The occasional forgetting of a line or dropping of a rapier by Rex only added to their pleasure.
There was no denying the
après-drame
was the more successful portion of the entertainment for this particular audience. The dancing poodles, decked in pink ruffles and little pointed hats, were adored, and applauded till hands were red. The shrieks of mirth rose to the ceiling when Rex and Foxey donned their horse’s suit and danced with the bear (Mr. Altmore). The bear then balanced a large red ball on his nose, tossed it to the horse, at which time Foxey (still the front end of Dobbin) lifted one foot and kicked it into the audience. This spontaneous (possibly accidental) bit was so popular it was repeated thrice.
The juggler kept his oranges in the air all at once and, for a few rare moments, also managed to twirl a hoop around one toe at the same time. Music, largely overpowered by shouts and laughter, was provided by the
ambulante musico.
When it was all over, individual meat pasties were served, with lemonade and those tarts and sweets that had fallen short of perfection and were not dainty enough in appearance to set before the evening guests. A pony’s worth of sugar plums was the parting treat, not despised either, even by the adults.
It was a scene of merriment that was worth every minute of the effort, every stitch of the needle, every harrowing hour of the rehearsal. It was magical enough to make even a slightly straitlaced spinster realize that pleasure was a positive good. This afternoon had given more enjoyment to everyone than a hundred woolen undershirts or a dozen bottles of hot soup. Holly knew it was a day that would linger long in the memories of the children and villagers. She would not soon forget it herself. It was an occasion, like a coronation in the city or a victory celebration after a large battle.
When the guests had departed, the cast were served a more elegant repast of ginestrata, toast, assorted fowls, ham, and side dishes. It was the first time any of them had been confronted with a table laden with victuals, but with no chairs for the diners.
“We are having an informal actors’ meal,” Dewar told them. “Take a plate and cutlery for yourself, and eat where you choose.”
This movable feast was served in the morning parlour, where chairs lined the wall, while some overflow of people were required to either stand or wander into the next room, a small parlour that had the disadvantage of being away from the food but the counterbalancing advantage of having tables to hold one’s plate.
The oddness of the party lent it a hue of glamour. The bucks soon took advantage of unconfined seating to place themselves near to the prettiest girls, without having to make conversation with anyone they disliked. Juliet was surrounded by beaux, and Holly found herself herded into a corner by Swithin, who was too full of his new nobility to be hungry and thus forgot to offer Holly much food either. He looked at her with the eyes of a heart-broken spaniel, and an occasional wan smile that quite took away her appetite.
He would not be lured into his customary eloquence. Every mention of the play’s success was greeted with a world-weary sigh. “Excellent. Quite excellent,” was about all he would say, and that much was said with an effort.
Dewar moved amongst the company, being polite and praising their afternoon performance, with a few suggestions for the evening show still to come. Spotting Holly’s predicament, he brought her a plate of sweets for dessert. “It went well, don’t you think?” he asked them both.
“Excellent,” Swithin sighed, then forced himself to add, “I hope it does not augur a disaster this evening. When the dress rehearsal goes well, the performance is usually marred.”
“Everyone will be more nervous this evening with your company from London in the audience,” Holly mentioned. “They should be arriving soon, should they not?”
“They have been trickling in this half hour. They are being shown to their rooms, and will be fed something before the play. I must go to them very soon. Try some
chantilly,
Holly. You must keep up your strength for tonight.”
A little conspiratorial smile told her he sympathized with her in her predicament. As he walked away, she noticed that he was really very considerate. He thought of everyone, noticed the little problems that beset all his crew. He thought to compliment the flower ladies on the sour oranges, and even had a kind word for Jane’s brothers, who had spilled a bowl of nuts on the floor.
Most of all, he was attentive to his leading lady. How had he worked his way to her side when there were at least half a dozen bucks vying for her attention? Jane smiled softly at him. She looked, quite simply, ravishing. I forgot to put the orange blossoms in her hair! Holly thought, with a pang of guilt.
