Don Gutteridge - Desperate Acts

At the far end of the tall-windowed room,where at least one formal ball had been held for the worthiest ofthe worthies in the capital, a stage had been built – abouttwo-feet high with a playing-surface about twenty-five by fifteenfeet. There was no proscenium arch, but a right-angled, rectangularframework and curtains had been rigged up on either side to provide“wings” and a concealed area for those waiting off-stage for theirentrance cue. At the back of the stage, the visitors noticed a mantacking canvas onto what looked like quilting-frames.

“That’s Mullins, preparing the flats we’lluse,” said Sir P. helpfully. (Mullins was the Shuttleworth’sgardener and general handyman.)

“We brought with us a steamer-trunk full oftheatrical costumes and props,” Lady Mad added in her low, throatyvoice, “but naturally we had to leave most of our flats and fliesat home.”

“We’re goin’ to have costumes ?” Clemmysaid.

“The works,” Sir P. replied.

“Our little nieces and nephew – four of them- have volunteered to play the fairies,” Lady Mad said. “But we’llhave to find someone locally to make them fairy outfits.”

“There are a number of competent seamstressesand dressmakers in town,” said Dutton, brushing up against a puffedsleeve of green sateen.

“I’d recommend Smallman’s ,” Crenshawsaid at the other sleeve. “Rose Halpenny is the best, Milady.”

“You must try to call me Maddy, all of you,”Lady Mad said generously, “except of course when the servants areabout.”

“I shall try, Milady,” Crenshaw said.

“Oh, I don’t see how I could,” Clemmysaid. “It would seem too – too condescending.”

“Still, you must try,” said Sir P. as hepointed out a cozy den adjacent to stage left, which wouldeventually serve as a dressing-room, discreetly partitioned, forboth sexes. “Putting on a play brings its participants into closeand familiar contact. There can be no standing on ceremony. That iswhy it is crucial to have only ladies and gentlemen in thecast.”

This remark had caused Clemmy to blush withpleasure and her husband to smile inwardly at his good – and, hewas certain, well-deserved – fortune.

While Horace Fullarton immediately upon hisarrival had started to tell Sir Peregrine about the eventssurrounding the arrest of the youngest member of their troupe, SirPeregrine had silenced him, saying that no serious talk waspermitted till after the meal. True to his word, as the coffee wasbeing served to his guests, groggy from food and drink, Sir P. heldup his plump right hand and called for attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, in a moment we shalladjourn to the theatre to begin our first read-through of thescripts I gave you and the roles I assigned. My butler Chivers andhis minions are setting up a table and chairs for that purpose.After our efforts, some light refreshment will be served. Butbefore we initiate these delights, we must address an unexpectedand pressing problem.”

“Young Langford’s in jail, ya mean?” Clemmybrayed through her hiccoughs. She, like several others, had beenwaiting for a suitable opportunity to raise the question ofBrodie’s absence without offending their host or in any waydisrupting the atmosphere of congeniality and deference he hadstriven to create for them.

“Putting it in the bluntest terms, yes,” saidSir P. “Though Horace assures me that it is all a terrible mistakeand Brodie will soon be released.”

“I heard he stabbed some tramp nearIrishtown,” Clemmy said.

“There was a wild rumour going around about aduel,” Dutton said, “but I paid no attention to it.”

“Anyone know who the victim was or whyLangford would be involved?” Crenshaw said.

“Chivers told me his name was Durgens orDougan – something like that,” said Lady Mad. “He didn’t mentionMr. Langford, though, and I’ve never heard of this Dougan.”

Nor had anyone else, it seemed, for there wasa long pause.

“I’m sure nothing will come of it,” said SirP., wiping his rubbery lips with a monogrammed napkin. “Surely anygentleman accosted on the street by a lowlife is entitled toretaliate in kind. If not, then there is little hope for thiscolony.”

“I agree that young Brodie is certain to bereleased tomorrow morning,” Fullarton said, “but his lawyer, Mr.Edwards, told me, when I saw him earlier today, that Brodie felt -whatever the outcome of his arraignment before the magistrate – hemust resign his membership in the Shakespeare Club.”

“He must do nothing of the kind,” Dutton saidrather primly.

“Apparently he feels that this sordidepisode, in which he gave into his anger and resorted to fisticuffs , would harm the reputation of the club and itsrespectable members.”

“And he is adamant?” Sir P. said.

“He is. And while I regret such a decision, Iadmire the courage and selflessness behind it.”

“Then we are without a Demeter for our play!”Clemmy cried.

“That would seem so,” Sir P. said, and peereddown the table, now littered with the flotsam of the meal and itsaftermath, at his lady hostess.

“And you have no other handsome younggentleman about town who might step into his boots?” Lady Mad saidwith a helpless, beseeching look at the male members of the club, agesture that made their hearts lurch.

“I could twist Phineas Burke’s arm,” Duttonsaid. “His wife’s in the States this month and – ”

“Only as a last resort, I think,” Sir P.said, picturing the wooden-faced stationer stumbling about Oberon’smagic realm. “For the nonce, may I suggest that you leave hisreplacement up to me. For this evening I am quite happy to read mypart and young Langford’s as well.”

“But, Milord, my Cyrus could take onDemeter’s part,” Clemmy said in a trembling, brave voice. “I don’tthink it’s proper fer a gentleman who owns a candle factory an’keeps three servants to be playin’ an ill-littered weaverwith donkey ears stickin’ outta his head.”

Sir P. registered shock – at the boldness ofthe interruption itself, at its being uttered by a female, at theimpropriety of its sentiment, and at the outrageous malapropism inits predicate. But he recovered adroitly. “I did not realize, mydear Clementine, that Cyrus was dissatisfied with his assignedrole.”

Cyrus, of course, had been duly insulted atthe assignment and had done his damnedest to mangle the part lastnight at the club. But in rehearsing his lines with the assistanceof his wife this afternoon, he discovered that he had severalintimate scenes with the Queen of the Fairies, and when he laterlaid eyes upon the handsome lady who would be playing Titania, allthoughts of rebellion had vanished. Unfortunately, he had expressedhis feelings of outrage too forcefully to Clemmy before they hadbegun their rehearsal, and could not think now of a way to retractthem.

“It’s nothing to make a fuss over,” he saidlamely.

“But Cyrus’s daddy was a hero at the Battleof Moraviantown!” Clemmy carried on, taking such a deep breath thatshe almost popped her overtaxed stays.

“So I gather,” Sir P. said. “Some sort ofWaterloo over here, I’m told.”

“There’s really no need to fuss,” Cyrus said,though he wasn’t sure whether his plea was aimed at his wife or thedirector.

“Then why not let Mr. Crenshaw playDemetrius, Perry?” said Lady Mad. “It should be easier to find aweaver than a dashing lover.” And she darted a brown-eyed glance atthe scion of Moraviantown’s martyr.

Cyrus reddened, unsure whether he ought to beflattered at her intervention on his behalf or disappointed thatshe would so readily forgo the love scenes promised them in thescript. He had no choice but to reply, “Thank you, Milady. I’d behonoured to play Demetrius, if you feel I am worthy of therole.”