Break a Leg, Darlings

by Marian Babson

  'You're early.' Evangeline glanced at her watch. 'It isn't midnight yet.'

  'I'll teach you to laugh, you filthy – ' He lunged across the table, but Vic and Adam caught him and pulled him back.

  'Steal a man's best friend and laugh in his face,' he ranted. 'Hanging's too good for you. Give me back The Semtex!'

  12

  'Semtex!!!'

  Shock loosened the grip our would-be protectors had on Dorsal Finn and he shook them off, leaning forward menacingly.

  'Give him back! You've no right to him! I want him now – or I want your blood! I want The Semtex!'

  'Nova!' I said.

  'Lucy!' Evangeline exclaimed.

  Talk about wild surmise. We looked at each other, then looked at the outraged face glowering at us.

  'The Curse of Finn be on ye for your treacherous deed,' he intoned. 'Ye'll have no peace. I'll haunt you night and day. I'll set a blood-curse on you down to generations yet unborn –'

  'Oh, shut up!' Evangeline said. 'We haven't got your damned dog!'

  'Dog?' Vic looked relieved but puzzled. 'Is that what this is all about? What about the Semtex?'

  'That's what they were fool enough to name the hound.' Evangeline looked Dorsal Finn straight in his blazing eyes. 'His name is Tex now – and he's a lot happier with it.'

  'There! You admit it! You've got him! And you've even changed his name! You're keeping him prisoner from me! You –'

  'Dorsal, Dorsal.' Brendan caught him by the shoulders and eased him into the chair Adam had vacated. 'Give them a minute to gather themselves together. You've burst in on them out of the blue. Give them a chance to explain themselves. They've already said they haven't got The Semtex.'

  'Where is he then?' Even sitting, Dorsal was like a coiled spring. 'The last we saw, you'd bundled him into a taxi and were making off with him like thieves in the night. We ran after you, but we couldn't stop you. You –'

  'Your dog followed us,' I corrected coldly. 'He shoved his way into the taxi with us and wouldn't get out.'

  'So you took him!' Dorsal was unrelenting. 'And you've kept him. He's a valuable animal, you know. Worth who knows how many thousands. He's in direct descent from the wolfhounds who ran with the early Celtic Kings of Ireland.'

  'I'd like to read that on his Kennel Club papers before I believe it,' Evangeline muttered. I kicked her ankle under the table; Dorsal was calming down a bit and we didn't want to start him off again. For one thing, I didn't think Ledbetter's nerves could take it; he was quite pale and had developed a distressing twitch.

  The bartender had been keeping a vigilant eye on our corner, now I saw him reach overhead and do something with one hand. The lights flickered suggestively. 'Last orders, please!' he called.

  'They're closing.' The thrill of hope faded almost immediately as I recognized the snag in that.

  'I want The Semtex – and I want him now!' Dorsal Finn crashed his fist down on the tabletop.

  'I told you, we don't have him,' Evangeline said crossly. 'But' – she hesitated – 'I think we know where he is.'

  'Think! You mean you don't know? You've stolen my dog and lost him!'

  'He's not lost.'

  'Where is he, then?'

  'That is,' Evangeline amended carefully. 'We know who has him.'

  'So, who has him? And where are they?'

  That was the snag. They knew where we lived, but we didn't know where Nova and Lucy lived. The only way we could reach them was at the pub where Lucy worked. And it was closing time for pubs. The place would be dark and deserted by the time we could get there.

  'I believe you'll find him at the Emperor Uncloth'd tomorrow night.'

  'And where is that when it's at home?'

  'Oh, you must know –' Evangeline waved a hand vaguely and I realized that she didn't know. Neither did I. Nova had driven us a long winding way; we had no idea of the address. We had only one clue: 'By the canal.'

  'There now, Dorsal,' Brendan said quickly. That's fine, isn't it? We'll go there tomorrow as soon as they open and collect The Semtex. Sure, he'll be glad to see you again after all his adventures. We'll have the grand reunion and it will all be fine.'

  'It better be.' Dorsal still regarded Evangeline suspiciously. 'I'm warning you. I'll have me dog – or I'll have your lives!'

  'That's enough of that!' The bartender had come up behind him quietly. 'We don't want you and your threats around here.'

