.

"Now listen. You go to your room and ring for your maid. I received a telegram, as you know, during dinner. It contains news of the serious illness of a near relation at Paris. Your maid has twenty minutes to pack your dressing case for one night, and you have the same time to change into a travelling dress. In twenty minutes we meet in the hall, remember. I will tell you our plans on the way to the station."

"But you," she exclaimed, "you are not coming. There is the election----"

He laughed derisively.

"Election be hanged!" he exclaimed. "Don't be childish, Annabel. We are off for a second honeymoon. Just one thing more. We may be stopped. Don't look so frightened. You called yourself a murderess.

You are nothing of the sort. What you did is called manslaughter, and at the worst there is only a very slight penalty, nothing to be frightened about in the least. Remember that."

She kissed him pa.s.sionately, and ran lightly upstairs. In the hall below she could hear his firm voice giving quick commands to the servants.

_Chapter XXVIII_

THE HISSING OF "ALCIDE"

There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm.

Anna, who had sung the first verse of her song, looked around the house, a little surprised at the absence of the applause which had never yet failed her. She realized in a moment what had happened. Even though the individual faces of her audience were not to be singled out, she had been conscious from the first moment of her appearance that something was wrong. She hesitated, and for a moment thought of omitting her second verse altogether. The manager, however, who stood in the wings, nodded to her to proceed, and the orchestra commenced the first few bars of the music. Then the storm broke. A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. Then a roar of hisses. They came from every part, from the pit, the circle and the gallery, even from the stalls. And there arose too, a background of shouts.

"Who killed her husband?"

"Go and nurse him, missus!"

"Murderess!"

Anna looked from left to right. She was as pale as death, but she seemed to have lost the power of movement. They shouted to her from the wings to come off. She could not stir hand or foot. A paralyzing horror was upon her. Her eardrums were burning with the echoes of those hideous shouts. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. The stage manager came out from the wings, and taking her hand led her off. There was more shouting.

The stage manager reappeared presently, and made a speech. He regretted--more deeply than he could say--the occurrence of this evening. He fancied that when they had had time to reflect, they would regret it still more. ("No, no.") They had shown themselves grossly ignorant of facts. They had chosen to deliberately and wickedly insult a lady who had done her best to entertain them for many weeks. He could not promise that she would ever appear again in that house.

("Good job.") Well, they might say that, but he knew very well that before long they would regret it. Of his own certain knowledge he could tell them that. For his own part he could not sufficiently admire the pluck of this lady, who, notwithstanding all that she had been through, had chosen to appear this evening rather than break her engagement. He should never sufficiently be able to regret the return which they had made to her. He begged their attention for the next turn.

He had spoken impressively, and most likely Anna, had she reappeared, would have met with a fair reception. She, however, had no idea of doing anything of the sort. She dressed rapidly and left the theatre without a word to any one. The whole incident was so unexpected that neither Courtlaw nor Brendon were awaiting. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. Anna stood on the step and looked up and down the street for a hansom. Suddenly she felt her wrist grasped by a strong hand. It was Ennison, who loomed up through the shadows.

"Anna! Thank G.o.d I have found you at last. But you have not finished surely. Your second turn is not over, is it?"

She laughed a little hardly. Even now she was dazed. The horror of those few minutes was still with her.

"Have you not heard?" she said. "For me there is no second turn. I have said good-bye to it all. They hissed me!"

"Beasts!" he muttered. "But was it wise to sing to-night?"

"Why not? The man was nothing to me."

"You have not seen the evening paper?"

"No. What about them?"

He called a hansom.

"They are full of the usual foolish stories. To-morrow they will all be contradicted. To-night all London believes that he was your husband."

"That is why they hissed me, then?"

"Of course. To-morrow they will know the truth."

She s.h.i.+vered.

"Is this hansom for me?" she said. "Thank you--and good-bye."

"I am coming with you," he said firmly.

She shook her head.

"Don't!" she begged.

"You are in trouble," he said. "No one has a better right than I to be with you."

"You have no right at all," she answered coldly.

"I have the right of the man who loves you," he declared. "Some day you will be my wife, and it would not be well for either of us to remember that in these unhappy days you and I were separated."

Anna gave her address to the driver. She leaned back in the cab with half-closed eyes.

"This is all madness," she declared wearily. "Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?"

"It is not persecution, Anna," he answered gently. "Only you are the woman I love, and you are in trouble. And you are something of a heroine, too. You see, my riddle is solved. I know all."

"You know all?"

"Your sister has told me."

"You have seen her--since last night?"

"Yes."

Anna s.h.i.+vered a little. She asked no further questions for the moment.

Ennison himself, with the recollection of Annabel's visit still fresh in his mind, was for a moment constrained and ill at ease. When they reached her rooms she stepped lightly out upon the pavement.

"Now you must go," she said firmly. "I have had a trying evening and I need rest."

"You need help and sympathy more, Anna," he pleaded, "and I have the right, yes I have the right to offer you both. I will not be sent away."