Perfect Wedding

by Duncan, Alice

  “Oh. Yeah, I guess so.”

  “But wait.” Mr. Proctor frowned. Jason wished he’d get on with it. “We’d run into the Christmas season if we did that. The choir is planning a cantata.”

  “If we did what?” At the look of disapproval he received from Mr. Proctor, Jason made a huge effort and recalled the subject under discussion. “Oh. Christmas. Right. Not a good idea, I guess. Don’t people usually stage A Christmas Carol at Christmas time?” He was proud of himself for creating and delivering that speech without benefit of his brain’s involvement.

  Ah, but look! The women were gathering. Jason watched intently. All the Major General’s daughters except Mabel would be on-stage at the beginning of the second act. Perhaps he’d have a chance to talk to Marjorie then. He’d have to work fast, because she was scheduled to take to the stage right after the first chorus.

  “A Christmas Carol?”

  Jason, who had no idea why Mr. Proctor had begun chattering about A Christmas Carol, glanced at the gentleman to find him looking at him with a questioning glance. What did this mean? “Er, A Christmas Carol?” Damn the fellow. Jason wished he’d go away and leave him alone. He needed to talk to Marjorie, curse it!

  “You mentioned A Christmas Carol,” said Mr. Proctor.

  He had? “I did?”

  “Jason, are you feeling all right? You seem a trifle . . . er . . . unfocused. Are you nervous about the play, my lad? Because you’re doing a brilliant job.”

  “Unfocused? Er, no. I’m fine. Well . . .” Damn it, how did he get himself into these verbal tangles? “I’m just going over lines in my head.” That was good. He should have thought of it sooner.

  “Ah. I see.” Mr. Proctor bestowed a fond and benevolent smile upon Jason, which made him feel guilty. “Well, keep up the good work, my boy. You’re one of the best Pirate Kings I’ve ever seen.”

  “Thank you.”

  The orchestra struck up the opening chords of the second act’s overture, and Mr. Proctor turned to gather his stage daughters together. “It’s time to take our places, ladies.”

  Quiet tittering and the rustling of petticoats grated in Jason’s ears and upon his nerves as the women followed Mr. Proctor onto the stage, the backdrop to which had been changed and was now a ruined chapel by moonlight. Why was it that all the women in the world gabbled so much? Except Marjorie. She never gabbled. She—

  There she was! With a hasty apology to the women into whom he bumped, Jason scooted through the throng of maidens only to discover Marjorie missing when he got to where she’d been. Damnation. Well, she couldn’t get around him forever.

  Slinking sideways through the small space behind the back curtain, he made his way to the other side of the stage. Where she wasn’t. Damn it!

  # # #

  That had been a close call. Marjorie had nearly suffered a spasm when she’d seen Jason chatting with Mr. Proctor after she’d finally dared leave the ladies’ dressing room. Quickly, she darted off the staging area, muttering about having forgotten something. She lurked there, intending to bolt if Jason sought her anywhere but backstage.

  He didn’t. It came as a great relief to her when she saw him slide behind the curtain and make his way to the other side of the stage. By the time he realized she wasn’t there, she’d be on-stage again, and they wouldn’t have to share it again until almost the final scene. Good. She needed a rest. All this constant vigilance was quite nerve-wracking; it was making her tired.

  Sure enough, Marjorie had just stepped out onto the stage when she glanced off-stage and saw Jason glaring at her. Let him glare; Marjorie had a song to sing. As Jason glowered from the sidelines and Mr. Proctor drooped pathetically on what was supposed to be a decrepit tombstone, Marjorie belted out, “‘Dear father, why leave your bed at this untimely hour?’”

  And the audience lapped it up. When the policemen showed up and Mabel sent them off to glory by dying in combat gory, she could hear the roars of laughter even through her solo. Encouraged, she put all of her formerly suppressed dramatic skills into her role, mentally thanking Loretta for teaching her how to make broad, sweeping gestures that were typically antithetical to Marjorie’s more reserved nature.

  Not that night. That night, Marjorie was Mabel, the open, good-hearted, unrepressed daughter of Major General Stanley, and one, moreover, who knew her place in the world and what to do about it. In other words, Mabel was about as unlike Marjorie as a female could get.

