Cherringham--Playing Dead

by Neil Richards

  He raised his snifter.

  “I second that,” estate agent Laura said with a tad too much slur, even for the drunken ‘Emily Cowell’.

  Jack watched Sarah and Ben Ferris, maid and butler respectively, circle the group with trays of the snifters filled with tea as stand-ins for brandy.

  Sarah looked decidedly uncomfortable, Jack thought. Not that he’d ever tell her.

  And the butler? Even more so. Was he supposed to be acting disgruntled?

  “Hang on,” Kramer said taking a step forward from a nearby bookshelf.

  He shifted from his acting role as the ‘handsome lieutenant’ to director.

  “You two — maid and butler, can we get some smiles, puh-lease? It isn’t a wake after all. And Sarah, a bit of a curtsy perhaps? And the butler, a little bow? God, don’t you people ever watch Downton Abbey?”

  Sarah nodded. Taking direction from Jez Kramer was not going to be easy.

  A nod from Ben Ferris as well.

  “And Lady Blake,” this to Sarah’s mum Helen, “You are not happy with the way things are going, so stay back a bit. You’re hardly going to smile, are you, hmm?”

  “Yes,” Helen said.

  Another clap of hands. “Okay then, from where we left off. The toast, please — with feeling!”

  Ambrose Goode took a few steps upstage (the front of the stage, Jack had just learned).

  “To my beautiful daughter, Clarissa … I wish her the very best in the years to come, as Lady Blake and I announce her imminent—”

  “Stop!”

  Kramer put down his own snifter and walked completely upstage and turned.

  At this rate, it was going to be a long night.

  “Ambrose,” he said slowly. “You do know that this is your only offspring, yes?”

  “Of course,” Ambrose said.

  “And you are announcing her upcoming nuptials to the dashing army lieutenant, Henry Collins?”

  “Dashing … bit of a stretch, that, don’t you think?”

  The company laughed.

  Uh-oh, Jack thought.

  Kramer walked over to Ambrose Goode, still grinning from his joke at Kramer’s expense.

  “You are currently delivering that line as if announcing the grand dairy livestock winner at the Royal Highland Show.” Another step closer. ”She’s not a ‘cow’, Ambrose, she’s—”

  Kramer looked over to Ellie, as if delivering a genuine compliment, “A ravishing beauty, the apple of your dim-witted eyes, an absolutely spectacular jewel…”

  “I delivered the lines as directed.”

  “You delivered the lines precisely the way someone with your lack of talent, wit and understanding would. Like a stick that talks.”

  And that was that.

  Goode took his snifter, and in a jerky motion tossed the tea right into Kramer’s face.

  “You pompous, ridiculous…” Ambrose seemed stuck for the right word.

  The cast had backed away from the tussle, as if not sure what to do.

  Jack looked at Todd, who shrugged.

  Maybe such things are supposed to happen in a theatrical production?

  But the dripping Kramer reached out and grabbed the much older Goode by the lapels of his sport coat.

  “You fool. You talentless village bumpkin. No wonder they had to replace you. The only role you’re fit for—”

  Kramer was shaking Goode around now and the level of physicality ratcheted up a notch with each shake.

  “—is the village idiot.”

  Goode seemed unmoved by Kramer’s shaking and Jack winced as the older man suddenly slapped Kramer in the face.

  “Ha!” shouted Goode as Kramer froze. “Taste of your own medicine you pompous little twerp. You can take your BAFTAs and stick them—”

  But to Jack’s amazement Kramer rallied and launched himself at his producer with a roar, scattering the rest of the cast.

  “Nobody talks to me like that!”

  Jack saw Sarah shoot him a look.

  Maybe not in the stage manager’s job description but…

  Jack ran over and quickly pulled the two of them apart.

  Kramer acted as though he was struggling against Jack … but Jack could feel that the struggle was more for show.

  Goode, meanwhile, looked as if he had got out of the lift on the wrong floor at Harrods.

