“Actually it is our intention to mount the production ourselves,” he said.
“Oh! That is why you brought those gentlemen with you. What play is it you are going to put on for us?” she asked, still satisfied.
“That is what I hope to discuss with you ladies today,” he answered. “What play would you enjoy to do?”
“We?” Jane asked. “Lord Dewar, we are not actresses!” She laughed aloud at the very idea of herself or Holly standing on a stage in front of everyone, making cakes of themselves.
Holly remembered his remark regarding her fine voice. She looked at him, incredulous. “Certainly not! It is not to be thought of!” she seconded.
“Thank God for that!” Homberly sighed, at peace with the world, “Rubbishing idea. Tell me, Miss Proctor, you ride at all?”
Her answer was not heard by Holly, or her mother either. These two ladies were immediately subjected to a verbal barrage from Dewar that did not leave them an ear free to listen. “Of course it is only an amateur performance we have in mind,” he began persuasively, “for a small group of friends.”
“That won’t bring much culture to the local people in general, will it?” Holly asked. “Not to the ones who need it, I mean, and would enjoy it as a great novelty. The gentlefolks you speak of may go to a play in London as often as they like.”
“As a local resident, you would have a better idea of who might enjoy it,” he agreed instantly. “It is why I especially wanted to talk to you—all you ladies at Stonecroft. Mama suggested you as being very active in all the goings-on in the village. The charity work, the church projects, and so on.”
"That is true,” Lady Proctor nodded, taking some credit for her niece’s active involvement. “The sewing, for instance, we do a great deal of, and when Mr. Johnson had his bazaar last spring we did three-quarters of the preparing. The notices for the shop windows, the setting up of the stalls, the prizes...”
“We are much too busy to spend any considerable amount of time in preparing a play,” Holly said. “I, personally, have not a moment free.”
“With that voice of yours, you must take part, Miss McCormack,” Dewar objected. “It struck me the moment you spoke last evening that it was made for the stage. A deep, carrying tone, but still very musical. I have not heard a finer voice anywhere, and I include Mrs. Siddons in that. Your voice reminds me of her.”
If he thought to cut any ice with this comparison he was out. Lady Proctor could not quite place the name, though she was sure she had heard it before, and Holly knew when she was being cozzened. “Thank you for the compliment, sir, but I have never acted on a stage, and never intend to. I know it takes up a great deal of time, and I am too busy.”
“What is it you do that doesn’t leave you a free moment?” he asked.
“Charity work. I also help my aunt here at home.” She reached down and picked up an orphan’s shirt as she spoke, to prove her point.
“As to that, Holly, there are plenty of servants, if you want to help Lord Dewar put on his little play,” Lady Proctor said. From the corner of her eye, she saw that nig-nog of a Jane discussing riding with Mr. Homberly, whom she sincerely hoped would not take part in the dramatic presentation. Jane must be in the play to keep her under Dewar’s eyes and, as chaperoning would be required, Holly too would participate. It was just the sort of occupation she did so well—dignified, genteel work. “You could always stitch on the shirts while you chaperone, Holly.”
Dewar looked startled at this speech. “I hope you will take a more active part than only chaperoning,” he said.
“No, really, I am not at all sure I can even do that. I help Mr. Johnson with the church arrangements. I usually spend an afternoon a week with the church committee, and one or more with the charity work.”
“That leaves
five
afternoons and seven mornings,” he pointed out.
“And when Mr. Parsons fell ill last winter, you remember, Auntie, I took the school for a full month. Mr. Prendergast wanted to do it, but he had just undertaken to help Mr. Raymond and could not get away.”
“Is Mr. Parsons ill at the moment? I had not heard it,” Dewar said, becoming more determined with every obstacle thrown in his way. This was the one he wanted for his leading lady.
Her voice enchanted the ear, the more so as she became angry and spoke more forcefully. There was a timbre to it—almost a vibrato—that would show to advantage in a great dramatic tragedy. Her form, too, while not of a feminine fullness, was tall and straight. The last success of Mrs. Siddons was in his mind—Lady Macbeth. A more difficult piece than he had originally intended, but by no means beyond doing.
“No, but he is very old, and might fall ill at any moment,” she answered.
