by Penny Dolan
Not quite. My heart was jumping at the pleasure of playing Puck. But then I had another thought.
‘What about Kitty? She could play this part as easily as anything, couldn’t she, no matter what Miss Lander thinks. Mr Adnam, sir, I’m new here, and Kitty would be wonderful –’
‘Enough, boy!’ Adnam raised his hand. His handsome face became a weary grey, and he sighed deeply. ‘What can’t be cured must be endured, Mouse. Quarrels have consequences, and Miss Lander, in spite of everything, is just as important to this Dream as good Vanya’s flying machine.’
‘But Kitty would be just right –’
He groaned. ‘No more, child.’ And then he gave me a strange look. ‘If there was a way round Kitty’s problem, I wish it could be found. Study the script. Study each and every one of Puck’s entrances and exits. Ask Kitty for help, if you think she will give it. Use your brains, Mouse, and do what you can. It will be exciting.’
It would.
Peter bustled in then. He scribbled down Adnam’s description of my costume for the Aunts and thrust it into my hand. I left, feeling very anxious. How would I tell Kitty?
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CHAPTER 56
SHOUTING OUT
The boy on the corner pitch shouted into the raucous traffic and stamped his badly fitting boots against the cold.
‘Albion! Excelsior! Lyceum! Empire! Read all about it! Best playhouses in the city! Read all about them here!’
He was sandwiched between wooden boards. Two hung from his shoulders, and above his head he balanced another. He was like a walking newspaper. Every surface was plastered with advertisements for new plays or shows.
‘One for you, mister! Here you are, miss!’ His pockets sprouted cheaply printed playbills, which he thrust at passing pedestrians. People whirled past him, stepped around him, ignoring his plaintive cries.
A red-cheeked fellow in a tight black suit stepped out from the passing trade. He studied the boards on the boy’s front and walked around to read those behind. The fellow had not seen what he wanted. He held out a bright coin, and the boy grinned.
‘What ya want to know, mister?’
‘A good show.’
‘Scenery? Music? Girls with legs all upsy-tupsy?’
‘Acrobats, boy. Trapezes. Wire acts. Clambering, climbing? That sort of thing?’
‘Ain’t no circuses ’cept at the old pleasure gardens, mister, and they ain’t the place for gentlefolk no more.’
‘Nothing else?’ The coin glinted.
‘Dunno. Wait! How long are you in town, mister? That Ugo Adnam’s got a new play jest about to start. Transformations. Dancing fairies. Very spectacular and grand. If anyone’s going to have high acrobaticals, it will be ’im.’
‘And where might this feast of delights be seen?’
‘Mate, don’t you know nuffing? Adnam’s the Albion, of course. Here y’are!’ The boy smoothed out a crumpled playbill and offered it to his enquirer.
The fellow took the bill, slipped the bright coin straight back into his own pocket and walked off.
‘Swizz!’ shouted the boy. ‘Rotten cheat!’
The man did not turn round.
A fresh flock of pedestrians crossed the road, coming his way. The boy’s spirits rose and he began barking again.
‘Albion! Excelsior! Empire! Amazing sights!’
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CHAPTER 57
DOUBLE TROUBLE
November’s cold had crept through the city. The days were brief patches of greyness between the long nights. Smoke poured from every kind of chimney, wreathing itself through the creeping fog, and making familiar journeys into strange adventures.
Travelling back from the theatre, Dora and Flora clung at our sides, seeing imaginary monsters and ghosts. They arrived home with faces blotched with tears.
‘No more walking,’ Aunt Indigo ordered, poking about in a big china jar. ‘An omnibus from now on.’ She placed some shining pennies on the table. Kitty hesitated.
‘Kitty, it will be no good if the girls are on their sickbed and cannot dance when the theatre needs them,’ Aunt Violet advised. ‘The new costumes have brought us in more money, and it’s only wise for you to take good care of yourselves. And that means all of you, my dears, even Mouse. Understand? Kitty, I will not be disobeyed in this matter. Put these coins in your purse.’
