A woman’s voice called, “Michael, set the chairs, will you. I’ve got to fix my trousers.”
Rory looked up, as a striking, bird-like girl stepped out of the audience and unbuttoned her skirt. It slithered to the ground, revealing slender hips and legs bound tight in a pair of boy’s trousers. Her eyes were painted huge and dark, her long black hair was tied back, and her cheeks were thin and pale. She was Peg McCarthy, seventeen, one of two female apprentices. Hilda Bates refused to give apprentices wages, so Peg lived by her wits… and more. She flashed Rory a blazing smile. He smiled back, then colored and crossed his legs.
Jeremy chuckled at the clever girl. She had instantly discovered that Rory had money and was absolutely not, “Jerry’s new lad.”
Trying not to stare at Peg, Rory concentrated on actor Michael Burns, putting out chairs to make a theatrical set. Michael was medium height and slender. He had a shock of red hair and dazzling green eyes. He called, “Y’ ready, Peg?” She sauntered onto the stage area, enjoying the stares of a dozen men.
Jeremy’s voice rang out. “Is this As You Like It or Camille?”
Instantly adjusting her posture and attitude, Peg transformed herself into a boy. She sat next to Michael and they looked like school chums. Their scene was a boy lecturing a young man about love. They finished and sat nervously, watching Jeremy.
He put a finger over his lips and raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Burns, you toured for a long time.”
“Yes, sir. Over five years.”
“It shows.” Jeremy glared at him. “In five short minutes you have choked us with every cheap trick, fake boyish pose and scene stealing prank in the repertoire.” He threw up his hands. “Where the bloody hell was Orlando?” Michael stared at the floor. “What does he want in this scene?”
“He says, he’s dying from lovesickness.”
“So what does he want?”
Michael shrugged. “I suppose he wants Rosalind?”
“Of course he wants Rosalind. Good God man, haven’t you ever been in love?”
Michael yelled back, “Yes, I have been in love, sir.” Then whispered, “Too often.” He put his head in his hands.
“You do not think you enjoy that pain and yet you have invited it more than once. Perhaps you do enjoy it?”
Michael looked horrified, and Jeremy sat back, shaking his head. “We all enjoy it, Mr. Burns. The human race cannot get enough of it. We even write plays about it so we can watch other people in that same pain. Orlando is in love with that pain. He says, ‘I would not be cured.’ If you wish to play this part, you must invite the memory of that pain from your own experience.” He waited as Michael took a deep breath, sat back, and stared at the floor.
Rory leaned forward. He felt sorry for Michael.
Jeremy turned to Peg. She concentrated, soaking in every word. “Miss McCarthy, if ever a young woman has cause for sorrow, it is Rosalind. In the blink of an eyelash, through no fault of her own, she is condemned to die, unless she forfeits her home, her loved ones, and her dream of marital bliss. She is desperate for Orlando to prove himself and somehow save her life. Her words may be light, but their consequence can be terribly severe.”
Jeremy looked at Michael. “Mr. Burns, are you ready to go again?”
This time, the scene was very different. Rory was impressed.
Peg made sure Rory had a clear view when she seductively pulled her skirt back over her trousers.
Jeremy looked over the list of scenes. “Oh, come, Mr. Tanner, let us get it over with. Torture us with poor Cassius one last time.”
A good-looking, powerfully built, middle-aged man took the floor. He began to recite and Rory strained to listen. Jeremy closed his eyes and rested his head in his hand. When he finished, Jeremy looked up sleepily. “Thank you Mr. Tanner.” He studied the list. “Next can we…?”
“P’Please, sir.” Tanner stammered, “That was better. I know it was.”
“No, Mr. Tanner, it was not.” He stayed where he was, so Jeremy commanded, “Sit down!” He studied his list. “Mr. Pierce and Miss Linford, may we please have A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
Rory’s mouth fell open. Jeremy could be cruel.
Tanner stayed where he was, glaring daggers at Jeremy. Two young actors moved to the stage area, ignoring Tanner. Finally, red-faced and seething, he skulked back to his chair.
