The Regent

by Arnold Bennett

  VI

  "Come up here, Sir John," Edward Henry called. "You'll see better, andyou'll be out of the crowd. And I'll show you something."

  He stood, in a fur coat, at the top of a short flight ofrough-surfaced steps between two unplastered walls--a staircase whichultimately was to form part of an emergency exit from the dress-circleof the Regent Theatre. Sir John Pilgrim, also in a fur coat, stoodnear the bottom of the steps, with the glare of a Wells light full onhim and throwing his shadow almost up to Edward Henry's feet. Around,Edward Henry could descry the vast mysterious forms of the building'sskeleton--black in places, but in other places lit up by bright raysfrom the gaiety below, and showing glimpses of that gaiety inthe occasional revelation of a woman's cloak through slits in theconstruction. High overhead two gigantic cranes interlaced their arms;and, even higher than the cranes, shone the stars of the clear springnight.

  The hour was nearly half-past twelve. The ceremony was concluded--andsuccessfully concluded. All London had indeed been present. Half thearistocracy of England, and far more than half the aristocracy of theLondon stage! The entire preciosity of the Metropolis! Journalistswith influence enough to plunge the whole of Europe into war! In oneshort hour Edward Henry's right hand (peeping out from that superbfur coat which he had had the wit to buy) had made the acquaintance ofscores upon scores of the most celebrated right hands in Britain. Hehad the sensation that in future, whenever he walked about the beststreets of the West End, he would be continually compelled to stop andchat with august and renowned acquaintances, and that he would alwaysbe taking off his hat to fine ladies who flashed by nodding frompowerful motor-cars. Indeed, Edward Henry was surprised at thenumber of famous people who seemed to have nothing to do but attendadvertising rituals at midnight or thereabouts. Sir John Pilgrim had,as Marrier predicted, attended to the advertisements. But Edward Henryhad helped. And on the day itself the evening newspapers had taken thebit between their teeth and run off with the affair at a great pace.The affair was on all the contents-bills hours before it actuallyhappened. Edward Henry had been interviewed several times, and hadrather enjoyed that. Gradually he had perceived that his novel ideafor a corner-stone-laying had caught the facile imagination of theLondon populace. For that night at least he was famous--as famous asanybody!

  Sir John had made a wondrous picturesque figure of himself as, in araised corner of the crowded and beflagged marquee, he had flourisheda trowel, and talked about the great and enlightened public, and aboutthe highest function of the drama, and about the duty of the artist toelevate, and about the solemn responsibility of theatrical managers,and about the absence of petty jealousies in the world of the stage.Everybody had vociferously applauded, while reporters turned rapidlythe pages of their note-books. "Ass!" Edward Henry had said to himselfwith much force and sincerity--meaning Sir John--but he too hadvociferously applauded; for he was from the Five Towns, and in theFive Towns people are like that! Then Sir John had declared thecorner-stone well and truly laid (it was on the corner which theelectric sign of the future was destined to occupy), and after beingthanked had wandered off, shaking hands here and there absently, toarrive at length in the office of the clerk-of-the-works, where EdwardHenry had arranged suitably to refresh the stone-layer and a fewchoice friends of both sexes.

  He had hoped that Elsie April would somehow reach that little office.But Elsie April was absent, indisposed. Her absence made the oneblemish on the affair's perfection. Elsie April, it appeared, had beenstruck down by a cold which had entirely deprived her of her voice, sothat the performance of the Azure Society's Dramatic Club, so eagerlyanticipated by all London, had had to be postponed. Edward Henry borethe misfortune of the Azure Society with stoicism, but he had beenextremely disappointed by the invisibility of Elsie April at hisstone-laying. His eyes had wanted her.

  Sir John, awaking apparently out of a dream when Edward Henry hadsummoned him twice, climbed the uneven staircase and joined his hostand youngest rival on the insecure planks and gangways that coveredthe first floor of the Regent Theatre.

  "Come higher," said Edward Henry, mounting upward to the beginnings ofthe second story, above which hung suspended from the larger crane thegreat cage that was employed to carry brick and stone from the ground.

  The two fur coats almost mingled.

  "Well, young man," said Sir John Pilgrim, "your troubles will soon bebeginning."

  Now Edward Henry hated to be addressed as "young man," especially inthe patronizing tone which Sir John used. Moreover, he had a suspicionthat in Sir John's mind was the illusion that Sir John alone wasresponsible for the creation of the Regent Theatre--that without SirJohn's aid as a stone-layer it could never have existed.

  "You mean my troubles as a manager?" said Edward Henry, grimly.

  "In twelve months from now--before I come back from my world'stour--you'll be ready to get rid of this thing on any terms. You willbe wishing that you had imitated my example and kept out of PiccadillyCircus. Piccadilly Circus is sinister, my Alderman--sinister."

  "Come up into the cage, Sir John," said Edward Henry. "You'll get astill better view. Rather fine, isn't it, even from here?"

  He climbed up into the cage, and helped Sir John to climb.

  And, standing there in the immediate silence, Sir John murmured withemotion:

  "We are alone with London!"

  Edward Henry thought:

  "Cuckoo!"

  They heard footsteps resounding on loose planks in a distant corner.

  "Who's there?" Edward Henry called.

  "Only me!" replied a voice. "Nobody takes any notice of me!"

  "Who is it?" muttered Sir John.

