by Penny Dolan
Scrope entered the quiet of the midnight library. He had always found it a good place to think, to work out what he should do next. He took one step, then another, and then he heard a voice speak his name.
‘Scrope? Is that you?’
Scrope was caught in the beam of a suddenly uncovered lamp. Someone who looked like Albert was there, shotgun in hand. Scrope gasped. A ghost, come to haunt him? As Albert advanced, gun pointing forward, Scrope saw that this presence was all too real.
‘Where is the boy? Father says you took care of him.’
‘What boy?’ stuttered Scrope stupidly. Was this genuinely his brother? Albert was never so fierce a fellow before. And if it was him, how long had he been here? How did he get here? And why the gun?
Had a telegram told Scrope? Oh no! He’d ordered all telegrams turned away, in case they’d come from Button or his creditors.
‘Where is my son?’ shouted Albert. ‘Where is Mouse?’
‘I don’t know. I mean I did, but he’s run away.’
‘How long has he been gone?’ Albert’s words breathed cold hatred. ‘Where to?’
Scrope blanched. ‘I don’t know those either, Albert. It’s all a terrible mistake.’
Albert raised the gun to his shoulder, making Scrope scream in terror. ‘Don’t, brother!’
Slowly, uncertainly, Albert lowered the gun.
‘I did wrong, I know it,’ whined Scrope. ‘I’ve been trying to find the child, but I have got nowhere.’
‘You creeping worm!’ said Albert. ‘You gave up! If you were not my brother, you’d be dead as the rug you stand on.’
Scrope bowed down under the battering of accusations, but he had to ask – he had to. ‘Adeline? Did she come back too?’
‘Yes,’ answered another voice, and there she was. ‘How could you, Scrope – when we trusted you so much?’
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CHAPTER 59
FLYING HIGH
All through the busy rehearsals, I kept thinking of Ma. If it were not for the quartet of fairy horses chomping in their pen, and the notes Isaac gave me, I sometimes found it hard to believe we’d really met. But now I felt nervous, uncertain about what had been said or promised, unsure what to do next.
Isaac had come to my rescue, most simply. ‘Want to see Ma?’
The answer was simple too. Yes. We’d been given one last day’s rest before the opening night.
The cart trundled out towards the heath. I rode beside Isaac. This visit felt stranger than the time before. I’d questioned Ma so quickly, so greedily last time. It had not been how I’d wanted it to be. I wanted to ask about everything all over again, but I felt ashamed.
So I sat there, in their little home, awkward and silent, stroking Dog Toby’s ears.
‘Don’t worry, Mouse,’ Ma said gently. ‘We can still be the friends we were. We can get to know each other again, child.’ Slowly, that afternoon, it began to happen. We only talked about good times; it was as if we knew the rest could wait.
Ma made it easy, talking of Isaac and joking about the donkey and the cows and the four ponies and other animals that had found sanctuary with them here on the heath. She handed me cheese and cake. When I had eaten, she beamed and laughed the great chuckling laugh I once knew.
‘Now, Mouse, tell me about that great theatre of yours.’
So I told her about the flying machine and about being Puck all in green, suspended high over the audience. Ma chuckled even more, and reminded me how I was forever in trouble for climbing in the big barn.
‘I was at my wits’ end with you, you rascally clamberer,’ she told me. ‘You haven’t changed a bit.’
‘Will you come to see me in the Dream, Ma?’ I asked. ‘You and Isaac?’
Ma regarded her simple grey dress. ‘Don’t I need finery to visit such a place?’
‘No! I will ask Vanya to find you both a quiet seat where you can wear what you like, but you must come.’
‘If it matters to you, Mouse, I will be there,’ she answered, ‘though I’ll probably keep my eyes shut the whole time you’re up in the air, child.’
Maybe that will be best, I thought. At least, it will be for Kitty and me.
The first public performance of Adnam’s Dream! It made me glad to know that Ma and Isaac would be there, hidden alongside the jostling crowds, watching me, their long-lost Mouse.