I didn’t give Peter’s costume notes to the Aunts at once. I wanted to wait until I’d told Kitty about the part I was to play in Adnam’s Dream.
My sleep was uneasy. I was haunted by the nightmare of a building with towers so gigantic that I could not see the sky or stars above. As I knocked at the tower, the huge door creaked open. Someone was there, but the light was glimmering and shimmering so wildly that I could not make out who the figure was. I stood waiting, clothed in nothing but pauper’s rags. I tried to speak my name, but with a terrible rushing and roaring of wind, the door slammed shut against my face and I was left outside, alone.
I woke up shivering, and welcomed the sound of Nick’s ticking clocks. Dog Toby snuggled closer, wuffling away my fear, anxious to be my friend. All of a sudden – and nothing to do with my nightmare – I saw exactly what Adnam was intending me to do.
With breakfast over, I dragged Kitty into the scullery. I told her about my lines and about playing Puck. Immediately her eyes darkened, and she almost looked as if she was going to strike me.
‘Wait, wait, there’s something else. Look here, Kit . . .’ I showed her the script. As we followed it line by line, I told her my thoughts. ‘Is it possible, Kit?’
She studied me for a moment, our eyes level, our faces close together. Then she laughed and took the script from my fingers. ‘Let me read it again, Mouse. I need to think this through.’
And then I gave the Aunts Peter’s note.
‘Stand still,’ said Aunt Indigo, scribbling down the measurements for my costume. ‘Don’t fidget, Mouse. So this flying harness wears away the cloth?’ she remarked. ‘Well, if two tunics is what his lordship asks for, that’s what he’ll get.’
‘Yes, certainly,’ I murmured.
It was time to block in Puck’s moves. Not all the scenery was in place, so we used chairs and stools and brooms.
‘We’ll rehearse the lines later.’ Adnam gave a dismissive Oberon-like wave of his hand. ‘We need to work out the pattern of your flight.’
Adnam described the arcs that I must swing in order to fly from one perching place to another. As Puck, I had to swoop above the fairy dancers and descend to gather the purple flower from a misty grotto and to put juice in the wrong lover’s eyes. I also had to be scolded a lot by Oberon, and I had to lead Arthur Boddy around, about and out of sight, so that Bottom could have the donkey’s head dropped on him.
I had to spy on Titania as she fell in love with this ass. I hoped that good old Arthur would take much delight in teasing the proud Bellina. Finally, I had to speak Puck’s farewell speech, before the cast came on for the finale and lots of cheers and applause.
‘Do you understand what I am telling you?’ said Adnam, his eyes sparkling with the joy of his play. I hoped I did.
From that afternoon, I was no longer playing about on Nick and Vanya’s machine, helping with their invention. I was flying for Adnam. I was Puck, the magical sprite, acting out my great master’s scheme.
Strangely, maybe it was that thought which unnerved me. Once the stagehand had checked my straps, and I faced the long view down, that faraway floor brought childish memories back into my mind. I was Mouse, doing what others ordered. Sweat gathered in beads across my forehead, and my stomach lurched.
Kitty waved up at me. Adnam stood there, waiting, but neither knew how small they seemed or how very far away. I hesitated. Then I leaped.
This time my flight tu
rned into a mix of ugly swoopings and landings as awkward as an overgrown goose. I tried again, and the second jump was even worse.
Kitty ran across the boards to me. ‘Mouse, don’t worry. Everyone gets scared at times, honestly. Try again. Become Puck in your mind, and only think about what fun the play will be!’
Up the rungs I went, telling myself I was not ordinary Mouse, tricked out in straps and lines. This time I was going to be Puck, because so much depended on this flight. This time the magic spell was going to work.
I took my position. Then, for a third time, I let go. Suddenly all was well. I swung and soared once more. Down I went, slowly gaining control, until my landing was no louder than a soft footfall.
‘Well done, lad. You will be even better tomorrow,’ said Adnam, shaking my hand. He glanced towards Kitty, but she had gone.
