The Secret Hen House Theatre

by Helen Peters

  “We can attach strings to them so we can open and close them from the wings,” said Lottie, her hands clasped in admiration.

  “I guess that’s one good thing about having the Beans in the theatre. We couldn’t do the curtains and be on stage.”

  “And if Jo’s in the play, at least we won’t have to do so many costume changes.”

  “She’ll be good as Prince Rallentando too.”

  “The hardest thing,” said Lottie, “is how I’m going to manage the costume changes from the maid to the princess.”

  “I can always write some extra lines for the queen to say while you’re changing.”

  “Or the footman can come on. Although we’d better not give Sam too many lines.”

  “Sshh,” said Hannah, putting a hand on Lottie’s shoulder.

  They froze and listened. Twigs snapped and cracked in the thicket. Something or someone was outside the theatre.

  “Push harder, Baked Bean; it’s stuck.”

  It was Jo’s voice. Hannah breathed again. She pushed the stage door open. She had oiled it this morning and now it moved a lot more easily.

  Jo was staggering up the path, dragging a large piece of furniture. Behind it Hannah could see Sam’s little face, his cheeks red with effort.

  “Look what we’ve got,” said Jo.

  She stepped aside so Hannah and Lottie could see. It was a pine chest of drawers without any drawers in it.

  “The drawers are down there,” said Jo, pointing to the bottom of the thicket. “We had to bring them over separately.”

  “Have you two just dragged a chest of drawers across the yard?” said Hannah. “Don’t you remember what we said? About keeping the theatre secret and not letting Dad suspect anything?”

  “Don’t worry,” said Jo. “He didn’t mind.”

  “What?!” Hannah’s voice rose about an octave. “You asked him?”

  “No, of course not. But he saw us taking it across the yard and he didn’t say anything.”

  Hannah and Lottie looked at each other. This made no sense.

  “Did he see you coming down here?” asked Lottie.

  “No,” said Jo. “He was going to the milking parlour.”

  “But Mar—” began Sam.

  “Shut up,” hissed Jo.

  “What?” asked Hannah. “What were you going to say, Sam?”

  Sam looked at Jo, who was glaring at him.

  “Nothing,” they both said.

  Hannah looked at them suspiciously. “If you two get us caught…” She tailed off, unable to think of a single punishment severe enough for that offence.

  An enormous woolly ball with a duck on its back squeezed along the path and nuzzled up to Jo.

  “No way, Jo!” said Hannah. “I told you yesterday, this is a theatre, not a farm. Do you think they let sheep into the Old Vic?”

  “I don’t know, I’ve never been there,” said Jo. “Don’t be mean, Hannah. It’s bad enough that he’s alone all day when I’m at school. He has to be with me at weekends, otherwise he pines. Animals can pine to death, you know.”

  “Not ones with as much fat on as that.”

  Jo put her arms round Jasper and her cheek on his huge woolly back. She stroked Lucy’s glossy feathers sadly.

  “Oh, OK, fine,” said Hannah. “But you clear up after them. That’s the rule at the Old Vic too.”

  Lottie had moved past Jo to get a proper look at the chest of drawers.

  “This thing is disgusting. What’s all that stuck to the top of it?”

  Hannah looked. Three large mounds of dried-up bird droppings sat on the pine surface.

  “We found it in the bottom stable,” said Jo. “There were swallows’ nests above it.”

  “Great,” said Lottie. “You’ve brought us a swallows’ toilet.”

  Jo fixed her hardest stare on Lottie. “You’re very rude and ungrateful sometimes, Lottie Perfect. We’re going to clean it and paint it and then we can keep things in it.”

  Hannah clapped her hands together, her eyes shining. “Yes! It’s perfect for backstage! For make-up and hair stuff. We can put a mirror on top and it can be our dressing table. It will be like a proper theatre dressing room!”

  Lottie raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “You’re all mad. It’s gross.”

  Hannah rubbed a filthy drawer handle with her sleeve. “These are china. They’re gorgeous. It’ll be lovely when it’s cleaned up.”

  “Exactly,” said Jo. “Come on, Baked Bean.”

  “I thought he was French Bean,” said Lottie.

