The Incredible Talking Machine
Page 11
The clock struck. One. Two. Three—
A scream.
Melodrama
Tig was out of the door in an instant, and back in the carpentry workshop. Nelson was standing where Gus had been a minute before. Impossible! He was clutching his hand, dark red blood running in rivers down his wrist.
‘Are you all right?’ said Tig running over to him.
‘No!’
She took him by the wrist and caught a glimpse of the cut across the back of his hand. It was wide, but fortunately didn’t look deep. She pulled a clean handkerchief out of her apron pocket.
‘Press this against the wound,’ said Tig. She pulled over a stool and helped him to sit down.
Faber’s grey face appeared at the doorway. He turned as white as a sheet at the sight of the blood then hastily retreated.
‘What happened?’ said Tig.
‘The saw hit a knot in the wood and jumped. Ouch.’
‘Why were you sawing?’ said Tig.
‘I was waiting for Gus to bring the next length of wood. And I came up to see what was taking so long—’ He winced as Tig wrapped the handkerchief a little tighter to slow the bleeding. ‘But that layabout wasn’t even here. So I had to finish it myself.’
Tig felt sick. She had saved Gus, only to injure Nelson. It was all her fault! What if she hadn’t interfered at all? Maybe Gus wouldn’t have been hurt. Maybe he’d have finished cutting the wood before the stroke of three. Had her attempts to avoid Euphonia’s prediction actually caused it to come true?
‘Mind out, mind out,’ Eliza called as she bustled into the room from the direction of the gallery. ‘Let’s have a look at it, lad.’
Tig backed away, out of the room and into the wings. Faber was polishing Euphonia, but it was clear that he was waiting for her.
‘Say it, then,’ she said.
‘Pardon?’
‘Say it. You told me so.’
‘Sit down,’ said Faber. ‘You’ve had a shock.’
‘Did I cause that?’ She perched on the stool behind the machine. ‘I tried to stop it, but I caused it to happen, right? Did I make it happen to Nelson, instead of Gus?’
Faber shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
She couldn’t stop thinking about the gash in Nelson’s hand and his pinched, shocked face. Would he have to stay off work? What would happen if he got an infection? People died of such things. Tig felt the prickle of tears in the corners of her eyes.
Faber patted her shoulder awkwardly. ‘There, there.’
Tig glared at him. ‘There’s no doubt now. Euphonia is predicting the future.’
Faber took the tin of pills from his pocket and swallowed a handful. ‘I feel hot,’ he said absently. ‘I hope it isn’t the start of a fever.’
‘Oh no,’ said Tig. ‘You can’t change the subject. She’s warning us for a reason, so we can help people.’
‘Who says she is warning us? She’s not human. She doesn’t think and feel like we do. She perhaps doesn’t even know we’re here.’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘It’s like spotting shapes in the clouds. The clouds aren’t doing it on purpose and they’re not aware that we’re watching and looking for meaning.’
‘But the things Euphonia says actually happen. It’d be like spotting an elephant in the clouds and then being trampled by one.’
‘I can’t explain it,’ he said. ‘I don’t know any more than you do.’
‘You built her. You must know something.’
‘No,’ said Faber. ‘I told you. It happened for the first time the night I arrived.’
‘What did she say that time? Did it come true?’
He hesitated, then said reluctantly. ‘She told me that I could trust you, Miss Rabbit. And whether that’s true remains to be seen.’
Tig stared at the professor. Was he telling the truth, or did he know more than he was saying? He seemed pleased the machine was talking, so maybe it had all started when he arrived. What was it about coming to the Royale that had made Euphonia speak on her own? But Faber seemed so certain that they couldn’t do anything about the predictions, it was as if he’d known about them all along.
‘I think I need to lie down,’ he said. ‘Good day, Antigone.’
Paper the Stalls
Faber had shut himself away in the Green Room, Eliza was taking Nelson home, and Gus was still out on this errand.
Poor Nelson. Hurt because of Tig. It wasn’t fair. Three people hurt in three days, all predicted by Euphonia.
