Denis Smith - The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

‘Certainly,’ replied Miss Ballantyne, in that light, musical voice which had so captivated and bewitched London theatre-goers in recent years. ‘You should first understand, then, Dr Watson, that I was invited by Mr Hardy to join his company last autumn. He wished me to take the principal female role in a new production he was mounting, of a play entitled The Lavender Girl .’

‘I don’t believe I’ve heard of it,’ I remarked.

‘It is newly written, by Mr Hardy himself. His intention is to offer the theatre-going public something a little different. At this time of year, as you will know, theatres present pantomimes in such abundance that even the most avid enthusiast must at last become sated, and long for something different. It is Mr Hardy’s belief that The Lavender Girl might be just the thing to tempt the public’s jaded palate. It is something of a tragicomedy, and has a great number of songs, both old and new. From the first moment I saw the script I was convinced it would be a success, and at once agreed to take part. The other principal actors are Ludovic Xavier, who is always popular, and is returning to the London stage for the first time in over a year; Jimmy Webster, who can generally be relied upon to amuse an audience; and a young girl, Lydia Summers. She is a newcomer. She is a little unpolished at the moment and I’m not certain that she has much talent, but she seems keen to learn, anyway.

‘We began rehearsals at Hardy’s Theatre a few weeks before Christmas. I don’t know if you are aware, Dr Watson, but Hardy’s Theatre is the old Albion. It had been closed down for some years when Mr Hardy bought it, about three years ago, and he thought that by renaming it he might give it a fresh start. He also considered that by attaching his name to it, the reputation he had acquired for providing entertaining fare would help to stimulate interest. Do you know the Albion Theatre, Dr Watson?’

‘Is that not the theatre down the Waterloo Road, where the comedian Solomon Tanner used to reign supreme, a decade and more ago?’

‘That is correct. If you recall Solomon Tanner, you may recall, too, that his popularity was such that he also took the theatre next door to the Albion, the Southwark Palace, and at the height of his fame used to perform in both theatres in the course of a single evening, in two different plays. This tour de force of the Thespian arts – or financial greed, as some termed it – was not destined to last very long, however. As you may remember, he lost his life in the terrible fire that consumed the Southwark Palace late one night, following a performance there. Since then, the Palace has remained boarded up and unused, a blackened shell beside the Albion. I mention this matter because there have been persistent stories since that time that the Albion is haunted by the ghost of Solomon Tanner, who returns to appraise what is being offered to the public there. It is said that if he does not care for what he sees, he causes disruption to the production.’

My features must have betrayed my surprise at this digression into the supernatural, for Miss Ballantyne paused.

‘You are wondering, no doubt,’ said she after a moment, ‘why I should be speaking to you of such things. After all, there are many theatres which are popularly supposed to be haunted in some way and, of course, the very idea sounds absurd when one speaks of it in broad daylight. But when one finds oneself alone late at night, backstage in a dark, silent theatre, then it is not so easy to rid oneself of these thoughts. I would offer ten guineas to anyone who undertook to remain all night alone in the Empire Theatre in Birmingham, for instance, or the old Playhouse in Bristol, confident that I should not be a penny poorer when the next day dawned. But, still, as it is unlikely that you are acquainted with these theatres, and I certainly have no intention of renewing my own acquaintance with them, this is not to the point. I mention the matter only so that you will understand that such traditions are not uncommon in old theatres. Any odd or unexplained occurrences are likely to provoke such beliefs, especially in the younger or more timid members of the company. That is precisely what has occurred at the Albion, where several members of the chorus have become very nervous at what has been happening there. Already, one young lady has left the company altogether, as a result of an incident.’

‘But,’ interrupted Sherlock Holmes, who had all this time been leaning back in his chair, with his eyes closed, as he listened to his visitor’s account, ‘as I have no reputation for laying troublesome ghosts by the heels, but only their earthbound counterparts, you consider, I take it, that the mysterious occurrences at the Albion have a more mundane cause.’

‘That is correct,’ returned Miss Ballantyne. ‘I am convinced that some malicious person is deliberately creating mischief and I should very much like to know who that person is. It may be that it began as a series of practical jokes, by someone with an unpleasant sense of humour; but it has now gone beyond that. The more recent incidents have been very dangerous and I am concerned that if it continues one of the company will be seriously hurt.’

‘The details, if you please!’

‘Some of the things that have happened are so trivial that I am almost embarrassed to mention them,’ began Miss Ballantyne.

‘Nevertheless,’ returned Holmes, ‘omit no incident, however trivial, and permit me to judge as to the importance or otherwise of each of them.’

‘Very well. In the very first week of rehearsals, Jimmy Webster arrived at the theatre one day to find that someone had emptied a tin of paint on to the floor of his dressing-room.’

‘Was the paint of a type which was being used in the theatre?’

‘Yes. It had been taken from the decorators’ store. That same day, a small set of steps upon which I was standing collapsed and I twisted my ankle badly. Of course, it may have been an accident. One cannot know for certain. Under other circumstances I should probably have thought so and forgotten it by now; but in this case I am not so sure. At the beginning of the second week, we were rehearsing a scene in which Ludovic – Mr Xavier – is required to yank open a door fiercely. He accordingly seized the door-knob, as he had done on previous occasions, and gave it a sharp pull. This time, however, he at once let out a cry of pain. Even as he did so, the flat – that is, the piece of scenery – in which the door was set tumbled forwards and fell upon him. He was not seriously hurt, for the scenery was not heavy, but he was, as you will imagine, extremely upset. When the flat was lifted off him, there was blood on his clothes and it was feared at first that he was badly injured. But the blood had all come from a cut on his hand and it was discovered that protruding from the door-handle was a sharp nail. Ludovic was shouting and crying out that someone was trying to murder him, and it took some time to soothe his agitated nerves.

‘The carpenters who were responsible for the scenery were summoned, but expressed puzzlement at what had happened. The scenery, they said, had been adequately fixed when last they had inspected it, the door had opened easily and the door-knob had not had any nails sticking out of it. At length, the incident was ascribed to that species of ill-fortune which does sometimes bedevil the preparation of a large and complex theatrical production. A few days later, however, a young girl in the female chorus hurt her arm when she fell heavily as she came on to the stage. It was found that a length of cord had been fastened across an opening on to the stage, a few inches above the ground, and this is what had tripped her up. No one knew why it was there and the matter remained a mystery. The girl was badly shaken by the incident, however, and within two days had withdrawn from the production altogether. This was a great shame, for she was a very nice young lady. Physically, she was not badly injured, but her heart was sorely wounded to think that someone should dislike her so much as to play such a nasty trick upon her. Personally, I wondered if the trick had really been intended for someone else, for it seemed likely that the cord over which she had tripped had been in position since the morning, and the schedule of rehearsals had been altered during the day.’