Acting class ended at 4:30 sharp. Rory sat alone, digesting all he had seen and heard. Most of it had been fascinating, some funny, some horrible. He glanced up and saw Peg McCarthy in the doorway, smiling.
“Sorry,” he sprang up. “I suppose I should to be out of here.”
She sashayed in. “You can stay if you want. No one will be rehearsing this late.”
He grabbed his coat and smiled nervously. “I’ve got to be going anyway. There’s a 5:30 train.”
“Where to?”
“Oxford. I’m a student, just down for the day.”
“Is there a later train?”
“Um… yes, there are several, actually.”
“Well then, wouldn’t you like to buy a girl a cup of tea?”
“I would, very much. Sorry, I seem to have forgotten my manners. Your scene was wonderful, by the way. You’re a very good actress.”
She smiled seductively. “I’m learning. What’s your name?”
“Rory Cookingham.” He smiled and offered his hand. She took it and looked him up and down. His heart pounded and his knees felt weak.
"I'm Peg McCarthy." She cocked her head. “The Rory is all right, but he’ll change the other.”
“What other?”
“The Cook…”
“Cookingham?”
“Mr. Bates, the theatre manager, says actors have to have easy names, otherwise the public can’t remember.”
“Oh, I’m not an actor. I just wanted to watch the class.” He laughed nervously and helped her with her tattered coat.
She smiled over her shoulder. “Mr. O’Connell never allows guests in class. I’m surprised he let you.”
“He didn’t exactly ‘let’ me. I just came. I think he’s angry.”
“I wouldn’t worry. If he didn’t want you here, he’d have thrown you out.”
He put on his own coat, new and beautifully tailored.
Peg looked him over. “Come on, then.” She smiled and started down the stairs.
Two hours later, Rory lay naked and gasping, sweating, and exquisitely satisfied on a pile of rough muslin used for making flats.
After a meal at the Red Lion Pub, Peg gave him a backstage tour, ending in a storage room. It was musty and warm and Peg had fashioned herself a bed. A single candle flame shed uneven light over the cluttered space. Rory stared at a cobweb on the ceiling. “You sleep here?”
“Sometimes. It’s nicer than my boarding house.”
He shook his head. “How can this be nicer than anywhere?” Enjoying the sight of her slight, shapely body, he saw tears run down her cheeks.
He sat up. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”
She chuckled, “Don’t be daft. I brought you here. I wanted it.”
He had never heard a girl admit that.
Much to his dismay, her tears continued, silently washing the charcoal from around her eyes. She wiped the black away with her fingers. “You pulled out. I never had a bloke do that.”
He ran his hand over her white skin. “It’s bad enough that I shagged you after an hour’s acquaintance, without leaving you a lifetime souvenir.”
“Most men don’t care. You’re a gentleman.”
He lay back. “A gentleman wouldn’t be here at all.”
She giggled. “You’re certainly not one of Jerry’s lads.”
“Jerry’s lads?”
“That’s what everyone was sniggering about, when you came in.” She sat up. “You do know about Mr. O’Connell?”
“What about him?”
“That he’s a…” He stared at her, and she nervously sat back. “Not that there’s anything wrong wi
th it. I don’t know what you…, ” she stammered, “You and he… some gents like to do both, and that’s all right.”
“Oh!” He coughed a laugh, and sat up. “So that’s it. Of course. It’s so obvious.” He smiled at her. “No, I’m not… Don’t worry.” He lay back and gazed at the ceiling. “That’s why he was so cool when we met. His letters were full of passion, then he found out I wasn’t…,”
“You write letters to each other?”
“There’ve been dozens. His are brilliant. It was after writing letters that he invited me to meet him. He must have been disappointed that I wasn’t… Is Evan, O’Connell’s…?”
“He’s Eric Bates’s son, but no one speaks of it. She looked into Rory’s eyes, very bright in the dim light, then leaned over and kissed him. “You didn’t like the makeup, did you?”
“I’m not used to it. You look younger without it.”
“That’s why I wear it, to look older. How old are you?”
“Nineteen. How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“You’re only seventeen?”
