The Secret Hen House Theatre

by Helen Peters

  Hannah loved every second of the preparation. Each day at school dragged more than the one before, as she watched the clock until the time when she would be released to work on the theatre. And on Sunday afternoon, the day of the dress rehearsal, when she stood backstage and looked around at all they had achieved, she thought: Mum would be proud of us. This really is a theatre now.

  It was fifteen minutes until curtain up. Hannah was dressed in her Scene One costume: a long frilled pink nightdress with pastel-blue bows. It was made of a satiny material, which made her feel very regal and changed her walk into a kind of glide. The hair helped too. Martha had put it up in a bun. The hairgrips had been shoved in slightly harder than necessary and her hair scraped back a little forcibly, and the hairspray need not perhaps have gone into her eyes quite so much, but the result was effective. And the make-up – orange lipstick, puce blusher and purple eyeshadow – was certainly striking.

  “Jo, have you checked off all the props?” she asked. “Are they on the table in scene order?”

  “Yes, I’ve just done a last check,” said Jo, shrugging Prince Rallentando’s flowery silk jacket on to her shoulders. “And I’ve ticked them all off on my list.”

  “Where’s the letter from Prince Rallentando?”

  Lottie, who was sitting by the window having her make-up done, patted the pocket of her maid’s apron. “In here, ready to bring on. Hannah, take your watch off! Martha, you’re going to have to hurry – you haven’t done Jo yet.”

  Martha grabbed Lottie by the chin. “Stop talking, stupid, or I’ll smudge your make-up.”

  Hannah put her watch on the dressing table and slipped through the wings to give the stage a final check. The wooden panelling looked totally authentic now it was painted, and the horse picture, in its gilt frame, gave the room real grandeur. The silver candlesticks looked amazing on the dressing table in front of the painting. Hannah gave a deep sigh of satisfaction.

  She peeped through the curtains into the auditorium. The only members of the audience so far were Jasper and Lucy, sitting in prime position in the very centre. Jasper was chewing the cud thoughtfully. Lucy was nestled into his back.

  Oh, well. At least Jo hadn’t sat them on chairs.

  Where was the rest of the audience, though? What if they hadn’t managed to find the hidden path?

  Suddenly she heard a murmur of voices from somewhere in the thicket. Her heart leapt into her throat.

  What if it was Jack?

  But it wouldn’t be, would it?

  Of course it wouldn’t. He hadn’t made the slightest mention of the dress rehearsal. He had probably forgotten she’d ever invited him. It was only one stupid remark, after all – the whole hideous dead duck incident would have swept it clean from his mind.

  And he hadn’t gone to Miranda’s rehearsal either. Miranda had been really annoyed with him about that.

  Somebody laughed.

  A woman. Phew. Hannah ran backstage. “People are coming!”

  Everyone stopped what they were doing and listened. “That’s Auntie Cath,” said Lottie.

  Leaves rustled and twigs snapped. A child wailed, “Ow, it stung me!”

  “Ugh,” said Lottie. “My cousin Jeremy. He’ll probably cry for an hour now.”

  The front-of-house door slid open. Hannah crept onstage and peeped through the gaps at the sides of the curtains. Lottie’s auntie Cath stepped cautiously over the threshold. A little girl held her hand.

  “Isn’t this fun!” said Auntie Cath. “Look at those lovely curtains, Evie!”

  A very grumpy-looking man stepped into the auditorium. He had two folding chairs under each arm and a whimpering boy behind him.

  “Great fun,” he said, “when you have to carry your own flipping chairs through a blasted forest to get here. What is this, boot camp?”

  “Sshh, Andrew,” said his wife. “They’ll hear you. Stop moaning and enjoy it.”

  A pale girl of about ten, holding a paperback book in front of her face, appeared at the door. She glanced up from the book for long enough to pinpoint the spare seat, sat down in it and started reading again.

  “Where’s everybody else?” asked Uncle Andrew. “We’re not the only ones who’ve got to suffer this, are we?”

  Charming.

  But where was everybody else? Surely it must be three o’clock by now? What if Granny and Lottie’s mum were wandering lost around the thicket?

