Tuppenny Times

by Beryl Kingston

  ‘How indeed?’ she said, turning her head so that they were mouth to mouth. And the curtain opened as they kissed.

  Despite the flamboyant claims of its publicity it turned out to be rather an indifferent show. Choirs sang patriotic songs at the tops of their voices, dancers dressed as men o’ war drifted about the stage as well as they could given the weight of their costumes, and there were several pageants which looked spectacular but said little, and a soprano who said a very great deal and expected to be applauded at the end of every sentence whether or not the audience had actually been able to hear it, and then sang a very short song.

  By the interval Nan was rather bored with it all, and was beginning to cast a critical eye on the state of Calveley’s jacket, but the interval was lively and that rescued him from comment. Orange-sellers pushed through the crowd with their laden baskets as soon as the curtain fell, and were lifted up bodily by various men in the audience to be carried over the assembled heads to their next customers, a feat which was much enjoyed, especially by the lifters. Hampers were produced, Nan having brought one that was uncommon well-packed, and wine bottles opened and soon the entire place had become a cheerful picnic. By the time the curtains were raised on the second act most of the audience were so happily inebriated they were ready to applaud anything, and Calverley had relaxed back into his easy life.

  The second act opener was actually well worth applauding. When the curtains parted, the audience saw to their delight that the stage had been filled with a huge wooden structure painted red and black, from which elaborate dragons belched flames and red imps hung by their toes, and which bore a six foot placard which proclaimed it. ‘The Castle of Discord’.

  After a dance in which French and Spanish men o’ war strutted about the stage chanting hideously that the English were no match for them, ‘hooray, hoorah!’ a figure dressed to represent the dreaded Napoleon Bonaparte with cocked hat, tight belly, black boots and all, was lowered into position onto the topmost turret, where he delivered himself of a rousing speech and was booed to the echo. Whereupon cannons were fired from the wings and the stage was filled with grey and white smoke. This was supposed to cover the next act of the proceedings, when scores of stage hands, suitably dressed in black shirts and trousers, galloped upon the stage to effect the transformation. Unfortunately it cleared a great deal quicker than was expected and the removal men, finding themselves suddenly exposed to the applause and cat-calls of the audience, fell into a frenzy of panic and in their struggles to remove the Castle of Discord as quickly as possible, brought the whole thing tumbling down upon the stage, red imps, fire-breathing dragons, Napoleon and all.

  The audience was enraptured by such a well deserved accident, but the manager was afraid that it would set fire to the curtains, and sent the removal men back onto the stage with buckets of water with which they doused everything in sight, including the front row of the stalls. Then the splashed curtains were closed, and he came out apologetically before them to explain that the stage would be cleared and the spectacle continued ‘so soon as was humanly possible’ and begged them all to be ‘so very kind as to indulge the theatre with their patience’ which he promised them would be ‘for the shortest possible time.’

  The shortest possible time went on for nearly ten minutes and by then the audience had stopped laughing and were growing decidedly restless. And Calverley took the opportunity to talk to his lovely Nan of marriage.

  ‘’Tis nearly peacetime, my charmer,’ he urged, stroking her breast. ‘Surely we should marry now. Oh, my lovely Nan. How can you refuse me, when I love ’ee to distraction? Say you’ll be mine, my charmer. Say it, do.’

  She was enjoying the caress so much she paid no attention to what he was saying. ‘Urn,’ she said, drowsy with desire.

  He stopped fondling her and looked at her closely in the half light. ‘You agree?’ he said. ‘We shall wed?’

  She gathered her wits. ‘No,’ she said sharply. ‘I en’t agreed. I don’t know. You must wait till I do.’

  ‘No, deuce take it,’ he said, made bold by desperation and brandy. ‘’Tis a bona fide offer and I will wait no longer.’ And before she realized what he was doing, he jumped up onto the ledge that rimmed the dress circle and both boxes and balanced there. ‘I will run from this end to the other, so I will,’ he shouted. ‘I vow it, unless you promise to marry me.’

  Heads below him tilted up to see what the noise was about, and soon he had gathered the attention of everybody in the stalls below and the circles above him. ‘What is it?’ people said. ‘What’s amiss?’