  “That was this morning,” said Jo, as if she were talking to a particularly dim toddler. She lifted one end of the chest.

  “Oh, no,” protested Lottie. “You’re not bringing that inside the theatre until it’s completely clean. We just swept the floor.”

  Jo sighed. “Fine, we’ll do it outside.”

  “I’ll go and get you a bucket of water and some rags,” said Hannah.

  “We’ll go,” said Jo.

  “No. Martha’s back. I saw Jade’s mum driving down the track. You might give something away.”

  “I wouldn’t!”

  “Well, I’m going on my own.” She walked towards the front-of-house door. Then she stopped and turned round. “Actually, Sam, will you be lookout? With Dad and Martha around, we need someone to stand guard at the top of the field.”

  “Cool!” said Sam, beaming with excitement and importance. “I’ll get my stick. And my binoculars.” He hurried down the path. His trousers flapped around his ankles. I must go to the Scouts’ jumble sale next Saturday and get him some new clothes, Hannah thought.

  “Can you bring me some nails too, Han?” asked Lottie, who was patching up gaps in the theatre’s walls. “I’ve nearly run out.”

  “Sure,” said Hannah. She pushed the front-of-house door hard. She had oiled this one yesterday too.

  “Owwww!” came a piercing screech from outside. “Owwww!”

  No! Oh, no!

  Martha!

  It was over.

  All over.

  Everything was ruined.

  Hannah couldn’t bear it. She turned to Lottie, who was frozen to the spot, her hammer in mid-bang, staring at the door in disbelief.

  Martha appeared in the doorway, a vision of fury, hopping on one foot and clutching the other. There were red scratches all over her bare legs. She obviously hadn’t found the path.

  “You evil pig, you did that on purpose!”

  Lottie unfroze. “What are you doing here?” she asked, striding to the door.

  “Ha! I’ve been spying on those two idiots ever since I got home, and I followed them here.”

  Hannah remembered Sam’s “But Mar—”, and Jo hastily shutting him up.

  So they knew Martha was spying on them and they’d still lugged a chest of drawers across the farmyard to the theatre in broad daylight.

  “I knew it!” she burst out. “I knew we couldn’t trust them!”

  How could they have been so stupid? After she and Lottie had been so careful, creeping about in the dark for a week. She should have known it would never work, having the Beans in the theatre.

  “So now I know everything,” Martha said. “And now I can just go and tell Dad and—” She stopped in her tracks, her eyes fixed on the curtains that hung so splendidly across the proscenium arch. For a fraction of a second Hannah thought she saw in her sister’s face something like excitement, admiration even. Then her eyes and mouth opened wide with a dawning realisation.

  “Whoa,” she said. “The sitting-room curtains. You’ve taken the sitting-room curtains that Mum made. Dad’s going to go so mental.”

  “Martha, don’t tell him. Please.” Even as Hannah said this, she knew it was useless. Of course Martha would tell him.

  “You’ve set up a whole theatre without me, you horrible pig. You’ve all been doing your pathetic secret things and you’ve left me out of everything. You’ve even got stupid little Sam in it, and he’s
only six. You’re mean and evil and I hate you and I’m going to tell Dad all about it, so there.”

  She turned and started to push her way out through the brambles. Hannah stood there, unable to move or speak. Their wonderful secret theatre, the chance to perform their own play in a real drama competition – all destroyed. Back to muddy grey reality with nothing to look forward to.

  But suddenly Lottie ran to the door. She called out, “Martha!”

  “What?” snapped Martha, still pushing through the brambles.

  “Martha,” asked Lottie, “would you like to be in the theatre?”

  Martha turned her head. “What?”

  “WHAT?!” shrieked Hannah.

  “Would you like to be in the theatre? We need someone to play the princess.”

  “Why would I want to be in your stupid poxy theatre? You don’t even like me.”

  “Esmeralda wears really beautiful dresses,” said Lottie. “Actually, she wears the nicest clothes of any of the characters.”

  “Shut up,” said Martha. “You’re lying. You don’t want me in your stupid theatre.”

  “Actually,” said Lottie, “we were just saying how we really need someone to do hair and make-up.”

