Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Knew A Cardinal

Carol's husband joined them. "Did I hear my services being volunteered?"

At first glance the Lanspeaks were a plain-looking middle-aged couple, but they had a youthful source of energy that made them civic leaders and genial company as well as excellent actors. Qwilleran often wondered what they ate for breakfast. He said, "Larry, you were great onstage! The kingliest Henry I've ever seen!"

"Thanks, fella. Let me tell you, it's good to be thin again. Besides navigating Henry's belly around the stage, I had to think fat! That's quite an adjustment! And then there was that damned itchy beard! I shaved it off as soon as the final curtain fell."

Carol asked, "How did Polly like the play?"

"She gave it raves, and we both thought the crowd scenes were tremendously effective. How did you manage all those kids?"

"It wasn't easy-getting them into costume, keeping them quiet backstage, pushing them out on cue. They dressed at the school, you know, and we transported them on school buses. Trauma time! Fortunately, Hilary had directed the play before and knew all the tricks. As his assistant I learned a lot; I won't deny that." She turned her back to the other guests and lowered her voice. "But as president of the club and wife of the president of the school board, I wish to go on record as saying I can't stand the man!"

A large percentage of the Pickax population entertained a loathing for Hilary VanBrook, principal of the high school. At fault was his abrasive personality and unbearable conceit. The public even resented the turtlenecks he wore to school. In Moose County there was something subversive about an administrator who wore black turtlenecks instead of the expected white shirt and quiet tie. But chiefly annoying was his habit of being eminently successful at everything he proposed, no matter how preposterous it appeared to parents, teachers, the superintendent of schools, and the school board.

Principal-bashing, therefore, was a favorite pastime. He was an unattractive man, and behind his back he was called Horseface. Yet, everyone remained in awe of his capabilities and self-assurance. It was because of his brilliant record as a school administrator and his reputation as a brain that the Theatre Club had allowed him to mount a play that was considered too dull, on a stage that was too small, with a cast that was too large. And now Henry VIII was going into the books as another triumph for Horseface.

"Yes," Larry said grudgingly in a low voice, "that scurvy knave has done it again! Ticket sales were so good we actually made a profit. With all those kids in the cast, you know, the hall was filled with their relatives, friends, and classmates." He glanced to left and right to ascertain the director's whereabouts and continued in a stage whisper. "He made two political mistakes. He should certainly not have played Cardinal Wolsey himself, and he should definitely not have brought someone from the next county to play Queen Katharine. We have plenty of talent right here in Moose County."

Qwilleran scanned the scattered groups of guests. "What happened to the queen? I don't see her here tonight."

Carol said, "She left right after the curtain. Got out of makeup in a hurry and didn't even say goodbye to the cast."

"Well, we weren't very cordial to her, I'm afraid," Larry confessed, "although we told her about the party and how to get here, and she wrote it down. I thought she'd show up. Of course, she lives in Lockmaster, and that's a sixty- mile drive, so I guess she can be excused."

Carol squeezed her husband's arm. "How do you like the barn, honey?"

"Fantastic! What condition was it in, Qwill, before you started?"

"Structurally solid, but filthy! For years it had been a motel for birds, cats, bats, and even skunks. Fran hung those German prints as an apology to the dispossessed bats." He pointed to a group of four framed zoological prints of flying mammals, dated 1824.

"You should have the barn photographed, Qwill, for a magazine."

"Yes, I'd like to see it published - for Dennis's sake. And: Fran did a great job with the furnishings, considering I'm not the easiest client to get along with. John Bushland is coming up from Lockmaster to shoot some pictures for insurance purposes. I'm curious to know how everything looks on film."

"Don't we have a good photographer here?" Larry asked sharply. There had been jealous rivalry between Pickax and Lockmaster for a century or more.

"No one with Bushy's talent and experience and equipment."

"You're right. He's good," Larry acknowledged.

Someone shouted "Last call for pizza!" and the crowd swarmed to the kitchen snack bar - all except Hilary VanBrook. While the others had mingled in shifting clusters, the director had stayed on the periphery. In his bottle-green corduroy sports coat and red turtleneck he was clearly the best-dressed individual in the largely raggle-taggle assemblage. With shoulders hunched, hands in pockets, and a saturnine expression on his gaunt and homely face, he appeared to be studying - with a critical eye - the handhewn and woodpegged framewotk of the building, the design of the fireplace, the zoological prints, and the printer's typecase half filled with engraved metal plates mounted on wooden blocks.

He was standing in front of a pine wardrobe, seven feet high, when Qwilleran approached and said, "That's a Pennsylvania German schrank dating 1850 or earlier."

"More likely Austrian," the director corrected him. "You can see the piece had painted decoration originally. It's been stripped and refinished, which lessens its value, as you probably know."

Qwilleran devoutly wished that Dennis's mother had been present to refute the man's pronouncement. VanBrook delivered it without looking at his listener. He had a disconcerting habit of rolling his eyes around the room while discoursing. Exercising admirable restraint, Qwilleran replied, "Be that as it may, let me congratulate you on the success of the play."

The director flashed a glance at the frayed lapels of Qwilleran's old plaid robe. "Its success came as no surprise to me. When I proposed doing the play, the opposition came from persons with little theatre experience or understanding of Shakespeare. A dull play, they labeled it. With competent direction there are no dull plays. Furthermore, Henry VIII addresses problems that are rife in our society today. I insist that our senior students study Henry VIII."

Qwilleran said, "I understand there was no Shakespeare taught in Pickax before you took the helm."

"Regrettably true. Now our freshmen are exposed to Romeo and Juliet, sophomores read Macbeth, and juniors study Julius Caesar. Not only do they read the plays; they speak the lines. Shakespeare is meant to be spoken."

Listening to VanBrook's theatrical voice and looking past his shoulder, Qwilleran could see the ramp leading down from the balcony. Koko was descending the slope to investigate, walking with a purposeful gait, his eyes fixed on the principal. Effortlessly and silently the cat rose to the top of the schrank and assumed a position above the man's head, gazing down with a peculiar stare. Qwilleran, hoping that Koko had no intentions that might prove embarrassing, gave the cat a stern glance and cleared his throat pointedly before inquiring of VanBrook, "What do you think of the job Dennis did with this great barn of a place?"

"Derivative, of course," VanBrook said with a lofty display of design acumen. "According to Dennis, ramps are in keeping with barn vernacular. Any resemblance to the Guggenheim Museum is purely coincidental. Those ladders," Qwilleran went on, are the original loft ladders; the rungs are lashed to the siderails with leather thongs."

Apparently the director could feel Koko's stare at the top of his head, and he passed his hand over his hairpiece. (That hairpiece was a topic of much discussion in Pickax, where men were expected to have the real thing or none at all.) Then VanBrook turned abruptly and looked at the top of the schrank.