  At one point, when she was singing, “‘Go to death, and go to slaughter; die and every Cornish daughter with her tears your grave shall water,’” she thought about Dr. Hagendorf.

  By heaven, this was practice! She was practicing how to be open and unrepressed so that, perhaps, she could become more open and unrepressed in her life. How funny.

  The next scene, in which the Pirate King tells Frederic that, since he was born on February 29, he wasn’t actually twenty-one years old yet, but only five-and-a-quarter, was a huge hit with the audience. Watching from the wings, Marjorie’s heart twanged painfully as Jason swashed and buckled all over the stage. He really did make a perfect Pirate King. She wondered why she’d not noticed his particular flair for the dramatic and comical until now.

  “He’s wonderful,” a voice whispered in her ear.

  Turning, Marjorie saw Kathleen, her hands clasped as her bosom, watching Jason as if enraptured. “Aye,” she said. “He’s vurra good.”

  And why the devil was this young girl mooning over Jason Abernathy, who had to be in his mid-thirties, at least? By all the laws of God and nature, the chit ought to be pining for Mr. Kettering. Silly creatures, girls.

  Scanning the group of stage sisters at her back, Marjorie sought out Ginger Collins. Ah, there she was, the ninny, still behaving well, as if having learned a salutary lesson. And a good thing, too.

  Mrs. Proctor, as Ruth, sang, “‘Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!’”

  Jason sang, “‘Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho!’”

  The audience roared.

  Kathleen sighed in Marjorie’s ear. Vexed, Marjorie whispered, “And isn’t Mr. Kettering doing a fine job?”

  “Who?” Kathleen looked at Marjorie and then back at the stage. “Oh, yes. Mr. Kettering is doing very well. And he learned the role in such a short time, too.”

  Not much interest there, obviously. Fool girl didn’t know what was good for her. She had no idea that Jason Abernathy only allowed himself to love Chinese women.

  Marjorie’s heart gave a hard, painful spasm. She pressed against it with her palm and told it to stop doing that.

  The rest of that scene went splendidly. By dint of quick maneuvering, Marjorie managed to barely avoid Jason as he exited the stage and she entered. She saw him standing in the wings, scowling at her, when she spoke to a woebegone Frederic. “‘All is prepared, your gallant crew await you.’”

  And so it went. And the audience went with them. As Frederic and Mabel sang about him returning in 1940, when he’d at last be able to celebrate his twenty-first birthday, the audience laughed so hard, both Marjorie and Mr. Kettering had trouble controlling their own humor. A glance at the wings helped Marjorie; it was difficult to maintain one’s glee when one was being stared at so hatefully by the man one loved.

  Confound it, she did love him. It galled her to admit it, since he was so utterly unworthy an object of her love.

  The police contingent entered, and Mabel and her sisters urged them on to defeat the pirates. A tricky situation was upcoming, and as she sang, Marjorie attempted to think of a way to stay away from Jason while they were both offstage at the same time.

  Nothing worthwhile had occurred to her as she launched into her last bit. “‘He has done his duty. I will do mine. Go ye and do yours.’” And she had to leave the stage.

  Blast. She didn’t see Jason anywhere. That meant he was going to pounce as soon as she was free of the audience’s scrutiny.

  Sure enough, Marjorie felt her arm seized in a grip like iron just as the Sergeant of Police started in
on “A Policeman’s Lot is not a Happy One.”

  She hissed, “Ow! Unhand me, you brute!”

  The sergeant sang, “‘When a felon’s not engaged in his employment.’”

  “Damned to that. I’m going to make you listen to reason, Marjorie MacTavish.”

  The policemen sang, “‘His employment.’”

  “Leave me be. This is my favorite song in the whole opera. I want to hear it.”

  “‘Or maturing his felonious little plans.’”

  “You can hear it tomorrow. Right now, you’re going to listen to me.”

  “‘Little plans.’”

  “Am not.”

  “‘His capacity for innocent enjoyment.’”

  “Are too.”

  “‘’Cent enjoyment.’”

  “Let me go!”

  “‘Is just as great as any honest man’s.’”

  “Damned if I will until you listen to reason.”

  “Jason.” Mr. Proctor tapped Jason on the shoulder.

  “Damn!” But he dropped Marjorie’s arm.