For hours the happiness wouldn’t leave my face. I was longing to fly in Adnam’s Dream, to soar before any audience the Albion offered. I was longing to be in that bright lightness, to become part of the magic land, to be that impish green trickster, that merry, mischievous Puck.
The weeks before the first night passed like a busy dream, and even when I was not flying, I felt as if my feet barely touched the ground. Isaac helped by bringing comforting messages from Ma whenever he came to tend the ponies. I told nobody what she wrote, or what I wrote back. I put all her notes safe in a small box by my pillow. Soon, very soon, we would meet again. Of course, if I asked, the Aunts would invite Ma to tea, but they were caught in their frantic web of stitchery, so I did not.
This was not the only reason I kept Ma to myself. I was afraid that if I started to bring these different parts of my life together, I would have started something that I could not stop. Kitty, caught between the life she wanted and the life she had, understood.
Adnam’s Dream appeared everywhere, not only on the cheap leaflets that young barkers handed out. Advertisements were all over the city – stuck on gas lamps, pasted on walls and hoardings, stuck on the panels of omnibuses – all announcing Adnam’s new production.
Newspapermen in crumpled tweed jackets visited the Albion. Supping ale and oysters, they scribbled down Adnam’s descriptions of the forthcoming play. The ladies’ magazines published illustrations of Bellina Lander as Titania, trailing the iridescent cloak of peacock feathers she would wear onstage, a garment that had cost more than a thousand guineas, even without its silken lining. Just seeing that cloak, in all its coloured glory, would be well worth the price of a good seat. The opening night had sold out already.
Aunt Indigo smoothed out the printed pages. ‘Hmm. “Proud queen” – that’s Bellina Lander all right. Can you imagine how that cape will bring the grand dames and their daughters into the Albion?’
‘All I can say is that I’m glad we didn’t have to stitch all those feathers together,’ Aunt Violet commented, rubbing her sore fingers. The Aunts’ gang of helpers and seamstresses chortled and giggled and celebrated their clever stitchery with dainty glasses of sherry.
News of the Dream was definitely out and about in the streets of the city. It was buzzed around the drawing rooms. The other theatres had tried their best: the Excelsior was putting on a pantomime, the Empire had a comedy and the Lyceum a moral historical, but all these shows were nothing compared to the magnificent spectacle the Albion had promised. Each ticket booked brought extra energy to Adnam’s stride and more confidence to the theatre’s backers.
News of my new role soon spread. Everyone had some advice for me.
Miss Tildy, a little astonished, wished me well. Arthur Boddy grinned while others whispered gruesome tales of past disasters in my ears. Smudge complained about the lack of theatre sweepers and folk who got too far above themselves. I could ignore all those. It was the attention of my friends that made me anxious.
Nick kept reminding me how important it was to check every strap, clasp and fastening. ‘Above all else, be sure of your own balance. Choose your own moment to fly, no matter how urgently Adnam needs you onstage,’ he lectured. ‘Any good actor can cover an unexpected pause, Mouse, but no actor can conceal a body crashing down on to the stage.’
At every meal, the Aunts recited my lines to me. Aunt Violet sang Puck’s songs until Kitty told her I knew the notes as perfectly as I ever would. Even Flora and Dora instructed me in the art of bowing for the grand finale.
Kitty smiled at me and I smiled back at her, but nobody who saw us – not even Flora or Dora – could guess what plans we had, or how quickly we would have to work.
Puck’s green clothes – tattered flags of gauzy fabric and dangling sprays of artificial leaves – hung in the theatre. I needed to get to know this new self, this flying Mouse, this woodland sprite.
First on was the harness, with its belts and straps. By now I could fasten that securely myself. Over that came the leaf-scattered tunic, and the trails of ivy that wound around my waist and shoulders.
‘Ready, Kit?’
She nodded, nervously this time. I climbed up, trailing my false greenery. Kitty climbed too, all the way up the ladder and out on to the walkway.
We examined the lines that would hold the harness, and the thinner wires that steered the flight, and I showed her how they were all fastened together.