  The others were fussing with costumes and make-up. Hannah slipped out of the stage door and down the path, where bright-green leaves were uncurling all over the blackthorn bushes and wood anemones were opening up on the ground like little earthbound stars.

  And then she heard a sound that stopped her blood in her veins.

  “A theatre? In these bushes? You having a laugh, Adamson?”

  Jack and Danny! Hannah felt her leg bones dissolve like tablets in a glass of water. She clutched at a hazel branch. No, no, no!

  Deep inside her, so deep that she couldn’t really admit it even to herself, Hannah had had a secret fantasy that Jack would come to the play, and that, once there, he would be so wowed by her acting that he would see her in a whole new light and fall madly in love with her.

  What a ridiculous idea. He had come, but he’d brought Danny with him. Of course he had. They’d come to point and laugh, to gloat and make fun, and then to spread it all round the school on Monday morning that Hannah Roberts spends her weekends playing at theatres in an old chicken shed.

  And what would Lottie say?

  Lottie would never speak to her again after this.

  As Hannah stood there clutching the hazel branch, she heard Danny’s voice again.

  “There’s nothing in there, mate. She must’ve been having you on.”

  And then Jack. “Who cares, anyway? Let’s get out of here.”

  Hannah clung to the branch, not moving, not even breathing, as their voices faded away. Even when the only sound left was the rustle of the grass in the breeze, her legs still trembled and she couldn’t move. She hardly dared believe they had gone.

  But they didn’t come back. There wasn’t another sound.

  She was saved. And she would never, ever be so stupid again.

  “Here we are, Dora. This must be the path.”

  Lottie’s mum. And Hannah’s granny with her. Weak with relief, Hannah scurried back to the theatre before they saw her.

  Jo and Lottie took up their positions in the wings, each holding the string of a curtain. Lottie caught Hannah’s eye. “Ready?” she whispered.

  Hannah laid her head on the queen’s pillow and closed her eyes. Lottie and Jo pulled the curtains open.

  Hannah, snoring loudly, heard surprised and appreciative noises from the audience. She heard her granny say, “Goodness, haven’t they got it looking nice!”

  Hannah stretched elegantly and gave a huge yawn. Slowly she sat upright, opened her eyes, raised her chin and called: “Maid! MAID! Come here at once! I command you!”

  Halfway through the play everything was going pretty well. Lottie’s Prince John moustache had dropped off a couple of times and Jo had fluffed one of her speeches (though, to be fair, it hadn’t helped that her breeches had fallen down halfway through). But there had been no real disasters. Martha was charm itself as Princess Esmeralda and, best of all, the audience really seemed to like it. They were laughing in all the right places.

  Lottie entered now in her maid’s costume, with a letter on a tray. Hannah was lounging on the bed, admiring herself in a hand mirror.

  “A letter for you, Your Majesty,” said Lottie with a curtsy.

  Hannah extended a hand and took the paper between her thumb and forefinger. “Oh, marvellous. It is from my nephew, Prince Laurence.” She scanned the letter. “Oh, how utterly vexing. His malingering wife is indisposed and he will be unable to grace my birthday celebrations.” She looked at the letter again. “I wonder who his hosts are in Shropshire. He speaks of them most highly. You are from Shropshire, ma
id. Which are the families of consequence in the county?”

  Lottie, who was dusting the window frame, looked up thoughtfully. “Well, Your Majesty, there are Lord and Lady Dingly-Wilson, or—”

  “Imbecile!” screeched Hannah. “Do you not know that Lord and Lady Dingly-Wilson only own nine castles? How can you insult my dear nephew so by implying that he would stay with people who only own nine castles? You should be executed for treason.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” said Lottie, bowing her head. “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty.”

  And then Sam burst through the wings on to the stage.

  What was he doing? His entrance wasn’t for ages.

  He tugged at Hannah’s skirts. “There’s a fire!” he gasped.

  Hannah stared at him. His face was white and his eyes were huge with panic.

  “What?” she said.

  Lottie turned away from the audience and put her hands on his shoulders. “Sam, you’re not on yet,” she whispered.

