But From Thine Eyes
Book Two
of
His Majesty’s Theatre
Christina Britton Conroy
© Christina Britton Conroy 2017
Christina Britton Conroy has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published by Endeavour Press Ltd in 2017.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 1
London, Friday, December 18, 1903
The train pulled into St. Pancras Station at noon. Steam poured from the tracks as the huge locomotive jarred to a halt, rocking the passenger cars behind it. Dozens of compartment doors flew open and hundreds of passengers stepped onto the platform. Elisa Roundtree clutched her small traveling bag and wove her way along the crowded platform. Outside the station, hansom cabs stood ready for hire. They looked warm and safe, and expensive. She needed to save her money.
She hurried to a porter loading luggage onto a wheeled cart, and begged, “Excuse me, sir. Do you know how I might find His Majesty’s Theatre? It’s in a place called Haymarket.”
“ ‘aymarket omnibus stops just there, Miss.” He pointed to the street corner.
“Thanks very much.” Elisa queued behind other shivering travellers waiting for the omnibus. She pulled up her coat collar and pinched it around her throat. Then she swung the hem aside and checked her pale green skirt. The folds of heavy muslin were wrinkled, but clean.
Two huge horses pulled an omnibus near the curb. Afraid of missing her stop, she paid her fare, then sat near the conductor. She had never seen a large city with so many fine motorcars and carriages. She gasped at the height and closeness of the buildings, and the rich clothing on pedestrians crowding the sidewalks.
After a few stops, the conductor called, “Haymarket!” then, “Charles Street!” He leaned into her. “Look Miss, There’s His Majesty’s Theatre. Herbert Beerbohm Tree opened the place, about five years back. Tree’s touring America now. Leased it to Jeremy O’Connell.”
“Oh, I see. Thanks very much.” She stepped off the omnibus into a slop of mud and horse dung. Gingerly tiptoeing through the muck, she balanced her traveling bag with one hand and lifted her skirt with the other.
Directly in front of her stood a huge ornate building made from light gray stone. Two-story high Corinthian pillars, arched windows, and delicate stone carvings decorated the front wall. Several stories higher, a large green dome gleamed. The words, HIS MAJESTY’S THEATRE, were chiselled above the wide entrance. Several wide double doors were closed. One stood open. A placard read:
TONIGHT at 8:00
Mr. JEREMY O’CONNELL
Miss KATHERINE STEWART
in MACBETH
Only a few feet away, the great actor-manager Jeremy O’Connell staged his own productions, played leading roles, and trained brilliant young actors. Elisa swallowed hard. “I’m a schoolgirl, not an actress. What am I doing here?”
“Ticket queue ends back there, Miss.” A man pointed to a line of people curved around the building.
Elisa stammered, “Oh n’no, thank you. I’m looking for the stage entrance.”
The man snickered, “Which one are you in love wiv? O’Connell or Freeman? ‘round the corner y’ go.” He pointed to his right and walked away chuckling.
Elisa’s cheeks burned as she followed his directions. Half-way around the block even more people were gathered. A small sign was painted on a plain wooden door:
HIS MAJESTY’S THEATRE
STAGE ENTRANCE
Her legs felt weak as she pushed through the crowd, and slowly opened the door. Just inside, an old man sat behind a high wooden desk. Unsmiling, he looked up from his newspaper. “Yes, Miss?”
“Please, sir, I’m looking for Michael Burns.” Her voice sounded very small.
The old man smiled. “Right-i-o. Michael said a young lady was coming, and to send her ‘round to the pub. Just go back out and make a left. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you. You’re very kind.”
He nodded as she opened the stage door and hurried out. Her pale green skirt caught on the edge and she scolded herself. Slow down! She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She only had one frock. She mustn’t tear it. Once outside, she looked left and saw a comical sign hanging over the pub entrance. THE ACTRESS AND VILLAIN was painted in large letters. Under the name was a painting of footlights and stage curtains framing an evil looking man stabbing a fat woman with long hair.
