by Pamela Brown
“Anthony, civil war! Every man fighting his neighbour! Oh, those dastardly Roundheads. And you might be killed.” She clung to him.
Mrs. Potter-Smith, who had kept up a running commentary on the whole of the programme, whispered to the lady sitting next to her, “Of course, I know they’re brother and sister, but I mean to say – is it quite the thing?”
Anthony removed her arms. His face was set. “Listen, my sweet Julia, and try to understand. I must go at once to London.”
“To London?”
“To fight.”
“But why not here with my father? He would give you a post in his regiment.”
Anthony shook his head. “I could not do that. My place is not here.”
“Your place is fighting for your king!” Julia stopped. She read in his face what was wrong. “Anthony – you’re not, oh – you’re a –”
“That is so. I am a Parliamentarian, a Roundhead. Now, Julia, I must say good-bye.”
Lyn’s face was stony. “Good-bye, Anthony.”
“Have you no more to say?” pleaded Jeremy. “Think you that this makes any difference to us?”
“It makes all the difference in the world. Good-bye.”
She watched him go, then sat down on the rustic bench, bewildered and stunned. She walked across the stage, and in the wings Bulldog handed her a rose, the one already used in Spanish Inn. It had spent the time between its two appearances in a vase of water with aspirin tablets, but was still inclined to droop. She walked back across the stage, clasping the rose to her, then she burst into tears, and to her joy they were real ones. The curtains closed.
For the second time that evening the bishop wiped his eyes, but not for the same reason.
“What an excellent little actress. She certainly has all the tricks of the trade.”
There were bangings and thumpings from behind the curtains as Bulldog moved the furniture for the drawing-room scene.
Lyn went to the wash basin and had a drink of water. She was happy now, as she knew the last scene had been a success, and that the next scene would be better. She slipped on to the stage before the others were ready, and sat down on the chair by the backcloth, representing the open french windows, and worked herself up into the strained state of mind she was supposed to be in, as her father had not been heard of for a month. Lady Whitney, with face powdered and lines under her eyes to make her look worried, and Vicky as Ursula the servant girl, joined Julia a few moments later. They all sat staring into space as the curtains were pulled. Bulldog, in the wings, hit a tin tray four times with a spoon. Lady Whitney jumped up.
“Four o’clock after noon,” she cried, hysterically. “I shall go mad. We have sat like this for years, for centuries, waiting and listening – for what? I want to know – for what? He’s dead! I know it! He’s killed!”
Julia and the maid calmed her, and they sat again in their former attitudes talking of the battles lost and won. Off-stage, Bulldog clapped castanets to resemble horse’s hooves, faint at first, and then gradually getting louder. The three women ran to the window.
“It’s William!”
“Oh, it’s father!” cried Lady Whitney and Julia simultaneously, and they hurried out to meet him. They came in with him a few seconds later; he was limping and pale. As they gave him food and bathed his wounded leg he told them of his adventures. To Nigel’s annoyance, Sir William’s moustache, as usual, dropped off. The audience were delighted, if unsympathetic, when he moistened it with the water used to bathe the wound, and stuck it on again. Bulldog set to work again with the castanets – two pairs this time – and Sir William sprang to his feet, alarmed.
“The Roundheads – they are following me. I must hide.”
Julia ran to the window. “They are coming up to the door. Oh, father, fly quickly down to the wood at the back of the house!”
Sir William picked up his things, kissed his wife, and hurried from the room. Lady Whitney, tearing off her shoes and stockings, began to bathe her feet in the water prepared for her “husband”, and Julia sat down at the table and began to eat the meal.
Off-stage a voice was giving commands. “Dismount! The first section will search the house, the second the grounds, and the third will remain on guard.”
In came Bulldog and Maddy as soldiers. Their appearance was singular, to say the least of it, and the audience laughed heartily. Maddy’s pigtails and cheerful face were incongruous, combined with a pike and armour, and Bulldog they expected to be funny, after Madame Popoffski.
