The two older ladies were mother and daughter. The elder one drifted in a constant demented haze, focused on nothing, and said nothing. The daughter force-fed the old lady mouthfuls of bread and lard.
An old man sitting on Elly’s right gave her a slight nod and a smile. The old woman with flaming red hair smiled, sipped her tea, and said nothing.
Two young men across the table behaved like bad school boys, teasing the girls. Words Elly had never heard above a whisper were hurled back and forth across the table like tennis balls. One young man, tall and wiry, with a deep rumbling voice, reached a remarkably long arm over to Peg’s plate and tried to lift her jelly. Her spoon came down on his hand with a quick vengeance.
“Y’ bleedin’, ugly ape, keep yer ‘ands to yer self.”
This set off howls of laughter.
A short, chubby young man, with a round face and a mass of curly black hair, called, “Go up one, Peg. Teacher gives full marks for that.”
Peg scowled at him. “Y’ bloody, stupid sod. Don’t y’ know yet that m’ name’s Marguerite Lamoor? Not flamin’ Peg?”
A voice sounded from the drawing room, as a good-looking, rather short, young blond man hung up his coat. “‘Flaming’ Peg!’ Oh, that’s good, isn’t it? Suits her, don’t y’ think chaps?”
He strode into the dining room and an empty tea mug flew at his head. He caught it easily and tossed it to another man. Peg lunged at him with outstretched claws. He seized her arms, flipping her aside like a rag doll.
Peg hissed like a cat, and backed from the room spitting insults. “You buggerin’ piece of shit, I’ll kill y’ some day!” She seized her coat, threw open the front door, ran out, slamming the door after her.
Meg sat primly. “She will kill y’ some day, Rory Cook. And I wouldn’t blame ‘er, after what y’ done to ‘er.”
Rory glared at her. “And what did I do then, eh? Nothing you’ve never done yourself, eh? Just because she was daft enough to get in trouble. That was none of my doing. It wasn’t mine. She’s had half of London. Could have been anybody’s.”
The elderly daughter roughly lifted her aged mother from her chair and pulled her toward the front door. “Come along mother, it’s time for our walk.”
Elly cowered in her chair. Who were these people? Was she really going to live with them? Michael’s words flooded back. “Potter’s is a dangerous place.”
Rory stomped back to the dining room. Now that the table was half-empty, he saw lovely Elly sitting on the far side. Her eyes were wide, her shoulders hunched, and her hands clutched under the table. Rory’s mouth dropped open.
She hesitantly looked up, meeting his apologetic eyes.
He nervously licked his lips. “That wasn’t much of a welcome, Miss. I hope you can forgive me.” His voice was beautiful and his diction impeccable.
She stared nervously.
The chubby fellow’s good-natured laugh broke the tension. “Don’t worry, Miss. Rory’s a good chap. When he arrived, he was a gentleman. He’s just been too long among us scum. I’m Lester Reid, a vicar’s son, believe it or not: fourteen months a prisoner at Potter’s.”
Everyone laughed except Elly.
Lester’s smile was sweet. “Look at the poor girl, she’s terrified. It’s really not so bad. You’ll be fine, once you’ve settled in.” He reached out his hand.
Elly gratefully shook it. “Thanks. You’re very nice. I’m Elis’…Elly, Elly Fielding.”
Meg sighed. “ ‘at’s Peg’s problem. She never did se’le in. We cum ‘ere about the same time, wha’ was it, two-year-ago now? She was gettin’ good parts and all. There was talk o’ puttin’ ‘er on salary. Then she went and got ‘erself in trouble.”
“It wasn’t mine,” Rory spoke through clenched teeth.
“ ‘oosever it was, she wanted it. Mr. Bates made ‘er get rid o’ it. Paid fer it, Oi think.”
Meg turned to Elly. “My name is Margaret O’Mally. Them’s what knows me calls me Meg.”
With inappropriate formality, Meg extended a limp hand, palm down. “Very pleased to meet you, Oi’m sure.”
Elly choked back a laugh as she clasped Meg’s fish-like appendage. “Delighted, Miss O’Mally.”
Rory walked around the table, offered his hand, and looked into her eyes. “I’m Rory Cook. Again, please, try to forgive my most unforgivable behaviour.”
Feeling very uncomfortable, Elly accepted his hand. “How-do-you-do?” She looked into his soft blue eyes and felt herself blush.
