They pulled up at the stage door a minute later, and Silas was the first man out.
‘You better come with me, Jimmy,’ he said. ‘Fecks, you see to the horses and then meet Lucy and the others, okay?’
‘Da.’
‘You have your ticket?’
Another short, affirmative answer came down to him along with James. Thomas stepped from the coach, and Fecker drove off as soon as the door was slammed.
‘What are you doing?’ Thomas hissed, as he followed Silas to the stage door.
‘Just leave the talking to me,’ Silas said, ushering them in.
He was surprised to find the lobby empty apart from Mr Keys at his counter. He expected backstage to be alive with runners and singers, musicians and everyone else needed to stage a large production, but it was silent.
‘Hello again, Mr Keys,’ he said as the old man looked up. ‘Bet you didn’t think you’d be seeing me again so soon.’
‘Mr Hawkins,’ he replied, and his eyes immediately flashed to Thomas and James. ‘Can I help you?’
‘You can,’ Silas beamed and leant on the counter. ‘I need to speak with Jake, and it’s urgent. Where is he?’
‘He’ll be prompt side running the calls,’ the doorkeeper said. He was still eying the others suspiciously. ‘You should sign in.’
Silas knew the routine. ‘You remember what I told you this afternoon about security?’ he asked as he scribbled. ‘Well, Mr Payne is the viscount’s butler, and James is his first footman. You probably know that the King of… um…’ He passed the pen to James and cocked his head. James understood and signed the book. ‘He’s here now, and His Lordship wanted me to bring the staff this way so they would already be in the theatre when he accompanies His Majesty to the box.’
James passed the pen to Thomas, and by the time Silas had waffled through an excuse, all three were signed in and heading towards the stairs.
‘You’ve not seen anyone suspicious have you, Mr Keys?’ he asked as he swept by, hoping the man would make no objection.
‘No, Sir. No-one’s come through here who’s not listed, apart from you… Do you know where you’re going?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Silas was already at the first turn of the stairs. ‘Much obliged, Mr Keys. All above board.’
‘What exactly are you doing?’ Thomas demanded with no etiquette as they reached the entrance to backstage.
‘Trust me, Tommy, and you’ll see.’ His hand was on the door as he looked them up and down. ‘Just wanted to say, you make a stunning couple.’
‘Get a move on!’ Thomas was not in the mood for pleasantries.
The first time Silas had passed through this door, he had entered a kind of heaven. A huge towering place of peace and intrigue. This time, it was like entering hell. The tower still rose a hundred feet above, and the walls were still lined with ropes and levers, but now, the floor space was crowded with men rushing here and there, musicians edging through singers with their instrument cases, and men in shirtsleeves, sweating over floor-plans. Despite the mayhem, it was strangely peaceful. Most people were silent, but those who spoke did so in calm, controlled voices, whispering and saying only what needed to be said, as if everyone concerned was fearful of waking the set that slept in dimly lit anticipation. An occasional whistle echoed from above followed by the rumble of pullies and the creak of ropes.
Silas led his friends forward to the stage manager’s desk, passing the props table. This time, the labelled trays were in use. His eyes flicked over a scroll, a golden chalice and other necessary items neatly placed, and at the end, Aeneas’ sword. He stopped, checked he was not being watched and picked it up.
‘Da capo?’ James queried.
‘It’s wooden,’ Silas said. ‘As blunt as my tongue.’
‘Da capo?’
‘From the head, Tommy,’ Silas reminded him. ‘It doesn’t have to be a gunshot.’
‘Oi! What d’you…? Oh, very sorry, Mr Hawkins.’
They had arrived at the stage manager’s corner, but there was no sign of Jake. Silas checked his watch and kept a cool head.
‘Good of you to remember me, Sir,’ he smiled at a man whose name he couldn’t remember. ‘Lord Clearwater has a problem, and I believe Jake can help. But we are pressed for time…’
The stage manager interrupted him with a wave, his other hand flying to his mouth where he whistled a shrill, distinctive note.