  And he stood on the ridge, one foot in front of the other, balancing most precariously, arms outstretched, spine straight, head held high, white legs magnificently long, laughing at her. ‘Say the word, my charmer, or I run.’

  ‘Have done and come down,’ she hissed at him. ‘You make a spectacle of yourself.’

  But that only spurred him on. He turned to his attentive audience and spoke to them, directly and very loudly. ‘I am driven to extremes of love. Tortured beyond endurance, so I am. You see before you, ladies and gentlemen, a heartless hussy. I lay my heart at her feet. I beg her to marry me. She says nothing. Nothing! Neither yes nor no. Now I can bear it no longer. If she will not speak I will run along this ledge. If I fall and die, my death is at her door. If I run and live surely she must accept me. How say you?’

  They cheered him. ‘Bravo!’ ‘Well said, that gallant man!’ ‘Here’s to ’ee!’ And they called advice to Nan. ‘Accept him!’ ‘’Tis a valiant man!’ And one or two who knew them by name, called up to beg him to come down or her to give in.

  ‘You bully me sir,’ she said furiously. ‘Very well then, run if you must.’ And immediately the words were out of her mouth she regretted them, for he set off at a trot, those long legs loping forward, those dear arms stretched like wings, and she could see how easy it would be for him to fall, and she called out, ‘have a care, do!’ so that the audience rebuked her.

  Half way along the ledge he paused and turned his body to look back at her, and the audience held its collective breath and waited. ‘My life in your hands,’ he called. ‘Am I to return?’

  But she wouldn’t be bullied like this. ‘Do as you will,’ she said, her voice echoing in the hushed auditorium.

  So he continued his run and this time two of the drummers played a dramatic drum-roll to accompany him. And the audience followed his every movement, gasping, ‘Ooh! Ah! Phew!’ as he stumbled, swayed, pretended to be about to fall, recovered and ran again. ‘Accept him, for pity’s sake!’ they called to Nan. ‘He will fall to his death, so he will.’

  But he had reached the other side of the theatre and was standing with his hand on the curtain of the opposite box, whose occupants had already stretched out their hands to help him down.

  ‘Say you will marry me!’ he called to her.

  ‘No!’ It was intolerable to be bullied so. But undeniably romantic. Even in the midst of it all, torn and muddled by so many conflicting emotions, she was thrilled by how romantic it was.

  ‘Say you will marry me or deuce take it, I shall jump into the stalls and end it all.’

  There was uproar in the stalls, with people on their feet, struggling to get out of his way and others shrieking to Nan to change her mind and white faces turned towards them from every side.

  He held up one hand for silence and at last it was given. ‘Well?’ he said.

  The pressure from his daring and all those anxious faces pleading towards her was too much. ‘Oh, very well,’ she said into the silence. ‘Yes. I will marry you.’

  Then how the audience cheered and applauded and shouted approval. ‘Come down,’ she mouthed at him over the tumult, but his performance wasn’t over. He bowed to the audience, still holding on to the curtain, and then instead of jumping down into the box as they expected, he suddenly turned and sprinted back along the ledge, light-footed as a cat, to leap into the box beside Nan and kiss her soundly. He was home
and dry with his rich wife, his own dear, loving Nan, home and dry and he need never fear creditors again. The applause was deafening.

  After that, the continuation of the advertised spectacle was a definite anticlimax.

  ‘Now you will tell John and Billy, will you not?’ he asked when they were home at last and had loved to their mutual satisfaction. The sooner this news was known, the better.

  ‘Why should the whole world know of our affairs?’ she said sleepily. ‘’Tis enough you have involved a theatre, surely.’

  And as she spoke she remembered the theatre, the heat, desire, fear, and noise of it, in a swift close-packed muddle of sights, sounds and emotions and beneath them all, like an odd aftertaste following a fine meal, a lurking sense that there had been something contrived and dishonest about the whole affair. I would be a fool to marry this man, she thought, as sleep rocked into her mind, and she knew she didn’t want her sons to know anything about it.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Calverley broke the news to his two future step-sons at breakfast the next morning.

  ‘The Stamp Office must do without your mother today, boys,’ he said cheerfully.

