by Jo Macauley
First published in 2013 by Curious Fox,
an imprint of Capstone Global Library Limited,
7 Pilgrim Street, London, EC4V 6LB
Registered company number: 6695582
www.curious-fox.com
Text © Hothouse Fiction Ltd 2013
Series created by Hothouse Fiction
www.hothousefiction.com
The author’s moral rights are hereby asserted.
Cover design by samcombes.co.uk
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ISBN 978 1 78202 046 2
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means (including photocopying or storing it in any medium by electronic means and whether or not transiently or incidentally to some other use of this publication) without the written permission of the copyright owner.
ebook created by Hothouse Fiction Ltd
With special thanks to Martyn Beardsley
Prologue - London, August 1666
Oranges and lemons, say the bells of Saint Clement’s.
You owe me five farthings, say the bells of Saint Martin’s.
When will you pay me, say the bells of Old Bailey...
“Sing it with me, Lucinda – it’s the bit about when I grow rich next!”
The little girl sat on the doorstep of her small, ramshackle house in Bloodbone Alley, Shadwell, merrily singing her favourite song and bouncing her rag doll by its arms. It was late summer and the sun was hanging in a clear blue sky above the roof of the inn across the road. The brown Thames rolled by at the end of the alley, and the girl could see a small merchant ship and a couple of coal barges at anchor at the landing stage. A small group of children who lived in this East London alley were playing a boisterous ball game close by, but the girl with the doll couldn’t join in the fun. Her thin, almost useless legs were spread out on the dusty ground before her, and a pair of walking sticks leaned against the wall. But she didn’t mind. She had been like this since before she could remember, and it was the only way of life she had known. She enjoyed just being around the other children and losing herself in her own colourful little world.
But before she could launch into the next verse of her song, there was a cry of “Catch!” and the tallest of the boys in the little gang playing nearby sent a gentle toss her way. The girl smiled. They knew she couldn’t join properly, but they always tried to include her in whatever way they could. She managed to catch the ball and threw it back to the boy, who gave her a cheery wave then went back to the game with the other children.
“That was a good throw, wasn’t it Lucinda? Straight into his hands from all this way away. If only our legs worked properly, we would show them how good we’d be at their games!”
She assumed that no one but Lucinda, with her yellow hair, permanent cheery smile and cheeks painted rosy-red, had heard her.
But she was wrong.
With the sun behind the inn across the road, its doorway was cast deep in shadow – and hidden within that darkness was a short but stocky man, watching the children at play.
The inn was called The Pelican, but the locals knew it as the Devil’s Tavern after the smugglers and other unsavoury characters that frequented it at night.
Soon, a younger boy with red hair threw the ball towards the seated girl once more, but in his excitement his throw was too hard, too wide. It hit the wall beside her and bounced across the alley. Just as the boy was about to retrieve it, the figure in the doorway of the Pelican emerged, picked it up, and tossed it back.
“Uh ... thanks,” the red-haired boy said in an uncertain tone. There was something about the man that unnerved him – not least the missing finger on the hand that had tossed the ball.
The man didn’t say a word in reply, and returned to the shadows.
As evening drew in, a couple of the children were called in by their mothers. Their ball game was winding down, and the remaining three children stood in a circle, chatting and half-heartedly throwing the ball between each other – but it was suppertime now, and soon they waved to the girl and said their goodbyes. The red-haired boy was one of them. He cast a wary glance in the direction of The Pelican’s doorway.
“How will you get indoors? Do you need a hand?” he called to the crippled girl.
“Oh, I’ll be all right,” she said, jabbing her thumb towards her sticks. “Anyway, I’m waiting for my brother to come home from work. He always gives me a big hug and carries me indoors!”
“Well, don’t stay out too late, or the bogeyman will get you!” laughed a girl as they departed.
The red-haired boy frowned and looked towards the door once more. “Don’t say things like that,” he chided.
“Oh, we don’t believe in the bogeyman, do we Lucinda?” the seated girl said to her doll.
But as soon as the coast was clear, the bogeyman, or at least the closest thing to one she would ever encounter, was already creeping from his hiding place. The girl had her back to him. His stealthy footsteps brought him closer by the second. She heard a movement behind her at the last moment, but it was already too late. She was scooped up from the ground in a pair of brawny arms and carried quickly towards a coach that was waiting round the corner. As her captor hurried along the street, he placed a great paw of a hand over her mouth to prevent her screams being heard by the inhabitants of Shadwell. But although the girl’s withered legs dangling helplessly, she wriggled her body and thrashed with her arms for all she was worth. A man emerged from the coach to help the kidnapper get her inside, and in the struggle a handkerchief fell from his pocket. Once their victim was safely inside, the two men joined her. The driver cracked his whip, and the wheels of the carriage clattered as the coach disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Chapter One - Flavia
There was an excited buzz running through the cast standing on the stage of the otherwise empty King’s Theatre. All the actors gathered in little huddles chattering animatedly, awaiting the announcement the theatre manager William Huntingdon was about to make. All, that was, except Beth Johnson.