  'It wasn't a threat,' Brendan defended quickly. 'More just a warning, like.'

  'In front of witnesses,' Evangeline pointed out.

  'Your taxi has arrived, ladies,' the bartender said. 'It's waiting outside. I'll just make sure these boyos stay here until you're well clear.'

  'What a good idea.' Evangeline and I moved quickly. Vic and Adam escorted us to Eddie's waiting taxi while Mark, Greg, Paul and Ledbetter stayed in place to reinforce the bartender in case of trouble.

  I wasn't sure how much help Ledbetter would be. Looking back, I saw him slump in his chair and mop at his brow with a handkerchief nearly as white as his forehead.

  We slept late the next morning; we deserved it. For once, I was the first one up and able to enjoy the quiet luxury of having breakfast alone with the morning newspaper. The world seemed pretty much in its usual state, with incomprehensible wars being fought in places I couldn't even pronounce ... politicians wrangling over obscure grievances disguised as points of law ... libellous interpretations of American foreign policy decisions ...

  In the bottom right-hand corner of the front page, I saw the picture. It was a publicity shot I had seen many times across the years with only the caption varying. This time it was the final caption: 'Sir Gervaise Cordwainer Dies.' I skimmed the short paragraphs: 'Peacefully in his sleep ... at his manor house in Sussex ... aged 96 ... long illustrious career ... see Obituaries, page 14.'

  I felt the pang you get when the living legends slip away. What made it worse was that I hadn't realized he was still alive. I'd worked with him once during the few years he spent in Hollywood, accepting every part that was offered as he struggled to rack up some capital for his declining years. He had played my grandfather, a titled snob horrified because his granddaughter insisted on going on the stage. In the end, of course, he had been won round and even wound up doing a soft-shoe finale with me to close the film.

  I heard a sigh and knew that it was mine. A piece of my own history had just slipped away, too.

  'What's the matter?' Evangeline had appeared silently in the doorway. 'Why all the sighing?'

  Wordlessly, I handed her the page.

  'Oh.' She sank down into the chair opposite me, 'He was in two plays with me in the West End. He played my father in Briefer Candles and my much-older diplomat husband in Diplomatic Immunity.' She gave a sigh of her own. 'We had a lot of laughs together. I hadn't realized the old boy was still alive.'

  'He isn't... now.' We both sighed. Never send to know for whom the bell tolls ...

  'Oh, no!' Evangeline had been turning the page swiftly, now she paused. 'It's one of the new-type obituaries. More warts than all. How disgraceful!' But I noticed she was reading avidly.

  'Hah!' she said, coming to the end of the obit. 'There were at least three more mistresses they've missed.' She sounded much too happy about it; I wondered if she had been one of them. It was not really a question I could ask her; if I did, she'd only lie.

  The telephone rang and Evangeline got up to answer, arranging her face into a suitable expression of restrained sorrow.

  'I suppose that's Rent-a-Quote,' she said. She marched into the living room and I heard her voice change from a rather funereal tone to a pleased coo.

  'Why, Victor, dear, how sweet of you. We'd be delighted ... Oh ...' Her voice changed, she was not quite so delighted now. 'Well, I don't know. I can't speak for Beau and Juanita, of course. You'll have to ask them yourself.'

  I picked up my cup and saucer and wandered into the living room. Evangeline made a face at me.

 
'Oh, all right,' she said. 'I'll try to persuade them. Perhaps I can bring them round.' She rolled her eyes heavenwards. 'Yes, yes, I'll do my very best. All right ... goodbye.' She slammed the phone down violently.

  'Persuade them!' she said. 'As soon as Beau hears it's a free meal, there'll be no holding him back!'

  'You didn't seem exactly shy about it yourself. Mind telling me what's going on?'

  'We're dining with Vic and the Open and Shut Club at the Queen and Country tomorrow night. They want Beau and Juanita to come along, too.'

  'The Queen and Country? Isn't that where we saw that awful thing where they kept killing everybody in sight? Umm ...' Then I had it. 'Farewell, Everyone?'

  'Vic says that's finished now. The new show starts tomorrow night and is included in our evening out with them: The Mist in the Meadow. That sounds a lot better. Gentler ... dreamy ...'