  Sam shook her hands off. “No!” he shouted. “In real life, the farm’s on fire!”

  Hannah hurtled down the secret path, dodging the thorns and ducking the branches. She emerged into the meadow.

  And gasped.

  Behind the tractor shed rose a huge column of black smoke. And as she stood there, gaping, from across the yard came a rapid series of loud cracks, like machine-gun fire.

  Hannah tried to scream, but nothing came out. She couldn’t think. She just ran. Ran with all her strength, her legs drumming across the open field, her heartbeat loud and fierce in her ears.

  The smell in her nostrils was growing stronger – a bitter, choking, poisonous smell. Dimly aware of the others behind her, Hannah raced through the yard, around the corner and skidded to a halt at the sight of the back barn.

  She drew in her breath in a shuddering gulp. The barn was a vast black cavern of smoke. Through the smoke shot gigantic tongues of blue and orange flame, almost licking the roof.

  CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

  Hannah felt Sam’s hand clutch hers. She saw Martha open her mouth in a scream, but she could hear nothing above the explosions and the roaring.

  Lottie’s face drained of colour and her mouth formed the words, “What’s that noise?”

  Hannah pointed upwards. The barn’s corrugated roof was exploding in the heat, expanding and popping with violent cracking sounds. As the flames spread, the sides of the barn started to bulge and writhe.

  “Get back!” came a shout in her ear. Hannah turned around. It was Lottie’s mum, followed by the rest of her family. “Get back, all of you! That barn could collapse any second!”

  They grabbed the children and pulled them away from the barn. Hannah looked behind them, but there was nobody else.

  “Where’s Dad?” she cried.

  “Has anybody called the fire brigade?” yelled Lottie’s Uncle Andrew. He waved his mobile phone around wildly. “I can’t get reception. Can anybody get a signal?”

  Jo’s eyes and mouth widened in horror. She clutched Hannah’s arm. “The calves!” she shouted.

  Hannah’s stomach plummeted as if the earth had slid away from under her feet. She looked into the smoke-filled barn again. The calves – the wobbly-legged calves with their big blue eyes – were shut in a pen at the far end of that barn.

  And she knew there was only one place her father would be.

  “Dad!” she screamed, but no sound came out. She raced towards the barn. But it was as if she were in a nightmare. She was straining every muscle to move forward but something was pulling her back. She flailed her arms and kicked but she was getting nowhere.

  “Get back over there!” yelled a voice in her ear. “Don’t be an idiot.”

  Lottie’s Uncle Andrew had his arms around her waist, dragging her away from the barn. She lashed out but his grip was too strong and she was pulled away. But she kept her stinging eyes fixed on the smoke-filled cavern, searching, searching.

  And then the shape of her father appeared through the darkness and the flames. His face was completely black. Under each arm he carried a writhing, kicking calf.

  Uncle Andrew had loosened his grip when Hannah stopped fighting, and now, with one massive thrust, she broke free of his hold and catapulted towards Dad.

  At that moment, a fire engine swept around the corner and stopped by the milking parlour. Another one pulled up behind it. Firemen poured out of them. Some started unrolling hoses. Some pulled on breathing apparatus. Others went up to the adults and seemed to be asking them questions.

  A fireman ran up to Dad. Coughing and wheezing, Dad thrust one calf at him and the other at Jo. “Get these two down into the bottom yard. Show him the way, Joanne.”

  He turned back towards the roaring cavern.

  The fireman grabbed his shoulder with the hand that wasn’t holding the calf. “You can’t go back in there. That smoke’s poisonous. And the fire’s spreading.”

  Dad took the fireman’s hand away. “Put it out then. Do your job and I’ll do mine.”

  “You can’t go in. Nothing in there’s worth risking your life for.”

  CRACK! An explosion like a gunshot blew a huge hole in the barn wall. Flames surged out. Dad pulled a rag out of his pocket, dipped it into the water tank, tied it round his nose and mouth and disappeared into the smoke.

  “No!” screamed Hannah. She raced in after him, but a fireman lifted her off the ground and carried her, screaming and choking, out of the barn.

  “Don’t you dare go in there,” he said.