“Surrender, in the name of Cromwell!” Maddy ordered no one in particular.
The women clung together terrified, then Julia stepped forward. “May I ask, good sirs, to what bad fortune we owe this intrusion?”
Bulldog explained that they were looking for Sir William Whitney, and that they had orders to search the house. Their captain was coming to question the household.
“I will see the captain, mother. You and Ursula go with these soldiers. Show them that we have no fugitives here.”
They went, and Lyn, left alone, knelt by her chair and moved her lips in a murmured prayer. Jeremy, in armour, entered and stood behind her.
“Julia,” he said softly.
She sprang up, recognized him, and her eyes flashed.
“You!” she cried angrily. “So you have come back to gloat over your victory. Just what one expects from a common gardener! But you may search, you may question, you may threaten, and much good may it do you.”
“Julia – ”
“Miss Julia, to you, sir,” she retorted.
“Miss Julia, I have not come here to taunt you, to gloat over you. I have come,” he lowered his voice, “to help you.”
“Help from a scoundrelly Roundhead! Rather I would receive help from any vagabond o’ the roads!”
“Julia, listen!” He took her by the shoulder. “You are in my power, and you know it.”
“Oh, you serpent!” She tore herself away from his grasp. “I have treated you as an equal, you have professed your love for me, and now you come back to scorn us, to treat us as I should have treated you had I not been kind-hearted, oh, so foolishly kind-hearted.”
Here a scream rang through the hall, and Lady Whitney ran in, throwing herself at the captain’s feet. She had seen her husband captured, and she begged for mercy for him. Anthony signed to Julia to take her away. With a look of hatred she obeyed. Anthony called to Bulldog and told him to take all the men back to their camp, and he would follow the next day with the prisoner. The curtains drew together, but only to denote passage of time, as the next scene took place in the same setting.
It was the next morning, and Anthony was interviewing Sir William, who had only just recognized him as his former gardener. Anthony told him that he was going to give him his freedom and take the consequences, and gave him a paper that would enable him to get to Holland with his family.
“But why are you doing all this for me?” Sir William wanted to know.
“I love your daughter.”
Sir William asked cautiously, “And what do you want in return for your kindness?”
“Nothing, Sir William, but the assurance of her safety, which is dearer to me than life itself.”
Here Sir William shook Anthony by the hand.
“My man, although you are a Roundhead, you have the instincts of a Cavalier. Never shall I forget your kindness!”
Anthony went away, and Sir William informed his family of their good luck.
“Anthony did this?” asked Julia.
“He did. And he told me why.”
The curtains swung together as Julia looked down.
The clock in the dressing-room said half-past nine as they changed for the last act. When the curtains were next pulled, the backcloth represented a large fireplace, and on one side of it sat Sir William smoking a pipe, and on the other Lady Whitney, embroidering. In the corner, Maddy, as Gretel, in the Dutch costume, sat at the spinning-wheel teaching Julia to spin. They talked o
f how safe and comfortable they felt so far away from the war, and of how good Anthony had been to them. There was a knock at the door.
“Answer it please, Gretel.”
Gretel went to the door. A figure in a black cloak stepped in, pulling off his slouch hat. It was Anthony. Julia gave a little cry. After welcoming him, the parents excused themselves, saying that they would prepare a bedroom for him. Gretel was sent out to see that the chickens were shut up for the night.
“I am sorry for all I said to you at our last meeting,” apologized Julia.
“You are lovely when you are angry,” Anthony told her.
“And now that Parliament has won the war, you will be a gardener no longer?”
“I have been offered the position of general.”
“So you will have to return to England.”
“If I accept it.”
“But you would not be so foolish as to refuse?”
“I am tired of military life. I should like to live here in Holland. A little cottage by the canal with white steps and a red-tiled roof, and chickens in the back garden, and a wife in front of the fire.”
