Andrew Swanston - The King's Return

It was a small theatre, big enough for no more than a hundred or so, and unlike the open theatres in the city, protected from the weather by a roof. Candles had been lit and placed on sconces around the walls. ‘Intimate’ and ‘noxious’ were the words that occurred to Thomas. Even from the back they would see the features of the players clearly, but a hundred bodies packed together like stalks of corn in a field were producing a fearsome stench. Thomas hoped the play would make up for it.

It did not. He managed to pay attention for the first two acts but by the middle of the third his mind was wandering. Three brutal murders – one victim a harmless old man, the others Williamson’s employees. Could there be more to them than robbery? Was there a connection between them, and if so, what? Or was the murder of Babb just a coincidence?

He was jolted back to the present by a sudden commotion in the audience below them. On the stage Deflores had cut off Alonzo’s finger to get at his ring and was holding up the bloody digit for the audience’s inspection. A woman in the middle of the pit had fainted at the sight and those nearby were trying to clear a space around her. At such a dramatic moment, however, the audience behind her did not care to be cleared away and were standing their ground. A scuffle broke out and in no time fists were flying and women were shrieking. A fat man was pushed from behind and fell. Two or three others stumbled over him and were struggling to get up. In seconds, the play was forgotten and all semblance of order had disappeared.

While the actors quietly left the stage – perhaps being accustomed to such things – the commotion turned to panic. The audience surged towards the back of the pit where a narrow gangway between the raised seats led to the front entrance. Bodies desperately tried to push through spaces that did not exist and were shoved back by other bodies. Some of those with seats left the platform and joined the melee, getting nowhere and making matters worse. ‘Better stay put,’ breathed Thomas into Mary’s ear, putting an arm around her. Mary nodded and they stood together on the platform, waiting for the crush to ease and the panic to subside.

The crush, however, did not ease. Panic became chaos. A tall man reached over the rail and grabbed a chair from the platform. He smashed it on the floor and flayed those around him with a leg. Two others turned on the man, knocked him down and kicked him about the head. There was no sign of the crowd thinning and Thomas realized that the front entrance must in some way be blocked. If so, things could only get worse. Theatres with wooden walls and ceilings were notorious fire traps and if a candle fell or the ash from a pipe was tipped out, chaos might become conflagration.

‘Don’t let go,’ shouted Thomas, taking Mary by the hand and leading her to the end of the platform furthest from the door. He hopped over the rail and reached back to help Mary do the same. Without hesitating, she hitched up her skirts and clambered over. The fight for the door had left a narrow gap along the wall. They inched their way along it towards the stage, Thomas using his feet and elbows to widen the gap, while Mary hung on grimly to the collar of his coat. They had almost reached the stage when a flying fist caught Thomas in the eye and sent him sprawling, leaving Mary unprotected. Thomas took only a few seconds to recover his senses and get to his feet, but in those seconds Mary had disappeared, swallowed up by the press of bodies trying to get out. He backed against the wall and strained to catch a glimpse of her. A few determined kicks and he would get to her. But there was no sign of her.

He forced his path to the stage, jumped up and found his way around the back to a narrow passage with two doors leading off it. The first door opened into a room full of costumes, the second into a tiny bedchamber. He followed the passage to where it turned sharply to the right, and saw a weak light coming from under another door. He pushed it open and found himself in a small courtyard surrounded by a high wall, in which there was a single, very low door. He crouched to get through it, and ran round behind a short row of houses to Fleet Street and back down to Salisbury Court.

A small crowd had gathered outside the theatre entrance, where a man with a large ring of keys was trying each of them in turn in the lock. Although the cries from the audience inside could be heard clearly, the man appeared to be in no hurry. A few of the players had joined the onlookers but there was nothing much they could do other than stand and watch. Thomas tapped a player on the shoulder. ‘Could we not get them out through the back?’ he asked.

Alonzo shrugged theatrically. ‘If you’ve seen the back way out, it’s not worth trying, even if they can be made to listen. Audiences are the same everywhere. Herds, flocks, swarms, audiences. Just the same.’

‘Why is this door locked?’

‘I do not know. It should not be.’

The man with the keys was still trying each one in turn and showing no inclination to hurry. Thomas stepped forward and grabbed the keys from him. ‘For God’s sake, man, there are women in there. We must make haste.’

Thomas tried a key which did not turn in the lock. He tried another. That too would not turn. The third, however, did and he heard the lock slide open. But when he pushed the door it barely moved. The press of bodies against it was too great. Two burly men from the crowd came forward and put their shoulders to it. Thomas shouted for those inside to make way and gradually the door opened enough for the first person to slip through. Once a few were out, it became easier and a trickle of dishevelled theatre-goers soon became a steady stream.

Thomas stood to one side, watching them leave and waiting for Mary to appear. He saw nothing more serious than cuts and bruises and frayed tempers, and expected her to be in one piece. But when the stream dried up, she had not appeared. He rushed inside and looked around the empty theatre. He clambered on stage and around the back. He looked in the bedchamber and the costumes room. Still no sign. He turned back and went outside. Perhaps he had missed her.

By then the only people left in the court were the group of players and Mary, looking not the slightest bit put out and chatting happily to Alonzo. ‘There you are, Thomas,’ she said when she saw him. ‘Oh dear, I fear your eye will spoil your looks for several days.’

Thomas had forgotten his eye and put his hand to it. It was swollen and tender. ‘Never mind my eye, madam. Where have you been, may I enquire?’

‘ Calme-toi , Thomas. I left by the back door as I imagine you intended me to. I could not reach you and I knew you would follow me.’

‘Mary …’

‘Tush, Thomas, all’s well that ends well.’ She gestured to Alonzo. ‘This gentleman tells me it is not uncommon for his finger to cause problems in the audience and the players have agreed that if it does, they will leave the stage quietly until order has been restored.’

‘On this occasion, however,’ said Alonzo, ‘order was not restored, so we all left through the yard. God knows why the door was locked.’ That reminded Thomas of the man with the keys. He had struggled to find the right one, but Thomas had got it at only the third attempt. Surely even a drunken oaf could have done better. He looked around. The man had disappeared.

‘Come along, Thomas,’ said Mary brightly, ‘we must take you home and bathe your eye. Charles will be most amused to hear of our adventure. Goodbye, sir. Perhaps we shall come to the play again and hope to see it all.’

Alonzo swept off his hat and bowed extravagantly. ‘I do hope so, madam.’

‘Another conquest, Mrs Carrington,’ muttered Thomas as they walked back to Piccadilly, ‘and if you so much as hint that I was knocked down and lost you, your husband will hear of it.’