  'Uh-huh.' I was not persuaded. Any pub that could put on Farewell, Everyone was not to be trusted in its choice of future productions. The title might sound innocuous but ...

  'Let's see what Beau and Juanita say.' I was going to place my trust in Beau's wariness. Hadn't he just recently told us he'd never go to another pub performance with us again?

  So much for my faith in any statement of Beau's. His parsimony won, as Evangeline had known it would. The prospect of a free meal and show braced him against any prospect of a nightmare performance. After the amount of food and drink he took on board, he could easily sleep through it.

  I didn't consider the food to be all that good, but I've had worse, I think. This pub, like all the others, specialized in what was now traditional English Fayre, which translated into lasagne, moussaka and steak-and-kidney pie — with plenty of chips with everything.

  Everybody else seemed to be having such a good time that I hated to spoil the fun by seeming to suggest that my steak-and-kidney pie tasted even worse than usual – I never did like kidney. I pushed the offending bits to one side and soldiered on. Once in a while, I glanced at Juanita's plate and noticed that unidentifiable objects were being ostracized from the rest of her moussaka and piled in a grisly heap at the side of her plate.

  Evangeline and Beau ate everything. They would. It was free. Evangeline had some nerve to talk about Beau being cheap.

  'Something wrong?' Ledbetter had noticed that I was picking at my food. 'If you don't like it, leave it. We'll get you something else.'

  'That's right.' Greg half rose, reaching for my plate. 'How about the lasagne?' They looked at me nervously; this was their treat and I was in danger of spoiling the party.

  'Oh, no. No, it's all right.' I made a special effort and speared a small piece of beef and a large chunk of crust dripping with gravy. 'It's just fine, honestly. I'm not very hungry, that's all.'

  Actually, I'd lost my appetite a couple of hours ago, when the telephone calls started again. It was all right for Evangeline, she hadn't answered the phone.

  I'd done so without thinking. The long silence at the other end of the line gradually told me what a mistake I'd made. Just as I was about to hang up, he'd spoken: 'You rotten bitches! I'm coming for you!' Then he'd slammed the phone down at his end.

  'What's the matter?' Evangeline had looked up as I caught my breath and felt myself swaying. The hatred and menace in his voice had caught me by surprise.

  'It's that Irishman again.' I had replaced the phone and sunk into the nearest chair. 'He says he's coming for us. He ... he sounds like he means it.'

  'What's the matter with that fool now?' It was too bad Evangeline hadn't answered the phone, her irritation would have been enough to discourage any madman. 'He's got his rotten dog back.' A second thought occurred to her. 'Hasn't he?'

  'How do I know? But it might be worth finding out.' I looked around for the telephone directory. 'Maybe we ought to call that pub and talk to Lucy.'

  'Lucy ...' Evangeline's eyes narrowed. 'I thought she was making too much of a fuss over the great beast. You don't suppose ...?'

  The landlord at the Emperor Uncloth'd confirmed that The Crumbl'd Wall had closed on Saturday night. Lucy had been employed by the theatre company and not the pub, he had no idea where she might be now. And no, he didn't know where The Crumbl'd Wall was going to be showing next.

  'That's it!' I replaced the phone. 'Dorsal went over there to get his dog back, found everybody had disappeared without trace – and he blames us. He said ...' My voice quavered. 'He said ... he's coming for us.'

  'Bluster and bravado!' Evangeline dismissed Dorsal's threats. 'Nothing but noise and –'

  'He's awfully mad.' She hadn't heard the depths of violence in his voice. 'He said,' I repeated, just in case she hadn't taken it in the first time, 'he was coming for us. And he meant it.'

  'Then isn't it fortunate that we have an engagement elsewhere this evening?'...

  And now she sat there, without a care in the world, shovelling down a mess indigestible enough to make a camel collapse.

  The first bell sounded and Juanita leaped to her feet, pushing aside her plate.

  'I wish to choose my seat,' she declared. 'I do not like always arriving at the last minute and taking what is left over.'

  'Speaking of leftovers –' Beau was already reaching for her plate. 'If you're not going to finish this, I will.'

  Juanita closed her eyes and shuddered. 'He will pay for this tonight,' she murmured. I didn't know whether she meant in indigestion or in being nagged, but that was Beau's little problem. Juanita had already solved mine.