  "Alloyd, the architect," Edward Henry answered, and then calling loud,"Come up here, Alloyd."

  The muffled and coated figure approached, hesitated, and then joinedthe other two in the cage.

  "Let me introduce Mr. Alloyd, the architect--Sir John Pilgrim," saidEdward Henry.

  "Ah!" said Sir John, bending towards Alloyd. "Are you the genius whodraws those amusing little lines and scrawls on transparent paper, Mr.Alloyd? Tell me, are they really necessary for a building, or do youonly do them for your own fun? Quite between ourselves, you know! I'veoften wondered."

  Said Mr. Alloyd, with a pale smile:

  "Of course everyone looks on the architect as a joke!" The pause wassomewhat difficult.

  "You promised us rockets, Mr. Machin," said Sir John. "My mind yearnsfor rockets."

  "Right you are!" Edward Henry complied. Close by, but somewhat abovethem, was the crane-engine, manned by an engineer whom Edward Henrywas paying for overtime. A signal was given, and the cage containingthe proprietor and the architect of the theatre and Sir John Pilgrimbounded most startlingly up into the air. Simultaneously it began torevolve rapidly on its cable, as such cages will, whether filled withbricks or with celebrities.

  "Oh!" ejaculated Sir John, terror-struck, clinging hard to the side ofthe cage.

  "Oh!" ejaculated Mr. Alloyd, also clinging hard.

  "I want you to see London," said Edward Henry, who had been throughthe experience before.

  The wind blew cold above the chimneys.

  The cage came to a standstill exactly at the peak of the other crane.London lay beneath the trio. The curves of Regent Street and ofShaftesbury Avenue, the right lines of Piccadilly, Lower Regent Streetand Coventry Street, were displayed at their feet as on an illuminatedmap, over which crawled mannikins and toy-autobuses. At their feet along procession of automobiles were sliding off, one after another,with the guests of the evening. The Metropolis stretched away, liftingto the north, and sinking to the south into the jewelled river onwhose curved bank rose messages of light concerning whisky, tea andbeer. The peaceful nocturnal roar of the city, dwindling every momentnow, reached them like an emanation from another world.

  "You asked for a rocket, Sir John," said Edward Henry. "You shall haveit."

  He had taken a box of fusees from his pocket. He struck one, and hiscompanions
in the swaying cage now saw that a tremendous rocketwas hung to the peak of the other crane. He lighted the fuse....An instant of deathly suspense!... And then with a terrific and ashattering bang and splutter the rocket shot towards the kingdomof heaven and there burst into a vast dome of red blossoms which,irradiating a square mile of roofs, descended slowly and softly on theWest End like a benediction.

  "You always want crimson, don't you, Sir John?" said Edward Henry,and the easy cheeriness of his voice gradually tranquillized thealarm natural to two very earthly men who for the first time foundthemselves suspended insecurely over a gulf.

  "I have seen nothing so impressive since the Russian Ballet," murmuredMr. Alloyd, recovering.

  "You ought to go to Siberia, Alloyd," said Edward Henry.

  Sir John Pilgrim, pretending now to be extremely brave, suddenlyturned on Edward Henry and in a convulsive grasp seized his hand.

  "My friend," he said hoarsely, "a thought has just occurred to me. Youand I are the two most remarkable men in London!" He glanced up as thecage trembled. "How thin that steel rope seems!"

  The cage slowly descended, with many twists.

  Edward Henry said not a word. He was too deeply moved by his owntriumph to be able to speak.

  "Who else but me," he reflected, exultant, "could have managed thisaffair as I've managed it? Did anyone else ever take Sir John Pilgrimup into the sky like a load of bricks, and frighten his life out ofhim?"

  As the cage approached the platforms of the first story he saw twopeople waiting there; one he recognized as the faithful, harmlessMarrier; the other was a woman.

  "Someone here wants you urgently, Mr. Machin!" cried Marrier.

  "By Jove!" exclaimed Alloyd under his breath. "What a beautifulfigure! No girl as attractive as that ever wanted _me_ urgently! Somefolks do have luck!"

  The woman had moved a little away when the cage landed. Edward Henryfollowed her along the planking.

  It was Elsie April.

  "I thought you were ill in bed," he breathed, astounded.

  Her answering voice reached him, scarcely audible:

  "I'm only hoarse. My Cousin Rose has arrived to-night in secret atTilbury by the _Minnetonka_."

  "The _Minnetonka_!" he muttered. Staggering coincidence! Mysticheralding of misfortune!

  "I was sent for," the pale ghost of a delicate voice continued. "She'sbroken, ruined; no courage left. Awful fiasco in Chicago! She's hidingnow at a little hotel in Soho. She absolutely declined to come to myhotel. I've done what I could for the moment. As I was driving by herejust now I saw the rocket and I thought of you. I thought you ought toknow it. I thought it was my duty to tell you."

  She held her muff to her mouth. She seemed to be trembling.

  A heavy hand was laid on his shoulder.

  "Excuse me, sir," said a strong, rough voice, "are you the gent thatfired off the rocket? It's against the law to do that kind o' thinghere, and you ought to know it. I shall have to trouble you--"

  It was a policeman of the C Division.

  Sir John was disappearing, with his stealthy and conspiratorial air,down the staircase.

  CHAPTER VIII

  DEALING WITH ELSIE