  Ellie came over to Kramer with a small towel, and the director, calming down, wiped his face.

  “He’s fired.”

  Which is when Sarah’s mum Helen took — as they say — centre stage.“Jez, Ambrose my dear man … we’re all a little edgy. With everything that’s been happening.”

  All eyes were on Helen, almost as if she really were Lady Blake.

  “We have only one day to dress, then the first performance.” She turned to Kramer. “No one can be fired.”

  Jack guessed that Kramer could take that to mean for himself as well.

  “Jez, you are the director. But I think you might phrase things a little more … diplomatically.”

  Kramer held his tongue.

  He obviously didn’t want the production to end.

  Newspapers were publishing articles about him!

  “And Ambrose, we have performed in so many great productions together. Can’t you give this one your absolute best? We all know how wonderful that can be.”

  Goode hesitated for a few moments, then nodded. “Yes. I suppose so.”

  “Well, as a Theatre Company board member, I am so terribly glad to hear that. Now, maestro,”

  A little needle there? Jack did so like Sarah’s mum.

  “—perhaps we might resume the rehearsal?”

  “Yes. All right — places as before. The toast please.”

  He delivered an exaggerated smile to Ambrose Goode, “If you would be so kind?”

  Then, as if noticing that Jack was still there. “And can we please clear the stage?”

  “Right,” Jack said.

  He hadn’t expected to be breaking up brawls on the stage.

  And as he walked back to the wings, and the rehearsal began again, he had to wonder what other surprises lay ahead.

  11. The Players at the Ploughman’s

  “Ready?” Todd said to Jack who had his hands on the curtain ropes. “Your cue is when I flash the lights on stage, two times, then we go dark and—”

  “Curtain.”

  Todd grinned. “Precisely. Least that’s how Kramer wants the act to end.”

  “And what Kramer wants…”

  Jack turned back to the stage. It was the end of the party scene, leading to a big moment. No more fights had broken out, and except for a roll of the eyes by Ambrose and the occasional exasperated look from Kramer, things had gone smoothly.

  Then the plan — for those who wanted it — was a post-rehearsal retreat to the Ploughman’s.

  Hopefully, without the director in tow.

  “What you are about to witness…” Goode, in character, said, holding a dark mahogany case, “is a most precious article that few have seen since I brought it back from the hot, mysterious city of Bombay back in ninety-four.”

  The actors formed a near semi-circle around “Lord Blake” and his mysterious case. They pretended to look at each other with curiosity. This play, Jack knew, was written in 1912.

  And it sure felt like it…

  “As a reward for service to King and Country, the Royal Indian family of Jain, long the wealthiest family in the land, presented it to me. For services rendered, of course.”

  More “oohs-and-ahhs” from the actors.

  Then:

  “And on this, the occasion of my lovely daughter Clarissa’s engagement being announced…”

  Now both soon-to-be-newlyweds, Ellie and Kramer, turned to the group and smiled.

  “…I wish to present this great prize to my daughter and for all her heirs, in perpetuity!”

  “All set?” Todd whispered.

  Jack nodded.

  Goode s
eemed to have some trouble holding the mahogany case up with one hand, while his other went to the front to open the lid.

  “Bit of a tilt,” Kramer said through his clenched-teeth smile, slipping in a tiny bit of direction.

  Goode kept his smile on as well as he tilted the case more towards the theatre, then slowly pulled on the case’s top.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you … The Pearl of Bombay!” Goode said, in what must have been as loud a voice as he could summon. Then, scanning the group whose smiles had now been replaced with horror-struck looks, eyes as wide as could be.

  There was nothing there, save the velvet nest for the pearl.

  “My God! It’s been stolen!” Goode — the thunder-struck Lord Blake — said.

  The stage lights flashed as if a lightning bolt had exploded over the room.

  Once … twice…

  Then the lights cut out completely, and Jack quickly lowered the curtain.

  The act, and the rehearsal was over.

  And nobody got killed…, Jack thought.