The Albion itself was crowded, tier upon tier. The stalls, the circle, the gallery, even the topmost level – the gods – were crammed with people. A heady scent – greasepaint and gas lights, cigars and perfumes, sweat and anticipation – filled the auditorium and surged up to the stage. Adnam’s reputation had brought in a full house.
He addressed us in the green room, gesturing as if he was already King Theseus.
‘Friends, actors, stagehands, I come to wish you well tonight, but also to warn you to be on your guard. Beware! Any error tonight may mar the entire season. Any mistake might plunge our noble Albion into a desperate crisis.’ Then Adnam, with the crown on his head, dropped to one knee and declared, ‘If ever you have any love for me, my kindest hearts, my dear ones, do your best tonight!’
I was now trembling so much I could hardly move an inch, let alone climb the ladder.
‘Eh, young lad,’ muttered Arthur Boddy in my ear, ‘don’t worry about him, the silly beggar. Adnam always says stuff like that, and we’re still here, aren’t we?’
The Dream began.
Backstage, the crew were busy with their own work, making sure that the scenery fell and rose and the changes of the lamps worked when they should. The actors fussed over their scenes in their dressing rooms, or paced about in the green room, chattering nervously.
As the great velvet drapes swept open across the stage, there was one still moment of surprise. The audience gave a long single gasp as the sun rose behind the columns of the royal palace. Dressed in white tunics, the little girls circled about, showering rose petals until King Theseus and his bride Hippolyta entered to thunderous applause, followed by the young lovers.
I was poised in the wings, with green leaves already concealing the harness. Kitty shimmered with excitement.
‘Ready? Going up?’
‘Yes,’ she said, and with a determined intake of breath seized the rungs of the ladder.
We clambered up to the fly floor and padded along the walkway as quietly as we could, while the play unfolded beneath our feet.
Another burst of clapping, and the stagehands hauled at the ropes, flying the second set of painted scenery into place. The lighting men adjusted the shutters on their lanterns and lowered the flames.
Kitty checked my straps.
‘All right?’
‘Yes!’
By now the lovers were onstage, pacing, protesting and squabbling among the gauzy trees. The men on the fly floor nodded across, ready to set the marvellous machine to work. The man far below who would haul me back nodded too. Far, far below I saw the heads of the actors as they passed across the boards, and Nick Tick in the wings, swaying as if he was a pendulum in one of his clocks.
My toes, in soft green leather, curled around the hard metal edge. I had practised this drop so often that everything seemed familiar, though tonight the ivy leaves around my neck and the heavy green greasepaint on my skin seemed to itch more than before.
As a single violin rippled and soared, a glittering lake appeared amid a wash of ferny light. One of the fairy dancers pranced about there, picking careless flowers. I felt the lines tighten, and Nick Tick grinned, delight in his eyes.
‘Good luck!’ whispered Kitty.
I heard my cue, and leaned forward. Somewhere, with the faintest of squeaks, a wheel trundled forward and I plunged into space. Down I dropped, down, down.
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&n
bsp; CHAPTER 60
WORDS INDEED
Scrope was the first to see the envelope lying on the tray. The neat black handwriting was horribly familiar. When had the thing arrived? His hands trembled as he tore the paper apart.
.
Friend Scrope,
Did you think I had forgotten you? Or our arrangements?
I can now tell you that I know the whereabouts of the item that so interests you. I am writing to offer you a choice. I can return it to you, or send it very securely elsewhere.
However, for settling this dangerous matter one way or the other, I will require suitable recompense. I suggest you gather goodly funds quite promptly. The time for action is now. I await your reply.
Your most faithful servant.
Scrope groaned helplessly as he hunched over his desk scribbling long columns of figures, trying to work out how he could satisfy such demands. Each piece of paper was criss-crossed with scratchings, and a stack of bills was spread untidily at his elbow.
He looked up, hearing a swish of skirts. Adeline had entered the room. She saw the pale waxiness of his skin and the sweat glistening on his upper lip.