The old gentleman spoke next. “My name is Peter Sterling. I’m the veteran here. Eight years, twelve maybe? Can’t quite remember.”
The young people laughed at his joke.
“Used to be an actor, m’ dear. Can’t remember m’ lines anymore. Good for nothing, that’s what old Pete is.”
Rory shook his head. “I’ve seen the photos, Peter. You were a great actor.”
“Too long ago, boy.” Peter laughed. “Now, the great actor carries spears and bows a lot. I earn a-pound-a-week and all the slop Mrs. Potter can feed me.” He raised his hands as if acknowledging applause. “And this darling deaf damsel,” he indicated the sweet, old red-headed woman, “has become the lady of my old age.”
Elly smiled at deaf Mrs. Lynn and studied her hair. How did she get it so red? She turned to the tall gangly actor.
“Oh gosh, sorry, I’m Todd Sinclair.” His voice was wonderfully low, but he giggled like a schoolgirl. “How-d’-you-do.” He extended an overlong paw. Elly shook his soft, moist hand. He seemed nice, but odd.
The clock struck seven and all the actors stood at once. Peter called, “Curtain time!”
Meg asked Elly, “You’re coming to the performance?”
“Of course.”
“If you want to come wiv’ me now, I can show you ‘round before ‘alf ‘our. You’ll be in our dressing room.”
Rory rolled his eyes. “Won’t that be a treat.”
Chapter 3
Jeremy O’Connell had not moved since his head plunged into the pillow on his dressing-room cot. He could have slept through the night. There was a sharp rap on the door and, “Six o’clock Mr. O’Connell, ‘eres your tea.” In walked Timmy the pub-boy, gracefully balancing a large covered tray on one hand.
Mouth-watering aromas made Jeremy sit up. “So, Timmy, with what is your good mother bewitching me tonight?”
Timmy pondered the question. He was a slight lad, aged twenty who looked fourteen. A smile came over his face. “Oh, ‘at’s funny sir, ‘bewitchin’ like i’ Macbeth.” He laughed at his own cleverness.
Jeremy screamed, “The Scottish Play!” closed his eyes and fought to control his temper. Remembering that this was dull little Timmy and not one of his sharp-witted actors, his words became soft and deliberate. “Timmy, we - do - not - speak - the - name - of - this - play. We have discussed this. You remember, do you not?”
In absolute horror, Timmy’s hand went to his mouth. His cheeks glowed bright red. “U’mm sorry, sir. So sorry.” He dashed from the dressing-room, slamming the door behind him.
Jeremy counted, “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.”
The door burst open. Timmy was flushed and panting. “Oi turned around three times and swore an oath. ‘at’s right, weren’t it sir? Just the way you taught me.”
“I am sure that was sufficient, Timmy. All the bad luck has gone away. Thank you for bringing the tea, goodbye.”
At exactly six-thirty, a disembodied hand, holding a dark wig on a stand, floated through Jeremy’s open door. The head moved in rhythm to a high singsong, “Have you heard, my pretty King?” Eugene the wig-master popped his top half around the door, leaving his legs in the hall. He fluttered with delight.
Jeremy enjoyed Eugene’s foppish antics. “And what, pray tell, should I have heard?”
“The entire run of The Scottish Play is sold out. The public is lined around the building clamouring for tickets. They are killing each other to see you, my liege. Ooh!” Eu
gene squealed with delight, danced in on tiptoe, and genuflected, presenting the wig head as an offering.
“The entire run. Are you sure?” Now, he was deadly serious.
“Yes, yes. I was just downstairs in the box office.”
“But this is thrilling. Not since Simon Camden’s Hamlet has a play sold out after the first night. What a triumph. What a victory.” Jeremy nodded grandly. “Sirrah, my thanks.”
“My most noble majesty.” Eugene placed the wig-head on the dressing table, bowed low, and backed out, straight into Jeremy’s one-time lover, Tommy Quinn. Eugene batted his long dark eyelashes and pranced on his way. Tommy enjoyed the adoration, but stayed where he was.
Jeremy scowled. “I wasn’t expecting you for another week. You’re looking very well. New suit?” He turned his back, knocked his pipe against the wastebasket, and emptied the old tobacco.