Everyone felt, as soon as they returned to the refectory hall, that there was an increased tension in the air. Performing for orphans and school children was one thing, performing for a sophisticated London audience, accustomed to the professional works of Covent Garden and Drury Lane, was another. The flag had been changed from white to black, indicating an evening performance. Candles were lit along the wall brackets in the room, and the footlights were ready to be illuminated. The transparency was not yet in place, but it too would be used to greater effect in the evening performance.
When the gentry from the neighbourhood began arriving and taking their seats, the cast went behind the curtain to prepare for the great moment. Peeps from behind the curtain into the hall showed the city folks now taking up their places—dark-suited gentlemen with opera glasses, slickly barbered hair, and very white hands. And the ladies! There were real diamonds sparkling; there were ostrich feathers in their hair; there were turbans; and there was a good deal more of bare shoulder and bosom than had ever been seen before in Harknell. ‘Indecent,’ the Misses Hall called it. Even Mrs. Raymond, frequently chided in the village as a bit of a dasher, thought it ‘fast,’ and wondered if she dare have her new spring gown re-cut to this style.
When, at last, the madrigals were sung and the curtain about to be lifted, the crowd stopped coughing and chatting. The director went to join his friends in the audience. Mr. Prendergast cleared his throat nervously, straightened his cravat and strode out to initiate the play:
“Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona,…”
he began, in a somewhat tremulous contralto voice. By the time he finished, “our toil shall strive to mend” came out in his normal baritone. No lines—at least, no essential ones— were forgotten on that night. Rex Homberly did not drop his sword. Juliet achieved some semblance of the tone Dewar had been striving for the past weeks. The lamps had the desired effect on the transparency, causing a wonderful view that roused even city folks to a surprised “ah!” when first it was revealed.
At intermission, oranges and nuts were passed, and the
ambulante musico
strolled amongst them, sadly piping his flageolet, and wishing he had thought to have his lute shipped down from Heron Hall instead. A flageolet was not tragic enough for him now. It was an instrument for Pan, not fitting to Swithin’s new mood. But, by slowing his tunes down to a dirge, he caught the essence of the mood he sought. Several of his friends asked him what ailed him in any case, and heard, at great length.
The play recommenced and continued on its course, uninterrupted till the end, with only an awkward fall by Juliet at the climax to flaw perfection. She caught her toe in the hem of her skirt and tripped, landing with an unromantic thump.
But, when praise was being distributed afterwards, this was seen as a cunning device used by the director to heighten reality. “Daresay that is what
would
actually happen,” said Mr. Dickens, the manager of Drury Lane. “The whole done with great originality, Dewar. You have excelled yourself. Ingenious to have used such a pretty set of youngsters for your cast. Your Juliet—superb! And her mother, Lady Capulet, played by an incomparable. There was a new twist. Who is she, by the by? The best voice I have heard in several years. I do not exclude our professional ladies either.”
“A local girl—lady. Not eligible for the London stage, but I have some plans to do a production of
Shrew
featuring her in the near future.”
“I don’t believe I caught the name.”
‘“You wouldn’t know her,” was the unsatisfactory answer.
Mrs. Raymond enjoyed an hour-long flirtation with Lord Simon, the greatest rake in London, and a two-hour scold from her husband when he got her home. Foxey and Rex got pleasantly tipsy, and even Mr. Altmore imbibed enough to become frolicsome and pursue Juliet with more ardour than usual. “Exit, pursued by a bear,” Swithin sighed, when his costumed friend followed her from the room. “Possibly the most famous stage direction in history, Kate. Shakespeare, of course.”
The Misses Hall, deceived as to the strength of mead, had three glasses each and were seen to perform a jig, with Mr. Raymond clapping time.
An elaborate after-play dinner was served in the dining hall, where care had been taken that every local should have the pleasure of a city dining partner, to add to the night’s stimulation. Lady Astonbury told Sir Egbert she was enchanted with his daughter, and the novel, dramatic heresy of casting such a youngster as Juliet. “Oh, aye,” he agreed, wondering what the woman was talking about, “but she’s a good gel for all that. To make her bows in spring, you know.”