“If that occurs, I shall appoint a permanent replacement for him,” Dewar answered simply. “Now, what we must settle on is what play we are to do. What do you think, Lady Proctor?” He turned to this dame, not because he felt for a moment she would have interesting views on the subject, but because she was in charge of the young ladies, and must be buttered into compliance.
“I once saw
The Rivals
played in Bath,” she told him, thus emptying half of her dramatic budget. “It was ever so amusing.”
“So it is. I like it enormously,” he agreed readily.
“Then, of course, there is always Shakespeare,” she added. “Jane’s seminary that she went to two years ago put on something by Shakespeare. What was it, Jane dear, that play you were in at Miss Kinnear’s?”
“
Romeo
and
Juliet
, Mama.”
“Yes, that has been done very often,” Dewar said in a dismissing way. “I thought perhaps
Macbeth
would be interesting.”
“I cannot think Jane would like playing Lady Macbeth,” the girl’s mother answered. “She is not old enough, and she has all the speeches of Juliet by heart from Miss Kinnear’s play, you know.”
With a dazed look on his face, Dewar said, “Indeed,” then he sat rapidly revising his cast and even his play. Between Miss McCormack’s reluctance and Lady Proctor’s pushing of Jane, he saw he was not going to get his own way, but he would not abandon the whole project. He would still put on a play. He turned to examine Jane with a new interest. “Now that is odd. You disclaimed being an actress when I first mentioned it, Miss Proctor.”
“It was only for the school. I have never acted in public,” she pointed out. She did not think to add that it was only the balcony scene she had been called upon to perform, with Miss Ewart, dressed in her brother’s trousers, playing Romeo.
“Make a dashed pretty Juliet,” Rex said, his fond eyes melting, his voice mellowed with love.
Dewar continued to scrutinize the young girl. She was remarkably pretty and young enough, too, to play Juliet without the audience bursting into guffaws when the girl’s age of fourteen years was mentioned in the play. Her voice was not strong, but it had a clear, bell-like quality that was pleasing.
In a smallish room—the refectory hall at the Abbey, for instance—it would be loud enough. Yes, it would be interesting to mount a truly stunning production of
Romeo and Juliet
to raise it from the depths of its latest producer, Romeo Coates, who had brought a farcical version of it to London not long ago. And if this girl already knew the role it would save time. Altmore, of course, would play Romeo. With one last, reluctant glance back at Miss McCormack, he decided to try once more for her services in a tragedy.
Before he uttered a word, she spoke up. “I don’t see how you can possibly hope to have people learn a whole play in a month, and rehearse them. If Jane knows the role, common sense would dictate putting on
Romeo and Juliet,
providing one of your friends could undertake to learn Romeo’s part.”
“Altmore,” Rex said, crossing his legs and jiggling his Hessians up and down, while he admired the gloss of his toes. “Altmore played Romeo at Chatsworth two years ago. Daresay he remembers the lines. Devilish long-headed, Altmore. Knows everything. Memory like an elephant,”
“Will you be in the play, Mr. Homberly?” Jane asked.
“Nope.”
Lady Proctor smiled in blissful contentment.
“Why not?” Jane asked him.
“Too clumsy. Trip over things. Don’t like getting rigged out in silly costumes either. Ain’t saying I wouldn’t stand at the back of the stage to make up a crowd scene. Can’t talk in front of people though. Haven’t got the knack of it. Can’t learn lines either. Offered Dew my horse’s outfit. Glad to let him make use of it if he likes. Help any way I can. Won’t act.” This speech dwindled into a mumble that was nearly inaudible toward its end.
When his lips stopped moving, Lady Proctor turned to Dewar to enquire what role he would take in the play.
“I will direct and produce,” he answered, which satisfied her as putting him in close contact with Jane for the duration.
The fresh tea tray arrived. Lady Proctor served with great daintiness, pushing biscuits and cakes on everyone but Mr. Homberly, who could not wait to be offered. He slid over to the end of the sofa that put him within arm’s reach of the tray and ate his way steadily through a Chinese cake, one piece at a time. While he ate, Dewar explained that his refectory hall would be the scene for the play, with rehearsals to begin a few days hence, after casting was completed.