  Marjorie instantly scuttled away, listening to what Mr. Proctor was telling Jason. Could the dear man honestly be attempting to rescue her?

  “You’ve got to start singing off-stage with the rest of the pirates on the other side in a minute.”

  Oh. Of course. Mr. Proctor was only reminding Jason that he had to take his spot. Nobody would ever rescue her. She was unworthy of rescue.

  Marjorie sensed that she was being irrational, but she was too angry to worry about it right then. Shooting her another black scowl, Jason stalked behind the curtain to the other side of the stage. She repressed an urge to stick her tongue out at him. Bluidy damned man.

  She continued to think black thoughts as she went to the ladies’ dressing room, adjusted her white peignoir and frilly night-cap, and picked up her candle for the last scene. She couldn’t even come up with a smile for Kathleen, who was likewise employed. Marjorie thought she probably ought to be shocked to be appearing on-stage in a frilly night dress, but she was too miserable. She shuffled back to the sidelines to watch the proceedings on-stage with a heart that felt as if it had gained ninety pounds.

  A barrage of applause interrupted her brooding, and Marjorie heard the chorus of pirates singing from the other side of the stage. Good. She could avoid Jason forever now. Well, except for one point when he’d be off-stage at the same time she was. But she could hide in a curtain then. And then there was the very end of the opera, when they would be on-stage together, but surely not even Jason would disrupt the opera’s finale just to badger her. She hoped.

  Codswallop. She would cope; that’s all there was to it.

  The notion of having to cope through another several performances of the opera made her heavy heart twinge unpleasantly, but Marjorie told herself to take one day at a time. It wasn’t as if she could do anything else.

  Unless she killed herself.

  That thought so shocked her, she squared her shoulders and told herself that no man was worth that much. Her heart would ache for a while, and then she’d get over it. She’d gotten over Leonard, hadn’t she? Well . . .

  Bother.

  She watched and listened glumly, anticipating a nerve-wracking couple of weeks. But at least she could go home and hide after each performance. And be with the bairns. Her heart went all soft and gooey when she thought about Oliver and Olivia.

  “I think we have a hit on our hands, Miss MacTavish.”

  Turning, Marjorie saw Mr. Kettering. She smiled at him. “Aye. I think so, too.” He was such a nice boy.

  Boy?

  With a deep sigh, Marjorie agreed with herself. He was a boy. Unlike Jason, who was a man. Ah, well . . .

  Titters erupted from the audience when the police tiptoed down the stairs and into the sanctuary to crouch in the aisles as they hid from the pirates. Frederic, the pirates, and Mrs. Proctor assumed their marks behind the decrepit chapel’s ruined window, through which they stepped a moment later.

  Marjorie actually smiled at their exaggeratedly cautious skulking as they sang, “‘With cat-like tread, upon our prey we steal.’” Mrs. Proctor and Mr. Kettering were quite comical as they peered around, searching for enemies and making a terrible racket.

  Then there was Jason. Marjorie had never seen anyone throw himself so whole-heartedly into a part. He was absolutely perfect.

  She sighed again. For a little while there, she’d believed he was perfect for her, too. Which only went to prove, if more proof were necessary, that she was a bluidy baffin. But she didn’t have time to dwell upon her many failings and idiocies. Jason would soon be exiting stage left, and Marjorie had to hide.

  Far sooner than she would have liked, she was forced to leave her refuge inside the dusty velvet curtain and join the rest of the women for the last scene. Sticking as close to Ginger and Kathleen as she could, she managed to duck past Jason, although she did have to arrive on-stage a trifle early in order to do so. Nobody seemed to mind. Well, except for Jason, who was plainly grinding his teeth and seething.

  Marjorie told herself she didn’t care. She wished it were so, even as she and the other women started singing. “‘Now what is this, and what is that, and why does father leave his rest at such a time of night as this, so very incompletely dressed?’”

  Not much time left. At the end of this song, the Pirate King and Frederic would reappear on-stage, and the final scene would commence. Then there would be bows, and then sweet escape. Marjorie was very tired.

  Aye. There he was, with Mr. Kettering and the fellow who was playing Samuel, another pirate.

  Tossing aside the staging directions, Jason marched over to stand beside Marjorie as he sang, “‘Forward, my men, and seize that General there! His life is over.’”

