My mother turned to my father. "Do you understand this gibberish? What is the girl talking about?"
"I do not know," said my father. "Pray let her explain."
"Kitty Carslake, the actress, has been talking to me. She says I have talent."
"Oh!" said my mother. She looked reproachfully at my father. "This is what comes of play-acting. Did I not say that the Devil watches for the unwary? We should never have allowed it. Did I not say so at the time?"
"Nay, wife, we could not have objected at the time. It would have seemed like a criticism of Sir Henry and her ladyship."
"We should have refused to allow it, nevertheless. I told you so. Now look what's happened."
"It is a childish dream," said my father. "Young people have them at times. Not to be taken seriously."
"I like not this talk of play-acting. It is sinful. Actress indeed!"
"It is just fancy," soothed my father. "I tell you, it is not to be taken seriously. Now let us hear no more of the matter."
"I was telling you that I have had an opportunity which I do not want to miss," I said. "I am going to London."
"Is it Maria Willerton who is involved in all this?"
"If Sir Henry and Lady Willerton approve of Maria's —" began my father.
I said quickly: "It is not Maria. It has nothing to do with her. Mistress Kitty Carslake will take me to London with her. I shall have an opportunity to do what I want. I have a compulsion ..."
They were both looking at me in horror.
"I do not wish to hear another word," said my mother. "Go to London with an actress! London is no place for decent girls, and actresses are certainly no fit company for them. I am surprised that Sir Henry has such people in the house."
"Some of them are highly thought of," ventured my father, but my mother gave him a withering look.
"I never heard such nonsense, or such impertinence" she said. "Our daughter ... going to London ... with an actress!"
"It was not seriously meant." My father looked at me pleadingly. "Was it, Sarah?"
"But it was," I insisted.
"I think you must complain to Sir Henry," said my mother firmly. "I do indeed. Sarah should go no more to Willerton if she is expected to mix with actresses."
"She is Lady Donnerton, in fact," I said.
"But she is an actress, you say. I am really most distressed."
I realized that I could not go into explanations, for if I did I should betray the unsatisfactory nature of Kitty's marriage. I felt frustrated in the extreme. But what else had I hoped for? I had known from the start that I should never go to London with their permission.
I had done what Kitty had said I must; and the reaction was exactly what I had expected. I must take the matter no further with them and pretend to accept defeat.
My mother continued to talk of the wickedness of the theater. Satan's playground, she called it. The breeding ground of sin. I was sure she was wondering how much damage had already been done in the eyes of God, merely by my being concerned in it. There would be prayers for my wayward soul for days to come, I was sure.
My father looked miserable. He hated such contretemps while my mother seemed to revel in them. As for myself, I felt a mild exhilaration. I had passed the first test. I had steeled myself to tell them and the result was by no means unexpected.
They would never agree to my going to London, and I was more determined than ever to go.
I met Kitty in the Dell and told her what had happened.
"I did not proceed with it," I said. "My mother made it clear that she would never give her approval to my becoming an actress. She called the theater 'the breeding ground of sin.' " I gave a rather hysterical giggle. "I know more than ever that I can never reconcile myself to such an attitude. Even if you had not made the suggestion, I should have to get away."
"And your father?"
"He might have been persuaded, but he is easily overruled. My mother is so sure that she is right and that God and she are of one mind and everyone who does not agree with them is the Devil's own. You would have to know her to understand how it is."
"I understand full well. What did you tell her?"
"That you had offered to take me to London. Then I wondered whether I had said too much."
She shook her head. "Everyone will know that I am leaving my husband. As soon as this visit is ended, I shall be gone. What shall you do?"
"Tell me what I must do."
"If you have decided to take this chance, you will have to leave your parents' house soon. They will try to stop you and if they do I doubt if you will ever find it easy after that. You must let them believe that your desire to go was just a childish dream. Say no more about it to them. Listen carefully if they tell you how childish it was to have such notions and appear to accept what they say. That should be simple. You are an actress, remember. Then I shall make plans. Someone will come to take you to London. You must leave discreetly. You will bring a few clothes with you, but not much ... just what you can easily carry. I will give you more details when I am ready. If at any time you change your mind, you must let me know. There is a serving man at Willerton. His name is James. He works in the stables. He brought my notes to you before. He will get a note through to me should you change your mind and by him I will send instructions to you. You will have a little time to think about it and all it means. You must consider very carefully, for this is a great step which will change your entire life. You must be absolutely sure that you want this more than anything else. You must reflect that you are giving up a life of comfort, if dull. You are not content with it, I know, but you have to realize the hazards of the life you are choosing."
"I have. Oh, I have."
"You must be sure."
"I am sure."
"There is this respite. Remember that, until you have left, there is time to change your mind."
Then followed one of the strangest periods I ever lived through. Kitty's seriousness had communicated itself to me. It was indeed a gigantic step for a girl of fifteen to take. I fancied there were times when Kitty was terrified of what she had set in motion. I was too. The thought of leaving my home and family was alarming. I was fond of my father, but I had always been a little impatient of the way he allowed himself to be governed by my mother. As for my feelings for her, I could not honestly say that I loved her. She was too censorious of almost everyone except God; and in her mind they were always in agreement. No, I could not say, in truth, that I should regret leaving her, but I could not help wondering what effect my departure would have on her. She would rage against my wickedness, of course, prophesy the evil which would befall me in this life, while the fires of Hell awaited me in the next. I might even say that, apart from everything else, I should be relieved to escape from her. My father, though, would be very saddened, I knew. He would reproach himself for not paying more attention to this obsession of mine. I believed he would be unhappy and that made me pause.
But I had to go. That was becoming more and more clear to me as the days passed.
I waited for news from Kitty. It came in a letter delivered to me by James. He waylaid me and caught me as I was coming out of the house.
"I have a note for you from Lady Donnerton," he told me. "I have to go up to London on business for Sir Henry and I can take a letter back. If you come to the place you know in the grounds tomorrow afternoon at three of the clock I shall be there."
The letter he handed me confirmed the arrangements. In it she wrote:
I have left Lord Donnerton. He is very sad, hut he is old and it is not the same as an ardent young man. I am thankful for that. I now have a house in London which I share with a friend of long standing. You will join us for a start.