“And our next production,” Huntingdon declared, “will be the acclaimed dramatic production – The Empire Dies!”
A ripple of excitement went through the group, but Beth’s heart sank. She stood slightly apart from the rest, chewing her lip. With her tall, willowy figure, long, chestnut-brown hair and pretty green eyes, she was used to being the King’s Players’ leading lady. In the few short years she’d been with them, she had established herself as the most popular actress in London. But her parts had all been in light-hearted productions or out-and-out comedies. This was different. Would she be offered any role, let alone the lead? Did Huntingdon believe she was capable of serious acting? Beth wasn’t even sure herself...
“And The Empire Dies will be different in other ways too,” Huntingdon continued, as he sat in the front row of the auditorium with his assistant beside him. He had been a fine actor himself in his day, and his powerful voice echoed around the majestic theatre and its three tiers of empty seating. “This production calls for big set-piece scenes with lots of extras. We need to make it a big success, because it will cost more to produce than our last three plays put together. As well as all the additional actors and actresses, I shall be having a trap door cut into the stage, a flying machine is to be installed and we shall be employing fireworks at various points during the performance!”
At this, more excited chatter moved through the gathered players.
“But the parts, the parts!” cried Benjamin Lovett, Beth’s only adversary among the cast. �
�Who shall play Constantine? Who, Alaric, leader of the Goths? I should just like to mention that I have studied Alaric in the history books – his speeches, his mannerisms, the gallant way he—”
“Please, Mister Lovett,” interjected Huntingdon. “I have, of course, given the matter a lot of thought. Some of you who have not had the chance to blossom in comedy may prove to be dramatic actors of power and depth. Equally, those of you who are rightly lauded for your comedic performances may find this tragedy not to your suiting...”
Beth groaned inwardly. He wasn’t looking directly at her, yet she felt sure he was preparing her for the bad news. She imagined herself being issued with the costume of a Roman peasant girl...
“Benjamin,” Huntingdon said. “You are to play an important role – that of Alaric’s opponent, the Emperor Honorius!”
“B-but he loses!” Lovett wailed.
“Uh, yes, Rome does eventually fall – but what a magnificent defeat! What a wonderfully tragic hero! I believe, Benjamin, that only you can achieve the right balance between heroism and noble defeat in the same character.”
“Plus,” old Matthew the prompter chipped in from the wings, “no one else wanted the part!”
Laughter echoed around the theatre, but it was quickly silenced by a stern glare from Huntingdon. “That is certainly not true. So, Benjamin, what say you?”
Lovett hesitated, and Beth could almost see into his mind as he mentally rehearsed the triumphant smiles, the tragic grimaces and gestures that would surely feature prominently in his interpretation of the role.
“Very well – I accept!”
There were sighs of relief all round. Then Huntingdon turned his gaze on Beth, and her heart skipped a beat. She steeled herself for the disappointment, the embarrassment of losing her place as the company’s lead actress. She could even hear his words before he uttered them: Beth, you are a fine comedy actress, but...
“Beth, my dear,” began the theatre manager, “you are a fine comedy actress, but I am equally sure that you can bring depth and feeling to a serious role – and thus you are our Flavia. She is the leading lady, the Roman noblewoman who falls for Alaric and is torn between betraying her people and supporting her lover.”
There was spontaneous applause, and Beth felt slaps of congratulations on her back, but she herself hadn’t quite taken it in. The main female role in a major dramatic play? But Benjamin Lovett’s reaction was very predictable.
“That part must be played by a mature woman, not a little girl who only knows how to slap her thigh and make merry,” he muttered.
“Don’t listen to him, Mistress Beth!”
She felt herself being squeezed tightly by Maisie White. The young orange-seller had been standing a little to the side of the auditorium, but rushed up to hug her friend Beth on hearing the news. The two of them had been like sisters since Beth had found the younger girl begging in Covent Garden. She discovered that after Maisie’s mother had died, she had stowed away in a ship from America to come in search of her father. The echoes of her own life – she herself had been abandoned as a child – had drawn her immediately to the pretty orphan with the dark curls and bright blue eyes.
“He has got a point,” Beth said tentatively. “I’ve never played a big, serious role in my life. How do I know I can even do it? I am only a young woman and Flavia was much older. Will audiences believe in me?”
“I believe in you, Beth. And it could have been worse.”
“What do you mean?”
“If Mister Huntingdon had given you the part of Messalina you would probably have had to be in love scenes with Benjamin Lovett!”
They both looked at each other for a moment, then cried “Yuck!” in unison.
“MAISIE WHITE!”
Huntingdon’s voice boomed out from the front seats of the theatre.
The girl instantly fell silent, her face glowing red. “Sorry, Mister Huntingdon sir, I was just...”
“I don’t want you selling oranges in this theatre when we stage The Empire Dies, Maisie.”
Beth frowned indignantly, unsure whether to intervene. She could see that poor Maisie was on the verge of tears.