‘This is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you to speak to me any more,’ he said hollowly.
‘Albert and I may be furious with you, but it doesn’t mean that we won’t speak to you. We have to speak to you so we can find Mouse.’ She sighed. ‘It won’t make it any easier if you hide yourself away, Scrope.’
Cautiously he glanced up at her. That beauty was faded now, bleached by the years in the sun, but she still touched his heart.
For a second Adeline’s bold stance crumpled. ‘Albert and I have seen terrible things, you know. None of them makes it easier to know that . . .’ she hesitated, trembling ‘. . . to know that our dear Mouse is lost. Once I believed that the world was a fair place, brother Scrope. I’m not sure that I do now.’
She turned away, straightened her back again and lifted her head. Then she stared at him like an angel on the Day of Judgement. ‘So, no matter how hard this is, we need to do what needs to be done.’
He nodded numbly, clutching at Button’s letter.
‘Is there something you need to tell us, Scrope?’ asked Adeline.
‘No,’ he lied.
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CHAPTER 61
PAINTED FACES
As a pair of twin merry sprites, we had devised a careful pattern to our act. Kitty spoke the long speeches, and I made the big, spectacular flights.
We slipped into our roles behind canvas trees and scenery flats, and as one performance followed another we grew clever at acting as one, but the greenest of greasepaint would not have disguised us if we had forgetten to remember to mirror each other. If the one Adnam played both Theseus and Oberon, we were just doing the opposite.
It went well, or so we thought, and we were already five nights into the run. I was sure the only clue was Kitty’s wearily pale face, as we struggled to keep up with the work of boots and shoes. Still, I thought smugly, we had planned well. Only Nick knew, and all his concern was for the flying machine.
On the sixth night, as Kitty ran forward for the final speech, I concealed myself in the darkness of the wings as usual.
‘Mouse, you do know that Adnam will be in big trouble when La Bellina finds out, don’t you?’ Vanya muttered over my shoulder. ‘It will not be pretty.’
‘Adnam? What do you mean? He doesn’t know,’ I whispered, alarmed.
‘Doesn’t he?’ Vanya’s eyes twinkled. ‘Do you mean the man who keeps his eye on every movement in a play, the man who listens for every line spoken within his own theatre?’ Vanya chuckled softly. ‘When one of you plays Puck, and hides beneath Oberon’s vast cloak, believe me, young Mousekin, Adnam knows which one of you is which.’
My stomach gave a turn. ‘What do I do, Vanya? What is supposed to happen?’
‘I don’t know, Mouse. Adnam has his own reasons for keeping quiet. One useful fact is that La Bellina thinks only of herself, so she will notice nothing as long as you are very, very careful. And as long as young Kitty remembers not to act very, very good.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Mouse, how do you think Kitty got to be best fairy, if she cannot act better than almost anyone? If she was not hiding herself, pretending to be you, Kitty could draw the eyes of hundreds. But not this time, eh? You tell her, Mouse.’
Kitty was so happy to be onstage again that I kept Vanya’s worries to myself. Nevertheless, at the next performance, I would not let Kitty take over every line. When I piped up from under the arc of Oberon’s cloak, Adnam started, but recovered in an instant.
‘How now, mad spirit!’ he declared.
I told him that the Queen of the Fairies was in love with a donkey, and then the confused lovers entered, and my moment was at an end.
‘I go, I go; look how I go, swifter than arrow from Tartar’s bow!’ I cried. Running and swooping, I flew back up to the walkway, landing awkwardly and out of breath.
‘I could have done that scene better, Mouse,’ Kitty said as I landed.
‘Yes, but I’m supposed to be doing it. We have to take care, Kit.’ She rolled her eyes with dramatic exasperation. ‘We must, Kit,’ I insisted.
Kitty had her own home with the Aunts, but if things went wrong I could be thrown out of the theatre. I could not stay at Mr Nick’s, so close to Kitty, if I had brought worse trouble to her. My Ma and Isaac would find it almost impossible to give me a home, and every other part of my strange story was sounding as unlikely as a distant fairy tale.
