Don Gutteridge - Vital Secrets

While Tessa herself will be on the steamer for Detroit tomorrow afternoon, Marc thought, but knew better than to try to tarnish the saint’s halo in the eyes of the idolater. Instead, he turned and left without another word. Spooner was right. It was finished.

Marc asked Cobb to return to the theatre and make sure that Tessa was there. Wilkie was due for a tongue-lashing, but there was little point in chastising the girl or her warder: the damage had been done, and Hilliard was, after all, the author of his own fate.

Marc then spent one of the most difficult half-hours he could remember in the service of his country. He and Spooner had to establish the ground rules for their attempt to ensnare the rebels in quest of Yankee rifles. Spooner began by admitting that he had surreptitiously placed a watch on the storage-shed and ice-house. While Marc was annoyed that such a move might already have alerted the rebels to the presence of the military and thus spooked them, he grudgingly accepted the necessity of ensuring that the guns were not simply carted off. Spooner wanted to surround the theatre with troops and have mounted officers nearby, but Marc convinced him to have both groups at least a block away and well hidden. An agent secreted in the loft of the livery stable, with Frank’s help, would be able to observe both sheds, the rear entrance to Frank’s quarters, and the alley beside the tavern. A second agent could be hidden in a market-stall directly across the road with a view of the tavern-entrance and of Colborne Street in front of the theatre.

If and when contact had been made, word would be relayed by Cobb or Wilkie to Spooner, who would be in the audience and remain in the pit after the play was over. Because they did not know when or how the contact would be made, much had to be left to chance. If there was no time for Marc to consult or relay details, a small group of mounted officers was to follow Marc to any rendezvous, maintaining a safe distance, since the rebels would be very wary of being caught or betrayed. Marc would be unarmed-to Spooner’s horror-because he was certain to be searched and wanted nothing to frighten off the plotters. He stressed, with only moderate success, that his principal task was to try to identify them, not capture them. They could be rounded up easily, but only if the ruse was complete and undetected. Spooner provided Marc with a canvas tote-bag for the two rifles-to be secretly marked-which he was planning to take as bait. The exchange of even one dollar for the sample would constitute high treason. The two men nodded agreement, and Marc left for the theatre, determined to get at least one thing right before the day ended.

As both he and Cobb had been doing all day, Marc slipped into Frank’s place through the back door because Marc’s exceptional height and distinctive tunic made him an easily recalled figure, as did Cobb’s uniform and eccentric profile. If the rebels were keeping an eye on the theatre and hotel, then the frequent arrivals and departures of officers would have raised more than suspicion. Of course, if the rebels had engaged one or more of Frank’s stable boys to act as scouts, then the jig was up anyway. He would only know for sure sometime this evening when “Jason Merriwether” hit the boards with his inimitable presence and panache.

The rehearsal went much more smoothly than Marc had anticipated. Mrs. Thedford had arranged that only those actually involved in the scenes shared by her and Marc be present: that meant Dawson Armstrong, who delivered the famous “barge” speech describing Cleopatra, cleverly placed at the beginning of the sequence, and Thea Clarkson, who played Charmian, the great queen’s confidante, in the death-by-asp scene at the end. For most of the two hours they spent together, Marc and Annemarie Thedford were alone on the Regency stage. The other scenes in the program, well rehearsed on Monday afternoon, had been reviewed earlier for any changes necessitated by the star’s absence and the cast was then sent upstairs to rest.

They’d begun with Antony and Cleopatra . As Cleopatra, Mrs. Thedford seated herself upon a low stool near the unlit footlights. Antony was to stand off to her left and gaze soulfully at her as Enobarbus (Armstrong) introduced the Egyptian queen to him and to the audience. Armstrong had barely begun when Marc felt a chill run up his spine. Without costume or makeup, Mrs. Thedford had transformed herself into the figure described by the Bard’s poetry. Moreover, it seemed to Marc that many of the phrases described Mrs. Thedford herself.

I saw her once

Hop forty paces through the public street,

And having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted,

That she did make defect perfection

And, breathless, pour forth breath …

As Armstrong finished, Cleopatra gave a flick of her right hand and Enobarbus withdrew. Marc heard him clumping offstage towards his room upstairs. Then Cleopatra spoke her opening lines:

The scene unfolded, speech and counter-speech, as the ageing lovers bantered and probed, swore fidelity and recanted. The lines which last night had been words on a page and vague phrasings in the head now came readily to Marc’s tongue, and he felt the emotion behind the rhetoric when he declaimed:

Yes, he was thinking-even as he flinched under Cleopatra’s scornful, teasing ripostes-there is truth here: kingdoms are clay, and love is …

“I am amazed,” Mrs. Thedford was saying, “and it takes much to amaze a woman of my years and experience. You did that as well or better than Jason, who always made too much of himself as Antony to be a credulous dupe of the queen’s charms.” There was a catch in her voice and Marc realized that the mention of Merriwether’s name had unexpectedly upset her.

“He was a fine actor,” Marc said. “He will be missed.”

“Yes, he will.”

“And I feel like a fraud and a cad pretending to be him, but what we’re doing tonight is an urgent matter of the province’s security. I would not be part of such a scheme if it were not so.”

“No wonder you can play Antony with such ease.” She smiled, her composure regained. “Let’s work through the rest of these scenes, then I’ll have Thea come down for my grand exit.”

The next two scenes went more haltingly because they involved a range of suddenly shifting emotions as the conflict of sensual love and moral duty, personal commitment and public politics, the power of love and the love of power played itself out. Cleopatra’s death-scene, with Thea’s assistance, was a moving and grandiose bit of theatre, and only an actress of deep character and subtle sensibility, like Annemarie Thedford, could rescue it from mere melodrama. With period costumes and stronger lighting, it would bring the audience to its knees.

“Now, let’s see if you can switch to Macbeth,” she said when Thea had left. “I’ve seen few actors under thirty-five years of age who can do the part justice. However, in the three scenes we’re doing together, Lady Macbeth is the dominant force-goading, wheedling, and bolstering her weak-willed husband, who, nonetheless, is an impressive military man.”