I showed her where I had to stand for the leap, and how I’d hold on till the last moment, and which of the marks on the stage below indicated my earthly landing.
Kitty tested the clasps several times, just in case. ‘Watch out for those dangling leaves when you’re landing, Mouse. Don’t want to spoil things by tripping when you land, do you?’
‘Then I’ll take extra care, won’t I?’
Kitty laughed. ‘On the other hand, Puck’s such an odd, impish creature that nobody will be surprised by anything that happens.’
We sat, the pair of us, on the darkened walkway high above the theatre, and imagined the magical forest growing beneath our feet.
So the days ticked past. The Dream was rehearsed during the day, before the evening show started, which meant that Adnam brought in model stages for us to study. Everyone, actors and stage crew, must know how the Dream’s scenery was designed to work, as long as they kept it secret.
Then it arrived, the day when every single plan and scheme and wish had to come together. The transformation of the Albion was like nothing else.
All the old scenery was lowered and packed away. Then the changeover began. The crew set to work, raising freshly painted scenery into place, hauling backdrops and banner canvases into positions high above the stage.
The flat wings of each scene were hung so they could drop each side of the acting area. Small pieces like tree trunks and bushes and palace furniture were fixed with trolley wheels so they could be easily moved onstage or off. Prop tables and fire buckets were set out behind the cover of the great proscenium arch. Even the velvet house curtains had their heavy gold fringes dusted.
Up above, the lamps were cleaned and their new stock of coloured glass filters checked. Below, in the pit, the newly polished instruments caught the light, as reeds and strings and felt pads were replaced across the whole orchestra. One by one, all the costumes were labelled and set out in orderly fashion in the various dressing rooms. High and low, all was being prepared.
At last the final dress rehearsal came. Adnam was deadly serious. Every word and action must be observed meticulously. Vanya waited in the wings, his steady gaze checking every cue, every entrance and exit, and everything else in between. Even Bellina Lander acted graciously to the rest of the cast as she paraded around in her peacock cape, ready to steal the show.
Kitty caught me backstage. ‘Good luck. Break a leg!’
Everything worked well: the costumes, the lighting, the words and the music, the scenery changes, the watery fountains, the actors and dancers, the fairy ponies, even Puck’s longest flight, whe
re it seemed as if I was looping right over the almost empty seats.
Nick Tick, with Toby on a tight lead, observed the machine’s glorious action. All too quickly the magic hour was over. I felt happy, very happy, until I spied Vanya’s face furrowed in gloom.
‘Things are meant to go wrong on such a day, Mouse. The bad luck is still out there in the wings, waiting for its entrance. Not good, Mouse, not good.’
His face was dark with doom.
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CHAPTER 58
THE PRODIGAL’S RETURN
The moon shone through the huge windows and outlined the classical sculptures in the entrance hall with silver.
Scrope crept across the entrance hall, trying not to disturb anyone, especially Epsilon. He wanted to be alone so he could think. Sorry for everything? Perhaps. Sorry for himself? Certainly.
Scrope had not found Mouse at Murkstone Hall, but he had found boys in worn clothes running and racing more happily than he, as a boy, had ever run in the grounds of his father’s house. Scrope had found someone called Jarvey who had made that dismal school come alive, unlike the proud mausoleum to which he had returned.
Moreover, Scrope had seen another sight in his searches. The sooty bones of that burnt-out farm were smeared across his vision, almost as if his bitter command to Button had only just been spoken.
It seemed the child had disappeared, and Scrope’s quest had become cold as a grave. What was also odd, thought Scrope, was that Mr Button seemed to have disappeared too. He had not visited Scrope’s city rooms, hinting about payments. He had stopped sending strangely threatening letters. Surely this absence was not some game on Button’s part? Or some flickering of generosity? A faint hope lit in Scrope’s soul, then faded. He knew that Button had never been amused by a kind act.
Scrope passed silently along the corridor, past the swags of velvet curtains, past the portraits on the wall. No doubt about it, he was in greater distress than usual. What would Epsilon say when Scrope did not bring the boy to him? What would he do?