  “But Dad—”

  “We’ll deal with him. You stay with your brother and sister.”

  Hannah turned round. Martha and Sam were standing behind her, their faces huge-eyed and rigid with terror. She held out her arms. Martha shrank away. Sam flung his arms around her waist and burst into sobs.

  “Dad, Dad!” screamed Martha.

  Hannah whipped her head around. The back half of the barn was engulfed in flames. And, seemingly through the flames themselves, his back bent and his head down, stumbled Dad. Next to him came a fireman, wearing breathing apparatus. Each of them carried two terrified calves under their arms.

  And then everything went into slow motion. A vast concrete beam crashed down from the roof directly above her father. Hannah watched in paralysed horror as it smashed on to the ground.

  Her stomach tightened in pain and she doubled over. She felt Lottie’s arm round her shoulder. “It’s OK, Hannah. Look, he’s OK.”

  Hannah looked up. By some miracle Dad and the fireman had emerged into the open air. Dad was wheezing and coughing. Two firemen rushed forward and took the calves from him. Two others led him away from the burning barn.

  The children ran over to their father. He was bent double and his chest heaved as he gulped in air.

  “Stand back,” said a fireman, shooing them away. “We need to check him over.”

  Jo came racing up the yard. “What’s happened? Is Dad OK?”

  A fireman raised his head. “Stand back, kids. Give him some air.”

  They moved back half a step. Hannah watched in terror as firemen rushed around with oxygen masks and breathing apparatus, giving instructions to each other in words she didn’t understand.

  Finally Hannah said in a tight little voice that didn’t sound like her own, “Will he be all right?”

  “We’re doing all we can,” said a fireman. “The ambulance is on its way.”

  Hannah’s throat closed up and only Lottie’s arm round her shoulder kept her upright. “Ambulance? What do you mean?”

  But her voice came out as a tiny croak. The fire crackled and roared as it devoured the barn, and nobody heard her.

  “Yuck!” Sam spat a mouthful of porridge back into his bowl. “That’s disgusting.”

  “It’s burned,” said Jo, pushing her bowl away and pulling towards her a yellow exercise book. On the cover she had written in large multicoloured capitals, “BEAN STEW”. This was the magazine of the Great and Migh
ty Society of Bean. “And lumpy.”

  Hannah had hoped they wouldn’t notice. She sighed. “Do you want toast instead?”

  “Is Daddy going to be put in jail?” asked Sam.

  Hannah’s stomach churned. “No, of course not.”

  “You’ve given me milk and Sam water,” said Jo, swapping the cups around.

  “Why are the police here then?” asked Sam.

  “They’re just trying to find out how the fire started, that’s all.”

  Yesterday afternoon, standing in terror outside the burning barn as her father disappeared into the flames, Hannah had been certain that if he came out of that barn alive, she would never worry about anything else ever again.

  And he had come out alive. He hadn’t even gone to hospital. When the ambulance came, he had refused to get into it. “I’ve got a farm to look after,” he said, and even when every other adult offered to look after the farm and the children, he wouldn’t budge. So the ambulance crew had stayed until they were satisfied he was going to be OK, and then they left. He must have a fantastic pair of lungs on him, they said.

  So she ought to be completely happy, shouldn’t she?

  “Jo, get your drawing stuff out of the way.” Hannah pushed two plates of toast across the table.

  “Hey, Broad Bean, look at this,” said Jo, moving the open book towards her brother.

  “Cool,” said Sam. “Where’s the butter?”

  “In the fridge,” said Hannah.

  Sam slid off his stool as Dad’s raised voice came from the dining room.

  “You think I’d torch my own barn? With my livestock in it?”

  “Is there any jam?” asked Jo.

  “Sshh,” said Hannah. But she couldn’t make out any words in the policewoman’s reply.

  What did that mean? Did the police suspect Dad of causing the fire himself? But why on earth would anyone do that?

  “Hannah, is there any jam?”

  “For goodness’ sake, Jo, get it yourself!”

  The hall door banged open and Martha crashed into the kitchen, Princess Esmeralda’s eyeliner smudged over her cheeks.