Murder Dancing

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘So you’re Demdike?’ said Fran, serving Jonathan a large slice. ‘Why did the previous one leave? I would have thought this was a great – do you say part in dance theatre?’

  ‘Yes, well.’ Jonathan took his paper plate. ‘There was an incident.’

  ‘Oh, like Chattox’s cockerel?’

  ‘Oh, you know about that?’

  ‘Max warned Libby and Ben. Just in case anything else happened.’

  ‘I’m sure it won’t.’ Jonathan sounded confident. ‘Now we’ve left London.’

  ‘Why? What difference does that make?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Well –’ Jonathan looked confused for a moment. ‘I suppose I assumed that whoever was behind all this stuff was in London. He won’t have followed us here.’

  ‘You said “he”,’ said Fran. ‘Do you know who it was?’

  ‘No, of course not. I’d have said if I did. It’s just – we’re all men. It won’t have been a woman.’

  ‘Could have been.’

  Fran turned to see a large, blond man holding out a plate.

  ‘Hi, I’m Dan. Could I have another piece?’

  Fran laughed. ‘OK. But what did you mean “it could have been”? A woman?’

  ‘Well, yes. A couple of people have been a bit – well – a bit … surprised that we’re danseurs playing women.’

  ‘Really?’ Fran handed over the cake. ‘Not unusual, is it? Apart from recent pieces, what about La Fille mal gardée? The famous clog dance.’

  Jonathan and Dan both sighed and rolled their eyes.

  ‘Why does everyone know that?’ Jonathan shook his head. ‘And I bet most people couldn’t tell you what the hell the ballet is about.’

  ‘It’s a bit of a hotch-potch, isn’t it?’ said Fran. ‘The general public only know the Frederick Ashton version, I would think.’

  Dan and Jonathan looked at her with respect.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Jonathan. ‘I sounded rude.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Fran. ‘I suppose the people who object are those who only view witches as women with hooked noses and tall hats.’

  Dan snorted. ‘Fairy tale witches.’

  ‘Arthur Rackham witches,’ said Jonathan surprisingly.

  ‘Well, yes, though his were scary,’ said Fran. ‘But it was the Victorian view, wasn’t it? All witches were female, when, in fact, they weren’t.’

  ‘The Pendle witches were female, though,’ said Dan.

  ‘So you’re saying that a woman could have been scandalised enough to play nasty tricks on the company just because the piece is danced by men?’ Fran looked doubtful.

  ‘It does sound a bit naff, doesn’t it?’ Dan sighed. ‘Oh, well, just a thought. My wife actually thought of it. She says women have much nastier minds than men!’

  ‘Not all men,’ said Jonathan. He looked round the room, his eyes resting suggestively on Stan Willis and Seb, who, as usual, was looking gloomy.

  ‘Who are they?’ asked Fran.

  ‘That’s Stan Willis, the stage manager,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘And company manager,’ added Dan.

  ‘And that’s Seb with him. He’s Stan’s partner.’

  ‘And ASM,’ added Dan.

  ‘Which is which?’

  ‘Stan’s the one with the glasses, and Seb’s the miserable looking one with red hair.’

  ‘Doesn’t he like being the ASM?’ asked Fran.

  ‘I don’t think he much likes being Stan’s partner,’ said Jonathan with a giggle.

  ‘So which of them has the nasty mind?’ asked Fran. ‘You implied that one of them had.’

  ‘Oh, Stan, of course.’

  ‘Shhh, Jon!’ Dan nudged Jonathan sharply. ‘Don’t stir anything else up.’

  Fran raised her eyebrows, but nothing more was forthcoming. She went across to join Libby, who introduced her to Phillip Newcombe and Will Davies.

  ‘I must say I’m finding all these names very confusing,’ said Fran, ‘especially when everyone has a character name, too!’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about it,’ said Phillip. ‘We’re all interchangeable. Just a load of poofy dancers to the general public.’

  Fran looked shocked.

  ‘Don’t take any notice, Fran,’ said Libby. ‘I’ve only known Phillip a couple of days and I’ve already decided he’s the wasp of the company.’

  Phillip beamed delightedly. ‘Darting around hither and yon seeing whom I can sting.’

