A Castle in Cornwall

by Laura Briggs

  "Of course, he is rewarded for his difficult studies," said Gustaf, whose casual gruffness sported its own version of a beaming countenance. "He was the first choice in his field — no one else was so qualified. He finished early, you see," he added to me, the only person here who probably hadn't heard this story before. "He even had a — an internship — during the holidays, when other boys would be having their fun or at home with their families."

  Kristofer blushed. I tried to come to his rescue.

  "That must have been really hard," I said. "Having no free time like that — you're obviously really dedicated, because half the people I know would burn out." Did 'burn out' have the same meaning in a Scandinavian culture? I pondered this too late.

  "I have free time now," he said. "I do things I enjoy, although I must leave for Copenhagen in a few days. Until then ..."

  "It's Josephine who doesn't have a minute to spare, it would seem," said Anneka, softly, whose sudden remark was a surprise to more than me. "She is so busy with the wedding she has not time for Kristofer, even."

  An accusation, I thought. Josephine's cheeks reddened, but her expression remained the same.

  "I do not mind." Kristofer's smile was unfazed. "Her work is important, and the wedding must take much time to plan as well. And I have a great many things to keep me occupied. I practice my music — I was saying before — and there is so much to see in this castle. It has a very interesting history. I knew nothing about Cornwall before I came here. These are Josephine's ancestors who lived here, yes?"

  I detected disappointment in his voice, although he was trying to hide it. I liked him even better for it, truthfully.

  "There are a great many responsibilities for a bride," said Helen, at this point. "And Josephine has always been a rather busy young woman." She smoothed her skirt, which didn't have a single wrinkle in it to smooth out, but her hand obviously needed an outlet for her sudden agitation.

  I found the first statement odd, since Josephine — odder still — had made scarcely any contribution to the conversation about her wedding cake or her photographer. Perhaps there was some sort of legal formalities involving Josephine before her wedding day ... or maybe she was working on her foundation's plans instead?

  But tea was concluded now, evidenced by the fact that Ms. Krensky had closed her cell phone's little cover and tucked it in her Gucci handbag. I couldn't help but notice her shoes were the very latest in the Paris fashion windows — putting my pair from last year to shame. As my old boss Nancy would see it, that was the mark of the industry's top professional: the kind of person who has a staff of sensibly-shod minions to do her bidding. And it goes without saying that one of those minions would be me.

  "If you have time, Mrs. Ross —" she began.

  "'Rose'," I corrected.

  "I see." She didn't make a note of this. "I would like to speak to you and the rest of Mrs. Ridgeford's temporary staff about a few little points regarding the reception —"

  "I'm sure they would love to discuss them," I said, brightly, although I hadn't a clue what sort of plans Marjorie had — or hadn't — made regarding the castle's decor or the reception's food. "I suppose we could all meet over an early dinner?"

  "Dinner? Impossible. I never eat before five o' clock, unless it's a formal occasion," she answered. "Unlike some people, I haven't the time for 'quick bites' or 'early suppers' in casual settings."

  Over her shoulder, I saw Kristofer and Josephine talking again, momentarily free from their relatives — until Anders laid claim on the groom. And while her mother was busy in conversation with Kristofer's mother, Josephine slipped from the room.

  ***

  Kitty:

  "Let's prepare ourselves, darlings!" said Millicent, clapping her hands together. "Gather your thoughts!"

  She's a bit theatrical, Millicent. Not just for wearing that fortune teller's turban, but in everything else. In Ceffylgwyn, where most people want to keep their heads down and whisper secrets, Millicent tells everyone anything they want to know — what comes of being a bit of a scandal in her younger days, most villagers point out. Not that you'd know it now, with her running a tea room for tourists along the new bypass to Penzance, and managing to blend in now and again despite her bright scarves and blouses.

  As it's ten minutes before auditions, I feel my stomach clenching a bit, and wish I'd had a bite when Michael offered to make me an omelette in the kitchen earlier today. I doff my old apron — one I'd been wearing to tidy things in Gemma's stead — and take a deep breath or two.