Below the sign were double doors with brass handles. She pulled one side open, and walked through heavy curtains into a medium sized dining area. To her left was a long service bar. Tables stood in the middle and booths with benches lined the sides. Small windows allowed slight sunlight and ventilation. Popping coal fires burned in fireplaces at both ends of the room, and a haze of tobacco smoke hung in the warm, motionless air. A pleasant aroma of hot food made her empty stomach rumble. Working people of all ages were eating, drinking, and smoking.
“ ‘ello, ‘ello, what’s this then?”
Elisa was startled by a pair of flashing dark eyes. A funny looking little man, with a thick bowl cut of grey hair, smiled up at her. “If you please, sir, I’m looking for Michael Burns.”
He pretended shock and jumped back. “‘Sir,’ is it? Ooh, I do like that.” He was adorable and she laughed. He looked toward the back of the pub. “Michael!” He called in a light, resonate voice that easily carried into the adjoining saloon area. “Lovely lady to see you.” He turned back to Elisa, made a comical bow, and walked outside.
A young man stepped up. “Miss Roundtree?”
“Yes.”
He extended his hand. “Splendid to meet you. I’m Michael Burns.” He was tall and thin, with copper hair and green eyes, like hers.
Elisa happily shook his hand. “How-do-you-do?”
“Sorry I couldn’t meet your train.”
“That’s quite all right. It was easy finding the theatre.”
He looked her up-and-down. “You’re as beautiful as Rob said. Are you hungry?”
She blushed at the compliment. “Famished -- and, please call me Elisa.”
He chose a table off to the side and took her coat. “Chicken pie is the Friday regular. It’s not bad, if you like chicken.”
“Thank you. That would be lovely.”
“Won’t be a minute.” He loped to the bar, and quickly returned, carrying a tray. “I brought lemonade. I hope that’s all right. Didn’t think you’d want anything stronger before an audition.” He put down two glasses, and plates of steaming pie and peas. A man at another table sent Michael a thumbs-up. Elisa looked startled and Michael laughed. “Don’t mind this lot. They’re all theatre folk. You’ll get to know them soon enough.”
She thirstily drank the lemonade. “Thanks. That’s lovely.�
�
They ate their lunch, and Michael chatted about their mutual friend, Robert Dennison. His schoolboy stories were funny and she liked him. She was barely done eating when the wall clock struck the half-hour.
Michael sprang up. “It’s one-thirty. We’d better go.”
He helped her with her coat and she followed nervously, back into the theatre and onto the huge empty stage. She felt a rush of adrenaline as she moved far down onto the apron. Only two of the twenty footlights burned, as she looked into the dark stalls. Michael led her into an off-stage dressing room, and she wrinkled her nose. The stench of greasepaint and lacquer made her eyes water. The walls were whitewashed and the floor was clean. Assorted stage makeup and a pile of clean rags lay on the dressing table.
She looked at her filthy shoes. “May I use one of those?”
“Use whatever you need.”
It took some effort to scrape off the dried muck. Seeing her reflection, she tossed her coat over a chair. “I look a fright.” She removed three combs, and her mass of copper hair cascaded down past her waist.
Michael gasped. “Don’t tie that up, for goodness sake, leave it long.”
She was surprised, but took his advice and brushed out the tangles. Taking a tortoiseshell comb, she pulled one side away from her face. Michael chose a medium brown charcoal stick. “Stand still.” Gently holding her chin, he darkened her nearly translucent eyebrows and lashes. “When Eric Bates sees you, he’ll think he died and went to heaven.” He lightly rouged her cheeks and lips.
“Who is Eric Bates?”
“The business manager… and an actor… actually, his wife keeps the books… never mind about that now. I'll leave you to do your prep’.”