  As the pirates grabbed the general, Jason hissed at Marjorie, “What the devil is the matter with you? Why are you avoiding me?”

  Marjorie and the girls sang, “‘The pirates! The pirates! Oh, despair!’”

  The pirates sprang up, singing, “‘Yes, we’re the pirates, so despair!’”

  “Because you used me, you horrid creature,” Marjorie hissed back.

  “I did what?” Nobody watching would know that Jason was shocked, but Marjorie could tell he was by the tone of his whisper.

  The Major-General sang, “‘Frederic here! Oh, joy! Oh, rapture! Summon your men and effect their capture!’”

  Marjorie cried, “‘Frederic, save us!’” Under her breath, she added, “You used me. You love Jia Lee, and you . . . used me.” Even though everyone else was paying attention to the play, she couldn’t make herself admit in public that she’d lost her virtue to Jason Abernathy, who was in love with another woman.

  With wonderfully comical zest, Mr. Kettering sang, “‘Beautiful Mabel, I would if I could, but I am not able.’”

  The pirates sang, “‘He’s telling the truth, he is not able.’”

  “You’re crazy! The only woman I love is you!” Then with gusto Jason once more broke into song. “‘With base deceit you worked upon our feelings!’”

  Marjorie gaped at him. Had she understood him correctly? Had he just declared that he loved her? Her? Marjorie MacTavish?

  Since she was, at present, Mabel, she didn’t stick her finger in her ear to clear it of fluff, but she felt every bit as wild as Mabel must have done when she clutched her hands to her bosom and cried, “‘Is he to die, unshriven, unannealed?’”

  The girls in the chorus sang, “‘Oh, spare him!’”

  At the same time, Marjorie arched her brows in a question for Jason, who had drawn his sword and was about to run General Stanley through with it. He saw her question and answered it with a vigorous nod. Marjorie felt rather light-headed as she sang, “‘Will no one in his cause a weapon wield?’”

  “‘Oh, spare him!’” the girls chorused.

  The audience bellowed with laughter when the police contingent, who had been lolling in the aisles, suddenly jumped up and
sang, “‘Yes, we are here, though hitherto concealed!’”

  Marjorie pointed at her bosom and mouthed, “You love me?”

  The girls sang, “‘Oh, rapture!’”

  As a struggle between the police and the pirates commenced and the police sang, “‘So to Constabulary, pirates yield!’” Jason maneuvered himself over to Marjorie again. “Well, of course I do! What the devil did you think?”

  Right before he was wrestled away from her side by a policeman once more, Marjorie whispered, “But you held her in your arms!”

  For a few seconds Jason was too busy staging a fight that the pirates eventually won to respond to this allegation. Eventually, he managed to get himself close to Marjorie again. “Damnation, you can’t hold that against me,” he hissed furiously. “She threw herself at me! I couldn’t very well drop her, could I?”

  As Jason and the pirates began singing their victory song, Marjorie mulled over his explanation, trying to recall that awful sojourn at the police station. She hadn’t been in the best condition to make judgments, she guessed, having suffered horribly, both physically and mentally, before, during, and after her plunge into the ocean. The mere recollection made her shiver, which went well with the operatic conditions prevailing at the moment.

  As Marjorie mulled, the sergeant of police was leading up to a mighty climax. “‘To gain a brief advantage you’ve contrived, but your proud triumph will not be long-lived.’”

  By Jupiter, Jai Lee had been the one to precipitate that embrace!

  Jason sang, “‘Don’t say you are orphans, for we know that game.’”

  And Jason had held on to Jia Lee as she’d cried. Marjorie frowned, that remembrance not sitting very well with her. But, she now recalled, he’d looked at Marjorie the whole time the Chinese girl had been sobbing in his arms.

  “‘We charge you yield, in Queen Victoria’s name!’”

  Jason sounded suitably baffled when he sang, “‘You do?’”

  “‘We do!’”

  Perhaps Marjorie had been the least little bit overzealous when she’d assumed that Jason was in love with Jia Lee. She supposed that, under the circumstances, when the poor girl had thrown herself at him, it had made sense that he hold onto her. After all, she’d been through an ordeal, too. Probably a worse one than Marjorie’s, actually, if you removed Marjorie’s phobia from the equation.