Don Gutteridge - Desperate Acts

“A sort of audition, then?” Dutton said,revealing his lawyer’s instinct for clarity of terms.

“Nothing quite so formal, my dear Dutton. Weare all friends here. We shall try this and that in an atmosphereof encouragement and good cheer until we happen upon the role bestsuited to our sundry talents.” He smiled broadly and underlined thegesture with both jowls.

“But won’t it be difficult without theladies’ parts?” Crenshaw said. “The women are everywhere in here,as far as I can see.”

“As befits a play about love,” Sir Peregrinesaid affably. “And ladies we shall have, good sir. That isprecisely why we are making this a truly ‘amateur’ production witha carefully selected audience.”

“By my count, we’ll need three of the fairersex for these scenes,” Dutton said, ever precise. “Titania, Hermiaand Helena.”

“And count well, you have, my dear Dutton.Lady Madeleine Shuttleworth will lay claim to the exacting role ofTitania. My niece Lizzie, who is tall for her age, will be perfectfor Helena.”

“Which leaves the role of Hermia unaccountedfor,” Dutton said.

“Indeed,” Sir Peregrine said. “I was hopingthat one or more of you would find it feasible to conscript a wifeor daughter for our intrepid band. But, of course, three of our ownmembers themselves declined to participate, leaving us with acorporal’s guard, as it were.”

He did not have to point out that Fullarton’swife was an invalid and that Dutton was a lonely widower withoutissue.

“You have a young sister, do you not,Langford ol’ chap?” he said to Brodie with more hope in his voicethan expectation.

“I did ask Celia if she would like to joinus,” Brodie said, “but she declined. Perhaps another time – ”

“My good wife would be happy to play any roleassigned her,” Crenshaw said. “Clementine has taken part in severaltableaux – when she was in school.”

“Splendid, splendid,” Sir Peregrine enthused.“But do you think she is – ah – right for the role of Hermia?” Thethought that Clementine Crenshaw must perforce be of an age withher husband, forty or more, had just struck the director, inaddition to the fact that most affluent women in their middle years(his own spouse excepted) were of a certain girth andheavy-footedness.

“She is most youthful in appearance,”Crenshaw lied loyally, “and has a most pleasing voice. She is verykeen on joining us.” He decided it was not necessary to add thather keenness was prompted primarily by the possibility of spendingquality time in Oakwood Manor among its aristocratic occupants.

“Then it is settled. Your Clementine shallplay Hermia. We shall have wigs, costumes, make-up and footlightsto assist each of us in transforming our ordinary selves into themagical creatures that inhabit the Bard’s dramas.”

Which was both a comforting and a dauntingthought for those seated at the director’s table.

“I propose, gentlemen, that we begin.” SirPeregrine stared down at his cast, who themselves were staring downat their scripts. “Mr. Dutton, your slim figure and vigour ofmovement should suffice to make you a presentable lover. Would youfavour us with one of Lysander’s speeches?”

Sir Peregrine indicated the speech hedesired.

Andrew Dutton found it, fondled his goatee asif speculating whether or not it might have to be sacrificed forart’s sake, and began:

Content with Hermia? No, I do repent

The tedious minutes I with her have spent.

Not Hermia, but Helena, I do love,

Who will not change a raven for a dove?

Sir Peregrine cleared his throat. Dutton had gotevery word right, but the rhythms in which he had cast them werecloser to those of a prosecuting attorney with a hostile witnessthan a teenage lover in an enchanted wood.

“Perhaps we could try that again, sir. And alittle less forensic this time.” Sir Peregrine chuckled at hiswitticism in hopes of relaxing the fellow. “Try thinking of thebeautiful Helena as you do so, or any beautiful woman, if you will.I am told your dear departed Felicity was a dark-hairedbeauty.”

Dutton tried to smile to indicate hisappreciation of the compliment, but the pain in his eyes wasapparent. Nonetheless, he gamely plunged ahead.

Several more attempts had reduced the pacesomewhat but little of the sustained aggression. Sir Peregrine’ssmile grew more impoverished with each rendition. Finally he turnedto Fullarton and said, “While Mr. Dutton ponders Lysander’s wordssilently, perhaps you would try the meaty role of Oberon, my dearHorace?” Sir Peregrine directed the banker to the speech he hadpreselected.

Fullarton began to recite in a deep, richbaritone voice:

My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememb’rest

Since once I sat upon a promontory

And heard a mermaid on a dolphin’s back

Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath

That the rude sea grew civil at her song

And certain stars shot madly from their spheres

To hear the sea-maid’s music?

The silence that followed Fullarton’s recitationindicated that something in the poetry had genuinely moved hislisteners. Perhaps too they were startled by the passionate andmelodious voice of the speaker, who was after all a banker and anusher at St. James, a man of rectitude and solitary habits. ButBrodie was not surprised, for he had long suspected that there wasa lot more to the man than his public persona. He was grateful thatMr. Fullarton had suggested their joining this club: it was goingto be good for them both.

“Splendid, sir,” the chairman burbled. “Morethan splendid. Somewhere above, seated on his divine actor’s stool,the Bard himself is surely watching and nodding approval.”

This effusive dollop of praise had a doubleeffect: it embarrassed Horace Fullarton and left Cyrus Crenshawdry-throated in the knowledge that such a performance would beimpossible to follow. Moreover, Sir Peregrine was now blessing himwith a multi-chinned grin.

“My dear Crenshaw, as you may have begun tosurmise, we have saved the plum role for your formidabletalents.”

“P-Puck?” was all Crenshaw could squeeze out,though it may not have been as precise an enunciation asintended.

Sir Peregrine’s grin vanished. “I amobviously referring to one of the supreme comedic roles in theentire Bardic canon.”

“He means Bottom the weaver,” Duttonwhispered in the manner he had often used to toss devastatingasides to the jury.

“You want me to play Bottom?” Crenshaw said,letting his jaw drop.

“I do, sir. I believe you will make theperfect clown. Why, you have the face of a Will Kemp, Shakespeare’sown favourite among the Lord Chamberlain’s Men.”

Crenshaw struggled heroically to take thisremark as a compliment. “But Bottom is a common mechanic,” heprotested, “an ignorant weaver who muddles his diction. And he ispompous and vain to boot.”

“Ah, I see you have penetrated to the nub ofthe character already. My directorial instincts have proven to beunerring, have they not?” Sir Peregrine said with much heartinessand a rippling smile.

“But I am a man of means, milord, the ownerof a prosperous factory and a fine residence. I have graduatedgrammar school. I can read Latin and a little Greek – ”

“Then you are further advanced than theBard,” Sir Peregrine quipped.

“I was hoping to be assigned a role with somedignity – like Oberon.”

“But my dear Crenshaw, am I not correct inrecalling that your father was a hard-working farmer and a merecorporal in the Canadian militia when he fell in the line ofduty?”

Whether this was a deliberate putdown or amisguided attempt to bolster Crenshaw’s confidence did not matter.The candle-maker knew he was beaten. He also knew that his wifeClementine would poison his coffee if he failed to obtain roles forthem in the baronet’s play.