She grabbed Michael’s arm, “Please don’t go. I don’t know what to do. Please help me.” Weeks of buried tension exploded. Tears spilled down her cheeks and onto her dress.
Michael was startled, but used to hysterical actors. He took her by the shoulders. “Just stop it! Stop it this instant! Recite your monologue. Now!”
Juliet’s words poured out in one meaningless string: “Gallopapeceyoufiery-footedsteedstowardsPhoebus’lodging…”
“Stop! Start again. Slowly.”
Gasping, she did as she was told. “Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus’ lodging...”
She finished, breathing hard, feeling calmer. “Thank you, Michael. I’m sorry.”
“Shall I do your eyes again?”
“Yes. Please.”
As Michael wiped away the teary smudges and darkened her eyelashes, two-dozen young women crowded the backstage area.
A thin young man with an equally thin voice held a list of names. “All the young ladies please take a seat. I’m Eddy Edwards the stage-manager. Please answer when you hear your name.” He held up a list and squinted to read. “Miss Jamison?”
“Yes, sir.” A plump girl appeared.
Eddy scratched his over-large nose. “Miss Andrews?”
“Here, sir,” and on and on until finally, “Miss Roundtree?”
“Yes, sir.”
Eddy continued, “Misters Bates and O’Connell will be hearing the auditions. There will probably be other busybodies peering around, but don’t mind them.”
Michael whispered to Elisa, “Jeremy O’Connell’s staging the play and playing Prospero. He wants a fairy spirit, or something like that, to shadow him, on stage, throughout the entire play. You’re by far the prettiest girl here. You’re sure to be engaged.”
*
The night before, a new production of Macbeth had opened to brilliant reviews. Weeks of planning and rehearsals had turned actor-manager Jeremy O’Connell into a heartless dictator. Nothing less than perfection had been acceptable from the actors on-stage and the army of workers slaving backstage. After the opening night curtain fell, Jeremy, business-manager-actor Eric Bates, most of the cast and crew had huddled in theatre stalls, waiting for their reviews. When the papers gloriously sailed in, each notice better than the last, Jeremy and Eric had celebrated long and hard.
At 2:30 the next afternoon, the two men sat in the center of the dark theatre, hung-over and exhausted. Eric lay across three red velvet seats, not noticing dried mud from his boots dusting the expensive fabric. Forty-two and overweight, his graying hair was thin and greasy.
He rubbed his burning eyes and yawned. “Was it my brainless idea to hold auditions the day after an opening?”
Actor-manager Jeremy O’Connell nodded, then dozed in his seat. He had recently celebrated his fortieth birthday and, on most days, was fantastically handsome. He was very tall, very thin, and very fit. His dark hair was cut short and combed back off his clean shaven face. Since actors wore false beards and moustaches, they were the only men in London with no facial hair. Last night Jeremy’s dark eyes had been brilliantly piercing. Today they were red and sore. He longed for a hot toddy and a soft bed.
Their task seemed terribly simple: Find a pretty girl to stand on stage. After a dozen common girls recited dull poems and monologues, Eric shuddered. “Good Lord, Jerry, aren’t there any pretty girls in London?”
Jeremy fluttered a hand. “Well dear heart, you would know that better than I, I am sure.”
“Bloody pouf!” Eric laughed and shook his head. When Jeremy shrugged majestically, Eric laughed louder and called to the stage, “Eddy, is that the lot?”
“One more, sir.”
Jeremy pulled the list of names from the floor, squinted to read the last one, and dropped his head into his hand. “Eric. Her name is Roundtree. I hope she does not look like a round tree.” They dissolved into hysterical laughter.
A girl walked gracefully on stage. She smiled radiantly. The men sat up and stared. She was taller than the others, very slim, very pale, with a flowing mane of light-red hair hanging along one side of her face and down past her waist. The other side of her hair was clipped back, revealing a beautifully sculptured cheekbone and huge, glowing eyes. She wore a pale green frock suited for a schoolgirl, and looked very young despite her height.