“Ya,” she giggled. “I’m not a real actress, just an apprentice, no wages.”
“How do you live?”
“I get some meals at the boarding house. For the rest,” she smiled self-consciously, “I do what I can.”
*
“Rory luv.” A soft whisper in his ear.
He lurched awake. The candle was nearly out. “What’s the time?”
Goin’ on 7:00. I go’ a’ carry costumes down from wardrobe. We go’ a show tonigh’.”
He grabbed his clothes. “There’s an 8:30 train. I’ve got an exam tomorrow.” He shook his head. “It’ll be an all-night-study now.”
She quickly dressed. “I’m sorry. You was so ‘andsome sleepin’, Oi din’ wan’a wake y’.”
He stopped. What did she say?
Alarmed, she took a deep breath and over-pronounced, “I – didn’t – want – to – wake – you.” She saw the startled look on Rory’s face and clenched her fists in frustration. “I can’ keep it up any more, talkin’ proper. U’m nackered.” He continued to stare and she started to cry. “I’m learnin’ to talk proper. Miss Stewart’s ‘elpin’ me, but I can’ keep it up all the time.” Her eyes pleaded for approval. “You ‘ate the way I talk, dan y’?
His eyes bulged and he hurriedly laced a shoe. “For heaven’s sake, it doesn’t matter how a person talks.”
She smiled gratefully. “Y’ mean tha’?
“Of course.” Bloody hell! The way a person talked was everything. She was a better actress than she knew. He tossed his tie around his neck and grabbed his coat. “I’ll be off, then.”
Peg’s heart was breaking. “Will y’,” she took a deep breath and spoke slowly. “Will – you – be – back – next – week, for class?” She swallowed, forcing back tears.
He looked at her. She was so tiny, and so unhappy. “I’d like to. I don’t know if I can, or if Mr. O’Connell will let me.” An uneasy laugh escaped him. “He might throw me out the next time.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Please don’t cry.” He threw down his coat, took her in his arms, kissed her, and suddenly desired her all over again. He pushed her away. “I’ll try to come back. I can’t promise.”
She smiled gratefully and wiped her eyes. He pulled two crowns from his pocket and put them in her hand. “In case I don’t get back, take a friend to tea, on me.” He smiled, took his coat, and ran out.
*
It was 7:15 when Jeremy next saw Rory Cookingham. He thought Rory had gone back to Oxford. When he appeared at the dressing-room door, Jeremy was in an easy chair, elegantly wrapped in a hand-painted silk dressing gown. He had a long-stemmed pipe in one hand and a book in the other.
“Still here, Mr. Cookingham?”
“Yes, sir.” Rory stood awkwardly, waiting to be invited inside. His suit was rumpled and the ends of his hair were dark with sweat.
Enjoying the young man’s discomfort, and wondering what vigorous pursuit had occupied his last three hours, Jeremy held his steady gaze, puffed on his pipe, and surrounded himself with sweet smoke.
Rory shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “Your class was wonderful, sir. Thank you so much for allowing me to watch.”
“What was so wonderful?”
“Watching trained actors do the things you have taught me.”
“Have I taught you?”
“Oh, yes sir. In a few letters and one supper, I have learned more from you than from two years at University. You have taught me to understand people, their feelings, desires, and struggles. At Oxford, I have learned nothing but meaningless legal precepts.”
Jeremy allowed his lips to curve into a smile.
“There was one thing, sir. You were wrong about that line in OEDIPUS. The Greek is very clear, it says. . .”
“I know what it says! I have also read it in Greek! Although, I dare say, not as recently as you.”
Rory broke into a sweat. “Yes, sir. Perhaps I’d best save my questions for a letter.” “Pray God, yes, put them in a letter.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ve no patience for your
ceaseless queries tonight.” He took a deep breath. “So… you did not find my methods brutal and sadistic?”
Two actors walked past, nodded at Rory, shared knowing smiles, and continued up the stairs. Rory took a deep breath and blushed. “Please sir, may I come in?”
Jeremy gestured toward a chair, which Rory gratefully took. “I thought you were hard, sometimes, but never unjust. For instance, that chap doing Julius Caesar. He had no idea what he was talking about.”