Julia sat very still. He went across and took her in his arms.
“Does that sound a happy life to you, my sweet?”
“Very happy,” she murmured against his shoulder.
Gretel came bustling in. “The chickens are quite safe and happy.”
“And so are we, Gretel.”
The curtains closed as Gretel stood gaping in wide-mouthed amazement at the contented couple.
The entire company grouped themselves on the stage and bowed to vigorous applause. Maddy squeezed Jeremy’s hand to attract his attention.
“Do you think they liked it?” she asked.
“It seems like it,” said Jeremy, nodding towards the bishop, whose hands were clapping their fastest.
The bishop stood up and the applause ceased. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “what I am going to say may not be very coherent, but you will have to put it down to the way in which these young people have played havoc with my emotions. I have been laughing at one moment, crying the next. I am sure none of us will forget this evening, and the very good entertainment given by the Blue Door Theatre Company. But I feel it is more than good entertainment we have enjoyed tonight; it is an example of cultivation of talents for reasons which are not egotistical.”
“Oh, quite, I agree,” murmured Maddy.
“So I am sure you will join me in wishing these young players many successes and much happiness.”
The audience clapped loudly till Nigel, stepping forward, held up his hand for silence.
“As the eldest of the Blue Door Theatre Company, I want to thank you all on their behalf for coming tonight, and the bishop for his kind speech. The collection for the new organ fund came to three guineas, which, when a few expenses have been deducted, we shall have pleasure in handing over to Mr. Bell. We want to thank Mrs. Bell for her kindness and good advice, and the people who helped with the curtains, lights, and collecting. We must now say good-night, and we hope you have enjoyed yourselves as much as we have.”
At the piano Jeremy struck up the National Anthem, and they stood up straight and stiff and sang it whole-heartedly.
The next half-hour was a whirl of congratulations and compliments. Relations and friends surged into the dressing-room to chat and gossip, and the children were patted on the back until they were sore. Lyn’s performance as Julia was highly praised, and the compliment that pleased her most was from the bishop.
“You will make a fine actress one day, if you work hard,” he told her.
Bulldog was hailed as the comedian of the company, and Vicky’s dancing put down as wonderful. Jeremy’s music master told him that he had not made such a fool of himself as he had expected. Jeremy knew this to be one of the highest forms of praise his master could give. At last the audience trickled out and they were left alone, but for their parents.
“Don’t you bother to wait for us; we may be ages,” Nigel told them.
They took the hint and went home, and at half-past ten the Blue Door Company trailed along the dark streets, carrying all the things that had to be returned immediately. They were silent but happy. Maddy went to sleep walking along, a feat which was only possible to her. Jeremy and Sandra lugged her along between them. At the gate she woke up and said, “Have I got to go on now?” imagining herself still at the concert.
“No,” replied Sandra, “you’ve got to go to bed.”
“‘Good-night till next we meet’,”quoted Nigel, as he closed the front gate.
9
THE MORNING AFTER
The Fayne children and the Darwins sat in the drawing-room of the Corner House waiting for the Halfords, who had overslept. It was a hot sultry morning with no sun, and everyone was inclined to be bad tempered. Jeremy sat on the piano stool, idly touching the keys.
“Stop fidgeting, for goodness’ sake,” snapped Lyn, who was pale and heavy-lidded.
Jeremy perversely thumped out “The Twang of your Guitar”, until Sandra said, with an air of martyrdom, “I know it’s a very nice tune, Jeremy, and of course if you want me to be sick …”
Jeremy banged down the lid, dug his hands into his pockets, and striding into the hall shouted up the stairs, “Aren’t you ready yet, Nigel?”
Vick’s voice floated down in reply, “He’s only just got up!” A few minutes later they appeared, looking as languid as the others.
“Where’s Maddy?” asked Bulldog, noting her absence.
“She’s got a headache.”
“So’ve I,” groaned Nigel. “I bags we don’t do anything energetic.”