“Will this leave you time to attend to all your estate business?” Holly enquired.
“I have pretty well finished it already,” he answered.
She could not believe he had seen Mr. Johnson and Mr. Raymond and attended to the half-dozen other matters requiring his decision in the half day since Mr. Johnson had been with them.
The village of Harknell looked forward to the novelty of hearing Lord Dewar perform the reading in church on Sunday, but they were disappointed. It was raining, and he did not attend the service. Neither did Mr. Johnson receive an invitation to the Abbey for luncheon. He accepted an invitation to Stonecroft instead to take his mutton with Sir Egbert and his family. Disappointment lent a peevish touch to his conversation that day. He had looked forward to introducing Lord Dewar in church, more to dining at the Abbey.
“It sets a bad tone, for his lordship to stay away from service only for a few drops of rain,” he said, feeling rather daring to utter this mild reproach.
“I don’t think you should look to Dewar for any raising of the moral standards, Mr. Johnson,” Holly said curtly. “Did he return your call yesterday?”
“No, he did not. He didn’t call on Raymond either. Raymond had to drive out to the Abbey to get him to look at some papers.”
“He had time to go into the shops though, and to plan a play to amuse himself during the visit,” Holly said.
“A play? I heard nothing of that!” he replied, a little vexed that he was not the first to know. He soon had all the details, and showed not a jot of approval at the scheme, though he could not like to condemn it outright.
“At least it is Shakespeare—something decent. It is no secret he put on a Restoration comedy five years ago at the Abbey. One of those bawdy things that is considered too risqué even for London.”
“Demmed fine play it was too,” Sir Egbert laughed. “The ladies didn’t care for it, I recollect. It is a pity he has switched to Shakespeare. I like a good comedy myself. So you are to be Juliet, eh, Minx?” he asked, turning to Jane to tease her on her glory.
After dessert, Mrs. Abercrombie, a neighbour, dropped in on her way to visit a friend and, while Lady Proctor regaled her with an account of the play, Johnson turned to Holly for a little more mild complaining.
“I hope this play won’t interfere with Dewar’s attending to business. It is really quite lamentable the way he lets things run to ruin here. It seems a shame he should divert everyone’s time from the work that needs doing at the orphanage. With Christmas coming on, we usually have our Christmas pageant, and there are the Christmas baskets to be made up. The local ladies could be more gainfully occupied than spending their time in an entertainment for the gentry.”
“I don’t intend to waste
my
time, Mr. Johnson,” Holly assured him. “He asked me to take part, and I told him I would not. My aunt expects me to chaperone, but I believe once the rehearsals begin there will be others who can do it as well. Someone will have to play the Ladies Montague and Capulet—some mature ladies, and there is no reason they cannot chaperone Jane.”
“Who is to play the roles, have you heard?” he asked, with more interest than Holly felt the matter warranted though, upon consideration, she felt it was only a concern that some of his other good workers might be stolen away from him.
“I’m sure Mrs. Raymond will not, nor Miss Boggs. Don’t fear we will desert you at such a busy season, Mr. Johnson.”
“That is kind of you. I knew I might depend on your good sense in this business. I only hope it does not go to Jane’s head, all the attention. But she is a good little girl. She will keep her feet on the ground.”
“Dewar has not been in touch with you at all about business—the orphanage, the church roof?” Holly confirmed.
“Not so much as a note putting off our meeting. I might as well never have written to him. I have been ignored entirely, after hounding him till I am ashamed of it. It is really too bad of him.”
“I shall undertake to remind him, next time he comes here prating of plays,” Holly said, with a martial light glowing in her eye.
“You might just mention it in a discreet way, if the opportunity should arise.”
“The opportunity will arise, Mr. Johnson. I guarantee it.”
* * *
While this conversation was going forth at Stonecroft, Lord Dewar was scouring his library for copies of the play, and when he could find only two he dashed an express off to Hatchard’s in London for the rest. He then held a conference with his guests to decide on roles. Miss McCormack, without knowing it, was cast in the role of Lady Capulet, while Rex flipped through the pages to see which of the minor personages shared a scene with Juliet. He noticed the name Friar Laurence often occurred on the same page with her, but mouthing such impossibly long speeches that he did not volunteer.