  'Yes, I hate that last-minute rush myself.' I, too, rose and pushed aside my plate. I was relieved that Evangeline did not offer to finish it. 'Let's get upstairs and get good seats.'

  I didn't really feel it was necessary for Adam and Vic to escort us but, apparently, they did. It put a stop to any complaints Juanita and I might have exchanged.

  The room seemed larger than before, but that might have been an optical illusion due to the fact that none of the seating was stationary. Rows of fold-up chairs fanned out across the room, not always in orderly lines.

  A large black curtain had been dragged across the slightly raised stage, but one could see behind it at the side. I noted an ominous-looking black contraption and my heart sank. There was obviously going to be a mist in The Mist in the Meadow. I wondered how experienced the stagehands were at handling a smoke machine, especially one that looked as outdated and second-, third-, or even fourth-hand as that one.

  'I think I'll sit here.' I chose a chair at the end of the third row; a few steps would carry me to the exit.

  'But you won't be able to see so well there,' Vic objected. 'Why not come back to the middle of one of the centre rows?'

  'This is fine.' I knew what I was doing, but wasn't tactless enough to explain my real reasons. 'Actually, I'm not feeling too well. If I have to slip out during the performance, I don't want to be climbing over people and disturbing everyone.'

  'I will remain with my friend.' Juanita firmly plumped herself down next to me. 'If she is not feeling well, I will see to her.' She gave the boys one of her enchanting smiles, which was at full power again now that her face had been fixed.

  'If you're sure ...' Vic said doubtfully.

  'You're very thoughtful.' Adam gazed at Juanita with something close to adoration.

  Just then the others appeared in the doorway and moved towards us. Vic waved a hand, directing them towards what he considered to be the choice seats in the middle of the room. Beau hesitated as he passed us. He looked from Juanita to Adam and a deep frown wrinkled his forehead. He hadn't missed that look on Adam's face. He moved to go past us and take the seat beside Juanita, but Adam nipped in and got it first. Beau's frown deepened, he moved on, but not very far. He settled himself in the end seat just a couple of rows behind us – where he could keep an eye on his wife and her admirer.

  Evangeline quite happily allowed herself to be led to a centre seat where she was surrounded by her own admiring coterie.

  After a brief behind-scenes
battle, the curtain was jerked aside and The Mist in the Meadow started – in more ways than one. It was a ghost story, as I might have suspected. A table with a gas lamp on it, a shabby red Victorian sofa and a couple of chairs stood at the opposite side of the stage to me. A fragment of plasterboard, waist-high, indicated an outside wall separating the nineteenth-century parlour from the meadow outside.

  A man and a woman walked into the parlour; the man settled himself in an armchair; the woman crossed to stand beside the gas lamp, looking beyond it, through what was obviously meant to be a window. There was something vaguely familiar about her.

  'It's so dark out there,' she began. 'So cold ... and so lonely... and the mist is rising. On a night like tonight, I cannot help remembering

  'Don't!' The man surged to his feet and rushed to her, catching her arm and pulling her roughly away from the window. 'Don't talk like that! Don't brood! Don't ... remember!'

  I turned and caught Evangeline sending me a triumphant look. She was very pleased with herself for getting closer to the onstage action. I leaned back and bided my time. We would see.

  'You can't shut it out!' the woman cried, as the man mimed drawing the curtains. 'It's in here already. Inside of us!'

  He had pulled her clear of the table and I studied her costume idly – until I got to her shoes. My eardrums gave an anguished throb. I recognized her now. I hoped she wasn't going to do much screaming in this production.

  'Treexie –' Beside me, Juanita sniffed sharply and leaned closer to whisper. 'Do you smell fire?'

  'It's all right.' I gestured towards our corner of the stage where white clouds were beginning to billow out from the antiquated piece of machinery being worked by two black-clad figures in the wings. 'I think.'

  'You theenk they know what they are doing?' In the stress of the moment, her accent thickened.

  I wished she hadn't asked me that. Surely, the 'mist' was swooping across the stage much too quickly. And wasn't there a faintly desperate air about the black-clad duo working the machine? My stomach gave a nervous lurch.

  'The mist is rising out in the meadow,' the woman said, on a rising note herself. 'It seems to be coming from ...' She had wrenched the curtains open again. 'From the spot where ... where ...'