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CHAPTER 62
EXIT STAGE LEFT
Button stood outside the stage door, waiting as the actors and stagehands arrived. He winked confidentially to Smudge as the doorman opened up.
Smudge paused. Then, slowly, he winked back. Men often asked his help when they were interested in actresses like Miss de Salle or Miss Marianne Day. Smudge made quite a profitable trade in supplying admirers with mislaid gloves and scented ribbons.
Miss Tildy bustled towards the entrance, greeting Smudge lightly and briskly. He held the door open a little longer afterwards, inviting Button to move closer.
‘What ya want?’ Smudge grunted.
‘A word.’
‘What about?’
‘That flying scene. Saw it from the back of the gallery yesterday.’
Smudge was puzzled. ‘Eh? Aren’t you asking about our lovely young artistes?’
‘Not one bit. I want to know who plays Puck.’
Smudge spat on the pavement. ‘Puck? That one? A right pushy new cove, and he ain’t one bit afraid of heights. Adnam sent him up the ladder, let him flap about a bit. Been doing well for a week or more, but can’t say as I likes ’im. Got a right funny name too. Not Harry or Charlie. Nothing reg’lar.’
‘How about this?’ Button whispered in Smudge’s ear.
The doorman looked startled. ‘How d’you know?’
Button’s eyes twinkled more brightly than ever. ‘Call it luck,’ he answered, offering Smudge a guinea. ‘Yours if you let me watch backstage. What do you say?’
‘Well, I guess it won’t do no harm, seeing as you’re a generous sort,’ Smudge said, and told Button when to return.
‘So goodnight unto you all . . .’
Lightly Puck bowed, turned a running somersault and made his exit. The entire audience stood and applauded the end of Adnam’s Dream.
The crew stood watching as the cast came on to the stage for the finale, entering in twos and threes. First came the walk-on parts, and then all the comic workmen, with Arthur Boddy loudly saluting his fans in the gallery.
Into this roar came the pairs of lovers, moving to the side to make way for La Bellina, who swirled forward in h
er peacock train, strewing flowers out into the rows of seats, though twice as many flowers were being thrown to her. All around her, the troupe of fairies fluttered prettily, all curtsying and blowing kisses.
Then came a long pause in which the applause grew. At last Adnam entered, bowing magnificently to the crowd. The cast bowed again, as if they were still waiting. And waiting.
Suddenly Puck sprinted on last of all, leaping and dancing and turning head over heels to make up for the hint of lateness in arrival. From the gods came whistles and cheers, and the Albion filled with the sound of another night’s success.
Button, glad of the finale’s uproar, had waited in the shadows of the scenery until he saw his chance. He seized hold of the green-painted child that waited to go onstage and clamped a wad of cloth across the astonished mouth. The green fingers struggled against his grip, and fell loose. In one easy movement, Button slung the limp figure over his shoulder and slipped quickly out of the theatre.
Smudge lolled back in his chair, mouth open and eyes shut, stunned by Button’s bottle of doctored gin. As the small man hoisted his sleeping Puck into a waiting carriage, one green foot slipped from the sacking.
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CHAPTER 63
DISAPPEARING ACT
An evening of celebration! A few of the Albion’s most important supporters – bankers, merchants, press barons and their wives – were escorted through the narrow corridors and stairways towards the banquet spread in Adnam’s own suite of rooms above the theatre.
Still costumed in Oberon’s magical robes, Adnam stood at the door, greeting gentlemen in evening dress and whispering compliments to ladies shining in furs and jewels.
The ever-faithful Peter took them through to the tables, where champagne corks popped and La Bellina’s tinkling laugh dominated the excited murmur.
Elsewhere in the theatre, other members of the cast celebrated too. Fairies scampered along, squeaking and giggling, greedy for Miss Tildy’s sweet cocoa and biscuits. Arthur Boddy cheerily gathered up his gang of boozy friends and staggered off to the nearest tavern.
