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Read Ebook: My Queen: A Weekly Journal for Young Women. Issue 5 October 27 1900 Marion Marlowe Entrapped; or The Victim of Professional Jealousy by Sheldon Lurana
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Ebook has 568 lines and 24510 words, and 12 pages
Again the man shrugged his shoulders and smiled at her calmly.
"What will you do about it, Miss Temper?" he asked, very coolly. "You certainly will not be so foolish as to break your contract?"
"Oh, I know what you mean," cried the woman, more wildly. "I can't sign another for two years without your permission. No manager would dare engage me. Oh, yes, I understand you."
"Well, you'll understand me better before I am done with you," said the manager, emphatically, "for I'll make Marion Marlowe a famous singer yet--so famous that people will forget that they ever listened to a croaker like Carlotta."
"That's it!" shrieked the woman, who had now grown livid. "That's right, Clayte Graham. Heap your sneers and slurs upon me! I have made money for you for years in more ways than one--but now that my voice is failing you throw me over."
"You have brought it on yourself, Carlotta, with your fiendish jealousy," said the man, more gently.
In an instant the woman was on her knees before him, the tears streaming over her painted face and her voice quivering with emotion.
"Oh, Clayte, Clayte, don't you know it is because I love you! Don't you know that there is nobody else in this world for me but you, and yet you reproach and abuse me for being jealous!"
"Pshaw!" said the man, indifferently, as he moved away from her. "You are in love with yourself far more than with me, Carlotta. You'd scratch the eyes out of my head this minute if you dared to."
The woman sprang to her feet and confronted him like a tigress.
"And you refuse to listen to my entreaties?" she asked, breathlessly. "Am I to understand that in future you will do nothing to please me?"
"I shall do nothing that interferes with my success in business," said the man, very sternly. "I would be a fool indeed to let myself be influenced by a woman."
The singer's breath was coming in gasps now, and she clenched her hands together until they were bloodless and rigid.
"Why do you like this girl so much, Clayte?" she asked, tensely. "Is she so much handsomer than I, or does she sing so much better?"
"The public think she is handsomer," said the man, evasively, "and you have read what the critics say about her voice."
"But you, Clayte, what do you think?" was the woman's eager answer; "what is there about her that makes you prefer her?"
Clayton Graham turned and looked the woman squarely in the eye.
"Her greatest charm is her modesty," he said, slowly and clearly, "and she is attractive to me because she is a virtuous woman."
If he had struck her with a lash the words could not have cut more deeply. The woman shrank away from him, her breath coming shorter and faster.
"That is like you, Clayte--to ruin a woman and then insult her!" she hissed between her teeth. "But beware, Clayton Graham. You had better not go too far! Carlotta has blood in her veins, real blood, that will avenge an insult. You may yet live to feel the power of a wronged and scorned woman."
For answer the manager promptly turned his back upon her. The next moment she was alone amid the mocking emblems of mirth. The last vestige of self-control vanished as she fell upon the floor in a perfect frenzy of passion.
"Wait! Wait!" she muttered over and over, between her set teeth. "Just wait until Carlotta has gained her self-control, then look out, Clayte Graham and Marion Marlowe, for, innocent though you are, I shall not spare you! I shall have my revenge! Aye, and it shall be a grand one! Leave a scorned woman alone for plotting vengeance! I shall play my cards most cleverly, but each play shall tell. They shall find me no weakling in the game of love and jealousy!"
She staggered to her feet and began dressing rapidly. It was time that she was out of the dark, empty building. Suddenly a light tap sounded on the dressing-room door.
The woman opened it and confronted a beautiful young girl. It was "Signorita Ila de Parloa," according to the programme, but in private life, no other than Marion Marlowe.
CAUGHT IN A TRAP.
"Pardon me, mademoiselle, but are you ill?" asked the beautiful girl, kindly. "I thought I heard you weeping, and I could not resist speaking to you."
She looked so sweet and innocent, standing there in the dismal place, that for a moment a flush of shame dyed the black-hearted woman's features; then a thought of Clayton Graham and the wrong he had done her flashed over her brain, and instantly the flame of jealousy leaped again within her.
"I must fool her," she thought in that one brief moment. "I must play my cards well, if I am to wreak my vengeance on this girl."
Almost like magic, a charming smile took the place of her frown, for Carlotta was an actress as well as a singer.
"I am ill, but only from grief," she murmured, brokenly. "A dear friend has died, and I have only just now heard of it."
She turned her face a little and put her handkerchief before it. She wanted to be sure that she had perfectly controlled her features.
"Oh, I am so sorry," said Marion, sympathetically, as she took a step forward and held out both of her white hands.
"It is dreadful to lose a friend. I am truly sorry for you, Carlotta."
"Dear Miss Marlowe, you are so good and sweet to me that I am almost tempted to ask you a favor."
"What is it?" asked the girl, with impulsive eagerness. "Oh, I shall be so delighted if I can comfort you."
"Come home with me to-night, dear," begged the woman, brokenly. "I shall grieve myself to death if I have to stay alone to-night. Do come; there is nothing to hinder you, is there?"
Marion Marlowe looked astonished at this request from a stranger, but she was not accustomed to stand upon ceremony when the opportunity was offered her to do a kindness.
"Only my twin sister," was her thoughtful answer. "Dollie will expect me, of course, and will be waiting up. You see she is married, and I am living with her at present. I would feel dreadfully to give her a night of anxiety."
She spoke so honestly that once more the woman felt a twinge of shame, but she steeled herself promptly against all feelings of sympathy.
"You can send her a message," she said. "I'll write it and tell her how kind you are to me. So, now, that is settled, and you are coming. I'll be ready in a minute and my carriage is waiting."
Marion helped her to adjust her wraps and then followed her to the carriage, the old door-keeper at the stage door staring after them curiously.
"That is queer," he muttered, with a shake of his head. "There is mischief in the wind; I'm as sure of it as I'm living."
But poor, innocent Marion did not dream of mischief; she was only happy to think that she was befriending this woman. Almost the first night of her appearance with the company she had felt that Carlotta disliked her, and her gentle heart had been pained by the thought. She could see no reason why Carlotta should be jealous of her.
"She is far more experienced and clever than I," she said to herself, for she was too thoroughly modest to ever overrate her own talents.
Now the woman was smiling at her and chatting pleasantly, and the noble girl's heart was rejoicing in the belief that she had been mistaken in the prima donna's sentiments and that Carlotta was really a friend to her.
"Is your sister as pretty as you are?" asked Carlotta, after they were seated in the carriage. She was gazing steadily at Marion with an expression of admiration.
"Of course you know you are pretty," she added, quickly. "All pretty women do, so you need not look so horrified."
"I think Dollie is much prettier than I," was the low, soft answer. "She has golden hair and eyes like the violets; then her form is so plump, and so pretty and graceful."
"Wasn't there something about the two of you in the papers not long ago?" was the singer's next question. "Wasn't she abducted or something, and didn't you rescue her?"
"A man who boarded with us in the country abducted her, yes," said Marion, slowly, "and I followed and saved her; he was Professor Dabroski, the Hypnotist."
"Heavens! What an experience!" said the woman, feigning great sympathy. "Did he--did he wrong her, Ila? But you need not answer; I see it pains you."
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