  No we weren’t, thought Hannah. Has she gone mad? Does she want to ruin the theatre?

  “No, you weren’t,” said Martha. “I never heard you say that.”

  “Well, it must have been before you started spying on us. The Beans found this chest of drawers, you see, for our make-up and hair things, but none of us is any good at it, and we thought you’d be the best.”

  “You haven’t even got any make-up.”

  “No, but we’re going to get some. Please, Martha, we really do need you. And then it will be our secret.”

  And then Hannah realised what Lottie was doing. Of course. Clever Lottie. If Martha was in the theatre, she would have to keep it secret from Dad. She would be on their side.

  Martha opened her mouth to speak. But it wasn’t her voice they heard.

  “Help! Hannah, come here! Help!”

  It was Sam. It sounded like he was running. He sounded breathless – and he sounded as if he was crying. And Sam never cried.

  Hannah raced past Martha and down the path, her heart thumping against her ribs. She sprinted up the field, the others at her heels. Sam was hurtling down the field towards them, his eyes wide with fear.

  Hannah grabbed his shoulders and crouched beside him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “They’re stealing Daddy’s Field Marshall!”

  “What?”

  “There’s two men in the yard and they’re putting it on a lorry.”

  “They can’t be.”

  “They are! Come and stop them, quick!” He tugged at Hannah’s hand with both of his.

  All five children ran up the field like a tribe of warriors. They turned, panting, on to the track and raced into the yard, Jasper trotting behind them.

  An enormous flatbed lorry, spurting black fumes and juddering with menace, straddled the yard. It dwarfed the ancient buildings and the farm machinery. Their father’s Field Marshall sat hunched on the back of it, strapped up like a captive. It looked tiny up there.

  A bulky man with a shaved head was throwing a long canvas strap over the Marshall to a second man standing on the other side of the lorry.

  “Ratchet it in tight,” shouted the first man. On the back of his thick neck was a tattoo of a pair of angels’ wings. “It looks like a heap of scrap but it’s worth a few grand.”

  Hannah’s whole body tingled with rage. She strode up to the man with the tattoo.

  “Hey! Take my dad’s tractor off that lorry!”

  He didn’t even turn round. He couldn’t have heard her over the noise of the engine.

  Hannah felt as if she was about to explode with anger. She grabbed the man’s arm. “What are you doing? You’re stealing my dad’s tractor!”

  He turned and looked down at her. He glanced at the others, and at Jasper, gasping for breath. A dribble of saliva plopped from Jasper’s mouth on to the man’s oily wellington boot. He looked at it in disgust and shrugged his arm out of Hannah’s grip. “Out of the way. We’ve got a job to do.”

  Lottie stepped up to him, her hands on her hips. “We know exactly what sort of job you’re doing. How dare you come up here and attempt to commit robbery in broad daylight? I hereby do make a citizen’s arrest. You do not have to speak but anything you do say may be taken down and—”

  He had already turned his back on her. He picked up another strap. “Ready, Barry?” he shouted. The strap thudded on to the smooth curved bonnet of the old tractor.

  “Jasper, attack!” hissed Jo.

  Jasper sat down.

  “Stop playing games!” cried Hannah. “This is serious. We have to stop them.” She looked around the yard wildly. “Where’s Dad?”

  “All done,” shouted the man on the other side of the lorry.

  Suddenly Martha jumped up and down in her sparkly heels. “I know! Stand in front of the lorry. All of us, in a line. Then they can’t move.”

  Hannah stared at Martha in amazement. “Genius!” she said. “Come on!”

  As one person, they sprinted to the front of the lorry. Then Jo turned around. “Where’s Sam?”

  Hannah stopped in her tracks. Where was Sam?

  The lorry’s engine cut out.

  Everybody looked up at the cab. And there was Sam, bouncing up and down on the driver’s seat, throwing his head back and laughing, waving the ignition key in his hand.

  Hannah laughed in delight. Jo and Martha cheered.

  “Sam!” shouted Lottie. “That’s fantastic!”

  “You cheeky blighter!” yelled the tattooed driver. “Get out of my cab!”

  Sam pushed the key deep into his jeans pocket and climbed down the steps. The others ran round to meet him.

