Changeling

by Sarah Rayne

  The words died in his throat. He stared down at the dreadful, incomplete face that had been so well hidden by the mask, and that was now so mercilessly exposed, even in the dark, and his mind spun with disbelief and horror.

  There was a moment when they held one another’s stare, sharing the appalling knowledge, and Flynn felt painful compassion scald through him. He drew breath to speak, although he had no idea what he was going to say. He had no idea what anyone could have said in such a situation.

  And then Christian ducked his head away with the pitiful, defensive gesture again, and pushing Flynn back against the wall, snatched the mask out of his nerveless hands, and fled into the shadows.

  ‘Well, I don’t know what you expect me to do about it,’ said Tod, irritably, thinking it was exactly like Flynn to cause problems when everyone ought to be looking forward to celebrating a wonderful success. They were all going on to Marivaux’s later, and Tod would be wearing his new dinner jacket because a person of his standing could not be seen at Marivaux’s looking shabby. He had been looking forward to wearing the new jacket and to receiving the congratulations, and to waiting for the papers to appear, and it was too bad of Flynn to spoil it all.

  He said, ‘Even if there was an intruder down there, I don’t see that we need to involve the police. I daresay it was no more than a tramp. Some poor creature looking for a place to sleep.’

  Some poor creature with a face so unbelievable that it flinches from the light, and hits out like a trapped cur at anyone who tries to unmask it . . . Hell and the devil! thought Flynn, angrily, I don’t want to feel pity for the thing. It nearly bloody throttled me!

  But when Tod said, ‘Did you recognise him?’ he said at once, ‘I did not. It certainly wasn’t anyone I knew.’

  ‘Well, could you give a description to the police?’

  Could I give a description . . . Deform’d, unfinish’d, sent before my time/Into this breathing world scarce half made up . . . The words of Shakespeare’s tormented, warped Richard formed in Flynn’s mind and he scowled and said, ‘Not a description that would be of any use. But we could have the theatre properly searched after the show.’

  ‘Why? Why should we do that?’ Tod did not want the police crawling all over the place again, poking into corners and upsetting everyone. There was the question of it all being leaked to the papers as well, because these things always did get leaked. And then before they knew it, people would be muttering about runs of bad luck and old curses waking, and the next thing would be everyone saying that Cauldron was doomed and the Harlequin was an unlucky house. And the box office receipts would plummet. Tod felt quite ill at the thought. He felt positively sick when he remembered the bank’s chilly attitude and the second mortgage, to say nothing of phrases like ‘lien on the receipts’, and even ‘repossession of the house’. So he said, very sharply, ‘The intruder isn’t still down there, is he?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I think he got out, although I don’t know where he went; I wasn’t in a mood to be taking notes.’

  ‘Well, did you find anything else down there?’

  ‘Nothing much. Charles II’s Letters Patent to Drury Lane – the original, of course, which means the one the present incumbents keep in the vaults is a fake. I expect Killigrew mortgaged it or Scum Goodman auctioned it, or somebody seduced it out of Garrick. Oh, and there was the mouldering body of an actor-manager down there as well, and a couple of mummified money-lenders, still waiting for their pound of flesh.’

  ‘Oh, stop it,’ said Tod, crossly, because the reference to money-lenders had flicked him on the raw. ‘I mean anything that would provide a clue to the intruder.’

  ‘Only a cobweb-draped corpse, clutching a Shakespearean first folio in its fleshless fingers—’

  ‘For heaven’s sake—’

  ‘At the very least won’t you alert the security firm for later on?’ said Flynn, angrily. ‘Remember Mia Makepiece?’

  ‘Oh, blow Mia Makepiece,’ said Tod, who was so pleased with the little red-haired understudy he had almost convinced himself he had planned the entire thing deliberately. ‘She went off with a man,’ he said. ‘Anyone knows that.’

  ‘I don’t know it. Makepiece doesn’t know it.’ Flynn studied Miller through narrowed eyes. ‘What about it, Toddy? Will I ask Stephen to phone the security firm?’