Tommy sauntered into the room, waved his spotless kid gloves, then eased into Jeremy’s chair. “I actually had trouble getting through your crowd of admirers. The stage-doorkeeper didn’t want to let me back.”
Tommy’s hair was freshly trimmed and his clothes immaculate. At thirty-nine, he had lost his boyish good looks. Dark circles framed his bloodshot eyes. Weak arms hung from thin shoulders. The corners of his mouth were heavily lined, and his pleasing smile was spoiled by a missing tooth. He was younger than Jeremy, but looked older.
Jeremy automatically took out his wallet. “How much do you need?”
“Actually, I am here to give some back. After all these years, I must owe you a king’s ransom.” Playing magician, he wiggled his fingers and pulled a twenty-pound-note from his sleeve. The broad, thin white paper fluttered like a handkerchief.
Jeremy’s eyes widened. “This is a surprise. Your pub must be doing well. Who would have guessed it? All your other schemes failed before you even…”
“My other schemes were strictly for survival.” He leaned back, admiring the sheer white paper currency flickering between his fingers. “This one is a splendid adventure.”
Jeremy looked doubtful. “An adventure? The pub owners I know spend their nights scrubbing glasses, stacking crates, and hauling ruffians into the street.”
“Amongst the clientele at The Pink Kitten, there are very few ruffians.” Tommy pursed his lips and Jeremy sneered.
“It’s become a hideaway for Nancy Boys, has it?”
“Let us say, a haven.”
Wondering why Tommy was really here, Jeremy pretended to straighten his already pristine dressing-table.
Tommy carefully rolled the twenty pound note into a thin cylinder. “You may remember my telling you about the upstairs rooms.”
“Wool storage or something. You said they were filthy and the roof leaked--a waste of space.”
“They are not being wasted anymore.” He giggled, and a chill ran up Jeremy’s spine. “Some of my clientele, especially the married ones, have a devil of a time finding private space where they won’t be disturbed. So I repaired the roof and festooned one of those rooms, all pale-blue and lacy, and started renting it by the hour.”
Jeremy’s stomach soured. “And where, pray tell, were you able to get the financing? I have not been giving you enough for…”
“Archie, of course.”
“Archibald Perry?” Jeremy spun around in a fury. “That slime journalist…”
Tommy shrugged. “As you said, you haven’t been giving me enough…” he held up his hand, “…not that I am not grateful. You have kept me alive all these years.”
“I thought you were looking for theatre work.”
“I still make the rounds, fool that I am. No one will hire me.”
“Simon Camden will hire you.”
“He won’t, actually.” His smile vanished and an embarrassed flush darkened his cheeks. “Not since I deserted him in the tropics. That tour was bloody hell. We all fell ill with dysentery, malaria, and worse. I’ll never complain about foggy England again.”
“Last we heard, Simon was in New York. I’d like to tour there, myself.”
Shaken, but trying not to show it, Tommy playfully blew through the twenty-pound cylinder. “No, really. He will not hire me. I wrote him a few months ago. I actually begged him. He actually bothered to answer. He wrote two words: ‘Never - again.’” Tommy flipped the cylinder open and offered it to Jeremy.
That note was payment from the devil and Jeremy lurched away as if it were spewing flames. “Keep your money, Tommy. I am pleased you are doing well.” The small desk clock read six-forty-five. It was nearly half-hour. The other actors would arrive at any moment. He had to get rid of Tommy.
Oblivious to Jeremy’s mood, Tommy continued toying with the twenty-pound-note. “I now have four upstairs rooms, busy all hours of the day and night. Had to hire a boy, just to clean and change the sheets. Then, one of my clients took a shine to the boy, and the clever lad discovered he could do ever so much better lying between the sheets than scrubbing them.” He chuckled at Jeremy’s grimace. “So, old tart, I’ve got four lucky laddies, working all hours. They used to work the streets for pennies. Now they are well fed, dressed like little gentlemen, and…”
“Have you entirely lost your mind?”
“I told you it was an adventure.”
Jeremy slammed the door. Blood pounded in his head. Heart racing, he whispered frantically, “If you end up back in Reading Gaol, will that be an adventure? If they kill you on that sodding treadmill, will that be an adventure? If one of your randy clients decides to slash one of your pretty boys, and you go to the gallows as an accomplice, will that be an adventure?”
