Don Gutteridge - Desperate Acts

“But that’s the sort of nonsense OgdenFrank’s thespians get up to at the Regency – not the sort of thinga gentleman aspires to,” said Phineas Burke, a grocer’s son turnedstationer and aspiring gentleman.

“I heartily concur,” Sir Peregrine saidsmartly. “Mr. Frank allows anyone at all to join his patheticlittle troupe, even ordinary artisans with more schooling than isgood for them.”

“And women of every sort,” Michaelsadded, feeling he had no need to elaborate.

“But there are women’s roles in Midsummer Night’s Dream ,” Cyrus Crenshaw pointed out,looking to the baronet for help.

“Indeed there are. And we shall have ladiesto play them.”

“I don’t understand,” Andrew Dutton said.

“Let me expatiate fully, then,” Sir Peregrinesaid. “Back in London, Lady Madeleine and I belonged to adelightful clique of ladies and gentlemen who included among theiramusements and diversions dramatic evenings in which playlets,pantomimes and tableaux were de rigueur. The audience wascomposed entirely of personages from our own social class in what Imight term a ‘salon setting.’ We set up a proper stage in adrawing-room, donned full costume, and presented. We wereamateurs in the purest sense, acting out the Bard and lesser lightsfor the sheer pleasure of it all and performing solely for thedelectation and warm-hearted approval of our friends andacquaintances. And let me assure you, the quality of our effortswas not strained. We rehearsed to a fault, until our work wasfaultless.”

If any of the members had ever doubted thewisdom of making Sir Peregrine Shuttleworth their chairman andcheerleader, this description of civilized behaviour among thegentry of the mother country and the possibility of re-creating itin one of her colonies scotched all skepticism and naysaying. TheShakespeeare Club had existed for more than four years in Toronto,but its success had been intermittent, the low point having beenreached last winter when it had all but disbanded. Sir Peregrine,with the same zeal he had used to complete Oakwood Manor andorganize his needy in-laws, had re-formed and revitalized the club,and given it fresh prestige and new purpose.

“Are you suggesting that we find such adrawing-room and – ”

“We shall use Oakwood Manor, Cyrus. What goodis it to have a splendid home like mine and not deploy it to theuttermost?”

“But there is still the matter of theladies,” Horace Fullarton said. “You mentioned Lady Madeleine and -”

“And in addition to that sterling gentlewomanI can guarantee the avid participation of my wife’s niece, LizzieWade. We shall require one or two more, of course, and I would begyou to inquire after your spouses and daughters in that regard. Noprevious experience is necessary, and you might suggest to themthat the gracious hospitality of Oakwood Manor will be lavishedupon all who participate.”

There was much to digest in theseunlooked-for and gratuitous offers on the part of a genuine Englisharistocrat. Sensing this, Sir Peregrine said in his summing-upvoice, “I have stretched your patience far enough for one evening,gentlemen. In the coming week, I suggest you mull over thepossibilities I have presented. Let us meet again as usual at eighto’clock next Wednesday.”

With that, the meeting broke up. Most of themembers left via the cloakroom and back stairs to the alley inorder to avoid the clatter and stink of the taproom below.Fullarton and Brodie, however, remained behind until Gillian Budgeand Etta Hogg came up to clear away the mess. Fullarton – aconsiderate man and one who, with an invalid wife, seemed sensitiveto a woman’s delicate health – had suggested to Brodie that theysend for a taxicab and drive young Etta home, should she not haverecovered from her ordeal, the details of which Brodie had earlierconveyed to him.

Certainly Etta looked even paler and moredistracted, dropping a glass and tipping over an ash-tray – beforeGillian said, not unkindly, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, girl, go offwith these gentlemen and get yourself a good night’s rest. Thatblackguard, whoever he was, will not set foot in this place again.If he tries to, he’ll have me to contend with, not myham-fisted husband!”

“Come on, Etta,” Brodie said. “Let’s get yourcoat and be off.”

“You won’t tell Jasper or my mom abouttonight, will you?” Etta said as they started down the stairs tothe tavern.

“What did that man say to upset you so?”Fullarton inquired as gently as he could.

“Oh, I couldn’t repeat it, Mr. Fullarton. Notin a million years!”

And that, Brodie suspected, was all they werelikely to hear about the matter.

***

Some time later, one of the club members might havebeen observed walking north up Peter Street. Crossing Wellington,he carried on north towards King. But instead of continuing in thatdirection he paused, made certain he was alone, and turned into theeast-west service lane that ran behind the houses and shops on thenorth side of Wellington. He seemed to be counting the buildings ashe went along – cautiously, furtively, perhaps – with onlyintermittent pools of moonlight to guide him. Then he stopped,appeared to be checking his bearings, spotted some object ofsignificance, and eased over to it. It was a trash-barrel set outbehind a butcher shop. From a deep pocket the gentleman drew out abrown-paper package tied up with string. Glancing – fearfully? -from side to side, he slid the parcel onto the lid of the barrel.Then he wheeled about and hurried off, not once looking back.

It was some minutes later before one of theelongated shadows on the wall of the shop shuddered, and adark-suited, male figure emerged, moving with surreptitious butconfident steps towards the barrel. Peering east and west along thelength of the lane, he picked up the parcel and tucked it into hiscoat. Then he strolled off towards John Street, whistling.

Brodie and Horace Fullarton dropped Etta off at herhouse on Sherbourne Street. She had said nothing to them during theentire cab-ride from The Sailor’s Arms at the other end of town.Brodie put this uncharacteristic silence down to her reticence toreveal the details of the insult directed at her in the taproom. Asshe, her mother, and her brother Jasper lived next door to theEdwards, Etta had met Brodie a number of times in Briar Cottage,and was normally a greater chatterbox than Jasper’s lady-love,Charlene. Moreover, Brodie had caught her more than once casting afurtive glance his way. But tonight she mumbled a “thank you” andvanished up the walk.

“She’ll get over it,” Brodie said. “She’syoung.” That she was not more than a year or so younger than he,did not enter into his calculations.

“Does anybody know the name of the fellow whoaccosted her?” Fullarton said, ever solicitous of those indistress.

“Not really, though I’m pretty sure thevillain had been drinking in there on other occasions.”

Fullarton asked the cabbie to drive themfarther up Sherbourne Street to Harlem Place, where Brodie lived.He himself lived downtown on George Street. The night-air waschilly – after all, it was past mid-October – and doubly so afterthe simmering brightness of an Indian summer afternoon and aspectacular sunset. They drew their lapels up over their scarvesand spoke without turning their heads.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, sir, how arecent arrival like Peregrine Shuttleworth managed to revive theShakespeare Club?” Brodie said as they bumped along the ruttedroadway in the moon-washed dark. “I’d heard it was pretty welldead.”

“Please, Brodie. Outside the bank, I insistyou call me Horace.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Fullarton laughed, something he rarely did,though the lines around his mouth and eyes suggested he had done sooften in his younger and happier days – before Bernice’s illnessand the realization that they would have a childless marriage.“Well, Mister Langford, I must accept some of the blamemyself.”