“It would be appropriate to have Mr. Johnson play Friar Laurence,” his mother suggested.
“
A churchman and all. Excellent casting.”
“Would he be willing to do anything so daring?” Dewar asked.
“He’ll leap at the chance, and he could learn the lines easily too, for he has half the scriptures by heart. He rattles them off on Sunday without hardly a glance at his book. Has a good loud voice. You can’t catch a wink of sleep in church when he is talking.”
“I’ll go and see him this afternoon,” Dewar said. “I could do with a little exercise.”
“What about Rex and me?” Foxworth asked him.
“Come along if you like.”
“I mean, what parts are we to have in the play? Been looking it over. A dandy duel scene here in the third act. Tybalt and Mercutio. Me and Rex could do that. Not too many words you know, but a good rousing sword fight.”
“Not a bad idea. Smallish parts. Practicing their duel will keep ‘em out of mischief,” Altmore said aside to Dewar.
“I seem to recall Mercutio survives the duel, and has a fair speaking part,” Dewar countered.
“So he does. Rex is the more inarticulate. He must be Tybalt. He will enjoy dying. Grunts and groans are not beyond him.”
“We shall try them, and see how it works out,” Dewar decreed.
The next mention of
Romeo and Juliet
heard by Holly, other than a few reminders each day from Lady Proctor to her daughter that she ought to start looking over her lines, if only they could find the book, occurred on Monday afternoon when Mr. Johnson once more came to call. The Proctors, mother and daughter, had gone into Harknell to try to find a copy of the play. It was Holly’s lot to greet Mr. Johnson alone.
His bright smile led her to believe he had achieved success with Dewar on the matter of augmented funds for the orphanage. “Don’t tell me Lord Dewar has called on you at last!” she exclaimed.
“Indeed he has. Most kind of him. He stayed the better part of an hour. Brought two of his guests with him, a Mr. Homberly and Mr. Altmore. Altmore seems a very gentlemanly sort of a man.”
“I was well impressed with him at the assembly.”
“An excellent fellow. He is to play the role of Romeo. A little old for Jane’s Juliet but then, as Dewar says, at a distance from the stage it will not be noticed. Altmore has a youthful, lithesome figure and a wonderful voice.”
“I see he bored you with his wretched play! Of more importance, Mr. Johnson, are the funds for the orphanage. What sum has he given?”
“The orphanage? We did not discuss it. We are to have a good coze very soon about that.”
“You cannot mean you sat for an hour and let him away without dunning him for more money!” she exclaimed, nonplussed.
“The time was not appropriate. Dewar could only speak of his play. He is very enthusiastic about it. And, as he says, it will be a very good cultural influence on the villagers. We do not get enough intellectual stimulation here in Harknell. I daresay I ought to do more along that line.”
“You scarcely have time to tend to the church and the orphanage. I’m sure no one expects you to raise the level of culture as well.”
“Still, it is a pity that we are all sunk into an intellectual apathy here. I did not realize the extent of it till I spoke with Dewar and Altmore. They are certainly very stimulating conversational companions. How seldom it occurs to us here in the village to read the latest book—philosophical work or poetry, I mean, for of course you ladies all read novels. We are very behindhand in such matters, and I must include ourselves there, Miss McCormack. Oh, we will occasionally order a new sheet of music, or a book of sermons, but the real intellectual life of the country passes us by. We live in a stagnant backwater, and do virtually nothing to keep abreast of the times.”
“I don’t see that putting on Shakespeare brings us right up to the minute,” she answered sharply, not liking the slurs on her mental torpor.
“Shakespeare? He is for all times. Each age finds its own meaning in him. That is what makes him a classic. But our talk was not limited to Shakespeare by a long shot. Philosophy, music, art—those were our topics of conversation. Very stimulating. It quite took me back to my university days. I am very happy indeed they mean to stay a while, and I shall be seeing a good bit of them, with this play.”
“Surely the play will occupy Dewar a good deal, having quite the opposite effect from what you say. He will not have much time to discuss cultural matters with you.”