“Daddy. Daddy.” Softly from a distance, then louder as he sped down the hall, the voice of nine-year-old Evan O’Connell piped, “Daddy, have you seen…?”
Jeremy turned away from Tommy, spitting out a furious, “Get out of here, now.” He opened the door, and caught Evan as the boy leapt into his arms.
“Daddy!” His words tumbled all at once. “Have you seen the crowds outside? Mummy could barely get through all the people wanted her autograph to touch her and talk to her isn’t it exciting?”
“Yes, Evan, it is exciting.”
Tommy stood in the doorway, smiling benignly. “Evan love, got a kiss for your Uncle Tommy?” Hands behind his back, he coquettishly offered his cheek. The backstage area was filling with actors and technicians. Jeremy had to avoid a scene. Reluctantly, he put Evan down, and smiled when the boy backed away from Tommy.
Evan’s mother, actress Katherine Stewart, arrived in time to see Tommy straighten up. “Hello Kathy. You’re looking ravishing, as always. Congratulations on The Scottish Play.” He stroked Evan’s blond hair. “He’s such a sweet boy. Boys can be so very useful. ‘Bye all. Have a good show.” He pocketed his twenty-pound-note, smiled smugly, and sauntered away.
Katherine and Jeremy looked uneasy as they watched Tommy cross the stage and leave the theatre. Long ago, Jeremy had loved Tommy. They had been very happy together. Jeremy missed those gay days and wondered why they had gone so terribly wrong. Suddenly afraid of losing the family he now held dear, he kept one hand on Evan’s shoulder, clutched Katherine around the waist and kissed her hard. He wished they could stay like that forever. He only let Katherine go after she gave him a playful push, and winked at Evan.
Jeremy sighed happily. “Sold-out Katie. Did you hear?”
“Yes. Isn’t it marvelous?”
He pulled Evan closer. “And it’s all because of you, Young Macduff.”
Katherine trilled a laugh. “Yes darling. You were brilliant. And -- we do it again, within the hour.” She glided across the stage to her dressing-room. After fourteen years together, Jeremy still loved watching her. At thirty-four, her dancer’s body retained its youthful grace. There was no sound as her feet lightly skimmed the floorboards.
Chapter 4
Apprentice actors Rory, Lester, and Todd raced each other out of the boardinghouse door, pulling on coats and mufflers as they went. Living
only minutes from the theatre, they seldom bothered to button up. Tonight, icy wind stung like needles in their faces and hands. Todd’s long, rubber-like limbs swung from side to side. He bumped Rory off the narrow sidewalk, dangerously close to a carriage. The horse shied and the driver swore.
Rory was furious. “Keep your bloody arms to yourself, can’t you. You’re a walking disaster.” He put his head down, shoved his hands in his pockets, and charged into the wind, pulling ahead of the other two. His thick blond hair blew in every direction.
Todd continued flapping in the wind. “Miss Fielding’s gorgeous! Absolutely gorgeous!”
Lester’s coat hung open, framing his belly, as he sped past Todd to reach Rory. Running sideways, keeping his round face close to Rory’s, he shouted into the wind. “She has such a sweet face. Did you see how upset she was during your row with Peg? I thought she was going to faint.” He shivered and finally pulled his coat closed. “I wonder if she’s ever heard that kind of language?” Rory plowed ahead, wishing Lester would leave him alone.
“She’s so gorgeous!” Todd chanted, his long body swaying almost in a dance.
Lester persisted. “She barely ate anything. Of course Peg had stolen most of her share before she even got to table. She looked so frightened.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I feel so sorry for her. I don’t know how she’s going to live with Meg and Peg. Of course, after your scene, we probably won’t see Peg for a while.”
Rory was fuming. “Shut up, will you!” He raced even faster.
Lester was ecstatic. His favorite sport was teasing Rory, and he had never done it quite this well. An evil grin crossed his face as he ran to catch up. “Why in hell does Peg still love you? Do all the girls you shag fall in love with you? Why don’t you fall in love for a change… and get dropped… and take some of your own medicine? I know! Why don’t you fall in love with Miss Fielding?”
“She’s so gorgeous!” Todd gurgled, now running as well, his long arms flapping like wings. “I’m in love with her and I don’t even like girls.” He laughed hysterically.
But From Thine Eyes: Scintillating historical drama set in an Edwardian English theatre (His Majesty's Theatre Book 2) Page 3