Tig had tried to do the right thing, and all it had done was injure her best friend and cost her all her wages.
She should go to him, and make sure he was all right, but guilt held her back. Tig had done exactly what he begged her not to do – and what she always did. Something exciting and new had come along and she’d become obsessed, neglecting their friendship. Even when Nelson warned her to be cautious, she decided she knew better, and got them in trouble.
Sitting still with these thoughts was torture; she had to be moving. Mulling things over, she went out into the alley that ran between the back of the theatre and the mill behind. She filled a bucket from the water pump, and grated in some soap. Work would give her a welcome distraction while she tried to figure things out.
When she’d hurt her arms in the grave trap, well, maybe she deserved it. But now she’d hurt Nelson with her impulsiveness and she didn’t know if she could look him in the eye. Nelson’s family didn’t have money to spare – if he was too hurt to work, they’d be in trouble. His grandma and uncle had always been kind to Tig, and she couldn’t bear to see them suffer.
His family would be in trouble if the theatre closed, too. Tig couldn’t un-injure his hand, but she could keep fighting for the Royale. Faber’s act was improving but that would make no difference unless more people started buying tickets. Waiting for word to spread naturally would take too long. She needed to get people through the door, and quickly.
She carried the bucket and scrubbing brush to the lobby and climbed the stairs to start cleaning the tiles up on the balcony.
Barely two minutes later, the front door opened and in came a small man wearing a brown coat and fawn top hat.
‘Good afternoon,’ he called. ‘I’d like to buy some tickets, please.’
Tig put down her scrubbing brush and wiped her hands on her apron, ready to go to his aid, but before she got to her feet, Snell had emerged from the office.
‘We open at six thirty, my good man,’ Snell said.
‘Ah, yes.’ The man touched the brim of his hat politely. ‘I’m actually looking to purchase a large number of tickets, for the boys at the music school. Fifty-four, altogether, in the stalls. I thought I’d better come down early, make sure you can fit us all in.’
Tig poked her head over the balcony. Fantastic! The seats in the stalls were worth more than those in the dress circle, at fourpence a piece. This would be a big help.
‘No, I’m sorry. We can’t accommodate you.’
What? Snell was turning away badly-needed sales. If anyone needed proof that Snell was trying to sabotage the theatre, this was it!
‘Oh,’ said the man. ‘Are you sure? It doesn’t have to be tonight, if you’re too full.’
‘Completely sold out, I’m afraid.’
‘For the whole month?’
‘Tremendously sorry you’ve wasted your time, sir. I won’t keep you a moment longer.’ Snell began ushering the dismayed-looking man towards the door.
‘Oh, I see. Well, thank you for your time. Good day, then.’
‘Good day!’
The man left, and Snell returned to his office.
Tig wasn’t about to let this happen. She came down the stairs as fast as she dared, not wanting her shoes to make too much noise on the marble steps. She opened the ticket booth, and helped herself to a roll of tickets, and after a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure Snell wasn’t watching, she ran out after the man from the music school.
‘Excuse me!’ she sho
uted, dodging between people walking. The street was noisy with the clatter of hoofbeats and voices of the street sellers, and it was beginning to rain. ‘Sir! Excuse me!’
She caught up to him on the street corner, and he looked most surprised.
‘I’m from the Theatre Royale,’ said Tig. ‘We made a mistake, I’m sorry! We can sell you tickets for tonight.’ She waved the roll of tickets at him, slightly breathless.
‘Oh, well, that is good news.’ He reached into his pocket. ‘How much for fifty-four?’
‘Umm…’ Tig counted it out in her head. ‘Three tickets for a shilling… eighteen shillings, please.’
He handed her a pound note. ‘Keep the change. The lads will be thrilled. We were going to take them to the opera for this month’s outing, but they begged to come here instead.’
Twenty-two, twenty-four, twenty-six… She unwrapped the tickets from the roll, folding them back and forth into a neat stack.