“Oh, I am to be in the play! Did I not tell you? He asked me to take the part of Friar Laurence. Quite a pivotal character, next in importance only to Romeo and Juliet. Indeed, according to certain views, he is even more important—the only well-developed mature character in the play, actually. Dewar feels my real-life role as a minister of the church adds a depth to the characterization as well. Sort of a role within a role for me, if you see the point. A minister playing a friar. A very profound part. Fortunately, I have a copy of the play in my library. I was used to be quite active in reading and studying, once upon a time.”
“But what of the Christmas pageant? And the baskets—to say nothing of the sewing!”
“The play will take the place of the pageant this year. We have the same old pageant every year, with the same old stock figures. This will be a pleasant change. We shall put on a special performance for the orphans in the afternoon, and it will serve double duty as a dress rehearsal. It is all arranged. You must not take the notion I have forgotten my orphans, Miss McCormack.”
“The children won’t be amused by Shakespeare! They are too young for a love story.”
“They will adore the duel scenes. And the costumes and sets—very elaborate plans he has for them—will be a novelty. Just getting to the Abbey for a day will be a great treat, you know. I trust you good ladies will find a moment to help stitch up the costumes.”
“These elaborate outfits you speak of will take more than a moment, Mr. Johnson! I thought you felt as I do about the play,” she charged angrily. She saw all his former chagrin had to do with his own exclusion, not with wasted or misspent time.
“I did think it a bit of a waste of time at first but, as I reconsider the matter, I come to think it is just what has been lacking in Harknell. We want shaking up, and Dewar is the very one to do it. As he pointed out, it will really waste very little time. Stitching can be done as well at rehearsals as at home, and listening to the immortal words of Shakespeare instead of gossiping will be good for you. Always with the exception of the Good Book, you will not find more good sense more eloquently spoken than in Shakespeare. Indeed, I often find it difficult to know for sure whether certain quotations come from the one source or the other. Shakespeare has quite a Biblical style. I daresay he was a regular reader of the book.”
This fabrication seemed to set the seal of approval on the scheme. No words she could speak moved him an inch from his position. Before he left, the play had become not only a pleasure, but a positive duty.
Over the next day and a half, Holly came to realize that if she was not to spend the next two months in utter isolation she would involve herself in the dramatic presentation. It was the only item discussed in the village. Ladies who should have been tending to charity work were holding reading parties to familiarize themselves with the play.
Dewar did not come to Stonecroft in person, but he sent his eager ambassador, Mr. Homberly, to inform Miss McCormack she was to play Lady Capulet, and to enquire whether Lady Proctor would have any objection to holding the first few rehearsals in her saloon, as his own hall was in the carpenter’s hands, with a stage and proscenium arch under erection. Lady Proctor gave her much-gratified consent. Miss McCormack did not
“I am much too busy,” she told Rex.
“Not that many lines,” he pointed out.
“I am not interested,” she insisted mulishly.
Lady Proctor, thumbing through Jane’s copy, began to wonder whether it would not be interesting for her as well as Johnson to play a role within a role, and be Juliet’s mama, as she was Jane’s. It could not be a contemptible thing to do, for certainly Mr. Johnson had mentioned a dozen titled ladies who had appeared in private theatricals. Mr. Johnson seldom spoke of anything but theatricals nowadays. She mentioned this matter to Homberly who said, by Jove, it was just the ticket, and he’d tell Dew it was all set.
He took his two answers back to the Abbey, where Dewar heard with satisfaction that he was to have
carte blanche
with the saloon and, with surprise, that Miss McCormack declined the honour. “We’ll see about that,” Dewar stated blandly.
“Already taken care of it,” Rex assured him, smiling smugly at his coup. “Did a spot of casting myself. Never guess what, Dew. Jane’s mother is going to play Juliet’s mother. Dashed good idea.”
Dewar turned his head very slowly and levelled a dark eye on his cousin. “I might have known better!” he said in a voice of suppressed anger.
The next morning, Lord Dewar called at Stonecroft, his stated purpose being to decide whether Lady Proctor’s saloon would do for a few rehearsals. While there, however, he handed Miss McCormack her copy of the play, with her role ticked off in red.