Lord Simon, an amateur horticulturalist, listened with real interest to his companions, the flower ladies, and invited himself to view their conservatory the next day. The juxtaposition of Lady Proctor and Sir Crowell Stagland was less successful. He was stone-deaf, but he nodded his head very civilly, and occasionally gratified her by ogling her new gown, so she was not totally displeased with him. The inhabitants of Harknell had never had such a day, nor such a night, and still it was not over. There were musicians come down from London as well to perform for an impromptu dancing party after dinner.
Bereft of Jane’s company (she was a definite success with the London smarts), Rex and Foxey took the ill-conceived idea of donning their horse suit to try the waltz, and so disturbed a maid bearing drinks that she spilt the whole tray. Swithin’s vow of celibacy did not deter him from spending every minute at his lady’s side. With all the ruses at her command, Holly could not shake him off. As his friends had by this time some awareness of his state, they were not cruel enough to deprive him of her company, so that she was left nearly all alone with him, while the most eligible men she had ever seen danced with everyone else.
As morning hovered near, however, Mr. Johnson did accost her for a dance and, once she got away from Swithin, she contrived to remain away for as long as she could. She darted behind the wall of people that stood at the room’s edge to hide from him, and walked into Lord Dewar.
“Slipped the leash at last, have you?” he asked. “We shall have a waltz, before Othello gets a rope out to haul you back to the bed of nails. Were you ever so bethumped with awful, inappropriate metaphors, I wonder? It must be the mead taking its toll.”
“You sound like Rex,” she laughed.
“I do it with a better grace, but he does it more natural. A misquotation for every occasion. It saves thinking. I have spotted Swithin loitering at the far end of the room. If we can waltz in tight circles at this end, we may escape detection. Come.” He took her hand and led her to the floor.
Dewar was certainly not foxed. He was not unsteady on his feet, or uncertain in his pronunciation. Holly took the idea all the same that he had had more mead than was good for him. His smile was wider than usual, and his speech, normally rather elegant, was more careless than she was accustomed to hearing. A little flush was on his cheeks. As they danced, his arm also began to tighten around her waist quite noticeably. “It has been quite a day, hasn’t it?” he asked, smiling down at her.
“It’s been a wonderful day.”
“In fact, it’s been quite a visit.”
“It will seem very dull when you are gone. When all of you are gone, I mean. Swithin and Rex and Foxey—everyone.”
“Cautious Miss McCaution! Tch tch, I had high hopes for half a second you were going to forget yourself and say you would miss me. But you must not despair at all of us leaving. I shall find Swithin a new heart-breaker and come back for more lectures.”
As she glanced around the room, Holly could see there was no shortage of heart-breakers in their lives. Elegant, laughing ladies, their smiles flashing as brightly as their jewels, were present in distressing numbers. This was the sort of company these city gentlemen were accustomed to. The marvel of it was that Swithin could ever have fancied himself in love with her. It was the novelty perhaps that appealed to him, and the propinquity. “It should not prove very difficult,” she answered.
“I give him a month at the outside. Of course, it is a new role for him. He may enjoy to play the ascetic and give it a longer run. But, then, I am given to understand you are firmly committed till the end of the Season, in any case—to mind the house at Stonecroft, so it cannot make much difference. Summer will be soon enough for
your
new role.”
“Are you really going to put on
The Taming of the Shrew?”
she asked hopefully, for it had been spoken of.
“It is one of the projects I am considering, but only if
you
will promise to be the shrew. But for the present moment my project is to evade Swithin till this set of waltzes is finished.”
It took some lively footwork, but it was accomplished. “Now I shall return you to your keeper,” he said. “The best place for you. The
safest
place I mean.”
“Oh, I think I would rather...,” she said, glancing around at all the other guests, so intriguingly unfamiliar.
“Yes, I know you would rather, and
that
is why you go back to Swithin,” he said blandly, and pulled her away.