  "Everyone has a copy?" said Gerard, holding up a script from his box. There's random bits of everything in that box, playbooks and loose leaf scripts from Shakespeare to Streetcar — they'll let you read anything in the Society for Amateur Players, if you've not brought something of your own.

  There was about twelve of them before me: mostly the pension lot between here and Truro, at least those with dreams of the stage, or loneliness for showing off talents with a brush or a bassoon. Besides them was Rosie, known locally as 'that crazy cat lady,' who was one of the principals, Martin, the local curate, and Lorrie, who taught at the primary now, and who I remembered as a girl a year advanced of me.

  We're not the only younger members of this set — Gemma's boyfriend Andy joined, the first of a few youth in the village who had a secret yearning towards what might be the only romantic escape in Ceffylgwyn, even if it's an imaginary one.

  "What are you reading?" Rose asked me. The whiff of cats clung to her clothes from the pet shelter, although she was trying to spruce herself a bit with deodorizing spray and a flowered shawl.

  I shrugged. "Something from Shakespeare," I said. Hadn't a clue what I would choose, although I'd rehearsed a few bits lately — feeling a bit awkward in the process, thinking that any moment someone from Cliffs House would pop into the empty dining room and catch me.

  "Read the scene from The Taming of the Shrew," she said. "You're quite good at that one —" here, she lowered her voice, "— and rumors abound that the play Millicent's chosen is Shakespeare, maybe The Tempest. Just a word to the wise."

  The Tempest. A shiver made a path down my spine for these words. That was a play I had seen last summer at the Minack. Coincidence only, but I thought I might blush. "I've only read the part a few times at best," I said.

  "So? We only live once — have a bit of moxie," she said. "I'm reading from one of those murder mystery scripts in the box. A hen night I was part of last year hosted one of those mystery nights."

  "A hen night, eh?" I echoed, one eyebrow flickering upwards.

  "I might be past forty, but I'm not in the grave," she retorted. "Me schoolchum who finally met the man of her dreams named me chief bridesmaid. How do I look?" She had been adjusting a large floppy-brimmed hat on her head this whole time, one from a costume box by the stage, next to the mirror.

  "Smashing," I said.

  "Good." She struck a dramatic pose. "Remember — read out! This is your chance, love."

  I sucked in a deep breath. I hadn't tried out for a part before — last time, I'd stood in the background as one of the Queen of Heart's Knaves. Mostly, I painted scenery and helped eighty-something year-olds Nellie and Nora sew costumes — the 'sequin biddies' as the society affectionately titled them. Their seamstress costumes were generally outlandish ensembles made from all the bits and bobs leftover from past productions.

  The society's usual players and stagehands were scattered through the auditorium — the makeshift one, that is, populated by lots of old theatre seats loosely bolted down, and mismatched padded folding chairs that had seen better days a decade ago.

  The whole theatre's a bit that way. A high stone house that was some sort of tavern, once, until an eccentric got hold of the idea of having a theatrical society — that's how Millie puts it. In reality, it was her and Gerard's idea; he built the stage, she sewed curtains, and they built a few walls in front to make a receiving area at the front entrance. The big painted sign for the
'Cliffs Edge Playhouse' is rather dramatic and outlandish — just like Millie, who spent hours painting the big man in the moon and the Harlequins in red and gold, with letters like a circus playbill's. Years in an artist colony, she claimed.

  Most of the regulars let the first night's audition go to newcomers and outsiders who popped in, so I knew most everyone here. Even though I'd never really performed, I hadn't come last night because I was in conference at Cliffs House until late. That's why I wasn't celebrating my birthday ... not that anybody here knew that. Short of Mum and Julianne — who had evidently told all of Cliffs House — the only other person was Nathan.

  He would've taken me to dinner. My cheeks went a bit pink for this idea. I knew he would've chosen some posh place in Truro. Not the sort of place we usually sneaked off to visit — sneaking was the word for it, too, since I still hadn't told Mum that an American bloke was courting me. Thus far, gossip about me and a boy never included Nathan's name ... or the fact it was the same boy each time, for instance. That was the part that would have her attention in a minute. It had mine, to be sure ... not that I let him know it. And maybe that was wrong of me.