Three days is rather a long time to hear all one’s friends discuss a new project with the keenest enthusiasm, and not become a little infected oneself. To a conscientious daughter of a minister, it also seemed improper that the whole village be laid low with play-acting fever, particularly when there was more worthwhile work to be done. She knew that ladies who quibbled about a pound for charity baskets were spending several times that amount on extravagant materials to make themselves up outfits to be worn once.
Mrs. Raymond, for instance, alias Lady Montague, had actually sent off to London for a length of Italian crepe, and spoke of going to London herself to have it made up by a city modiste. Miss Lacey, who was to play Juliet’s vulgar nurse, had come twice to confer with Juliet on their respective roles, and to discover as well how often Dewar came to call. She knew he was above her touch, and set her cap for Altmore instead.
Holly’s interest was also awake in that direction, and when she thought of the many hours the actors would be spending together she experienced a deep-seated and unworthy wish to join them. This wish rendered her very sensible to Lady Proctor’s unsuitability to appear on stage in any capacity. She would never learn her lines, nor speak them with sufficient force to extend beyond the stage.
In short, she was prepared to be persuaded into participating, but she was not ready to have it taken for granted. When Dewar handed her the book and said nonchalantly, “I have marked off your part in red,” she felt an angry flush warm her neck. Dewar spoke on rapidly. “You will notice it is a smallish part. It will not occupy a great deal of your time to learn it.”
“It will not take a moment of my time. I do not mean to take part in the play, Lord Dewar,” she said in a firm voice.
“Why not?”
“I have already explained my reasons. I am too busy.”
“Mr. Johnson says the sewing can be done at rehearsals.”
“Mr. Johnson is not the one who does the sewing,” she said, still angry at his defection.
“He feels, as I do myself, that the play will be a very good thing for the village. Surely you will not be so selfish as to ruin the project for us all by refusing to act.”
“I am not ruining it for anyone!” she answered, astonished at this importance being put on her refusal. “Get someone else to play Lady Capulet. My aunt..."
“With a careful, quick look in that lady’s direction, Dewar spoke on in a low, urgent voice, while Altmore held Lady Proctor captive on the sofa across the room, as he had been instructed to do. “That is precisely why you
must
take the part. Your aunt is an admirable woman, perfectly well-meaning but, with all due respect, she is no actress.”
“Neither am I. Besides, I am too young to play Juliet’s mother,” she added, this piece of casting having occurred to her more than once as inappropriate, if not downright insulting.
“No, no. Juliet is scarcely more than a child. I mean to emphasize her youth, in subtle ways. It is appropriate that Lady Capulet be portrayed by a woman who is not yet in her middle years. They married young in those days. Juliet will be fourteen years ‘come Lammas-eve at night,’ according to the script. Providing her mother married as young, as she says in the play she did, you are about the right age. Twenty-nine or thirty.”
A quick jerk of her head told him he had erred, to mention age to a spinster. Looking at her, he added, “Give or take a few years, I mean.” This rider, being so ambiguous, naturally did not have the effect he hoped for. Scrutinizing her more closely, he began to think he had miscalculated her years. She was not quite so old as he had thought earlier. No child, but not quite pushing thirty either. It was her calm, confident manner that made her seem older than she was. Perhaps hobnobbing with old Johnson added to the illusion.
“In any case, it won’t take much
maquillage
to make you look old enough. Oh dear, I do just stumble on from bad to worse, do I not? You are too young for the role, and your aunt is too old. I hope to do a version of the play emphasizing that Romeo and Juliet are scarcely more than children, which adds a pathetic touch to the tragedy, I think, and I want Lady Capulet to be youngish.”
“You will soon have me convinced I am too old for the part.”
“No, you are just right. I want you for the part. I have quite set my heart on it. If you refuse, I must, for civility’s sake, accept Lady Proctor’s offer, which I refuse to do. In short, if you refuse, I shall cancel the whole project.”
“Lord Dewar! You cannot be so—so... Oh, everyone is looking forward to it!” she was betrayed into admitting.
“I would certainly regret to have to give it up. It is your decision.”
“You don’t leave me much choice in the matter.”
“You have the choice of accepting or not. No one is compelling you to take the part.”