The Medieval Murderers - The First Murder

Doll Pocket gave out a whoop, forgetting all about ancient hieroglyphs. This was the chance of a lifetime, and she was not about to give it up. She grabbed Joe’s hand, and dragged him back down the stairs. Mrs Stanhope gave them a befuddled wave as they dashed out into the lane and past the church on the corner to find a cab.

They managed to hail a small fly and, having given the cabby the theatre’s name, they settled back under the flimsy hood. The driver turned south, and they crossed the river by the grand new Waterloo Bridge, named for Wellington’s great victory six years earlier. For some reason, Doll was beginning to have doubts about the scheme. The Thames looked grey and oily as it roiled around the Doric pillars that divided up each of the nine arches of Waterloo Bridge. The journey to the south bank seemed to take for ever, and the far side looked most unwelcoming with looming rain clouds racing towards them. She clutched Joe’s arm.

‘Is this the right choice to make, Joe? I mean, the Royal Coburg is not Drury Lane or Covent Garden. It is south of the river, and is not even allowed to put on serious drama. What is this play of Gus’s like?’

Malinferno knew that Doll yearned to be an actress in what she called the ‘legit’ theatres she had mentioned by name. All other theatres in London were restricted to melodrama or burlesque. And it wasn’t as if the theatre they were now approaching was even in the West End. But it was a grand theatre, and had taken its name from Princess Charlotte, King George’s only child with Queen Caroline, when she had married Leopold of Saxe-Coburg. Charlotte’s death in childbirth had been a terrible tragedy, but had not marred the Royal Coburg Theatre’s reputation as a popular place for entertainment. Malinferno tried to reassure Doll.

‘The play is… a classic. You shall see.’

He knew it was stretching the truth to call ‘a classic’ the ancient set of mystery plays that he had seen only a brief part of. But it seemed to mollify Doll, and she perked up despite the splashes of raindrops hitting the soft cab roof. Then, as the cabby, who sat behind them to drive, turned off the Waterloo Road into The Cut, she saw the façade of the theatre straight ahead. It was an imposing and classical structure, all arches and pediments. A sudden thrill of pleasure ran up her spine, and her doubts disappeared.

Descending, Malinferno passed a silver sixpence to the driver of the fly, and he and Doll dashed across the pavement in the sudden downpour that blew over their heads. Under the cover of the theatre’s portico, they paused while Doll rearranged her turban with its long ostrich feather. She reasoned she would have to look her best for the audition for the part of Eve, even if the character she might play would have originally been as naked as the day she was born. A sudden thought came to her, and she hesitated on the threshold of the auditorium, grasping Malinferno’s arm.

‘Joe. Was Eve born, or was she created?’

Malinferno gave her a puzzled look. ‘Born of Adam’s rib, of course.’

That still didn’t answer Doll’s question, and she felt full of confusion. How was she to play Eve, if she didn’t even know the slightest thing about her? She saw that this acting lark was not as straightforward as she had anticipated. Well, she would have to rely on her manifest charms to see her through. They had served her well in the past, after all. Resolute once more, she pushed the heavy oak doors open.

Inside, the auditorium all was dark, save for a blaze of light on the stage, which must have been lit by a hundred candles. And in the light was a bevy of pretty young girls, most showing off well developed décolletages. Doll heard Malinferno sigh deeply at the array of cleavages, and suddenly she felt very old. After all, her thirtieth birthday was fast approaching. Someone in the dark of the auditorium called out a name, and the girl first in line stepped forward. She pouted and posed with her breasts thrust out, looking friskily at the huddle of figures seated in the front row of the stalls.

A male voice rang out. ‘No. Next.’

The girl stamped her slipper-clad foot, and stormed offstage. The next buxom offering stepped up, only to receive the same short shrift. This one burst into tears, and ran into the wings. A flurry of ‘no’s accompanied Doll’s walk down the aisle to the front of the auditorium. Malinferno spotted the large head of Bromhead at the end of the front row, and he slipped into the seat next to him. Doll sat too, as the queue of hopefuls was whittled down inexorably. She began to slump in her seat. What hope did she stand if such young pulchritude was being discarded? Bromhead looked at Malinferno, and patted him on the knee. Then he turned to the young man who sat on his other side. He was a well-formed young man with a head of black curls, and was the source of the negative responses to the procession of girls on the stage. He listened to Bromhead’s whisper, and held his hand up as the final girl stepped to the front of the stage. He leaned forward in his seat, and looked along at Doll. A smile broke out on his handsome face. He waved a dismissive hand at the girl onstage.

‘No. You may go, Bess. I have found my Eve.’

‘Gawd, Will. You said the part was mine.’ The girl was clearly annoyed at the man. ‘I even-’

Will rose quickly from his seat, and strode to the front of the stage. He leaned on the edge, and whispered words that seemed to mollify the angry actress. Malinferno guessed that future promises were being made in response to what he assumed was the girl’s amorous offering to Will. She walked away into the darkness of the wings with a disdainful look at Doll, who still sat on the end of the front row. Bromhead rose from his seat, though his doing so didn’t increase his height much from when he had been seated. He took Doll’s hand, and raised her up.

‘Doll Pocket, this is Will Mossop, manager of the Royal Coburg, and producer of The Play of Adam .’

Will tossed his curly head, and bowed elegantly, kissing Doll’s proffered hand.

‘Mistress Pocket, I am delighted to meet you at last. Augustus has told me much about you, and until you appeared I was fearful that we would never fill the part of Eve. Now I am a happy man.’

Once again, Malinferno witnessed Doll’s simpering. This time it was at Mossop’s complimentary tones, just as it had been when the Frenchman, Quatremain, fell all over her. He slumped sulkily in his seat, and wished some of the buxom young girls were still on display, so that he could simper over them and make Doll jealous. For the first time, he took note of the pile of newspapers and caricatures strewn on the crimson carpet. They were mostly of Queen Caroline and the King. The farce of the Queen being kept out of George’s coronation ceremony, and their independent sexual adventures had caused a storm of cartoons in magazines like John Bull . And printers like George Humphrey had produced a whole series of denigratory caricatures aimed at the royals. Some of them lay at Mossop’s feet now, and he picked one up. It showed a corpulent Caroline sitting at a table surrounded by her advisors, one of whom was Alderman Matthew Wood in the form of a naked, hairy devil. On a pile of books on the table stood a little mannequin Pergami, the Queen’s lover who had been abandoned on the continent. The caption read: ‘The Effusions of a Troubled Brain’.

Since the Queen had been turned away from the coronation of her husband due to their estranged relationship, Caroline had been a figure of great debate. These caricatures lampooned her and her Italian lover, a handsome courtier, who had been bought a defunct baronage by Caroline. The cartoons did show him to best effect, though. In the caricature, as in life, he was tall, with an enviable physique and a full head of curly black hair, luxuriant moustachios and side whiskers.