  ‘I see you were making friends with Jonathan and Dan,’ said Libby.

  Fran nodded. ‘Jonathan said he thought whoever had been playing tricks on the company would still be in London.’

  ‘Unless it’s one of us,’ said Will.

  ‘Why would one of you do something like that?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s Jon himself. To get to dance Demdike.’ Phillip eyed the two women with glee.

  ‘I shall consider you seriously,’ said Libby.

  ‘You will?’ Phillip looked taken aback.

  Libby grinned. ‘Not really. But it must have been rather upsetting for you all. What actually happened?’

  Phillip looked at her sideways. ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘She’s nosy,’ said Fran. ‘Always has been.’

  ‘Our beloved leader will tell you. You’re friendly with him, aren’t you?’ Phillip picked up his bag from the floor. ‘I’m off to have a shower.’

  Will watched him weave his way through the other dancers and pause to have a word with Stan Willis.

  ‘I don’t know why he was like that,’ he said. ‘He’s one of the biggest gossips in the company.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Libby. ‘I don’t suppose many of you want to talk about it.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t we?’ Will looked surprised. ‘We all talked about it all the time. Especially when Paddy and Gerry left.’

  ‘Was one of them the original Demdike?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Yes – Paddy. He was very good. I’ve worked with him before. Well,’ he gave a shrug, ‘I’ve worked with most of them before, either in Max’s company or in the West End.’

  ‘Which do you prefer?’ asked Libby. ‘This is more straight ballet, isn’t it?’

  ‘Nearer to it, anyway,’ said Will. ‘And of course I prefer this sort of thing, but it doesn’t pay as well. I expect I’ll be doing panto by Christmas.’

  ‘Why?’ said Fran. ‘It’s nearly the end of October. You’d know by now, wouldn’t you?’

  Will shrugged again. ‘Normally, yes. But this production was supposed to run right up to and past Christmas, and none of us thought we’d need panto.’

  ‘Then what’s changed?’ asked Libby.

  ‘The atmosphere. It’s just too tense. It’s a good show, but it’s looking – I don’t know – fated.’

  ‘Had you got a theatre?’ said Fran.

  ‘Off Broadway.’ Will grinned. ‘If you know what I mean. But yes, we have. If we go in.’

  ‘But what on earth could be nasty enough to stop the show?’ asked Libby. ‘I got the impression from Max that the cockerel was the worst event.’

  ‘Physically, yes.’ Will perched on the arm of a chair and rubbed a hand over his face. ‘It was the letters.’

  ‘Letters?’ said the women together.

  ‘We all got at least one.’

  ‘All?’ gasped Libby.

  ‘Most of them were just nasty little digs about being gay, which is a laugh because half the company aren’t gay. Then a couple of people got second letters accusing them of all sorts of things, and finally Paddy and Gerry both got really threatening letters.’

  ‘Threatening to do what?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Burn them.’

  ‘Burn them?’ said Fran.

  Libby burst out laughing. ‘That’s absurd. You can’t burn people these days.’

  ‘It quoted quite graphic examples,’ said Will. ‘True ones.’

  ‘And they would be burnt why?’

  ‘It was more or less along the lin
es of “if you carry on pretending to be witches you’ll be treated like them.” Only worse, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘So the complaint seems to be against – what? The portrayal of the witches by men, or the portrayal of them at all?’ said Libby.

  ‘There was a lot of balls about it being against nature.’ Will shook his head. ‘I didn’t see Paddy’s and Gerry’s, but that’s what it said in some of the earlier ones.’

  ‘Seems rather odd,’ said Fran, staring fixedly at nothing in particular.

  ‘That’s an understatement,’ said Libby.

  ‘No, odd in that none of it seems coherent. It looks as though someone is trying to stop the production and doesn’t really care how.’

  Libby and Will looked at her in surprise.

  ‘Actually stop the production?’ echoed Will.

  ‘Well, what other reason is there?’ Fran was reasonable. ‘Nothing seems directed at one individual, does it? And what’s against nature? Dancing? Theatre? Men dressed as women?’

  ‘Don’t forget there was some animosity against gays,’ said Libby. ‘Even if it was misdirected.’