  ‘Oh well, I suppose so. All right then. I daresay Stephen would do it. I haven’t time,’ said Tod, grandly. ‘I’ve got far too much to do. The supper party at Marivaux’s for one thing – I suppose you’re coming to that, are you? Yes, I thought you would. Well, make sure you brush down your evening suit beforehand. You look as if you’ve been rolling about in the dust.’

  ‘I have been rolling about in the dust,’ said Flynn. ‘I’ve just told you so.’

  ‘And then there’s my daughter arriving at any minute – I could have done without that, I don’t mind admitting, but there’s some garbled story about her having trouble getting out of the house and missing the first two acts – I don’t know why, and of course the office never gets any message right. It’s all very annoying.’

  It had been extremely annoying to be sought out by some officious female, with a message that Fael would be arriving at the front entrance in about fifteen minutes, and could some arrangements be made to meet her, please? There were any number of people who could have met Fael’s taxi and helped her into the theatre, but Tod did not dare risk letting anyone else do it. He could not trust Fael not to make some ridiculous public accusation, which would upset the entire applecart and even mean that Tod might have to rewrite his author’s speech for the curtain-fall. So he was going to meet Fael himself, and he was going to whisk her into a vacant box after the third act curtain had gone up, and he would jolly well see to it that she did not get the chance to spill any embarrassing beans!

  And so he said loftily that what with one thing and what with another, he really had no time to be worrying about stray down-and-outs; Flynn had his permission to do whatever he thought best, providing the police were not called in. And now if Flynn would excuse him, there was still a roomful of journalists upstairs and they would think it very odd indeed if no one from the company was present.

  Flynn said, with malicious pleasure, ‘I’ll go and talk to your journalists, Toddy.’

  ‘No, you will not,’ said Tod, crossly, and banged out of his office to discover how Fael had got out of the house and down to the theatre.

  Fael thought she had managed pretty well. She had smashed the large pane of glass out of the garden door using a small hammer, and then she had wrapped a thick towel around her hand and knocked the splinters through, dropping the towel over them. She was pretty sure she could half-crawl, half-drag herself through without too much difficulty. The door would have to stay like this until tomorrow when a glazier would have to be called out, but she could prop a board over the hole to keep out the cold. A board would not keep a burglar out, of course, but Fael was not in a mood to care if the entire underworld broke in and loaded up a pantechnicon. She was a little horrified to discover how angry she still was with Tod, but only a very little.

  She went back into her own room, discarded the sweat-soaked silk shirt, donned a clean one, sloshed on some Ma Griffe, and phoned the taxi firm and the theatre. She was quite brief with the Harlequin, explaining that she had encountered a problem, but her father was expecting her, and please could they get a message to him to meet her in fifteen minutes’ time? The theatre staff were helpful and friendly. Certainly they would get a message to Mr Miller, they said. No, it was no trouble at all. And they would have a wheelchair ready as well; they always had one or two to help people who fainted or sprained their ankles on the stairs. Fael had forgotten how committed theatres and concert halls were to the disabled these days, and she thought it was nice of whoever was on the other end of the phone not to actually use the word disabled. It was not particularly nice to have to rely on wheelchairs and other people, but at least she would get
to see some of the performance.

  It was annoying to find that it was Tod himself who came down the steps, and pushed the small chair through the foyer and up a steep ramp. He said, shortly, that there were no seats left – or none that Fael could get to without making a disturbance – and so he was taking her up to one of the boxes. They could use the small maintenance lift, and could get her settled before the third act curtain went up, he said. He was off-hand and over-grand, which meant he was feeling guilty. Fael considered this as they went up the ramp and then into the small rattletrap lift, and saw that there would be no point in forcing a show-down now; her father would simply walk away. She would wait until they could be face to face.

  The Harlequin had only eight boxes, and they were all rather small, but they were pretty plush. The one that Tod trundled Fael into had six velvet-covered seats, three at the front and three behind, and there was a thick curtain across the back. It was not as private as it had probably been when there would have been a wall and a door to the outer foyer, but the heavy curtain would shut out quite a lot of things and it was quite private.

