The Secret Hen House Theatre

by Helen Peters

  Hannah shrugged. “She said she’d tell the school. But I don’t know if they’ll do anything.”

  Lottie’s face was hard with anger. “That is so evil. He ought to go to prison.”

  “It was an accident. I know it’s awful but it was an accident. They said they lit a fire in there, and they thought they’d put it out.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”

  Hannah squirmed. “Well, I didn’t know for sure if it was them until the policewoman phoned. And that was only just before I left today.”

  Lottie frowned. “How did you know Danny was involved though? If you just found Jack’s matchbox?”

  Hannah felt herself blushing. She shook her hair over her face and looked at the floor. “Oh, you know … those two always hang around together. I just guessed, really.”

  When Lottie replied, Hannah could tell she was still frowning. “I don’t get it. What were they doing at your farm? They’ve never been up there before, have they?”

  Hannah made a non-committal noise.

  “They are such losers,” said Lottie. “I always knew Jack Adamson was a loser.”

  “You promised you wouldn’t say ‘I told you so’.”

  “I didn’t. I just said—”

  “It was an accident. They didn’t set the barn on fire on purpose.”

  “Idiots,” said Lottie. “Lighting a fire in a barn! And then not even putting it out properly! Stupid, pathetic idiots. Oh, come on, Hannah, you can’t deny it.”

  Hannah said nothing. She couldn’t argue with Lottie because she would lose, but she couldn’t let go of the beautiful pictures inside her head. Jack shredding the blank page of her maths book and scattering it to the winds. Jack kneeling in front of her in the bus shelter and gathering up her possessions. Jack, astoundingly, not spreading the dead duck story all around the playground. Jack’s cheeky grin, his gorgeous wink, the way he made her laugh…

  “Ah, young ladies.”

  They looked up. The man was there again, standing at the counter, holding the candlesticks in his fists. He looked amused, like he was laughing inside at some private joke. It didn’t suit him. It made his face twist into weird shapes. He probably hadn’t attempted a smile for twenty years.

  “Interesting,” he said, and Hannah’s stomach did a somersault again. “You inherited these, you say?”

  “Yes,” said Hannah.

  “From your great-great-grandmother?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm.” He cleared his throat. “And do you know how your great-great grandmother got hold of them?”

  “No,” said Hannah, her heart beating fast. Just tell me how much they’re worth, she thought. “I think she inherited them too.”

  He paused, savouring that private joke again. Hannah was beginning to hate him.

  “Hmm,” he said again. “I think that’s unlikely. They may have great sentimental value, but I’m afraid they are not genuine antiques.”

  Hannah stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “My dear, they’re not solid silver. They are mass-produced, silver-plated candlesticks manufactured in the 1950s. The kind of thing you could buy in any high street homeware store.”

  “But … how can they … I mean … are you sure?”

  His voice softened. “I’m sure. I’m sorry.” He laid the candlesticks on the counter and began wrapping them up again in the newspaper that Hannah had carefully packed them in. He put them back in the plastic bag and held it out to her.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you.” He attempted a smile again. “I hope you weren’t planning a trip to the Bahamas with the money.”

  “No,” said Hannah. “Not the Bahamas.”

  “That’s all right then.”

  The rain was pelting down now – great driving sheets of it that soaked straight through Hannah’s coat and chilled her to the bone. She kept her head down and her shoulders hunched around her ears.

  Lottie squeezed her arm. “I’m really sorry, Han. What a shame.”

  Hannah trudged on. She couldn’t speak.

  “They really do look like antiques,” said Lottie.

  Hannah drew in her breath.

  Sotheby’s!

  She had sent off photographs of cheap 1950s candlesticks to be valued by the Sotheby’s silver department. And she had thought things couldn’t get any worse.

  “At least we tried,” said Lottie.

  The hard knot of misery in Hannah’s stomach exploded into anger.

  “Why did they lie to her? I can’t believe they lied!”

  “Who? Who lied to who?”

  “Mum’s great-grandmother or whoever it was. She lied to my mum.”

