Anne Perry - A Christmas Homecoming

She turned to Alice sitting beside her and saw the tension in her face, the tightness where she was biting her lip. Did the words sound stilted to her also? Was she embarrassed by her adaptation now?

On the stage, Mercy responded. Her voice rose and fell with emotion that sounded totally artificial, ridiculous when coupled with the banal words she was saying.

Caroline began to feel more and more uncomfortable. She found herself fidgeting in her seat, unable to relax. She knew Joshua well enough to see his frustration in the way he moved and hear it in his voice when he told James to read his lines again.

At that, Mercy came to her husband’s defense instantly.

“There’s no point yet,” she said sharply. “We’ll only change it. We’ll have to. Nobody speaks like this.”

A flicker of anger crossed Joshua’s face. Caroline could see the difficulty with which he controlled his tongue.

“Most dialogue sounds inappropriate if you read it like a railway timetable,” he replied. “You’re describing how a normal, decent man has changed into an insane, disgusting creature. We are supposed to be giving the audience a taste of the horror to come.”

“All so we can be appalled when you appear,” Vincent said drily. “Rather an old trick, don’t you think?”

“Well there’s not much point in Van Helsing’s battle against Dracula if Dracula isn’t appalling, is there?” Joshua shot back. “I won’t ask you if you want to direct, because I know perfectly well that you do. But right now it’s my responsibility, so concentrate on your own job.”

Vincent shrugged elaborately and sighed.

“Move on to the next scene,” Joshua instructed, his voice strained.

It was no better than the first. It was the initial appearance of Dracula, washing ashore in a violent storm that had wrecked his ship and sent his coffin to the shore. There was no possible way of showing all this on the stage, however, so it had to be recounted by one of the actors. Thus it had been built into Lydia’s part as Lucy Westenra. But when she spoke the lines, she too sounded as if she barely believed what she was saying, though there was no sharp disdain in her voice as there had been in Mercy’s.

“For heaven’s sake, Lydia, act it!” Mercy said furiously. “How do we know if it works or not if you don’t try?”

Lydia read it again, with more emotion, and even Caroline had to admit it sounded better. She glanced at Alice Netheridge and saw some of the embarrassment slip away from her expression.

The addition of Dracula’s presence improved the drama considerably. The next couple of scenes were quite good. Until Van Helsing made his appearance.

“I don’t think that’s strong enough,” Vincent commented. “He sounds as if he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“He doesn’t, yet,” Joshua argued.

“Yes, he does,” Vincent answered immediately. “He’s a genius and he’s made a life study of vampires. He has to be powerful. After all, he destroys Dracula, the greatest vampire of all.” He sat back a little in his chair, smiling.

“That’s at the end,” Joshua said with markedly less patience. “If we know all that about him at the beginning, then there is no story.”

“Everybody knows the end anyway,” Vincent argued. “Most people have either read the damn book or they’ve heard people talking about it.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Vincent, you’re an actor. Pretend you don’t know, for heaven’s sake, or we’ll be here all day and go nowhere.”

Vincent turned to her. “And where exactly is it that you think we are going, my dear?” he asked sarcastically.

“I have no idea,” Lydia replied. “Any more than you have.”

“I know I’m going quietly mad!” Mercy put in very distinctly.

“That won’t be a very long journey,” Caroline muttered. She was embarrassed when she realized Alice had heard her, until she saw the sudden smile on Alice’s face.

“You said ‘quietly,’ ” Joshua said, looking at Mercy. “Make that a promise, will you!”

She glared at him.

“Page thirty-nine, from the top,” Joshua resumed. “Van Helsing to Harker.”

“We really need another character here,” Vincent pointed out. “It doesn’t make sense like this. Harker’s an idiot, completely ineffectual. Van Helsing would neither turn to him nor try to use him.”

“He’ll use what he has,” Joshua snapped. “And at the moment he has no one else. Just read it; we’ll make what amendments we need to later.”

With elaborate patience Vincent did as he was told. It sounded ridiculous, just as he had intended it to.

hey stopped at lunchtime, after having read through the entire hour-long script twice. The meal was awkward, everyone concentrating on their food, which again was plentiful and excellent. They spoke of trivial things: places they had traveled to at one time or another; books they had read; even the weather—although that last subject became less trivial as the wind increased and the snow that had been falling intermittently became heavier. It was clear from the almost horizontal angle at which it was streaming past the windows, and the thrashing of the trees beyond, that the storm was increasing in violence.

“It makes me think of those at sea,” Eliza said unhappily, staring at the snow-coated glass. “I feel almost guilty to be so safe.”

“I can’t imagine why anyone wants to go to sea, especially in the winter,” James observed.

“They probably don’t.” Vincent looked at him witheringly. “Poor devils have little choice. We can’t all be actors.”

“Indeed we can’t,” Joshua retorted. “Not even all those of us who try.”

Lydia laughed, then winced as apparently someone kicked her under the table.

Douglas Paterson looked at her with quick appreciation, then straightened his face again and pretended he was not amused.

After the meal Joshua asked if he and Caroline might speak with Netheridge. He showed them into his study, a large, extremely comfortable room with leather-covered armchairs and a fire burning briskly in the hearth. A huge oak desk was littered with the implements of writing: pens, papers, two inkwells, a sand tray, sticks of sealing wax in various shades of red, matches and tapers, and several penknives and paper knives. The walls were lined with books, set by subject rather than size, as if they were there for use.

Caroline wondered why Joshua had asked her to accompany him.

“I can’t help,” she had said, meaning it as an apology, not an excuse.

“Yes, you can,” he had told her with a tiny, twisted smile. “If you are there at least he will hesitate to lose his temper. So will I.”

Unfortunately Douglas Paterson had also decided to join them. Since he was Alice’s fiancé it was difficult to protest his presence.

Netheridge stood in front of the fire. Joshua accepted the invitation to be seated, even though it placed him at something of a disadvantage. Caroline sat opposite him, already feeling defensive, in spite of the agreeable smiles on everyone’s faces. Douglas Paterson stood by the window, his back to the ever-increasing storm.

“Well, Mr. Fielding, how is it going?” Netheridge asked. “Do you have everything you require? Is there anything else we can provide for you?”

Caroline felt her throat tighten.

“We have read through the script a couple of times, to see how it works,” Joshua replied. “That is customary for a new piece. What seems powerful on the page does not always translate to natural speech.”