  Tod said, ‘I suppose you’ll be all right here, will you?’ It was not really a question: he was avoiding her eyes and backing away, glancing anxiously at his watch. Fael said, ‘Perfectly all right, thank you,’ and then, just as he was turning away, said, ‘By the way, you’d better let me have my keys to get back in to the house later.’ And saw the hot flush stain his neck. The bastard!

  Tod made a little show of searching his pockets, saying, rather elaborately, that he was hopelessly impractical, always losing keys and not understanding how locks worked. Fael said, ‘Or wheelchairs either?’ at which Tod found the key at once and handed it over.

  ‘Thank you. I’d better take it, hadn’t I?’ said Fael. ‘We might arrive home separately.’

  Tod threw out his chest a bit and said that was very probable indeed, because there were any number of things he might become involved in later on. In fact it might be better not to expect him home too early. Presumably he could safely leave her to find her own way home? he added.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Fael, cheerfully. ‘Especially now I’ve got my key back,’ and Tod went thankfully off.

  It was like her father to tuck her away somewhere where she could not cause trouble, but she would think how to deal with Tod later. For now it was enough – oh God, yes, it was more than enough! – to simply be here, to feel the marvellous warmth of the old theatre ebbing and flowing all about her, and to know what was ahead. I’ve missed a good half, thought Fael. But I refuse to feel cheated or disappointed; I’ll just make jolly sure to come back tomorrow night and see it all. And anyway, there are still two acts to come.

  She manoeuvred the chair to the front and slid carefully onto one of the velvet-covered seats. This instantly made her feel stronger and more confident. She was sitting in an ordinary seat like an ordinary person, and she could lean over the ledge and look down on the stalls and across to the upper and dress circles. If people looked up they would only see somebody seated normally in a box. Fael wished she had not had to discard the cream silk shirt, but she was wearing a pale green one which was nearly as good, and she had kept the jade ear-rings on.

  The interval bell had not sounded yet and the house lights were still up. But quite a lot of people were in their seats, and Fael could see them, studying their programmes, leaning forward to talk to one another. A warm buzz of conversation and of pleased anticipation lay on the air, and Fael experienced a sudden feeling of immense well-being. Because I managed to get here against all the odds? Because I’ve routed my father’s petty little plot? Or because I can feel that everyone’s enjoying Cauldron? Yes, of course it’s that. This is all mine, thought Fael, with sudden delight; I’ve caused all this. And with the thought came a stir of fear and a little breath of coldness, as if someone had brushed icy fingers across the back of her neck. I didn’t create quite all of it. I had help; I had a collaborator, a dark satanic familiar.

  Despite the theatre’s warmth she shivered. He’s here, of course – Scathach. Is he? Yes, of course he is, you fool, he’s somewhere in the theatre; watching and waiting.

  So strong was the feeling of Scathach’s presence, that the soft footfall beyond the box’s curtain sent her heart leaping up into her throat, and she half twisted round, expecting to see the cloaked and masked silhouette framed against the fall of dark blue velvet. And if it is him, if he really is here, I’ll have to do whatever he tells me, thought Fael, wildly. Even if he tells me to stand up at the end and denounce my father to the entire theatre, I think I’ll have to do it. I won’t be able to help it. That’s the curtain at the back being pulled aside now. He’s here, he’s in the box with me . . .

  Her heart was knocking against her ribs, and she saw with annoyance that she was clasping her hands so tightly together in her lap that the knuckles had turned white. But when she did turn completely round she saw that it was not him at all. It was a young man, five or six years older than she was, wearing extremely well-cut evening clothes which did nothing to conceal a distinct air of raffishness, and the kind of slender whipcord strength that suggested he might be a good person to have on your side in a fight. He had untidy black hair and the most startling good looks Fael had ever seen, and he was regarding her with unashamed interest.

  ‘Fael Miller,’ said this unexpected young man. ‘Isn’t it? I’m Flynn Deverill. I was there when your father had the message about you arriving, and since I’m the only person with nothing to do just now I thought I’d come up to see if you wanted any company.’

  Fael said, ‘That’s nice of you. We spoke on the phone, didn’t we?’