‘Tricky will be here in a second, Sir. Is there anything we need to know?’
‘Actually…’
Silas was desperate to remember his name, but it escaped him. To cover it, he coughed and put a finger to his lips. The man’s bushy eyebrows came together, and he leant closer.
‘I need to let you know one small thing,’ Silas whispered. ‘It’s his Lordship’s wishes, and to be made known only when necessary.’
His words, contained between his cupped hand and the older man’s ear, were lost in the general hubbub, and when he had finished, the man removed his cap and wiped his forehead.
‘If you are sure, Sir.’
‘I am, my friend.’
‘Well, you’re His Lordship’s secretary, and he’s paying us Sunday wages on a Saturday night. Does front of house know?’
Silas wasn’t sure what he meant, but said, ‘Yes.’
‘Hm. Very well.’
Jake came to a skidding stop at Silas’ feet.
‘Hello, Mr Silas,’ he chirped. ‘Didn’t expect to see you back here.’
‘Jake, I need your help. Actually, I need this butler at the Royal Box in the right livery in fifteen minutes. Can you do it?’
He stepped back to show the lad Thomas dancing anxiously from one foot to the other, and James beside him, gawping up at the fly tower.
‘And Jimmy there needs to get out front.’
‘They don’t call me Tricky for nothing,’ Jake beamed. ‘Follow me.’
Jake spun on his heels and was off in a shot, leaving Silas to drag James away and encourage Thomas, once again, to trust him. They caught up with the runner at the base of the downstage spiral staircase.
‘Through there, Sir,’ the lad said, pointing James towards a door. It was black and painted into a black wall, a brass fingerplate the only clue to its presence.
‘Jimmy, I won’t be long.’ Silas held his arm as he passed. ‘If you get the chance, tell his Lordship everything will be fine.’
‘Are you sure, Sir?’ James was concerned. It was the first time Silas had seen him worried.
‘Yeah.’
‘You know what you’re going to say?’
‘Not a clue, mate,’ Silas laughed. ‘I’m making this up as I go along. Remember, eyes open.’
James nodded and hurried to the door. Silas didn’t see him leave; he and Thomas were running to keep up with Jake. It was easy to see why they called him Tricky. He was as slippery as an eel, and just as hard to catch.
‘You’re not putting me in a costume,’ Thomas gasped, the realisation finally dawning on him.
‘Certainly am, Tommy,’ Silas replied. He was already short of breath, and they were only on the first landing.
‘What did James mean?’ Thomas asked showing no signs of fatigue.
‘About what?’
‘What you are going to say.’
‘Ah, don’t worry about that, Tommy.’
‘At present, I am worried about everything,’ Thomas muttered. ‘Good God!’ He ducked just in time to avoid an overhead beam. ‘Are we safe?’
‘As long as you stay with me,’ Jake said. ‘Keep up, Mr Butler.’
They followed him along the gantry dodging stagehands to another staircase where he bounded upwards.
‘Who do you want to be tonight, Tommy?’ Silas puff
ed. ‘Think of it. You’ve got the entire costume department of the City Opera House. What do you reckon, Sweeny Todd?’
‘This is not a joking matter.’
‘What about Quill the Ripper?’
‘That is completely inappropriate.’
‘Bill Sykes?’
‘Stop it.’
Silas laughed. No matter the situation, it was always fun to wind Thomas the wrong way.
‘In here, Sirs.’
Unfortunately, there was no time for games. Jake had led them off the stairs and into a passage lined with doors. The sound of background bustle was replaced with the sounds of machines spinning and irons hissing. The air was scented with powder underscored by a faint tang of sweat.
Jake stopped at an open door and hurried Silas closer as he knocked. They stepped into a workshop. The walls were lined with wardrobes and chests, racks of clothes hung in rows and a line of workbenches to one side was a forest of wigs. In the centre, a grand, well-dressed woman stood beside a rail of outlandish costumes while around her, maids stitched and ironed. The woman held the end of a hanging skirt in one hand and a needle in the other, scrutinising a seam over half-moon glasses. She looked up.