  "There's a proper crowd here tonight, no mistake. And I thought all the newbies would've come last night." Lorrie plopped down on the seat next to mine. "Look at you, you've snapped up Shakespeare," she said, pretending to be scornful towards the book in my hands. "I haven't rehearsed a thing — two boys at the school plugged up the toilet and I spent all afternoon —"

  "Attention, everyone," Gerard had set aside his box and made his way to center stage, moving with the stiffness of old age. "Time we get started. Millie, come along." The stage manager and official prop master and jack of all trades moved aside for the society's current director and president.

  "Evening, dears," said Millie. "So glad you could come. And welcome to night two of auditions. As you know, we've a meeting tonight to settle the details for the Passion play at Cliffs House's stage — our dear Kitty is here to bore us all with details about permits and so on." Cheers and whistles followed this, and I found myself blushing a little bit. "But before we get started on the rather tedious side of theatre, this is the second night of casting auditions for our upcoming production. So if you've scripts at the ready, we'll begin." She accepted a clipboard from Martin, which had been passed 'round the room.

  "First up — Andy."

  He bounded up the rickety side steps. "Um ... I'll be reading a monologue from a Noel Coward scene," he said, thumbing through his script. He took a deep breath, then plunged into his lines.

  "Help me run my lines," whispered Lorrie. "Hurry — I'm right after Blake." I turned the pages quickly through a copy of Love's Labor Lost — so Lorrie had heard the rumors of Shakespeare, too.

  "Line four," I whispered. Lorrie's inflection was pretty good for a scene involving a case of nerves — of course, it helped to have the added drama of Blake onstage, whose auditions were always a bit unpredictable.

  "Next up, Lorrie."

  We both climbed onstage, since her scene required two people for its dialogue. I had done this a couple of times before. If I could do this, maybe I could survive a speaking role. Not something big to begin with, but a small one.

  Next was Martin, then Sy, then me. I opened my copy of Shakespeare, and took a deep breath.

  "Evening, all ... I'll be reading as Katharina from The Taming of the Shrew," I said. "Which most of you would say is a good fit for me." A bit of laughter from the crowd. I wet my lips, and pushed my nerves deep inside. I paced a few steps with anxiousness, pausing with a fierce expression as I stomped one foot.

  "What — did he marry me to famish me? Beggars that have come unto my father's door — upon entreaty have a present alms. If not ... elsewhere they meet with charity. But I, who never knew how to entreat, nor never needed that I should entreat, am starved for meat. Giddy for lack of sleep, with oaths kept waking, and with brawling, fed."

  I paced some more, restlessly, during these lines, then paused. "And that what spites me more than all these wants ... he does it under the name of 'perfect love.'" I made a scornful sound in my throat after these words. "As who should say — if I should sleep or eat — 'twere a deadly sickness, or, else, present death." I waved my hand at an invisible servant. "I prithee, go and get me some repast," I said, with pleading and exasperation. "I care not what, so it be wholesome food."

  I pretended to collapse at this point in a dead faint. I heard applause, and I opened my eyes, hearing the laughter of the rest of the company. I scrambled up and collected my book to exit the stage.

  "Next — Loreena," announced Millie.

  "Nicely done," whispered Martin, as I seated myself in the front row again.

  "I practiced a bit," I said, brushing it off. Although I'd fainted twice on the floor at home to be sure I could do it onstage without wincing or flinching.

  Onstage, one of the newcomers read a passage with Blake from an old EastEnders script, while old Callum did a number from The Music Man, because he auditioned for every production as if it were a musical, mostly for laughs from the rest of the company.

  "Next — Nathan."

  Nathan. I hadn't heard that name before. I glanced around, looking for the face of a newcomer, and saw him climbing the steps, a book in hand, looking somewhat sheepish.

  My Nathan.