  *

  Ellie had walked into her usual place behind the bar of the Ploughman’s and suddenly the soon-to-be-married Clarissa vanished to be replaced by the familiar cheery barmaid.

  Todd stood next to Jack.

  “What can I get you, Todd?”

  “Hmm — think … I’ll have a Stella.”

  Jack turned back to Ellie. “Make that two pints of Stella please, Clarissa.”

  It almost felt that — with the rehearsal ended — people just continued in their parts as they walked over to the pub.

  Sarah sat with Tony Standish whose broad American accent in the show would be sure to get laughs — even for the lines that weren’t actually funny.

  And Sarah’s mum had come to the pub, sitting at table with Ambrose Goode — maybe doing some damage repair on the guy’s ego.

  Kramer had passed on the pub gathering.

  Probably wanted to preserve his aloof status as the artistic “visionary” of the show.

  Also Laura — aka the tipsy divorcee in the show — begged off, saying she had a long drive home. And Ben Ferris, who didn’t say much save for the lines in his script, simply vanished.

  Ellie put down the two pints.

  “Thanks,” Jack said.

  That first sip … not bad.

  “So Jack,” said Todd. “You enjoying it so far?”

  “Sure. Fun to see the thing come together.”

  “And the fight refereeing?”

  Jack shook his head at that. “Let’s hope that’s done with.”

  “Dunno. That Kramer — he’s got under everyone’s skin. Good thing I just work backstage or we might — as they say — ‘have problems’.”

  “Hear you on that.”

  The pub wasn’t crowded; the actors making up about half the patrons. Quiet night.

  Not a bad time to talk and ask some questions.

  “Todd, the things that have happened. That light falling, the food poisoning, the trap door—”

  “Close one that! Our girl Ellie here could have really hurt herself.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I mean. What … do you make of it all?”

  Jack looked at the electrician, someone who seemed solid as a rock. But Jack had said to Sarah that really anyone can go on the suspect list, suspicious, that is, if these weren’t all a string of strange accidents.

  But Todd?

  It would be a giant leap to think he had anything to do with the things that have happened.

  “Okay. Here’s the thing Jack. I helped set up the stage lighting. I mean, I’m a bloody competent electrician, aren’t I?”

  Jack smiled. “So I’ve heard.”

  “Right. And I can tell you, they were secure, all properly bolted, the rigging perfect. And then — one falls…”

  “People talk to you about it?”

  “A few. Natural, that, isn’t it — wanting to blame someone. I mean, they know I set them up. But—”

  He turned to Jack, pausing for a moment to make sure that his next words were out of earshot of anyone but Jack.

  “Someone must have tampered with that light, Jack. It was no accident.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely. Those things were locked in. I’d put my own mother under any one of them. Someone did something.”

  “No accident?”

  Todd hesitated. “Could someone have gone up there to take a look at the lights, maybe knocked one loose? S’pose, it’s not impossible. But the question is…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Who? And why?

  “Classic questions,” Jack said, “Least in my line of work.”

  So Todd was as suspicious as he was. But that prompted an additional question.

  “If you thought someone tampered, weren’t you worried?”

  Todd nodded. “Sure. Maybe someone wanted to hurt the theatre now that it’s back in full swing. Maybe — they didn’t want to really hurt anyone — just scare them. But Jack … see, these are my people, my village.”

  Todd looked away. This was a side to him that Jack hadn’t expected to see.

  Then he looked back. “If someone’s out to hurt one of our own, I can do more good being there than not.”

  “Feel the same way myself. Even though this isn’t exactly my village, my people.”

  Todd’s smile returned. “They sure the hell are, Jack. You kidding? You’re practically our NYC Mascot.”

  Jack laughed.

  It was good to know that there was an extra pair of watchful eyes on the stage. Especially with the big dress rehearsal to come. Anything could happen.

  He saw Tony Standish stand up and fire off a “goodnight” wave to everyone, leaving Sarah on her own.