  Billy was alarmed, his round face creased with concern. Was Mama ill? he thought glancing at her. But no, she seemed as lively as ever, eating with relish, that dark hair springing from her forehead as strong as wire and her brown eyes fairly gleaming with health. ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘What is the matter?’

  Johnnie understood at once. The moment had come at last. His mother had been persuaded. He looked at her with protective pity, feeling remarkable cool now that battle had finally been joined.

  ‘We have an appointment with a priest,’ Calverley explained, looking horribly smug. ‘To arrange for the banns to be called for our wedding. What think ’ee to that, eh my brave boys?’

  Billy was so upset he couldn’t answer, but Johnnie got up at once and walked round the table and kissed his mother dutifully. ‘I wish you every happiness,’ he said. ‘We both do, ain’t that right, Billy?’

  ‘Oh yes, yes,’ Billy said, blushing. ‘Do indeed, Mama.’ And he kissed her in his turn, and was rewarded with pats and smiles and kisses so that he blushed all over again.

  Then there was an awkward pause as neither of them knew what to say next. Johnnie recovered first. ‘As you are otherwise engaged, Mama, he said, ‘Billy and I had best make haste and get down to the Strand.’ And their mother laughed and agreed and the two of them made their escape.

  Once they were in Cheyne Walk and out of earshot, Billy began to wail. ‘Oh, Johnnoh, what are we to do? Who’d a’ thought it? What are we to do?’

  ‘We will tell Mr Teshmaker,’ Johnnie said, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat. ‘That’s what we’ll do. And Mr Teshmaker will show her that account book. Come along, Billy, the banns only give us three weeks grace, so there ain’t a minute to lose.’

  Back in the house, Nan and her lover were dressing for the street too, and Calverley was rejoicing. ‘There you are, ye see, my dear,’ he said, putting on his beaver hat. ‘They don’t mind at all. Did I not tell ’ee?’ When they’d woken up that morning she’d been quite worried about how her sons would take the news, so he was delighted to be able to prove her wrong.

  ‘Aye,’ she said, ‘you did.’ But she was thinking, that just shows how little you understand either one of them. For Billy had been blushing, which was always a sign of distress in him and Johnnie’s voice had been far too guarded.

  ‘They are fine boys,’ he said easily, ‘like their mother.’ And the compliment warmed her. But then he spoiled it all by his very next words. ‘Are you ready? I’ve to be in Edinburgh in three days time, so I must set off as soon as we’ve seen the priest.’

  ‘Today?’ she asked, and the cold winds of disappointment blew above her again. ‘But that will mean that you will be away at Christmas time.’ She had such plans for Christmas now.

  ‘Not if I hurry, my charmer.’

  ‘Christmas is a mere eight days away,’ she said. ‘You could never ride to Edinburgh and back and do business in eight days. ’Twould kill the horses. And besides, Annie will be here within the week. Why not wait upon her? Think how pleased she will be to hear our news.’ She had no doubt at all about Annie’s reaction.

  ‘It cannot be done, my charmer.’

  ‘Why the rush, pray?’

  Actually it was to put a safe distance between his ribs and Mr Weingarten’s heavies. His bruises had spread and deepened overnight and they hadn’t been helped by his activities in the theatre and the love-making that had followed. Now he was extremely sore and tender. But it wouldn’t do to tell her any of this. ‘I am expected there in three days time,’ he lied. ‘Much though I love ’ee, stern duty calls! What shall I bring ’ee back from my travels?’

  ‘Yourself,’ she said, ‘seeing we are betrothed.’ Anything else she would have to pay for.

  They strolled together arm-in-arm past the elegant houses of Cheyne Walk towards the church, and although Nan was still plagued by the thought that what they were doing was as contrived as a play, she couldn’t help feeling happy too. I am walking to church at last, she thought, with my own dear love, to fix the date of our wedding. And why not? The limes were bare and the river bank muddy, but above them the clouds were small, drifting fleeces in a china-blue sky and below them, the river caught its rich colour in a shimmering looking-glass where the river boats skimmed like swallows between their own white wings of water. ‘Oh!’ she said. ‘’Tis a grand ol’ world!’