‘We all read the review in the Guardian. Sounded ghastly to me!’ the man said in a jolly voice. ‘No offence intended. That’s why the boys are so keen to see it, I suspect. You know what boys are like, with their ghost stories and their dreadful comics.’
‘Fifty-four.’ Tig tore off the strip of pink tickets and handed them over. ‘Thank you, sir. I’m sure your boys will enjoy themselves.’
‘No doubt they will.’ He tucked the tickets safely into his pocket. ‘Good day to you, miss.’
Of course…
The newspaper article said it was creepy, and half the audience seemed to agree.
Maybe that was it. Maybe the Royale was coming at this from the wrong angle. They had advertised Euphonia as a miracle of science, a mechanical marvel, and a wondrous achievement. And people were disappointed.
But what if they advertised her as a bizarre and morbid spectacle? People flocked to see spooky stories – Frankenstein and Hamlet and phantasmagoria. When the circus came to town, everyone wanted to see the freak shows and the fortune-tellers.
The streets were getting busy. It was almost time for shift-change at the cotton mill. Men and women and children were beginning to make their way to their workspaces and soon others would be on their way home.
Tig counted the tickets in her hand. Forty-six left on the roll. If they could get a full house, just once, if people heard that the machine was so strange and hideous and disturbing that the whole theatre was sold out…
She crossed the road to where a group of factory workers were queuing for bread and coffee. ‘ ’Scuse me,’ she said to the smallest one, a lad of about ten. ‘Would you like a ticket to tonight’s show at the Theatre Royale?’
‘Dunno,’ said the boy. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s a scary machine that can talk with a human voice,’ said Tig. ‘It was invented by a mad professor. It’s got a woman’s face and it sounds like it’s talking from the depths of hell.’ She ripped a ticket off the roll. ‘You’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘How much?’ said the lad. Another boy, behind him, was paying attention too.
‘Free,’ said Tig. ‘Tonight only.’ She held out the ticket and when he went to take it, pulled it back. ‘On one condition.’
‘Go on?’
‘You tell everyone that you’re going. And tell them that’s it’s sold out.’
‘Yeah, all right,’ said the lad.
‘I want one,’ said the boy behind him. Within five minutes she had given out twelve tickets in the coffee line alone.
This was so risky. If Snell found out she was giving away tickets, she’d be done for. He’d say she was throwing money away, and then, most likely, throw her away too. She knew that he didn’t care about sales, but he’d be glad of the excuse to get rid of Tig once and for all.
But they weren’t really losing money. The theatre had been less than half full for all of Faber’s shows so far, and empty seats were worth nothing. It was worth the risk.
She felt better already as she wove her way among the market stalls, picking out likely targets. The children who sold sweets and fruit outside the theatre were there with their barrow.
‘Say, would you like to come and see the show tonight, after you finish selling?’ Tig asked the girl.
‘Dad says we ’ent got the money for that sort of thing.’
‘Here you go.’ She ripped off a strip of tickets. ‘Bring your mam and daddy too.’
The little girl beamed and stuck out her hand. ‘Thank you!’
‘Tell everyone you’re going! See you tonight.’
She stayed outside for another half-hour until all the tickets on the roll had gone.
Returning to the theatre, Tig managed to slip inside without anyone seeing her. She put the pound note the teacher had given her in the cash box. She was pleased with herself. Faber would have a good night tonight.
Between the free tickets, and the music school, and the punters who were going to show up anyway, it should guarantee a fairly full house for the show. Then people would really start talking about it, and would want to come and see the show for themselves. It always worked like that – popular shows got more and more popular, because everyone wanted to be part of the fun.
It would work. It had to work.
Eliza had asked Tig to help in the ticket booth that evening.
She brushed the dust off her coat, and pinned her hair back to look presentable. For the first time in a long while, there was a queue beginning to form outside the Royale when the doors opened at six thirty. People shuffled up to Tig’s booth in twos and threes to show their tickets or buy seats.