  ‘We did.’ He came into the box. ‘If you’d rather be on your own say so and I’ll vanish.’ He appeared to look round the box as if he might be searching for something. ‘You don’t look like your voice, by the way,’ he said, absently.

  ‘Neither do you.’

  ‘No, it’s one of my greatest assets, although my voice is a bit husky just now on account of a little difference of opinion with an intruder.’

  ‘What are you looking for?’

  ‘Oh, the theatre ghost, or the theatre cat, whichever I can find.’

  ‘Or the intruder you encountered earlier?’

  He glanced back at her as if to say: One up to you. But he only said, ‘The intruder’s long since gone. But ghosts have this unpleasant habit of stealing into places where people are alone and unprotected.’ He looked about the box thoughtfully, and then glanced back at Fael. ‘I don’t think there are any ghosts up here,’ he said, and grinned suddenly. Fael blinked. ‘I’ve brought you a drink,’ said Flynn, holding up a bottle of wine and two glasses. ‘This is a great show, you know. And it had a brilliant designer.’

  ‘You,’ said Fael.

  ‘Me,’ said Flynn. Again the grin. ‘D’you know, a man could get drunk on this show without touching a drop of wine,’ he said. ‘But we could drink the wine anyway. We’ll dispel the ghosts and the chill—’

  ‘And the intruder.’

  ‘And the intruder,’ agreed Flynn. ‘And we’ll pile the logs upon the fire and pour with generous hand the old wine from the Sabine jar—’

  ‘You sound as if you’ve already poured several Sabine jars fairly freely.’

  ‘I have,’ said Flynn at once. ‘It’s wine that has played the infidel and robbed me of my robe of honour— Not that I ever had much honour to begin with, you understand, and I never knew what robes had to do with it. And although this isn’t strictly speaking a Sabine jar, it’s a pretty good claret. Will I pour you a glass and put it here for you?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’ The wine was already uncorked. ‘What would you have done if I’d refused?’ demanded Fael.

  ‘Drunk it all myself, what do you think? And you don’t mean ”thank you”, do you? You mean, “sod off, I can pour my own wine.”’

  ‘I wouldn’t have been quite so direct,’ said Fael, watching him fill the two
wine glasses. ‘But the sentiment’s the same.’

  ‘You hate being dependent.’

  ‘Yes. How did you know?’

  ‘I’d hate it as well. Is it permanent? That wheelchair?’

  ‘You do go straight to the point, don’t you? No, it isn’t permanent. Only a rather long gluing-together process. Oh, you’re right about the wine, it’s very good.’

  ‘Of course it’s good, I chose it myself,’ said Flynn. ‘If we’d relied on your father we’d both have been as sick as cats after one mouthful. There’s no need to glare at me; he’s your father, you should know how mean he is.’

  Tod was as mean as a waggonload of misers, but Fael was not going to admit it to a stranger. She said, coldly, ‘Do you think you ought to talk about your employer like that?’

  ‘Oh, everyone knows what Toddy is.’ He topped up his own glass, and set the wine bottle on the floor near her chair. ‘That’s the second bell. I’ll leave you to enjoy what’s left of the show,’ he said. ‘You’d rather watch it on your own, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘You have a look,’ said Flynn, studying her. ‘And it’s a look of mental hunger. As if you want to concentrate very intensely indeed.’

  ‘Well I do, rather.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Flynn, thoughtfully. ‘I thought so. I’ve seen that look once or twice before.’ He frowned, and Fael thought he was about to say something that was neither flippant nor vaguely insulting. But when he did speak he only said, ‘Will I see you at Marivaux’s later on?’

  ‘I don’t think—’

  ‘For once my motives are pure,’ said Flynn. ‘I’m thinking of the ghosts and the intruders.’

  ‘Knight errantry, in fact.’

  ‘Yes. If I was going to seduce you, I wouldn’t be so devious. Well?’

  Fael took a quick sartorial inventory. Green velvet trousers and waistcoat, black Gucci boots – yes, good enough. She said, ‘All right. Marivaux’s it is.’