  Well ... not really ... but you know what I mean. My face caught fire, and I heard some whispers around me — no doubt about this latest stranger, maybe recognizing him from around the village. Nathan cleared his throat.

  "Um ... I'm new here ... I'll be reading —" he checked the script in his hand, " — from, uh, Alice in Wonderland." He fumbled it open a few pages into the script, then cleared his throat. Twice. He scanned the lines a few times in the awkward silence that followed, before his lips finally moved.

  No one could hear anything except a faint mumble. Millie spoke up. "Louder, darling," she said. "Enunciate from the stage for us all to hear."

  It was a stiff read. Louder didn't help, except to prove that Nathan had never done this before, although he pushed on earnestly. Stumble, stammer, pick up at the next word and plod woodenly forward with haste — but haste was probably for the best. Especially since he was reading the scene's four parts as one.

  What possessed him to do this? It felt like a dream where you run into people in impossible places — a dead celebrity at your wedding, for instance — and you know all the while it can't be real. Nathan didn't care for theatre; I knew he only went to plays because I did. He said he had avoided plays and pageants in his youth like the influenza —

  Nathan stumbled to the last line of his dialogue, then closed the book. There were a few hesitant claps in the company, the society wanting to show encouragement for anyone fool enough to try out ... but it would be hard to applaud something as painful as what Nathan had just endured, except as bravery's reward.

  He climbed down a trifle more quickly than he climbed up, and dropped into the seat beside me. "Hi," he said. Some of his embarrassment was fading away now.

  "What are you doing here?" That whisper sounded a bit upset — but it was only surprise, I swear to you.

  He shrugged his shoulders. "I thought I'd try out," he said. "See what it's all about." He glanced around. "There's a lot more people here than I imagined...here watching, I mean."

  I felt Lorrie's stare boring through the back of our seats. She leaned over, keeping her voice hushed as the last actress for the evening recited. "You look familiar," she said to Nathan, her gaze scrutinizing him. "Friend of Kitty's?"

  "You met him at the pub," I said. That was the place where most everyone who'd ever met Nathan would remember him, except for Cliffs House, possibly. "He comes with me sometimes."

  "A Yank, without a doubt by that accent," she said. "Are you living in the village?"

  "Truro," he whispered back. "I'm an event promoter. Kitty and I —"

  For a moment, I thought he was going to say 'are boyfriend
and girlfriend,' or 'a couple,' but he finished with "—work together at the manor house on major events in the village."

  "That's where I've seen you," she whispered, excitedly. "It was The Grand Baking —"

  "... and Nora concludes our auditions for the evening," announced Millie. These words snatched everybody's attention. "We'll take a quick breather, then we'll meet to discuss plans for this summer's Passion play. Gerard has the script, I believe —"

  "We only want to know what this next production is," piped up Sy, as everybody laughed.

  "In good time," promised Millie, mysteriously.

  "I want to know the name of your friend," said Rosie, elbowing against me as soon as we began to mingle. "Isn't he that bloke you brought to quiz night with Juli and Matt? Your mystery friend? I had no idea he had ... er ... theatrical leanings."

  "Um, they're new," I said. Now that everyone was moving about, I spied a chance to talk to Nathan without too many listeners, near the prop box. To ask, for instance, why he hadn't mentioned coming here tonight earlier, if he'd been planning to do this all along.

  "That was the longest three minutes of my life," said Nathan. "I felt like I was in the dentist's chair at home — how you stand up there like it's nothing is beyond me. You were great up there, by the way."

  "Thanks. But I thought you didn't like theatre," I said. He was putting his script back in the box. "I mean, you never mentioned coming here. You said that you thought theatre people were a bit weird."

  "Yeah. But this is your thing, right?" He shrugged his shoulders. "I thought maybe I'd give it a try. I didn't know we were supposed to bring something, so I just grabbed the first thing in the box. Turned out it was the last play you were in."

  His gaze wandered momentarily towards the old scenery still onstage from that production, a plywood house with Alice's arm stuck out of its window, and the backdrop of the rose garden with half-painted red and white rose trees.