“But, sir! I only wanted to congratulate Beth. I know I’m not supposed to come on to the stage but—”
“Well you had better get used to being on stage. I need lots of extras for this play and you are to be one of them. A high-ranking Roman lady, the wife of a member of the Senate.”
Maisie gawped at Huntingdon as if he had grown another head. “But I ... you can’t possibly ... me?”
“What are you standing there for, child? Go and get measured up for a costume!”
Now it was Beth’s turn to hug Maisie. She knew that the only thing that meant more to her friend than finding her father was her dream of treading the boards herself. This was a small start – but it was a start.
Huntingdon went through the rest of the cast list, then picked up a pile of scripts from the seat next to his and made his way to the stage. “I want the principal players to gather round for the first read-through.”
The cast formed a circle around Huntingdon, who moved to sit in an old wooden chair in the centre of the stage. Beth sat cross-legged next to Samuel Jones, the actor chosen to play Alaric, the lead male part. He was quite a bit older than her but very handsome and a favourite with all the girls at the King’s Theatre.
Beth began to read her lines, but was soon interrupted.
“I can’t hear her!” Benjamin Lovett complained. He was sitting at the edge of the circle on a chair because his podgy legs wouldn’t allow him to sit cross-legged on the floor. Huntingdon ignored him.
“Let us move to Scene Four – Flavia’s chamber at midnight,” he announced instead. He didn’t look in Lovett’s direction, but in a quieter voice he addressed Beth directly. “And try to project a little more please, Flavia.”
Beth cleared her throat nervously. If she wasn’t even good enough to play a serious part, how could she even think of ever fulfilling her own dream of running a theatre company?
By the end of the cast’s very first run through the script, they all smiled warmly and congratulated her before they parted. But as the rest of cast began to disperse, Huntingdon discreetly took Beth to one side, and she feared the worst.
“Can we have a brief word, please?”
“You don’t think I can do it, do you—?” Beth began
“Are you accusing me of having poor judgement?” he asked her sternly, but with a twinkle in his eye.
“Oh no, Mister Huntingdon. But I know others couldn’t hear me as well as Mister Lovett and, well...”
“Projecting the voice doesn’t come naturally, Beth. ’Tis a skill we’ve all had to learn. The comedies you have been used to tend to be fast, furious and loud anyway, but tragedies have many more serious and quiet moments. The trick is, how to be quiet yet still ensure you can be heard by all.”
“But what does that mean?”
Huntingdon arranged two chairs opposite each other on the now otherwise empty stage, and they both sat.
“First, think about the way you breathe...”
Beth’s intensive lesson on projection lasted a good forty-five minutes. Huntington taught her about posture, breathing, relaxing the throat and bringing the sound forward. By the time she and Maisie were on their way home, she was feeling much better about tackling the dream role she had been given.
“What was Mister Huntingdon talking to you about for so long?” Maisie asked, as they walked along Drury Lane towards the Peacock and Pie tavern where they lived. Autumn was almost upon them, but Beth felt as hot and sweaty as she had all through this long, dry summer. She wiped beads of sweat from her brow.
“He was teaching me a special way to talk.”
“But you can already talk...”
“Yes! But inside a theatre, the normal way of talking doesn’t always work.”
“So, have you got to learn to talk in French or something, then?”
> Beth laughed. “No! It’s to do with making sure everyone can hear you.”
“There’s so much to learn. My Roman lady’s costume is beautiful, I just won’t know what to do in it!”
“Well, you won’t have to say any lines in your first stage role. Don’t worry, I’ll help you with everything.”
Big Moll, the landlady of the Peacock and Pie, greeted the girls warmly the instant they crossed the threshold of the tavern. She was carrying a big rolled-up carpet under one brawny arm, as easily as if it were a piece of parchment. “Well, here comes me little beauties!” she said. “Maisie, can you fetch some water for me from the well in the garden? Mind you don’t fall down, though. The water’s got so low the bucket’s scraping the bottom. We need a bit o’ rain, that’s what we need.”
“Yes, Moll,” said Maisie.
“Good girl. As soon as I’ve beaten the dust out of this I’ll prepare you both a nice bit o’ supper.”
“Thank you,” said Beth. “We’ll be in the little side room if you don’t mind. Maisie’s going to be in the next play and I’m going to help her with a few things.”
“I’m to be an important Roman lady!” Maisie declared, her blue eyes beaming like sapphires.
“Well I never,” said Moll, chuckling.
As soon as Maisie had fetched the water, they went into the room off the main drinking area that was sometimes let out to gentlemen who required a little privacy, and Beth began their first lesson.
“Now, face the window and imagine it’s where the audience is sitting...”
Maisie went pale. “Audience? Oh – they’ll all be looking at me!”
“That’s the general idea, Maisie! But anyway, they’ll be looking at everyone all the time, depending on what’s happening and who’s speaking.”
“Good ... although I do hope they look at me a little. My costume is so splendid, t’would be a shame if—”
But they were interrupted by a desperate hammering at the door to their little room.
“Come in!” said Beth, surprised.
The door flew open, and in came a rather dishevelled boy of about Beth’s age.