‘Oui?’
‘Sorry to bother you, Madame LaRache, but Viscount Clearwater’s man needs assistance, and I need the Figaro rack. May I?’
‘Vou certainly may not!’ the woman exclaimed, as horrified as if Jake had asked to eat her firstborn. ‘Who are zeez people?’
Silas, who had been checking his watch, dropped it with improvised horror.
‘I may ask you the same thing, Madam,’ he blustered, seemingly outraged. ‘You clearly do not recognise a gentleman’s man when you see one, but I can assure you, we are both.’
He wasn’t quite sure if what he said made sense, he had borrowed the tone from Mrs Marks, but the woman was clearly not used to being spoken to in such a manner.
‘Vot are you insinuating?’ she retorted, her French accent thickening. ‘Zat I do not know…?’
Thomas interrupted her with a string of words in a language Silas assumed was French, and his mouth dropped open. Madame LaRoche was similarly shocked. She crossed herself, removed her glasses, and by the time Thomas had finished saying whatever it was he was saying, she had thrown her arm wide, and was ushering Jake towards a wardrobe.
‘What the hell was that?’ Silas whispered as they followed. He nodded graciously to the costumier as he passed, there was no point in making enemies.
‘Flattery,’ Thomas replied.
‘You speak French?’
‘Not at all,’ Thomas chuckled. ‘It was from a song. Something about the charms of fair ladies and fields of poppies, I think. “Maiden fair I am sore distressed, my master has me thus undressed,” is the English translation,’ he explained, pleased with himself. ‘Or it might have been something about getting naked behind a hayrick.’ He looked back nervously.
Jake threw the wardrobe doors wide and presented them with a row of costumes.
‘The house production is set in modern times,’ he explained, sorting through red and gold tailcoats. ‘There are wigs upstairs.’
‘Not necessary,’ Thomas said, elbowing Silas aside and raking through the jackets. He paused, dropped his head and turned to Silas. ‘Thank you.’
Silas saw he meant it. ‘You’ve got ten minutes, Tom,’ he encouraged. ‘Jake?’
He took the younger man to one side out of earshot of the maids, and without thinking, put his arm around his shoulder.
‘Jake, man,’ he said. ‘I need you to do something for me, and you’re going to want to say no.’
Jake pulled away with a worried glare.
‘No, nothing like that,’ Silas tutted. ‘You’re a nice lad and all, but, no… Not that.’
Jake relaxed, and Silas didn’t know whether to be insulted or impressed. The runner had read him as well as Silas was able to read any man, but there had been no intention, only force of habit.
‘Listen,’ he continued. ‘I need you to change the calls.’
‘Do what?’
‘I’ve spoken to the stage manager, Mr What’s-his-name, and he knows the score. I assume he’ll tell everyone who needs to know, but the only person who is not to know is Cadwell Roxton.’
‘Know what?’ Jake was keeping an eye on the time. ‘You got to be quick.’
‘What’s the next call?’
‘It’ll be the fifteen, and soon.’
‘Then give everyone fifteen, but give Roxton twenty. Can you do that?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘Can you do it for Viscount Clearwater?’
‘I shouldn’t.’
‘Can you do it for me?’
Jake regarded him with uncertainty. Beside them, Thomas was exchanging his waistcoat for another.
‘Why, Mr Silas?’ Jake asked. ‘I might if I know why. Only, I could lose my job and granddad’s too probably.’
‘The viscount takes full responsibility,’ Silas said, knowing it to be untrue. ‘You see, the King of the Nether Regions has turned up, and they need to delay everything for five… Why are you laughing?’
‘Netherlands,’ Jake smirked. ‘Not… Never mind. You sure Mr Butterworth knows?’
‘Is that his name? Yes, he does. Honest Jake, it’s a very urgent matter. Keep Roxton away from the stage until after I’ve made his speech.’