  “Well, your mum got them from her grandmother, didn’t she? Maybe her grandmother really did think they were real.”

  “Well then, her mother lied to her. Somebody knew they weren’t real. Somebody bought them from a department store and pretended they were valuable. Why would anybody do that?”

  Lottie put her arm round Hannah. “I don’t know. It’s a real shame. But listen. The only thing we can do is to make sure we win the competition. We’ve got two more days of rehearsals and we’ll make it perfect. Then we’ll have five hundred pounds to give your dad. And that will help to save the farm. Five hundred pounds has to be a help. Doesn’t it?”

  On Friday afternoon, Hannah lay on her bed, absorbed in writing the opening speech for the villain in her new play: an evil landlord determined to destroy the beautiful valley that the poor peasants have tended for ten generations. He plans to enclose the land and force them into slave labour, building him the most magnificent palace the world has ever seen.

  “Silence, paupers, and hear ye my plans!” she wrote. “No longer shall ye scrape together your miserable pittances by tending scrawny goats and skinny sheep. This land is mine, all mine, do ye hear? Your pastures will become my pleasure grounds, your meadows my rose gardens…”

  Dimly, Hannah became aware of the phone ringing. With a sigh, she slid the play under her bed and ran downstairs to answer it.

  “Hannah?” It was Lottie. “You’ll never guess what I just found on the skip next door.”

  “You’ve been rummaging in a skip? You? Lottie Perfect has been rifling through a skip?”

  “I heard them bringing a load of stuff out so I went to have a look. You’ve got to come right now and help me carry it to the theatre.”

  “Now? What is it?”

  “It’s a surprise. But I promise it’s great. And we really, really need it for the play tomorrow. It will make all the difference, I swear. They’ve gone out now – we need to do it right away.”

  Hannah considered. She’d been looking forward to having an hour to herself before she had to get the tea. But then again, she would have all evening to write. And if Lottie was getting excited about something she’d found in a skip, then it was probably something worth getting excited about.

  “OK then,” she said. “See you in twenty minutes.”

  On her way out of the dining room, Hannah picked up a chair. She might as well take one out now. It would save time in the morning.

  Today, for the first time, it felt like spring had really arrived. A high blue sky arched over the farm, from the woods in the north to the pale-blue hills of the South Downs. Daffodils clustered around the mossy tree trunks in the orchard.

  Hannah carried the chair along the secret path, where tiny tight pink buds were growing on the blackthorn bushes. She pushed open the front-of-house door and set the chair down in the auditorium. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a wave of pure joy flooded over her. The theatre was beautiful. The weather was beautiful. Yesterday’s rehearsal had been perfect. And they were going to win the Linford Arts Festival drama competition.

  Hannah could almost believe that the theatre itself was excited about tomorrow’s performance. She could sense anticipation in the air. Everything was ready. The auditorium was swept clean, awaiting the rest of the chairs. In the dressin
g room, the costumes, all neatly labelled, hung in shimmering rainbow glory on their rail. Martha had arranged the make-up neatly on the chest of drawers and the jewellery sparkled on its tray. The Book lay on the props table. Every prop had been checked off the list and set out in scene order.

  On stage, the queen’s bedroom was immaculate. The worthless candlesticks were back on the dressing table. Hannah pushed all her feelings about the candlesticks to the back of her mind.

  “We’re going to win, Mum,” she whispered. “Wish us luck. We’re going to make you proud of us. And we’re going to give the money to Dad and help to save the farm. We won’t let anyone destroy the farm. I promise you we won’t.”

  “You won’t believe this,” said Lottie, when she answered the door. “You are not going to believe it.”

  She grabbed a rucksack from a hook and shrugged it on to her shoulders. “I’ve altered Jo’s Rallentando breeches so they don’t keep falling down. I just need to try them on her once we’ve done this. Now, come and see.”

  The edges of the skip were built up with jagged pieces of wood. Lottie craned her head over the sides and pulled at something. “Look at that.”

  It was a rolled-up carpet. The corner that Lottie had pulled back revealed a red background, patterned with a tapestry of blue, white, black and gold. It looked in perfect condition.