Apprentice actor Rory Cook shuffled up the aisle bringing mugs of steaming tea. He handed one to Jeremy, saw the girl, and nearly spilled the scalding liquid. Amused by his reaction, Jeremy passed the mug to Eric and took the other. Rory slid into a seat behind the older men. The girl took a deep breath, and recited Juliet’s soliloquy.
“Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoeobus’ lodging…”
When her inflection moved up and down with the sing-song pattern of the verse, Jeremy sadly shook his head. Most young people were taught to memorize the words, with no thought to their meaning. Eric leaned toward him. “What do you think?”
Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “She looks like a nymph. She’ll do.”
“She can’t act.”
“She doesn’t have to.”
The monologue droned on, but Jeremy could not take his eyes off the stunningly beautiful girl. Her inflections were dreadful; her vocal technique nonexistent, and her school perfect diction was flavored with a Yorkshire accent. Her voice had a natural resonance that carried surprisingly well. Her face and figure were absolute perfection.
“Right.” Eric yawned. “She’s a friend of Michael Burns. Wants to be an apprentice.”
“Really? Where is she going to live?”
“They live at Potter’s.”
Jeremy spat out, “Mrs. Potter’s boardinghouse is filth, and the meals are absolute slop. This girl speaks like a lady. Her posture is perfect, she obviously has breeding, and she cannot live there.”
Eric shook his head. “Come on Jerry, you know Hilda’s rule. If an apprentice has money, she can do better. If not, it’s Potter’s.”
Jeremy pictured Eric’s hard-faced wife Hilda Bates. The lady was an excellent business manager, but penny-pinched to the extreme. He turned to see twenty-year-old Rory Cook stare adoringly at the stage. Male patrons would have the same reaction. He wanted this girl and
silently prayed she could afford decent lodgings. Rory lived at Mrs. Potter’s boardinghouse. A year ago, he gave up his inheritance, an Oxford education, and future career as a solicitor to become an apprentice actor working for no wages. He shared a bed with two other apprentice actors. Rory had arrived wearing a beautifully tailored suit. His golden hair had been smartly trimmed and his collar sparkling white. Today, he wore that same suit, but the fine wool was torn and stained. His hair was greasy and his collar was gone.
When the girl finished, Eric called out, “Thank you, Miss Round…” He tried to say, round tree, and started to laugh. “Mr. Edwards, come here a minute.” The girl curtsied and Eddy nearly knocked her over as he bounded off the apron into the stalls. Eric whispered, “Jerry, you won’t mind having her in your class?”
“No, not at all. I should be able to teach her something. If not she’ll get discouraged and leave at the end of the run. Either way the lads will enjoy playing scenes with her. They’ve had their fill of Meg and Peg.”
“Our resident alley cats.” Eric chuckled, thinking of their two female apprentices. Since they received no wages, they worked… elsewhere.
Eddy leapt up. “Yes sirs.”
“Ah Mr. Edwards, ask Miss, what is it, Round-tree…to come to my office. Thank the rest and send them home.”
Jeremy shook his head. “We must change that girl’s name. Let’s get a drink.”
Rory hurdled from his seat. “Mr. O’Connell, Mr. Bates, she’s beautiful. She speaks like a lady and she’s going to be working here.” He raised his eyes to heaven. “There really is a God. Thank you -- Thank you.”
Jeremy playfully pushed him back down.
Chapter 2
Elisa and Michael waited on a wooden bench in front of Eric Bates’s office. Michael spoke carefully. “From this second on, you cannot be too careful when you deal with Jeremy O’Connell. His opinion will be the most important thing in your life. If he likes you, he’ll make your life hell. If he doesn’t like you, it’ll be double hell.”
But From Thine Eyes: Scintillating historical drama set in an Edwardian English theatre (His Majesty's Theatre Book 2) Page 1