‘What did you say?’
Thomas was caught half into a pair of breeches. He stared at Silas, his mouth open, trying to keep his balance on one leg.
Jake slipped to his side and caught his elbow. ‘Let me, Sir,’ he said, and the call boy turned instantly into a dresser.
‘What do you mean, make his speech?’ Thomas was so aghast he didn’t object to Jake’s assistance.
‘If he goes on and says anything, they’ll kill him,’ Silas clarified. ‘Even if he carries out their instructions this Stella character is going to do away with him.’
‘There’s extra security out front,’ Jake said, overhearing. ‘If there’s any trouble brewing, His Majesty has guards. Granddad’s been special cautious like you asked, Mr Silas, and front of house are wide awake ’cos they’re not used to having rough folks up in the gods.’
‘Thanks, Jake, very good to know,’ Silas smiled. ‘But it’s not going to help. Tom, if he makes the speech he is supposed to, they’re going to do it, that’s what the threat’s all about. But if he doesn’t make any kind of speech at all, we will have longer to look for whoever might be planning it. You get me?’
‘Not entirely,’ Thomas admitted. He was buttoning his fly as Jake tugged the breeches to align the hems below his knees.
‘Trust me,’ Silas said.
‘You ask that too easily and too often.’
‘Hey, Tom.’ Silas approached and straightened the waistcoat Jake was slipping him into. ‘You’ve got your duties, I’ve got mine. You keep an eye on His Lordship and Lady Marshall. Doctor Markland and his bird are part of Archer’s party, so watch them too…’ Thomas glared and threw his head towards Jake, now preparing the tailcoat.
‘It’s okay, Tommy,’ Silas said, hooking the buttons while Thomas pulled on white gloves. ‘Your job is to support Archer. I know he doesn’t look it, but he’s a wreck inside.’
‘You don’t have to tell me.’
‘You’re right, I don’t.’ Silas brushed his epaulettes. ‘You’re his best mate, and I’m not here to replace you. I’m here to protect him and all of us. Tell His Lordship not to be alarmed. I’m going to watch you from our box. If you suspect anything or anyone, give me a signal, yeah? Do this.’ He ran his hand across his hair as if flicking it back. ‘And I’ll do the same. If I see you do that, me or Jimmy will be there like a shot, yeah?’ Thomas nodded. ‘You l
ook outrageously handsome, by the way.’
‘Give over.’
‘Gents, I’ve got to run,’ Jake said. ‘You know the way back?’
‘Yeah, go. And thanks, Jake. Remember, five minutes late for Mr Roxton, right?’
‘Whatever you say, Mr Silas.’
‘And, Jake? You haven’t heard any of this.’
‘Any of what, Sir?’
‘Good man.’
The runner doffed a cap he wasn’t wearing and scurried away, calling ‘Fifteen minutes, ladies.’
‘Fifteen minutes!’ Thomas paled. ‘And we have no idea what lies ahead.’
‘You’re telling me.’
Silas draped Thomas’ discarded livery over one arm, bowed cheekily to Madame LaRache who was too busy licking her lips at Thomas to notice, and hustled him from the workroom.
‘Who am I looking out for?’ Thomas asked as they took the passage. ‘What does this Stella look like?’
‘I don’t know,’ Silas admitted. ‘I’ve never seen his face, not properly. But you can bet he’ll be doing something he shouldn’t be doing. There’s not a lot you can do now, but keep your eyes open and check in with me from time to time.’
They reached the spiral stairs and carried on down.
‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ Thomas muttered, leaping nimbly from the bottom step. Stopping at the house entrance, he turned to Silas. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you to be jealous of my friendship with Archer.’
‘What?’ Of all the things Silas had on his mind, that was the last. ‘I don’t get jealous.’
‘Well, actually, you do. I noticed it yesterday. Only in small ways and not so that Archer would see, but I feel it. Please. Like you, I only want what’s best for the man I… I am lifelong friends with.’
Unspeakable Acts Page 21