  ‘Well,’ said Will, standing up, ‘I’m just glad we’re out of London and we can all forget about it.’

  ‘I’m not so sure of that,’ murmured Fran, as Will wandered out to the hallway.

  ‘What?’ said Libby.

  ‘That it’s all over. After all, Max asked us to look into it. Why?’

  ‘What do you mean, why? To find out what was going on, of course.’

  ‘Because he thought there was a threat to the production, obviously.’

  ‘Oh! Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘And he brought them all down here.’ Fran was looking thoughtful. ‘Why?’

  ‘To talk to us,’ said Libby, beginning to feel worried.

  ‘That’s a hell of an expense just to get two nosy women to talk to his troupe, isn’t it?’

  ‘You think there was more to it?’

  Fran looked at her friend. ‘Don’t you?’

  Next morning, they found a rat, suspended by its neck, hanging in the middle of the stage.

  Chapter Seven

  Sebastian, who had opened up the theatre in advance of the company, called Max and then Stan. Max called Ben, who called Hetty and Peter.

  ‘They’re not to go into the theatre,’ Ben told Libby, as he drank a hasty cup of tea before going to join a council of war. ‘Sebastian’s been told to go over to the Manor and hold them all there.’

  ‘I’ll go up and help,’ said Libby. ‘Seb will be needed at your council of war, and Hetty won’t cope on her own.’

  ‘All right.’ Ben gave her a quick kiss and left. Libby sighed, put the mugs in the sink and went to get dressed.

  As soon as she set foot inside the sitting-room at the Manor, she was surrounded by anxious dancers.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Seb wouldn’t tell us a thing!’

  ‘It’s another incident, isn’t it?’ Alan Neville’s voice came from the back of the room. The others fell silent.

  ‘I believe it is,’ said Libby. ‘I’m sure you’ll be told all about it in due course, but in the meantime, does anyone want any more coffee or tea?’

  She escaped into the kitchen and explained to Hetty what was going on. Hetty shook her head.

  ‘Brought trouble, that’s what,’ she muttered, manoeuvring the huge kettle onto the Aga hotplate.

  Libby eyed her nervously. Hetty’s relationship with the theatre had been ambivalent in the past.

  ‘I’ll go and collect cups,’ she said.

  As she crossed the hall, Ben appeared in the doorway.

  ‘They can come across now,’ he said. ‘Sebastian got the thing down, but Max is furious. Will you bring them across? I’ve got to go and wash.’ He disappeared to his estate office where there was a convenient shower room.

  Libby went back to the kitchen.

  ‘Cancel the tea and coffee, Hetty. I’ve got to shepherd them all across to the theatre. I’ll come back and help clear up in a bit.’

  ‘You carry on, gal,’ said Hetty. ‘I’m all right on me own.’

  Libby went back to the sitting-room, where disconsolate dancers were sitting or lounging with boneless grace.

  ‘OK, you can come over, now,’ she said, and stood aside as they all made for the door.

  In the auditorium, Max asked them all to sit down. He stood on the stage, while Stan fidgeted at the side, and Sebastian sat alone on the edge looking miserable.

  ‘As I’m sure you’ve all guessed we’ve had another incident,’ Max began. ‘It has been dealt with and has caused no harm to anyone, but it was unpleasant.’

  ‘What was it?’ called someone.

  ‘A rat,’ said Stan. ‘A hanged rat.’

  Various expressions of disgust quivered round the auditorium.

  ‘Someone must have got into the theatre during the night,’ said Max. ‘Apart from Ben, Peter and Libby, the only people who have keys are Stan, and Sebastian and me. None of us was responsible, so I’m asking now if anyone here knows anything about it.’

  ‘None of them will admit it if they are,’ Peter murmured in Libby’s ear. ‘Can’t make it out myself.’

  As expected, no one in the auditorium had anything to say.

  ‘Very well,’ said Max, ‘then we will carry on with rehearsals. Warm up on-stage in five minutes please.’

  He strode off into the wings, followed by Stan. Sebastian stayed on the edge of the stage. Libby went and sat beside him.

  ‘You found it, didn’t you?’

  Sebastian nodded. ‘Horrible, it was. I felt so sorry for it.’