  He gave her his sleepy smile and made the most of the opportunity she was presenting him.

  ‘While I am away,’ he said, ‘there is a little matter you might care to attend to on my behalf.’ And he smiled again to show her that it was really of very little consequence.

  ‘Tell me what ’tis,’ she said easily.

  ‘I have run up one or two debts,’ he said, still smiling. ‘Nothing serious. You know how it is. But my creditors press.’

  Her happiness clouded. ‘How much?’ she asked. ‘And to whom?’

  ‘How much?’ Billy said. He was so surprised and upset that his eyebrows had disappeared into his hair. ‘How much?’

  ‘Nearly two thousand pounds,’ Cosmo Teshmaker repeated with patient satisfaction.

  ‘’Tis a fortune!’ Billy said, plunging his fingers into his hair. ‘A fortune! And all gone to waste, dammit. You must speak to her at once, Johnnoh. ’Tis unspeakable, so ’tis.’

  ‘If you will allow me to advise you?’ Cosmo suggested calmly.

  ‘Pray do,’ Johnnie told him with equal calm.

  ‘I would suggest that you two gentlemen say nothing of this to your mother until after I have had an opportunity to acquaint her with the facts, and perhaps not even then. It is imperative that you do not annoy her in any way. Criticism of her accepted lover might well lead to unpleasantness, which in my opinion ’twould be politic to avoid. We need to ensure that Mrs Easter is kept fully aware of the helpfulness and support of her sons, the good work they do for her in the firm, their abiding concern for her. She should not see them as opponents.’

  Billy scowled but his brother saw the sense of it. ‘Think how she roared when I dared to criticize those awful Easter women at Annie’s wedding,’ he said. ‘We will do as you say, Mr Teshmaker. Providing you show her this account book as soon as you can.’

  ‘I will write this very morning,’ Cosmo assured them, ‘time being of the essence in this matter. There are business affairs which need her attention, so my letter need not alarm her.’

  Billy was still so entrammelled by indignation he hardly heard what was being said, but Johnnie heard the meaning and its import. How tender-hearted he is, he thought, smiling agreement at Mr Teshmaker; he would like to do this without hurting Mama. And he knew that he didn’t want his mother hurt either, not by anyone. ‘We will work together,’ he promised Cosmo. ‘I am grateful for your advice, sir.’

  It se
emed appropriate to Nan that the weather should change as soon as Calverley had said goodbye. The bright sky faded as they kissed and the air grew suddenly chill.

  ‘I shall be home in time for Christmas,’ he promised as he mounted old Jericho, ‘and if that ain’t to be, why then, my charmer, I shall be at the altar rail on January 16th. You may depend upon’t.’

  She felt quite despondent waving goodbye, but then a messenger boy arrived with a letter from Mr Teshmaker to bring her back to the world, and she remembered that Sophie Fuseli would be coming to take tea tomorrow afternoon, and that Annie would be arriving in a day or two, and that there was Christmas to prepare for and a wedding-dress to make and a deal else besides, and she took the letter and walked back into the house, opening it as she went.

  Sophie declared herself quite thrilled by the news and said she would be most happy to be a witness.

  ‘Meg Purser is a thing of the past, is she not?’ Nan asked, as they sat before the fire, drinking their tea. She was almost certain of the answer, but in her present state of fluctuating emotions, she needed reassurance.

  ‘Gone and forgotten, my dear,’ Sophie said easily. ‘There are others, of course, as I’m sure you know, but none of any consequence.’

  Cold winds blew again. ‘You do not think me foolish to wed un, I trust?’

  ‘You will do well enough,’ Sophie said, ‘for at least you know his faults. Howsomever, it must be said that in matters matrimonial there is always one who gains and one who stands to lose, and it has been my observation, that most of the losers are wives.’

  ‘Oh, come now, Sophie, not all. You married well, did you not?’

  Sophie gave her old friend a long cool look. ‘Those who suffer most, say least,’ she said. ‘Mr Fuseli may be a great artist, that I will allow, but as a husband, my dear, he is a most difficult man. There are things about his behaviour which are so obscene that I would not breathe a word about ’em to a living soul. But you may depend upon it, they are things which have made my life a shameful misery.’