  “Wow,” said Hannah. “What a find.”

  “I know,” said Lottie. “It’s like it’s meant to be.”

  Hannah pictured the queen’s bedroom, with its wood panelling, draped window, four-poster bed and now a Persian carpet. She drew in her breath with delight and hugged Lottie.

  “It’s a sign,” she said. “We’re going to win the competition.”

  The carpet was unbelievably heavy. They had to keep stopping to shift its weight and shake their aching arms. There were a few people out walking their dogs but nobody asked them why they were carrying a large Persian rug up Elm Lane on a Friday afternoon.

  When they reached the farm track, the cows in North Meadow gazed up at them as they staggered past, and went back to chewing the cud. The heavily pregnant sheep in South Meadow took no notice at all.

  “Stop, Hannah,” gasped Lottie, halfway down the track. “I need to rest.”

  “Are you crazy? What if Dad sees us? Come on, we’re nearly there.”

  They stumbled through the field and up the secret path, the carpet leaving cracked branches and snapped twigs in its wake. Hannah pulled the front-of-house door back. They lurched into the auditorium and heaved the carpet off their shoulders. It thudded on to the floor and they sank down on to it, panting and rubbing their aching arms.

  “Right,” said Hannah, springing up. “Let’s see how it looks.”

  Lottie groaned. “Just give me two minutes.” She pulled her shoulders back and rolled her neck round. “I can’t believe the judge is coming tomorrow, can you?”

  “No,” said Hannah. “It’s amazing, though – it actually does feel like we’re ready.”

  “But there’s still one problem, isn’t there?” said Lottie, looking at her. “Your dad.”

  Hannah’s stomach lurched. “Come on,” she said, standing up. “Let’s get everything off stage, then we can lay the carpet down. Bed first.”

  Lottie got up, brushing dust off her trousers, and they took hold of the tied-together crates at the bottom corners.

  “He won’t be out tomorrow afternoon, I suppose?” said Lottie, hopefully, as they edged the queen’s bed into the auditorium.

  “No,” said Hannah. “Careful with that post – don’t catch the curtain wire. I did try to suggest a couple of things, but he looked at me like I was mad. Right, dressing table next. Let’s clear the surface.”

  They picked up the candlesticks, the queen’s hairbrush, perfume bottles and jewellery and took them backstage. Then they got themselves in position to move the dressing table.

  “I think we have to tell him,” said Lottie, grasping one end.

  Hannah let go of the other end. Her whole body shuddered with panic. “We can’t! He’ll go mad. He’ll make us dismantle the theatre and cancel the judge coming and everything.”

  “But, Hannah, we’ve been through this. What if he sees the judge arriving and finds out that way and goes crazy? Maybe if we tell him beforehand, we can talk him round.”

  “But maybe he won’t see anyone,” said Hannah. “He never noticed anything at the fire, did he? All the guests were there and we were in costume and everything and he never batted an eyelid.”

  “Maybe because he was a little bit busy rescuing animals from a burning barn?” said Lottie. “We’re not going to have that sort of distraction tomorrow. Hopefully.”

  Hannah desperately tried to think. What if Sam told him? He might not get so mad with Sam.

  But that was hardly fair on Sam, was it?

  Lottie took hold of the dressing table again. “Come on, let’s shift this.”

  Crab-like, they walked the dressing table into the auditorium.

  “How are we going to move the window seat?” asked Hannah. “The window’s attached to the seat and the ceiling.”

  Lottie looked at it. “We need reinforcements. Let’s get the Beans. Jo can try on these breeches too, while she’s here.”

  As they emerged into North Meadow, a flash of electric blue in the bushes by the stream caught Hannah’s eye. She grabbed Lottie’s arm and pointed. “Look. A kingfisher.”

  The little bird darted to another branch and settled there.

  “Wow,” whispered Lottie. “I’ve never seen one before. I thought they’d be much bigger. It’s so tiny. Beautiful.”