  ‘I wonder how they caught it?’

  ‘I expect they found it.’ Sebastian shuddered. ‘Whoever “they” are. I just can’t understand why.’

  ‘No, neither can I. Did you think it would stop when you came down here?’

  ‘I suppose I did. Stan said the show was doomed, but he’s never exactly a ray of sunshine.’

  Libby regarded him with interest. ‘Do you actually like Stan?’

  Sebastian grinned. ‘No, actually I don’t. And before you ask why the hell I’m shacked up with him, I’ll tell you. I owe him. He got me out of a bit of trouble a year or so back, and he’s kept me around like a pet bloody monkey ever since.’

  Libby diplomatically didn’t ask about the trouble. ‘Were you already in the theatre?’

  ‘Stage Management degree. But I buggered up. Stan – ah – rescued me. And here I am.’

  ‘Well, it’s quite a good start,’ said Libby cautiously.

  ‘Suppose so. But I want to do proper theatre.’ He turned to her hastily. ‘Not that this isn’t a proper theatre …’

  Libby laughed. ‘I know what you mean. Drama?’

  ‘Yes.’ A dreamy look came over Sebastian’s face. ‘I’d love to work at The Globe.’

  ‘Wouldn’t we all,’ said Libby. ‘Come on. We’d better get off the stage or we’ll get trampled.’

  She wandered to the back of the auditorium, where Ben was now standing with his arms folded and a scowl on his face.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘They’ve messed up the bloody lanterns.’

  ‘Oh. Did they hang the rat from one of the barrels?’ The barrels were the bars on to which the stage lights, or lanterns, were attached.

  Ben nodded. ‘And young Seb had to move everything to get the rope off.’

  ‘Why didn’t he just cut it?’

  ‘He did, but we still had to get the rope off. It was wound round one of the lanterns. Now we’ve got to re-set and probably re-plot.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Libby left him glowering at the stage and crept up the spiral stairs to the lighting box.

  ‘Is it as bad as Ben’s made it sound?’ she asked Peter.

  ‘Oh, we can re-set, that’s no problem, but obviously we can’t do it while they’re rehearsing.’

  ‘So that means wh
at? Tonight?’

  ‘Suppose so.’ Peter looked across at Damian, who still sat with earphones on gazing at the stage.

  ‘Does he ever take them off?’ whispered Libby.

  ‘Not when he’s up here.’ Peter shook his head sadly. ‘Musicians, eh?’

  Libby went back to the Manor, collected more dirty cups from the sitting-room and took them into the kitchen.

  ‘I hope we don’t get any more so-called incidents,’ she said to Hetty, as she piled them next to the dishwasher.

  ‘What d’yer make of it, then?’ asked Hetty.

  ‘What do I make of it? I’ve no idea!’

  ‘Bit odd, if you ask me.’ Hetty turned and leant back on the sink, folding her arms. ‘Don’t follow, some’ow.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Like that business when we opened the theatre.’

  ‘The Hop Pickers?’ Libby was bewildered. ‘How?’

  ‘Different things, weren’t they? The murder weren’t nothing to do with it.’

  Libby stared and Hetty turned to the Aga with a shrug.

  The Hop Pickers had been written by Peter based on events in Hetty’s family background and was the opening play at the Oast Theatre. A murder had somewhat marred proceedings, and various other incidents had complicated matters. Hetty obviously had the idea that the situation regarding the Tobin Dance Theatre was similar.

  Libby called Fran as she walked home down the Manor drive.

  ‘Why would she think that?’ she asked. ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘Neither do I. There hasn’t been a really awful incident, has there?’

  ‘The worst was the cockerel, I should think. Although the rat this morning wasn’t pleasant. There hasn’t been anything really dangerous, either. Not like The Hop Pickers.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s simply all the small things adding up, and Hetty thinks it’s all going to erupt in something nasty.’

  ‘I suppose so, but there’s no indication of that, is there? And I must admit I thought they would have left it all behind in London.’

  ‘Have you talked to Max?’

  ‘No,’ said Libby. ‘I expect he’ll want to have a chat later, though. I don’t think I can tell him anything. I’m wondering exactly what he thought we’d be able to do.’