‘Is it true?’ asked a woman in a large hat. ‘Is it as clever as they say?’
‘Indeed, madam,’ said Tig. ‘Truly a mechanical marvel.’
‘It’s not a trick, then?’
‘Not a bit of it,’ said Tig. ‘I’ve inspected it myself.’
‘Between you and me,’ the lady leaned in conspiratorially. ‘Is it worth the money?’
Tig nodded sagely. ‘Most definitely. I’ve never seen such a wonder in all the world.’
The lady nodded and paid. A few moments later, two boys of around nine or ten were at the window.
‘What’s it like, then?’ said the first one.
‘We heard it’s weird,’ said the second.
‘It’s terrible,’ said Tig, leaning forward and lowering her voice to a whisper. ‘Monstrous.’
The boys grinned. ‘Two, please.’
Amongst the last people to come through were the fruit-selling children and their parents. The father insisted on shaking Tig’s hand through the window.
‘Very kind,’ he said. ‘Very good of you indeed.’
He produced a huge orange from each pocket and placed them both on the counter.
‘For you.’
Tig beamed, and tucked them away out of sight.
‘Look at that, Edgar,’ said Eliza as she closed up the front doors. ‘A full house! The professor isn’t a failure after all! Isn’t that marvellous?’
‘Yes. Marvellous.’ Snell didn’t look quite so thrilled. ‘Won’t you join me in the theatre, Eliza? I’d like to see the improved show for myself.’
‘Why of course, dear brother.’ Eliza took the arm that Snell had offered.
‘And we can ensure there’s no unscheduled appearances from any of the stage crew.’
Behind the Scenes
Tig watched the beginning of the show from the wings, delighted by the crowded house, and by Faber’s pleasant surprise when he saw the size of the audience. It must’ve given him confidence, because he strode out onto the stage with his head held high, and remembered to project his voice, just as they’d practised.
Satisfied that the evening was going well, Tig seized the opportunity to sneak away and visit Nelson. The sickly-green worry inside her chest grew with every passing minute until it outweighed the feelings of shame – she had to check that he would be all right.
He lived down at the other end of the parish, in a di
ngy and miserable block of back-to-back houses. The buildings in this part of the city were small and cheap and dark, all crammed together tightly to squeeze in as many people as possible. They were built for the mill workers and all the underpaid, overworked poor who kept Manchester running.
The house Nelson shared with his grandmother and uncle faced into a little courtyard where three privies served fifty houses. The stench was thick as Tig passed through the ginnel and ducked under a washing line. Manchester was an overcrowded, industrial city, with a constant odour of horse manure and coal dust and fish markets, and the Royale itself often stank of sweat and dust and greasepaint. But nothing smelled quite as bad as the slums. They smelled of human misery.
She knocked on the front door and was let in by Nelson’s grandmother, a lady scarcely older than Eliza but stooped and worn from endless hard labour. She had Nelson’s wide smile and dark skin, and long hair pulled into a thick braid.
‘Little Rabbit,’ she said warmly. ‘You haven’t visited me in so long!’
Just as she had the first time they met, she flung her arms round Tig in a hug so warm and welcoming it almost made her forget her worries.
Coming here always brought up a mix of feelings for Tig. The dark, damp, uncomfortable house was a reminder of how lucky she was to live in the dry and spacious theatre. But at the same time, she was a little jealous of what Nelson had – a loving family who were always happy to see him at the end of the day.
Tig had spent many hours here since she moved to the Royale, sometimes helping with the mending work while Nelson’s grandmother told her about the adventures of her youth. When she was barely fifteen she had travelled by ship to England from the Americas, as a servant to a wealthy lady. En route she had fallen in love with a young sailor and when they reached land, they ran away together, eventually finding their way to Manchester. It was a grand love story, as good as any drama on stage at the Royale. It would make a wonderful play.
‘Here he is, here he is,’ Nelson’s grandmother cooed. ‘Tell him he needs to stay home and rest tomorrow. He won’t hear it from me.’