“Michael Tanner is not an actor. He is Eric Bates’s butcher’s assistant. Eric took him on as a super’, then foolishly gave him one spoken line. Since he was now playing a role, he was allowed to attend my class. I am counting the days until he is gone.”
“Couldn’t he learn?”
“He has neither the intellect nor the discipline.”
“I have both.”
“I do not doubt it.”
“Please sir, may I watch your class, next week?”
Jeremy blew out a deep breath and looked away. “I will not lock you out.”
“But you don’t want me to come. Why?”
The swish of a skirt brought Peg McCarthy into the room, carrying a costume. She saw Rory and dropped the costume on the floor. Startled and embarrassed, Rory lunged for the garment and hung it up. Peg hurried out, and Jeremy laughed until he had tears in his eyes. “So she is why you are still here. I thought it was out of adoration for me.”
Rory wanted to sink through the floor. The wall clock read 7:25, five minutes before the half-hour call and his banishment. “Please sir. May we speak privately?”
Jeremy groaned. “By all means.”
Rory closed the door and took a deep breath. “When I arrived at the rehearsal room this afternoon, there was a good deal of sniggering from the other chaps. I’d no idea why." He smiled nervously. “I kept looking to see if I’d torn my trousers.” He checked Jeremy’s reaction. There was none. He swallowed and continued. “Later, Peg told me they thought I was one of. . . ‘Jerry’s lads.’” Jeremy’s expression was grim. The seconds ticked on. “When I was at school, sir,” his breathing was fast and shallow. He shook his head. “I, I must have been a randy little sod.”
“It seems you still are.” A smile escaped from behind Jeremy’s eyes.
Beads of sweat popped out on Rory’s face. He smiled weakly. “My mates and I preferred girls, but they were hard to come by.” He sat back and shook his head. “We tried everything. I even remember a sponge cake incident.”
“I seem to remember sponge cake.” Jeremy scanned his memory. “It doesn’t work, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.” Jeremy was silent. Rory was about to make a final humiliating apology and leave, when the elder man spoke.
“So… you have found out that I am a sadistic basta
rd and a sodomite, and you are still here.” Jeremy sighed long and loud. “Of course you can come to my bloody class and anything else you’d like.” He pursed his lips. “I was afraid you would think less of me. I credited you falsely. I apologize.”
Rory’s eyes were like saucers.
There was a knock on the door. A boy’s voice called, “‘alf ‘our, Mr. O’Connell!”
“Thank you, Matt.” Rory picked up his coat as Jeremy opened the door. “It appears you have had a very full day, Mr. Cookingham. Get some rest.”
“Not tonight, sir. I have an exam in the morning. I’ll sleep tomorrow.”
“I remember those nights.” Rory looked surprised and Jeremy gently pushed him out. “Stories for another day, boy.”
Chapter Sixteen
Eric Bates and Jeremy O’Connell sat in the darkened stalls, listening to a parade of young men auditioning to work long hard hours for no wages. The first few were dreadful, the fifth tolerable. “Thank You. Next Please.” Jeremy’s voice rang out. He crossed off the first names, and put a question mark by the fifth: Courtney Adams.
A slight, fair-haired young actor in tights and an Elizabethan tunic walked gracefully onto the stage. Seeing something high on the stage-right curtain, he hurried toward it, stopped, smiled, and took a deep breath.
“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”
Eric sat to attention. “What’s his name?”
Jeremy glared at the paper. “Rory Cook.”
“It is my lady, O, it is my love!”
Eric broke into a smile. “He’s delightful.”
“Yes, he is.”
“See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!”
Jeremy clenched his jaw. “The little shit.”
Surprised, Eric glanced at Jeremy, then back at Rory. “Do you know him?”
“I do.”
“Good.”
“No. It is not good.”
Rory finished and left the stage.
Eric stood up. “We’ll have him.”
“We will not.”
“You’re daft. We haven’t heard a better audition in years, even from seasoned actors.”
Not From the Stars (His Majesty's Theatre Book 1) Page 9