  “I must remember to tell Dad. He doesn’t think there are any around at the moment. I wonder if your dad’s seen it for his bird survey.”

  Lottie drew in her breath sharply and grabbed Hannah’s arm. “I know!”

  Hannah stared at her. “What?”

  “What if I get my dad to phone your dad and tell him about the kingfisher? He could ask to come up and meet your dad in this field tomorrow, right before the play, to show him. And then he can take him to the theatre – he can say there’s a nest in the bushes or something – and all the audience will be here, and the judge—”

  Hannah looked at Lottie as if she were mad. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t you see?” said Lottie. “If my dad brings him into the auditorium right before the play starts, your dad can’t yell at us and make us stop the play. Not in front of all my family and the judge and everyone. So at least we’ll be able to do the performance. Even if he goes ballistic after everyone’s gone.”

  A tiny chink of light pierced the murky grey fog in Hannah’s head. “You know what?” she said. “That might actually work.”

  “Cool,” said Lottie. “I’ll call Dad tonight and explain.” She stopped in her tracks. “Oh, but we must remember. One of us can do it later.”

  “Do what?”

  “We’ll have to take the candlesticks away. And the horse and dog painting.”

  Thank goodness Lottie had thought of that. If Dad saw Mum’s precious candlesticks and her favourite painting hanging in a chicken shed, he would definitely go ballistic. Even if the Queen was sitting in the audience.

  At nine o’clock on Saturday morning Jo put her head round the back door. Hannah and Lottie were standing in the scullery.

  “Well?” said Hannah, who had been drumming her fingers on the freezer for the last five minutes.

  Jo stepped in. She had a notebook and pencil in her hand. She cleared her throat importantly.

  “Secret Security Report Code 07962 from the Great and Mighty Society of Bean. Report delivered at 0900 hours on Saturday 20th March. Mung Bean and String Bean have carried out a full search and the farmyard is officially pronounced a safe zone. Chief Suspect codename A.R. spotted at 0856 hours driving a tractor in the direction of the Waterbrook.”

  “Good. Stay here and keep watch. We’ll be back for more chairs in a
minute. Oh, and Martha,” Hannah called back into the kitchen, where Martha was still eating breakfast, “remember to be at the theatre by ten o’clock.”

  “Ten!” said Martha through a mouthful of toast. “Don’t be stupid. The judge isn’t coming till three.”

  “No, but we’re having a last dress rehearsal at ten. If you’d stayed to the end of yesterday’s rehearsal, you’d have known that.”

  “Shut your face, scarecrow hair. You’re lucky I came at all. If you’re not careful I won’t even turn up today, so watch it.”

  Hannah opened her mouth to retort, but Lottie jumped in. “It would be a shame if you didn’t turn up when the judge is coming. You’re such a good actress, and the judge might be a talent-spotter and recommend you for a film.”

  “Shut up,” said Martha, but the venom had gone from her voice. Lottie winked at Hannah. Hannah smiled back. That should do it.

  Hannah picked up two dining chairs and set off across the yard. Lottie staggered behind her, a chair under each arm.

  Hannah’s stomach was full of butterflies. No, not butterflies – more like elephants trampling around inside her. She couldn’t believe this was really happening. A real judge from a real festival coming to their theatre to watch their play!

  And a five hundred-pound prize.

  Once again she replayed the daydream where she presented her father with the prize cheque. With tears of gratitude in his eyes he would humbly accept the money, which would save the farm and make him look upon Hannah with love and admiration for evermore.

  It was a lovely daydream. But when she thought about Dad actually coming to their play, the elephants multiplied, a whole great herd of them stampeding around her stomach.

  He has to be impressed, surely? He won’t stop us performing the play? He won’t explode at us in front of the judge and order us to dismantle the theatre right then and there? He’d never do that, would he?

  No, no, he’ll love it when he sees it.

  I know he will.

  He has to.

  Taking deep breaths, Hannah set down her chairs at the front-of-house door. Don’t worry, she told herself. It will all be fine. And the carpet is just perfect. The stage really does look like a bedroom fit for a queen now.