  “Come here, Sammy,” said Hannah. She lifted him off the steps and gave him a huge squeeze. “Well done! You’re brilliant.”

  Jasper nuzzled Sam in approval and Sam ruffled his wool.

  The driver barged through the children and held an oily hand out to Sam. “Right, sonny boy, stop horsing around and give us that key.”

  Sam looked up at him with his big blue eyes. “No,” he said. “Not until you take Daddy’s tractor off the lorry.”

  The man’s face darkened. Hannah saw his hands curl into fists.

  “Get the key off him.”

  “No,” they all said.

  Sam’s face was pale now, but he didn’t move. The driver lunged towards him. Hannah leapt between them and spread her arms out wide.

  The others were all shouting at once.

  “No!”

  “Leave him alone!”

  “Get off, you big fat bully!” Martha ducked under Hannah’s arm and kicked the man hard on the leg.

  “OW!” he yelled, grabbing his shin. “Jeez, what was that?!” He glared at Martha’s mud-caked red stiletto and raised his arm. “You little—”

  With superhuman strength, Jo shoved Jasper forward. Crushed in the throng, Jasper planted one big front hoof squarely down on the man’s wellington boot.

  “OWWWW!! What the—” Judging by the swearing, Jasper was pretty much resting his entire weight on that hoof.

  Suddenly a voice behind Hannah said, “What on earth’s going on?”

  She swung round. There was Dad, hands on hips, staring open-mouthed at the scene in front of him.

  Jasper took his hoof off the man’s boot and sat down, unblinking, as the man clutched his foot and hopped up and down. “Your blasted kids! Bunch of hooligans!”

  Sam ran to his father. “Daddy, we saved your Marshall!”

  Dad looked blankly at him.

  “Look!” said Hannah, pointing to the tractor. “They were stealing it. We’ve stopped them.”

  Dad shifted his gaze so that he seemed to be looking far away across the fields. When he spoke, his words sounded flat and final.
/>   “Nobody’s stealing it.”

  “Yes, they are. Look!”

  “They’re not stealing it. I’ve sold it.”

  “What?” said Hannah. What was he talking about?

  “Right,” said the driver. “So give me that key.”

  Sam looked at Dad, who was still staring out across the meadows. He turned to Hannah.

  Hannah put her hand on Dad’s arm. “What’s going on? I don’t understand. You can’t sell your Marshall. It was Grandfather’s. And you love it.”

  She looked into his face, trying to meet his gaze, willing him to say something that would put it all right.

  But he didn’t move.

  The driver blew out his cheeks. “Are we taking this thing or not?”

  Dad kept his eyes fixed on the silver horizon as he spoke. “Give him the key.”

  Sam, white-faced and bewildered, looked at Hannah. Feeling sick, she nodded.

  The driver snatched the key from Sam’s palm and swung himself up into the cab. The other man climbed into the passenger seat. The engine roared into life.

  The children watched the Field Marshall get smaller and smaller as it bumped away up the track. Then Hannah turned to her father.

  “You sold your Marshall, Dad? Why?”

  For a brief moment, he met her gaze. “Got to pay the rent,” he said.

  Then he turned away. He ruffled up Sam’s golden hair with his huge rough hand.

  “Come on, boy. Let’s go and milk those cows.”

  The freezing wind cut Hannah’s cheeks like a whip as she walked off the hockey pitch. The other girls were talking and laughing, congratulating each other on goals scored and gossiping about the other team. Hannah kept at the back of the group. Her head was a tangled mess of worry and she was desperately trying to unravel the knots.

  Why on earth would Dad need to sell his Field Marshall?

  What was going on?

  And then she remembered.

  That afternoon when they had asked Dad for the tractor-shed loft. His harsh voice on the phone as they crept along the corridor.

  “You’re saying he has every right to double the rent and there’s nothing we can do about it?”

  The new landlord had doubled the rent!

  Hannah’s mind whirled. That couldn’t be true, could it? People couldn’t just double things like that. If you went into a shop and everything was twice the price of the day before and they said, we’ve doubled the prices … I mean, people just couldn’t do that, could they?