  Exit Stage Left, Jack thought.

  “Think I’m going to catch up with Sarah a bit.”

  “Yup, and my missus will be wondering where I am anyway, Jack. See you tomorrow.”

  Jack nodded and walked over to the back table.

  *

  “Seat free?”

  “Been saving it for you,” Sarah said with a smile.

  Jack sat down. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen your mom down here at the Ploughman’s.”

  “I know! Doesn’t seem quite right, does it?”

  “Lady Blake with a half of lager. Now that’s what I call fitting right in.”

  Which brought them to the topic of the rehearsal.

  “Jack — sorry you had to get between those two. Can you believe it?”

  “Good thing that they were more bluster than muscle. Still, no love lost between them.”

  He nodded at Ambrose still embroiled in a deep conversation with Helen Edwards.

  “Ambrose there, and Kramer.”

  “Still — we got through the rehearsal, the pearl being ‘purloined’ and all. Maybe we’re over-reacting. Could be they are all accidents, and—”

  Jack stopped her with a nod.

  He told her what Todd had said about the lights.

  And he himself had found a way it could have been triggered.

  “So,” he said. “No accidents. Least Todd’s on our side. Watching things.”

  “Not a suspect?”

  “Was he ever?”

  “Which leaves…”

  “Pretty much everyone else. Not that we have anything. Really, as we get closer to performance, I’ll be worried.”

  That stopped Sarah, her eyes on Jack’s.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Whoever is doing these things — why would they stop? And what better time to strike than just when the show is coming together?”

  “The first performance?”

  “Or maybe even sooner, when everything is in place, all the actors, the props…”

  “Final dress rehearsal… Jack — you’re scaring me.”

  He was tempted to tell her not to worry.

  It’s all going to be okay.

  But Jack was anything but sure of that.
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  “We need to find out more. And we’re running out of time.”

  “There is one thing, Jack,” said Sarah. “Maybe it’s not important.”

  “Everything’s important.”

  “Well — you know the estate agents down the stairs from my office?”

  “Sure — the one Laura works in, no?”

  “Yes. Grace remembered that last year — when there was all the fuss about the theatre being turned into flats — Andy Parkes was in there nearly every day.”

  “Hmm, interesting.”

  “Maybe Laura knows something,” Sarah said. “How about I speak to her?”

  “Okay, except — I’ll talk to her. Let Parkes come after me if he gets upset again.”

  “You’re right. In which case — I’ll take on Ben Ferris.”

  “Our butler?”

  “Yes. So quiet, but he’s been with the company for a while. If nothing else a chat might eliminate them both as possibilities.”

  “And otherwise, we … you … need to be careful, on that stage.”

  Sarah nodded. Then he saw her look away. “Mum’s done, looks like. I’m her ride home.”

  Jack turned. He saw Ambrose Goode navigate his round body out of a wooden chair that he had been barely able to fit in, and walk gingerly to the pub door.

  Guess it’s been a few years since he was in a punch-up, thought Jack. If ever.

  Helen walked over.

  “Ready, Sarah?”

  “Sure.” She turned back to Jack. “I’ll call Ben tomorrow morning.”

  She was aware her mother was listening. But Sarah knew Helen, more than anyone, wanted to find out what was happening.

  “Great, and I will pay a visit on our ‘divorcee’. See what her connection to Andy Parkes may be—”

  “Oooh, he’s a nasty one,” Sarah’s mother said. “Unscrupulous as they come.”

  “And in my country,” Jack said, “they come pretty unscrupulous.” Then, to Sarah: “Catch up tomorrow? Before the dress rehearsal?”

  Jack felt that Helen wanted to ask questions — but she held back, letting them go through their process.

  “Goodnight, Jack,” Helen said.

  “Goodnight.”

  And Jack stayed sitting there.

  Thinking … that just as the play builds to a climax, could these events be building to something?

  Something deadly.

  Could he and Sarah figure out what that was in time? Who might be behind it?