“Let’s saunter down town,” suggested Lyn.
“No,” disagreed Nigel. “We shall only have tons of people congratulating us!”
“Well, don’t you think that’s rather enjoyable?” asked Lyn.
“No, I don’t. I hate people gushing over me.”
“That’s only a pose,” said Lyn scornfully. “You positively glowed when my mother told you she never thought her ringlets would adorn such a handsome Cavalier!”
“Stop bickering and get a move on.” Sandra was impatient.
They walked into town, occasionally exchanging a remark about the concert. Outside the public library they met a school friend of Sandra, who had been at the concert.
“Hullo,” she cried boisterously, “congrats.!” She patted Sandra vigorously on the back. Sandra’s head throbbed. “I thought you were all wonderful last night. And as for that dancing-class thing!” She giggled loudly at the thought of it.
“What an awful female!” muttered Bulldog to Jeremy.
“I was wondering,” went on the girl, “if you’d like me to join your company. I can’t act or anything, but it would be fun.”
The Blue Door Theatre Company were dumbfounded. They searched wildly for some suitable excuse.
“Well, it’s like this,” began Nigel, then stopped.
“You see,” Lyn faltered.
Although they had not spoken of it, each could feel that the rest did not like the idea of a stranger in their midst. Sandra struck on the right excuse.
“You go to chapel, don’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, we all go to the Reverend Mr. Bell’s church, and it was he who gave us the theatre, so –”
“Oh, I see,” she responded regretfully. “Well, goodbye.”
They heaved a sigh of relief as she went on her way. This was only the first time that morning that they had to refuse offers of recruits for the company, and each time it became more difficult.
About eleven o’clock they were joined by Maddy.
“Hullo,” she greeted them, “I’m a drug fiend!”
“A what?”
“I’ve taken two aspirins,” she announced proudly, “and now I feel grand. I saw one of Jeremy’s school friends, and he gave me this.” She held up an envelope, and Jeremy would have taken it, but
she snatched it away. “No, it’s not for you. Look!”
On the outside was written “Miss L. Darwin.” Lyn blinked. “For me?” She opened it, blushing, and read it out to them:
Dear Lynette, — I was at the concert last night, and I think you are the most wonderful actress I have ever seen. Why has your brother never told me about you, I wonder? I hope you don’t think it colossal cheek of me to write to you. You must ask Jeremy to introduce us. — Yours very sincerely,
John Flanders.
Jeremy gave a hoot of laughter. “My goodness, fancy old Flanders falling for you. Well I never!”
Nigel said cruelly, “There you are, Lyn, you have all you want in that letter of gushing admiration.”
Lyn turned on him furiously. “You’ll take that back.”
“I shall not. It’s exactly what you confessed a liking for.”
“There’s thunder in the air,” remarked Maddy ambiguously.
Lyn stalked on ahead with Sandra at her side. Nigel sighed, and said a bit too loudly, “Girls are more trouble than they’re worth.”
Lyn turned sharply and retorted, “Some boys don’t know when they’re lucky.”
“Meaning, I suppose, that if John Flanders had the pleasure of your company he would be as sweet as honey to you.”
Lyn tossed her head.
Jeremy and Vicky sighed, looking anxiously at each other, and wondering what their respective brother and sister would say next.
“Please remember we’re in High Street,” implored Sandra.
“Aha,” Jeremy crowed, looking ahead of them down the street, “who is this that heaves in sight?”
Two of his school friends were sauntering along, their hands in their pockets. One of them was John Flanders.
“Would you like us to leave you, Lyn?” asked Nigel sarcastically.
This goaded Lyn further. “Yes,” she replied, “all except Jeremy.”
They all turned and walked off in the opposite direction.
“Hullo, you,” said Jeremy, with a grin as they met. “Meet my sister, Lynette. Lyn, this is John Flanders and Gregory Macmillan.”